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Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard's Beginning

Smoke and Mirrors

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

THUMP

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!

Shell Game
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Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard's Beginning

Shell Game

Chapter 2: Shell Game

***

Vinyl Scratch stalked circles around the Beachside dining table outside of her newly acquired mansion, trying to imagine the scene from all angles. If only there was some technical measure for the estimated romance of a scene. Everything about this night had to be perfect. The table was adorned with a white decorative cloth, along with several garnishes, fake fruit, and other shiny things she’d set out to disguise the fact that there were only two places set. Horsefeathers. Vinyl didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, or what was fancy and classic. She would have to rely on her staff to tell her if something was in overly poor taste

My staff… huh. Saying it still feels really weird. DJ-PON3’s self-titled debut had exploded, a level of success she hadn’t dared to imagine. Though the fiscal success was utterly staggering, she was being critically acclaimed as well.

She could almost quote the Rolling Gnome review by heart:

“Don’t let PON3’s sophomoric moniker fool you. There is a true artist hidden behind the disarmingly catchy synths and beats. Every track adds something new: ‘Love Potion .99’ will have you tapping your hooves to an ambitious hybrid of a sentimental ballad and political commentary; alternatively, ‘Wouldn’t it be Wuberly?’ somehow manages to appeal to both fans of both dub-step and classic musicals. I say this as a compliment, but frankly with the lack of any live shows, it’s hard to believe the rumors that there’s only a single mare behind the DJ-PON3 curtain. Equestria is waiting to meet you Ms. PON3. What are you waiting for?”

Of course, Vinyl was waiting for what she’d always been waiting for. She would be the first to know. There was only one reason Vinyl had reached so far, and her eyes were still fixed on the same prize that had captured her heart years ago as a filly.

The Canterlot junior youth orchestra had been doing individual sound-checks for the upcoming solo competition. A much smaller Vinyl Scratch nestled in her mother’s lap, watching with mild disinterest as her mother ran the auditorium sound booth. She worked the various sliders and knobs with her hoofs while her horn glowed lightly, providing power to the unit. Vinyl had found it fascinating until her mother had explained it: Using her horn, she was steadily pushing magic energy through the tesla converter, where mana was then altered into an amplified electrical signal. What had instinctively irritated Vinyl was how inefficient and rudimentary the design seemed to be, but as she was only seven the most verbose critique she could make was “That’s dumb.”

Contemplating the frustrations of a pre-adolescent vocabulary, she drifted off about thirty entrants in. A rich, deep sound roused her with a start.

The Cello sitting center stage had started playing itself. The music itself was beautiful, though the general observation had some disturbing implications. Just when she was about to reconsider her past judgment on the paranormal, a tiny grey face peeked up from behind the cello, straining to rest her chin on the cello’s shoulder. Purple eyes darted across the music hastily before retreating back behind it

“Memorizing at such a young age, she must be very talented.” Vinyl’s mother observed, adjusting several sliders.

Vinyl could only nod, unable to explain the warmth in her cheeks and the sudden desire to learn an instrument.

She tried to stay focused on the task at hand. No expense had been spared on the dinner, spared on anything for that matter: The beach house, cooking lessons in Germaneigh, and the best staff bits could hire. Maintaining a neutral friendship with Octavia over the years had been difficult. There was constant and undeniable tension to the point she couldn’t imagine it being one sided. The simple act of waiting had never been so excruciating. A telltale dot in the sky interrupted her thoughts.

“Incoming from the south!” she snapped into the headset, pointing a hoof towards the horizon. Part of a nearby bush seemed to sprout legs as a brilliantly camouflaged colt rose from his hiding place, aiming the device over his shoulder at the insurgent. With a near-silent PWIFF, the net was launched from the cannon, knocking the seagull out of the sky before it could manage so much as a surprised squawk. Another colt in the distance stepped out from concealment behind a tree to retrieve the struggling bird, promptly galloping off to release it a safe distance away.

Vinyl watched the proceedings with muted satisfaction. The cannon she’d spent the last week perfecting had worked brilliantly. It was the best solution she’d been able to come up with, as the object of her affections loved the beach, yet loathed seagulls.

“Bogey has landed!” The pegasus mare who’d been acting as lookout whispered furiously from her hiding place in the palm tree above. Vinyl spun, heart nearly giving out as she spotted grey earth pony making her way around the bend leading up to the meeting place. It's actually happening... after all this time.

“Places everypony!” she hissed into her mic, checking the dishes, table, and surroundings once more to ensure nothing was out of place.

“‘Tavi’, Over here!” A pair of violet blue eyes locked on hers, and Vinyl felt a part of herself melt as the earth pony cracked a smile accompanied by a small wave. Tavi’ had always been there, a source of encouragement in the worst of times. Vinyl looked around, blinking furiously, battling a sudden moisture in her eyes; having hidden her affections for so long it was almost impossible to believe all her preparations were about to pay off.

Almost too quickly. Vinyl fought the bizarre urge to turn-tail and run away as the graceful earth pony trotted towards her, still taking in the surroundings in awe.

“This is amazing. Are we really having our picnic here?”

“Yep. Watching the place for a friend.” She answered, throat increasingly dry as the Octavia threw her forelegs around her in a warm hug.

“You must be really close to the owners if they let you housesit a place like this!”

Something like that, Vinyl mused wryly. She wouldn’t hint for the moment though, best to save it all for the big reveal. “I guess you could say we’re on a first name basis.”

“Look at you, brown-nosing with the one percent.” the other mare released her, an infectious smile on her lips. “I’ve been to the Ramptons before, for a gig at the park with the big Gazebo in the middle. We didn’t get close enough to the houses to get a good look, but I remember the place with the fantastic pillars. I couldn’t stop talking about it - “ Octavia cocked her head as she looked back at the mansion before turning back sheepishly. “I’m a bit slow. It’s this one, isn’t it.”

Yes. Hence, the down payment

“Oh hey, I guess it is.” Vinyl laughed. A flash of movement in the distance caught her eye. Deftly, she guided her guest to the table while angling her view away from the potential problem and making a signal towards the stallion in the bushes. Again, a PWIFF sounded in the air, followed by a surprised squawk as the netted bird plummeted, this time landing in the water with a distant splash.

“It’s so calm... no waves, no retched beach fowl, just... peace.” Octavia rested her forelegs on the wooden railing.

“Mhm.” Vinyl bit her lip, watching helplessly as one of the captured seagulls struggled free, making a beeline straight for them. One of pegasus ponies on reserve duty (who Vinyl committed to memory as deserving a raise) tackled it out of the air and into a nearby shrubbery.

“The view’s amazing.” Octavia looked out over the ocean, hair stirring in the breeze. She was stunning, and for moment all Vinyl could do was take in the view.

“It really is.” Erratic waving and pointing towards the horizon from a pegasus in the nearby tree brought Vinyl back to reality; she nodded in appreciation for the warning. The sun had just touched the horizon, radiantly flickering across ocean. The Golden Hour. It's now or never. “‘Tavi,’ I have something I need to tell you” she said seriously, trying not to be distracted by the single hoof moving across the ocean and holding another captured pest above the surf. “Something important.”

“What a coincidence - I have something exciting to tell you.” Octavia replied, face turning completely serious. “But you first.”

I made it ‘Tavi. I’m DJ-PON3, I have more bits than I know what to do with, and more than anything else I love you. All of this is for you. See that giant hulking piece of high class behind you? That’s my house. I want it to be our home. No more crummy apartment, no more missed rehearsals. You’d have your own studio, your own composing room, the sky’s the limit. So if you’ve ever felt the slightest thing for me...

The speech had been rehearsed in the mirror a thousand times, yet it faltered in the critical moment.

“After you.” Vinyl insisted weakly.

“Okay.” Octavia smiled, rising from the table and hopping in a little circle like a school-filly. Taking the other unicorn’s hoof in hers, Octavia took a breath in preparation. “Vinyl..”

“Yes?” Vinyl’s voice wavered a bit, the anticipation killing her

“I’m getting married!”

The Pony hidden under the porch in charge of keeping fresh music on the phonograph must have had a heart attack and fallen on the record, as the sound of tearing vinyl ripped through the serenity. The lookout pegasus nearly fell out of the palm tree. Her kitchen staff froze with the “Happy Engagement” sign hanging limply from their hooves. Through an unprecedented level of self-control the range of emotions bubbling inside of her somehow stayed in check.

“...Who is she?” Vinyl croaked, barely keeping a straight face as her inner self screamed tidings of doom and the end of the world. Octavia finally stopped gyrating excitedly long enough to look perplexed.

“She?”

“He, I meant he.”

“That’s a relief, for a moment I thought you might be asking if my mane rested on that side of the saddle. Em, I don’t give out those vibes, do I?”

“Oh no, not at all, your vibes are good. Solely of the heteronormative variety.” Vinyl was literally chewing on her tongue.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Right. Of course. Nothing wrong with that” Vinyl's mouth was just moving for the sake of making noise, spitting out words to hide the internal singularity. “So who is he?”

“He is a Prench aristocrat.” Octavia leaned back, oblivious to the giant metaphorical hammer that had descended from the sky to repeatedly smack Vinyl in the nose as she continued. “Bits, power, influence, and charm; he’s everything I’ve always wanted. I want it to be a surprise, but believe me, he’s someone famous you probably already know. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.” Octavia slid off the chair, kneeling with a goofy smile as she took Vinyl’s hoof in hers, gazing dramatically into her eyes. “Vinyl Scratch, will you be my Mare of Honor?”

“Sure.” Vinyl whispered, lips pulled thin in a small smile: a twisted veneer of it her typically easy going grin. It was in that moment that her self-deprecating sense of humor had never served her better. “Thing is, though, Tavi’... you never were very good at keeping secrets.”

“Hmm?”

With a magician’s flourish, Vinyl pointed to the banner her dismayed staff were still struggling to take down. “Viola!” Suddenly cast in the spotlight, the three ponies hid their tools and improvised various poses around the banner.

“T-Tada!” the palomino pony atop the ladder exclaimed half heartedly, panic showing solely through the manner her eyes were dancing back and forth. Octavia gasped, hoof covering her mouth. “Congratulations!” Another added shakily.

Right on cue, the pony at the phonograph switched the record.

“How... How did you.” Her light grey ears perked with the change in melody. The music fading in was a lively symphonic arrangement, but one that marked an important moment for both of them. Vinyl watched her dear, dear friend soak it all in, confusion giving way to recognition. “Is this...?

Standing, the beleaguered DJ drained her glass before speaking, preparing to recite words she had prepared for an entirely different context. “Wolfgang’s number 19 in C Major. Your first quartet performance I had the privilege of recording, and the beginning of a long and fruitful friendship.” The words tore like razors as they left her lips. “You were an enigma to me, something I couldn’t explain in my technical little mind of science and calculations. It was your music that drew me in at first. I’d never met anypony so dedicated to their craft, so sure of their place in life. You inspired me to reach higher than I ever would have bothered to on my own-”

“-so I might one day be good enough-”

“You deserve a pony that can make you happy-””

“-And I that pony is me-””

“And I’m so glad you’ve found somepony who can fill that role.”

“No need to give an answer now. Celestia knows I’ve loved you long enough to wait a bit longer.”

“I’ll need to meet him of course, to decide whether or not he’s worthy of my seal of approval. But I know you’re a pony of distinguished taste.”

"And the love of my life."

“You are my best friend," Vinyl practically croaked, "and nothing would make me happier than helping to plan the wedding of your dreams.”

The quartet came to the close of Amadeus’ first movement quietly in the background. Tears ran down Octavia’s face as she threw her forelegs around Vinyl, overjoyed. “You are, without a doubt, the most giving, selfless pony I know Ms. Scratch.”

No. I’m really not.

***

Vinyl jolted awake, tinged in sweat. Her dreams had long since abandoned courtesy of cryptic metaphors and instead taken to repeating a single scene, continually searing it in her mind. Nightmares could afford to be lazy, she mused, when reality was so starkly unkind. Rubbing the sleep dust out of her eyes, she grimaced as the bright, natural light did nothing to ease a growing headache. A quick survey the room left her slackjawed. “Impressive” didn’t really do it justice. Two, towering jade lions stood guard at the door, heads held high, forever fixed in a pose of nobility. Painted, strikingly red wood framed the expansive white walls. The walls were decorated with colorful artwork that served as a backdrop to a plethora of ceramics, all of which shared a color palette that struck her as distinctly foreign. Were it not for the dresser the size of a small cottage and the rather ridiculously sized bed, it could very well be a wing of a history museum.

Worse, it was familiar only in the sense of being unfamiliar, as waking up in unfamiliar places had become an exercise in banality. Sitting up, her eyes were drawn to a strangely simple stained wooden fixture, oriented vertically, with indecipherable markings placed one after another. While the meaning was lost, the look of the language itself rang a bell. That’s Pondarin... Oh Luna’s flank, I’m not in Asgard anymore. Vinyl stared at the carving, as if hoping it would reveal further secrets as she tried to work her way backwards on the path that had brought her to this point, finding nothing but potholes in the haze of ambiguity. It seemed like just the other night she was drinking with a lively flock of griffons who’d adored her energetic remixes of their stoic folk tunes. Now she was straining to miraculously decipher a language that definitely appeared oriental; Though it’d been a few years since high school geography, she was fairly certain the Orient was as far east as the Griffon Kingdom was west, practically on the opposite corner of the known world.

It was an ongoing struggle not to blame her current circumstances on Octavia. It always was. Everything had gone downhill since she’d taken on the responsibilities of planning the wedding. ‘Tavi was so touched by the thoughtfulness of her “engagement” party that she’d given Vinyl a budget, a vague idea of the format and colors (‘White and Blue,’ she said, without a hint of irony) and left the rest in her hooves. A pettier mare wouldn’t have made an effort, or worse, tried to sabotage the affair. But as was her custom, Vinyl did what she did best; turned everything up to eleven. A small dip into the exorbitant earnings of her alter ego’s international success was more than enough to ensure her friend had the marriage of the century. Octavia’s favorite composers, the chef from her favorite restaurant in Horsaille. No expense was spared.

Eventually it became a game to Vinyl: seeing how many bits she could throw around on a single event. Some part of her just wanted to be rid of the wealth as it served as little more than a reminder, a key piece to a now discarded puzzle. It wasn’t until she’d rented the Diamond Hall of Vaporia as the venue (doubling the small kingdom’s treasury) and calculated the cost of cloudwalking spells for over a thousand non-pegasi guests that the futility of her trying to deplete her accounts became apparent. She barely even scratched a tenth. The success of DJ PON3 was simply too big. An article in Sundial had called her album and the craze around it “The most monumental impact an artist has had on the industry since the Beetles.” And for once, they weren’t just feeding the hype. Critical acclaim was flattering at first, but over time the same stress that permeated her interactions with Octavia began to permeate composing, alienating her from her only remaining outlet. It just felt like work now, work that half the known world was waiting to hear. Talking to Octavia when she had a problem had always helped before, but of course it wasn't really an option as... well, ‘Tavi was the problem.

During the last few weeks of preparation, the bride to be was the only pony who received anything approaching a cheerful attitude from Vinyl. As the date drew closer, she became an absolute terror to everyone else. Yelling, pudding-bashing, and table-flipping rose to record highs. Rehearsal time was referred to as “Albino Armageddon.” Vinyl couldn’t help it really, she was trying to detach and making a mess of it. The precise, obsessive compulsive side of her personality that had always been helpful in work was leaking into everything she did. She began to see the wedding as a recording and herself as the equalizer; What made her angry was the fact that ponies were so much more difficult to manipulate than mids and trebles. “Why can’t they just stay where I put them?!” she fumed. What Vinyl didn’t - perhaps couldn’t - realize, was how her new attitude affected her appearance. She might have lost her mind, had it not been for Joy.

Joy wasn’t a terribly intelligent pony. A product of a small rural community's increasingly shallow gene pool, it was always her dream to go to Canterlot and join a band, despite not knowing a single instrument. She did eventually get into a band, though not the sort she expected. Joy sat at the talent-light end of the percussion section and specialized in the triangle - Though she aspired to someday branch out to the wood block - and spent far more time reading trashy romance novels than she did participating in any sort of practice. Her greatest achievement was looking similar to somepony with actual achievements; Due to similar look, color, and build, ponies would often approach her on the street and congratulate her on her performance the night before. In the beginning, she was thrilled her new technique was making an impact (pulling the striking bar back to pull the sound out of the triangle,) but quickly realized her mistake when some of her “fans” were more specific. “I’ve never seen an earth pony play a Cello like that,” and so on. “Oh, I’m not her." Joy would explain cheerfully. "That’s Octavia, She’s taller. I’m the triangle Pony. But we’re kind of friends!”

Kind of Friends was the title earned after a weeklong period Octavia had worked with Joy on her rhythm and introduced her to the wonders of practicing with a metronome, an event that had only come to be as Octavia had volunteered to give her lessons after a small crisis. Strangely, Joy’s experiments in creative expression and improvisation for several months preceded half the snare section’s descent into clinical depression (While the pegasus on the Bass Drum had a much more serious break down, he’s recently had a breakthrough in his treatments at Canterlot Psychiatric; After a year of silence other than occasionally repeating “Ting!... Ting!” at random intervals, he is now writing on an almost daily basis. The Doctors say the neat, legibly written messages scrawled all over his cell are little signs that he’s ‘getting better,’ even if most of them are creative variations of ‘kill me.’) While she wasn’t sure why she was singled out, she certainly was happy to be singled out. Everyone seemed to think they were the same pony, so figured she might as well start to mimic Octavia’s voice and mannerisms as well. “It’s like we’re like sisters!” she exclaimed; Octavia had smiled an awkward sort of smile in response, but as awkward smiles were really the only sort of smile ever directed her way, Joy didn’t really know the difference.

To Joy’s delight, Kind of Friends evolved into the much more impressive True Friendship the day she’d overheard Octavia mention she was short a bride’s maid. After subtly inserting herself in the conversation (“you know, I think I’d make a great bride’s maid.”) her new BFF gave her a whole half shrug and a generous “Why not,” propelling her admiration for the earth pony into loving obsession. An obsession she took rather seriously. “If only you weren’t promised to another,” She’d swoon, stroking one of the many “candid” pictures kept in her nightstand. If it was a daring evening, she’d blush, staring into those blurry purple eyes and add a breathy, “I’d break back for you.” and give her love a gentle kiss on an out of focus cheek before collapsing into her pillow with a squeal.

As a longtime romantic, she’d had crushes before, but never on a mare. Unrequited and forbidden love? It made her feel so edgy and progressive. Of course, she was well read enough in the genre to know how this particular plot was going to go - Octavia would get married while Joy loved her from a distance, forever watching, waiting. Such was her burden. Such was the role of the protagonist in such a tale, languishing in isolation, never able to love anypony else, her only release watching unsated through a telescope as the object of her affection enjoys the throes of passion with another. It filled with equal giddiness and dread every time she thought about it (at least every five minutes).

But there was a wrinkle in her narrative. It came in the form of a white unicorn whose blue mane flowed lonesomely in the wind, sometimes even indoors. The others were fooled, of course, by this Unicorn’s brash and insensitive facade. They called her names they wouldn’t dare say to her face: the “maid of terror,” and “Frigid Demon.” But Joy knew the truth. She recognized the haunted look smoldering behind those beautiful crimson eyes, no doubt the byproduct of a dark and unnecessarily complicated backstory. Compelling as the unicorn might seem, Joy recognized her for what she was: A class B temptress, an unnecessary plot device designed to ramp up tension, pad out the length of the story, and lead the protagonist astray.

Yet, It would be so much easier if her temptress wasn’t so damn hot.There was a certain gravitas to everything she did that propelled her so much higher than perfectly personifying bad filly trope. Joy noticed it when she first witnessed the unicorn’s ire. A designer under contract had refused to work, claiming the colors and theme were insultingly cliche. It was four days until the inevitable explosion.

“What? What about our contract?!”

“Consider it bought out and nullified.” Vinyl snarled, tossing a substantial brown bag that clinked as it hit the floor at the designer’s feet. “Keep the change. Don’t worry, I don’t want fries with that. Thanks for the service with a smile.” Spinning on her hoofs, she turned away in disdain as the designer flustered about, beat red, trying not to make eye contact.

A mare to Joy’s left called out timidly.“Miss Scratch. Did you just fire Glimmering Fields?”

“Yes.” Vinyl deadpanned, barely turning to look.

“But... isn’t she kind of the best designer in Equestria?”

“Leaves us plenty of continents to work with then, doesn’t it Lily?”

“B...but”

“Did... you... have... a... better... idea?” The slow challenge in Vinyl’s voice that went unmatched as the bridesmaid shook her head fervently and retreated into the crowd.

It was by and far the hottest thing Joy had ever seen.

Over time, she began to notice Vinyl glancing in her direction. She began to realize she wasn’t imagining it. Every so often she’d catch the unicorn with a look of deep sadness permeating her typically stern demeanor. She was so bad, so tragic, so compelling. Probably an orphan. Ugh, talk about the full package... When she found train of though on this particular track (which was often, as her mind was rather lacking in tracks) She’d run into the bathroom and splash cold water on her face. “My heart belongs to somepony else, my heart belongs to somepony else” she’d repeat the mantra, forgetting it the moment Vinyl touched a hoof to her forehead in that sexy, exhausted way.

Everything came to a boiling point the night before the wedding. It was on her trot home from the last rehearsal that fate carried out it’s coup de grace. Woozy and disheveled, an obviously inebriated unicorn being “escorted” (or arguably tossed) out of a bar caught her attention..

Nearly tripping over her hooves, the unicorn steadied herself before pushing the mane out of her face, revealing eyes as crimson as they were bloodshot.

“Vinyl?” Joy called uncertainly from across the street.

Groggily searching for the sound of the voice, Vinyl’s gaze finally reached her, recognition immediately followed by a flash of anger. “YOU!” she snaps.

“M-Me?” is the squeaked reply.

“Yes yoooooou.” Spittle flies from her mouth. “C’mere ‘Tavi I got somethin’ to say to you.”

“Er, no, I’m not.”

“I mean it ‘Tavi!”

“You’ve it wrong. I just play the Triangle!” She exclaimed nervously, ears splayed back.”

Vinyl reeled back, shocked. “Play the...” She swallowed painfully.. “Of course you figured it out... How long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“N-no, I-” Though Joy couldn’t quite parse the reaction, some part of her was thrilled the unicorn seemed so interested in her musical history. “There never seemed to be a good time to bring it up. Of course I didn’t get it right away, triangles are difficult. It took me a long time to figure it out - the rhythm just felt off at first - but eventually it started to make sense and everything clicked.” It was the longest Joy had ever talked about her experience in the percussion section. It wasn’t a bad feeling. She made a mental note to someday teach a master class.

“Why can’t it be me?” the unicorn asked in a quiet, pensive tone, bottom lip quivering. “ You’re all I want ‘Tavi-”

“Triangle-”

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you? What it dosh to me?” Every day you grow more beautiful, but every day takes you farther away. Why can’t you love me-”

Rearing up, Joy was kissing Vinyl before she even realized what her body was doing. (“sorry my love, I’ve failed you” she’d later confess to the shrine in her closet.) It was the first confession Joy had ever received. Who could resist such a tortured look, such a straightforward manner.

Breaking away, the unicorn pushed her back, slurred speech hesitant. “Wait. Thish can only happen if you’re sure. What about... 'im?”

“There is no him.” Joy glanced away. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Vinyl hadn’t asked about a her.

“Really?” Vinyl practically glowed.

“Really. But, you know...” Her face felt aflame. “My Hotel isn’t far from here.”

“It’s not? Waitaminute, where are we?” The unicorn looked around confused before the true meaning of the words sunk in. “Oh. OH. You mean- oh.

Joy’s ears splayed back, fearing another rejection. “Should I take that for a no?” Her heart skipped a beat as Vinyl grinned wickedly.

“Wouldn’t missh it for the world.”

In many ways, the events that followed were the end of one story and the beginning of another. For Joy, it was the end of an era. After waking up alone the next morning Joy would begin to doubt her faith in the mythos of fictional romance. To distract herself from doubt and embarrassing memories of that particularly slobbery, sordid night she began to practice for hours, leaving the triangle behind, mastering the wood block and finally moving on to the timpany, still aspiring to someday learn the grand secrets of the xylophone.

For Vinyl, it was the beginning to a very long downward spiral. She was no marinator. Waking up next to a pony that looked like Octavia in a strange place was initially horrifying. So horrifying, in fact, that running became her only option. Her duties as maid of honor were practically over, save the empty spot next to the Bride; but the thought of standing next to Octavia after sullying her likeness the night before was more than Vinyl could bear. Even if it had failed, even if it was somepony else, she’d still tried to break up her best friend’s marriage. In her eyes she was beyond scum. It wasn’t until the carriage was far enough for Vaporia to disappear over the horizon that Vinyl had an epiphany:

Somehow, she felt lighter.

It wasn’t the act of running away, there was still quite a bit of internal agonizing over that. The more she thought about it, the more her thoughts turned to Joy. In the light of day, the difference between Joy and Octavia was obvious - But drunk, under the cover of darkness? They were almost indistinguishable. The epiphany was both simple and astounding; there were other ponies with grey coats and black manes in the world. Some part of her knew it was unhealthy, some part of her just didn’t care. She was a pony with no purpose and more money than god.

Why not live a little.

The next few months ran together in blurring circles, places and ponies changing while everything stayed the same. Every town has the a decent underground club if you know where to look: the sort of place a pony goes to forget who they are in the wake of throbbing bass and screeching synth. PON3’s success finally had some practical payoff: All she had to do was put on the goggles and they’d beg her to do a set, practically pelting her with free drinks. From the DJ’s nest she sat watching for somepony who didn’t exist, eventually finding her when intoxication had muddied the senses. The first approaches were awkward, largely botched affairs. But at some point patterns began to emerge. Certain mare’s fell for certain lines, it was all a matter of reading personality and adjusting properly. After enough cider even color stopped mattering. Sometimes she’d find her muse before she blacked out, other times she could barely remember anything. In the odd lapse of a suitable alternative, she’d wake up the club itself, usually on a couch or in an alley. But more often than not she’d find herself in a new bedroom, feeling lighter despite the hangover. She’d figured out it was better to skip town quite quickly; the first day the paparazzi caught up with her it was mere luck that she’d fallen asleep with her goggles on. DJ PON3’s Marinating exploits were already all over the papers, but Vinyl settled into a workable routine quickly enough. A day and a half was the perfect length, hit a club, pass out, wake up, grab a quick shower and shove off to the next place where nopony knows your name..

Much as she hated to admit it, the lifestyle was starting to take a toll. After a while even her daytime recollections turned hazy, gaps in her memory growing from minutes, to hours, and now entire days. Her current circumstances were different, disquieting. It just felt... off. Threatening even. She was still staring at the wooden fixture on the wall when a voice beside her spoke in a throaty whisper.

“Never forgive a transgression, Lest you be wronged once more.”

Starting visibly, Vinyl turned slowly. The grey and black colors of the pony studying her intently definitely fit her “type,” but more off-putting were the radiant golden eyes that seemed to stare straight through her. “Excuse me?”

“You were taking in the woodwork, were you not?”

Caught, Vinyl chuckled. “Indeed. Isn’t that a bit cold though? Never forgive?”

Piercing eyes strangled the laughter in her throat. “My Equestrian is not ideal. Perhaps I have failed to convey the concept properly?”

“Er, no, you seem to speak Equestrian better than most Equestrians do.” Discomfort in the air seemed to multiply each passing second

Standing brisquely, the mystery pony trotted to the bedroom mirror, skillfully wrapping her mane into a bun held in place by two glossy sticks. “Perhaps the weakness of mercy is commonplace in Equestria, but here, we do not entertain such flaws. Refrain from indulging this sort of weakness publically, as weakness of the Empress’ ember reflects poorly on the Empress herself.

Vinyl’s ears perked up at full alert. “Woah woah woah, back up to the coda. Definitely losing some things in translation here. The whole empress-ember thing, that’s a figure of speech, right?”

The other pony turned back, a slight cock of her head her only indication of emotion. “I do not understand. I am Empress and you are my ember. What is there that cannot be taken literally.

“Nononononono. I’m just a DJ passing through.”

“Yes, you made that rather clear last night, after dodging my bodyguard and locking him in the bathroom. You then proceeded to explain to me exactly how we were meant to be together - that fate itself had written our entwined destiny in the stars.”

She silently kicked herself. “Is this a bad time to say I was more than a little drunk?”

“Drunk or sober, your allegations proved true.”

“Uh... What?” Vinyl blinked several times, not quite believing her ears.

“According to the Royal astrologers, your prediction was entirely accurate. There was indeed a fated one written in the stars that matched your description: The chosen one was meant to be either to be coat of cloud and mane of sky, or coat of dirt and mane of frog. I’m rather grateful to the goddess it was the former.”

“Yeah, nopony likes mane of frog.” The comment slipped out in a moment of nervousness. “Sorry. So wait. What happened exactly?”

“After confirming your claims with the astrologist, the guards retrieved you from the dungeon and I made you my ember. At the time, you were quite... enthusiastic about the ceremony. I was quite pleased.”

Vinyl flushed. Specifics aside, there’s no misinterpreting context. “Oh. Good. And... uh... what exactly does an ember of the empress do?” she asked, looking intently around the room for a pony sized hole to crawl into.

“What one would expect of such a position. Tending my garden, act as mother to my heir alongside with the other embers of the palace hearth.”

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. “Hearth? As in.... Harem???” Vinyl stared blankly.”

“Harem is a vile term. Our culture sees the hearth as more of an extended family.”

“...How extended?”

The Empress looked up and to the left, head bobbing from side to side in a silent count. “30...32? My mistake, I believe you would be ember 33. Duties of the hearth include carrying my other children to term, serving as my proxy in times of war and leading the vanguard in my stead. As the lowest ranking ember you’d likely be assigned grunt work from the others; rank must be earned. And of course, so long as you live you shall take no other to bed, be they mare or stallion. We did go over all this before-” Trailing off, The Empress turned to an empty bed, the unicorn present moments before nowhere to be seen. The echo of hooves tearing down the hall in a breakneck gallop reached her ears.

“GUARDS!”

***

Vinyl forced the sense of panic down for the sake of focus. This is nothing new, just run. Jilted lovers, as well as jilted lovers of jilted lovers with poor timing generally didn't appreciate her particular brand of meet and sneak. Lacking any exceptional arcane ability, she had always relied on agility. For the most part it had never failed her... something she now silently reminded herself over and over as she sped down the hall. Just because she’d been on the run before didn’t make this situation any less dangerous. On a continent she’d never seen before, without a single contact or place to lie low and the empress’ guard seemed intent on running her down. She risked a glance behind her, immediately regretting it. A group of armored ponies in intimidating, goblin like masks were right behind her, shouting and brandishing jagged looking spears. Okay shouldn’t have looked dummy, she thought, legs moving ever faster.

No matter what you’re running from, never run in straight line.

It was a basic foalhood lesson that had always served her well. There was a side hallway straight ahead at a 45 degree angle; waiting until the last possible moment she dug the sole of her right hoof into the floor, skidding around the corner whilst maintaining most of the momentum. The hallway seemed far too long, and the angry voices seemed to be growing closer. A few random turns later they were still on her heels, a few strikes from hissing spears missed wide and struck the marble. Her tail tucked beneath her. Veering to a side passage on the left, she slid between the legs of a waiting guard, a focused burst of arcane force to his nethers knocking him down and inadvertently causing a small pile-up in the doorway. Vinyl grinned. Clean up on inexplicably long hallway 3. The sense of victory was short lived, however, snuffed out instantly as she looked to the path ahead. It was a dead end, and the guards behind were already back on their feet.

Looking desperately for any sort of door or hiding place, despair nearly set in before the glimmering of stain glass at the end of the hall caught her eye. She’d almost missed it - it seemed too big to be a window, the size of a small wall. It portrayed a rather unflattering depiction of the empress clad in the formal kimono, reared back, forelegs extended. Beneath her right foreleg food fell from the heavens on waiting ponies below. Her left foreleg, encased in an iron glove, cast down lightning on a collection of Gryphons, Diamond Dogs, and Dragons in various states of cowering agony. All things considered it didn't bode well.

Vinyl groaned. as she began to pick up speed, possibilities and statistics running through her head. The last time she’d pulled this particular stunt it hadn’t ended ideally. There was no way of knowing where she was or how high up she was. Maybe the Divine Empress of Neighpon was the one ruler in the known world that actually slept on the ground floor of her abode. Maybe there’d be an abundance of soft grass for her to land on. Maybe lollipops will rain from the sky and Tartarus will freeze over. Through gritted she began to focus. Even if she knew how thick it was, trying to shatter the glass with her horn would drain far too much energy and leave her vulnerable. It had always been her weakness, but in that weakness she’d found something else: A sharp series of clicks emitted from her horn as she charged ever closer. The rebounding soundwave reached her just in time for highlight the sweet spot: a small section near the Empress’ iron forehoof where the glass was minutely thinner than the rest. Another burst of magic formed a single step she used to launch forward, forelegs protecting her hooves and face as her back legs swung up for impact, the mental construction of the surface in her mind ensuring the kicks struck true.

Like a boss. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt the inch thick glass shatter like rotted wood, the warmth of sunlight welcoming her into the great unknown. Still shielding herself, a single peak at the ground was enough to make her stomach drop.

Unsurprisingly, she’d been right: The Empress did not live anywhere near the first floor.

Author's Note

So, I was looking through my notes and found EVERYTHING I originally outlined for this story. Got inspired to start working on it again. In summer classes at the moment so chapters may be a bit smaller, but I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I promise the next update won't take nearly as long (actually will probably be up by the weekend). It's going to take me a little while to acclimate to the third person again, so any current voice issues should resolve themselves fairly soon.

The Plant
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Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard's Beginning

The Plant

Chapter 3: The Plant

Trixie wiped a bead of sweat off her brow for what felt like the hundredth time. It seemed only yesterday that the Neighpon was a place of nearly endless wonder: Long, winding dirt roads with endless golden fields on either side, with the infamous jungles always looming at the far outer edges.

Having braved the jungle (or rather, survived it) the bustling brick streets of the capital were still strange, though less intimidating. Nearness to the ocean lent a certain saltiness to the city’s air, a scent that reminded her all too vividly of the tense and nausea-ridden crossing that had initially brought her east.

“Brother Dagan,“ Trixie grunted through clenched teeth, attempting to shift to multitude of saddlebags on her back to a more comfortable position, “With all due respect, when most ponies say ‘accompany,’ they mean it in some cordial sense of the term, not ‘come along and be the pack mule.’”

“A cultural difference, I’m sure.” Dagan deadpanned, face obscured in the shadows of his cowl. “And pay the proper respect to pack mules, acolyte; they have a far higher capacity. Mastery of the arcane requires both mental and physical aptitude. In a way, this is your first lesson.”

Though exhausting, the journey into town had been relatively uneventful. With Dagan’s knowledge of the Jungle, they were able to skirt around the more hostile areas. It was almost so peaceful that Trixie had wondered aloud if certain paths were warded by magic. (“Perhaps,” Dagan had answered in that same infuriatingly noncommittal tone.)

The longer they had walked, the more Trixie felt her impression of her mentor begin to change. “Monk” had always conjured up the mental image of a group of intellectual hermits, scholars fluent in the theory of magic but unconcerned with its practice; Dagan, on the other hoof, didn’t seem to fit the mold at all. His gait was smooth and unburdened. The occasional flash of steel ringlets beneath his tunic was the only indication the diamond dog was encumbered with anything beyond cloth.

Once in town, they had had no problem drawing a significant number of stares. Foals were the most blatant offenders, small ponies clad in navy uniforms stopping in their tracks to gawk at the out of place duo before being shooed onward by an adult. Thankfully, not all of the attention was negative. Every so often few ponies would offer a friendly wave. Most notably, a small stallion had rushed out from a tapestry bazaar to greet them, taking Dagan’s paw in hoof and chittering excitedly before returning to his shop. Though the dialect was unfamiliar to Trixie, the gratitude in the Stallion’s voice was unmistakable.

“Who was that?”

“Indeed, who was that?” Dagan repeated, corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. After Trixie had been silent for some time, he prodded her once more. “I asked you a question acolyte.”

“Sorry, I thought you were being intentionally oblique.” She muttered, the weight on her back affecting her tone.

“Perhaps I was, yet I am still without an answer.”

“A Stallion.”

“And?”

Frustrated, Trixie deigned to list whatever she could think of off the top of her head. “He was either a patron of the tapestry market or a tapestry merchant himself. Maroon coat, Beige mane. Shorter than average but definitely a full-grown Stallion; the wrinkles of his face showed his age. There was something off about the way he walked. And… he… seemed grateful to you?” She offered, hoping that the list had been sufficient.

“Good.” Dagan said in a voice that suggested mere adequacy. “Now, what color were his eyes.”

Trixie grimaced, trying to visualize the brief few seconds. “I… I don’t know.”

“What was the signet around his right forehoof?”

“Wait-“ She barely had time to think before he’d already jumped to the next question

“What was the stand next to the tapestry merchant selling?”

“You can’t possibly expect-“

“I can and will.” For the first time of the morning, the monk stopped and turned to face her, eyes glittering in his hood. “If you cannot recall the simple details of a pony standing a foot away from you, how can you hope to spot an assassin, or catch the telltale shimmer of a cloaking spell? One does not find these things via spell or potion. One finds these things by looking. Too often individuals gifted in the arcane are undone by their own introspection. Attention to the outside world is vital. Power breeds enemies.”

“If that’s true, I should be surrounded by friends.” Trixie grumbled, downcast.

“For the moment,” Dagan shrugged, “all the more reason to practice while there’s time. First failure’s free, the next one costs you dinner.” The threat was accompanied with a cheery flash of teeth

It all struck Trixie as a bit self-important and paranoid, but she didn’t dare say so out loud. Even if there was some part of her that still wanted to argue, she quickly became too preoccupied trying to pick up every detail for fear of being tested to remember what she intended to argue about. Every colt, mare, and foal were effortlessly transformed into a latent threat, demanding focus and attention. As much as she disliked the game there was no arguing its effectiveness. Dagan tested her several more times, and the only detail she failed to replicate was the location of a crescent moon pendant, which he later admitted was secured out of sight around his own neck. (“Eyes are not the only tools with which one has too look,” he smirked.)

As they walked towards the Yoketo Post, the dusty brick roads slowly gave way to polished granite paths. The number of ponies compressed into one area felt much less dense, which at first appeared to be nothing more than the result of wider roads. The reality became more obvious when the average look of the populace itself began to shift. Well-groomed stallions escorted trophy-mares caked in makeup and clad in ceremonial yukatas. The merchants grew less excitable and outdoor focused, while the price of their wares increased exponentially. Every so often she caught a glimpse of a magnificent large building behind the others. While it was in many ways similar to the rest of the surrounding architecture, the gleaming golden roof left little room for doubt. Trixie had read more than enough about the capital over the years to recognize it for what it was.

“Is this… the Dynasty District?” She asked, fascinated

“It is indeed.”

“And what... is that” Trixie raised her nose, breathing in deeply There was an elusive perfume-like scent in the air. Irritatingly, she couldn’t quite narrow down what the smell was. It kept shifting and disappearing

“A good number of aromatic trees are raised and farmed in this district. You’d be surprised how big of a market there is, local and international. “

“For good smelling trees?”

“No, for incense.” Dagan corrected. “Burnable sticks that-“

“I know what incense is.” Trixie frowned, “Wait, isn’t incense kind of a monk thing?”

“Wrong monks.” He inclined his head slightly. “How’lin does have its own personal stock, but what we grow is intended for a very specific purpose… along with being significantly more potent.

Entering a small central plaza, they finally came in full view of the palace she’d been glimpsing through the buildings. Trixie’s jaw dropped. “Woah. For a place so ancient it looks like it was only built few years ago.”

“The renovations certainly go a long way in covering up old blood.” Dagan growled. “Its current ruler-“

“Empress Chii-Himei, the Bloody Lily.” A shiver racked her body, “But even the stories about her don’t raise a candle to the rumors about her fire and flame, Mar- ”

“-Best to not speak that name in this place,” Dagan interjected, with a quick glance to around to see if anypony had been in earshot. “Even if she has been gone for months, I'd rather avoid giving her the slightest excuse to come back.”

More than a touch concerned over the previous statement, she strained her neck trying to take in everything at once. A mare trotting by glared at them coldly. It was similar to the market district in the sense that they were still drawing stares, but the looks felt different than before. There was a certain understated malevolence in the air. Or perhaps she was simply worked up over the old stories and her mind was playing tricks.

Just as they’d finished their business at the post, the peace of the surrounding district was broken.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

It wasn’t an audible sound, rather, a rapid magical reverb she’d felt at the tip of her horn. She whipped around, ears standing on end. Moments later the sound of shattering glass was followed by an undeniably Equestrian screech of terror (“OH BAAAAAAAAALLS!”).

Dagan’s posture changed almost instantly. It was hard for Trixie to put her hoof on what it was that changed, but it did so drastically. He hugged the side of the building and stuck to shadows as he walked. There was a clever compromise in the prowl; it made him more difficult to see whilst still being casual enough to not appear suspicious if spotted. She actually lost track of him in a particularly dark passage as they made their way towards the source of the noise. The ground vibrated as a squad of heavily armored guards galloped past on the main road, parallel to the alley sidepath

“Brother Dagan?” She whispered

“Hush.” The low hiss came from below, crouched next to a decrepit fence and discarded barrel. He gestured silently for her to come closer, cold eyes staring through a gap in the boards. At first she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A group of guards walked along the palace moat, sticking their spears at anything that appeared to move (much to the terror of the local Koi.) Eventually her eyes caught movement about a hundred yards up the canal; a pony, sopping wet and obviously injured, had pulled herself onto the bank and was now limping towards the alley.

“She’s not going to make it.” Trixie realized. “…Why do you suppose she’s running?”

“A fleeing ember,” The words were marred with a thorough distaste. “Newly initiated, judging by the cloak. Not marked yet. If she’d made it to the temple we could have offered her sanctuary.”

Anypony who’d done basic research on the Hime Dynasty had heard more than a few sordid stories of the empress’ favorite toys. It was enough to make Trixie’s skin crawl. “What do we do?”

Within seconds the Diamond Dog’s look morphed from a somber expression to an odd smile “An excellent question. What will you do, Acolyte?”

This time Trixie audibly groaned. “Really?”

“Nothing like a good conundrum,” He continued, standing upright and rubbing his paws together with a look of smugness. “That pony is unimportant. You have your own agenda, and getting on the wrong side of the Empress isn’t going to make anything easier. She is, in essence, a sidestep.” His grin widened to Cheshire proportions as he continued to slowly walk backwards. “Every sidestep taken will move you further from your goal, some more than others. Not to mention, you know nothing about her. She could be a worthless individual. Perhaps she ran away because she was displeased with the Empress’ subpar dinner-wear. So what will it be acolyte? Will you save the pony, potentially putting your own goals at risk? Or will you walk away?”

The moment she realized he was intending to fade into the shadowy background, Trixie’s ire finally reared its head. “WHAT THE BUCK IS THIS? A CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE STORY?!” She shrieked incredulously, watching as Dagan put a finger to his lips before smoothly disappearing into the nothingness.

Worst. Mentor. Ever.

Another glance through the fence revealed that things were only getting progressively worse. She wanted to help desperately but couldn't think of a solution. Something was wrong with the unicorns leg, there was no way she’d be able to run. With so many guards they wouldn't be able to sneak out either. It was hopeless. Why did he just leave her alone? Why did everypony always just up and leave her alone? A wheezing breath was the only warning before she felt her joints locking up as they always did moments before a panic attack. She felt herself slowly begin to topple over.

***

Warmth.

Rays of sun peered through translucent curtains illuminating her tear-stained face. Trixie rolled over, levitating a soft feather pillow on top of her head. For the first time in her long seven years of performance, she had just been laughed off the stage. It was a single heckler, an awful, terrible stallion who had deemed himself as the self-important prophet of truth to her little sideshow.

On a whim, her hoof had landed on Mareheim as the place in which her tale would unfold, a village on the far west side of the Everfree Forest. It was a tiny thing on the edge of the Equestrian border, a place nopony in the audience was likely to be from. Or at least, that’s how it should have been. Then he had to go and ruin everything.

The door groaned open with a high-pitched whine and she felt herself jump, ever so slightly. Selfish as it was, she found herself hoping the intruder was not her sister, but braced her body anyway for the set of four hooves bouncing about her bed. A more substantial weight set down on the bed beside her. A tingly feeling in her horn alit just before calming tendrils stroked her hair, combing it gently.

Somehow it was worse. A sister she could simply bellow at, banishing from her room. Her mother would have the truth. She always did. With every comforting caress Trixie could feel her barriers breaking down.

“What’s bothering you my little pony?

”Nothing.”

“Something.” Mother would chide gently. “Cleo says you’ve been up in your room all day.” Mother was near-infinitely patient, waiting their quietly until her daughter was finally ready to speak.

“It’s just… I don’t like being called a liar. My lies don’t hurt anypony. They’re stories.”

“Of course they are. No one goes to a show and expects to be told the full truth. Even “true” stories always have a bit of poetic license involved.”

Trixie was trying to be strong, but she couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking. The stallion’s jeering face kept appearing behind her eyelids to mock her. “So why are some ponies so set on calling other ponies liars?” The rest of the account came out in a shamble of tears and anger. She recounted how he had laughed at her, shown every part of her story to be mere fabrication. ‘Mareheim’s never mined a day in its life, he’d mocked, when she told the story of how The Great and Powerful Trixie had saved the city from the Trolls and Gremlins below. By the time he was done the townfolk were laughing and all she could do was flee in tears.

All throughout the retelling her mother had continued to stroke her mane; every once in a while stopping in silent anger at a particularly embarrassing or hurtful part. She waited until Trixie was finished and her sobs had begun to subside to speak.

“Some ponies don’t like stories darling.”

“Why?”

“Oh, there are different reasons, but more often than not some part of them is deeply unhappy. Everypony grows up being told that they’re special, that they’re going to do big things, and that simply isn’t true. If everypony did big things, we wouldn’t think they were big, would we?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“And some ponies are so angered by this disappointment, so hardened by how they feel they’ve been cheated, they take it upon themselves to poke holes in any story that reminds them of how ordinary they are. Because it’s upsetting to them to hear that somepony else could truly be special. That’s a big part of why ponies gossip, and lie, and cheat. Jealousy.”

“So what do I do?” Trixie rolled over to take the hoof stroking her mane, holding it anxiously to her chest. “How do I stop them from hurting me?”

Mothers hoof traced the argyle pattern of the comforter idly. “It’s simple enough, I suppose. The best stories are those closest to the truth.”

Trixie felt her nose wrinkling. “But the truth is boring.”

A cloud crossed over the sun, casting eerie shadows throughout the room. A look of sorrow flitted across Mother’s face for a fraction of a second. “It is. But to properly tell a convincing story, one must know the truth of things better than anypony. The more truth you know, the cleverer the story, and the harder it is for somepony to refute. Once you’ve properly muddled truth and fiction it’s a simple matter of repetition.”

“Rep-iwhatsit?”

“Repetition. After researching the truth and deciding what parts of it to change, the best storytellers tell themselves their story is true over and over, until eventually, they themselves are certain the story is real. Then, they simply tell the truth.” A hoof tweaked Trixie’s nose playfully. “If you do it right, you’ll be so convinced that even when the most cynical pony questions you, you’ll give them a shadow of a doubt that, maybe, they’re wrong. And that shadow of a doubt is all you’ll need.

Trixie’s heart raced a mile a minute. She rolled off her bed to retrieve her notepad, eager to write down the advice and put it into practice as soon as possible. But something her mother had said suddenly clicked into place, happiness faulting into concern. She placed the notepad and feather back on the desk with a careful thud as turned to ask one last question.

“Mom. You said some ponies are bitter because they’re lied to. About being special.”

“I did.”

“But you tell me I’m special all the time. Is that true?” It was a question with no sure answer.

Her mother smiled, rising from her bed and trotting over. Blonde locks obscured her vision as the older pony leaned down to grace her forehead with a kiss. “I would never lie to you dear. You are meant for great things. Amazing things. Your Father and I both knew before you were born. You’re going to change world, darling…

One way or another.”

Trixie’s eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks. She could feel her pulse in her neck, her chest, rumbling at the base of her skull. Her course of action was suddenly crystal clear. A shadow of a doubt is all you’ll need. The alley filled with a warm tinge of blue as she began to work swiftly, beginning with a few key alterations to her appearance. Once she was in costume, it was all a matter of props. Cloak, Cutie mark… Now where are those tomatoes?

***

Vinyl’s escape hadn’t gone terribly well in the same manner funerals aren’t terribly funny. The tiny, extremely marginal upside was that she had in fact landed on soft grass. The downside was that it was nearly a four story plunge, and while the bank was soft and angled she had badly sprained (if not broken) her back hoof on landing, knocked the air out of her lungs and picked up speed on the decline before coming into contact with the sole boulder of the hill, which had, for some reason, taken a strong dislike to the smooth, intact nature of the back of her head. From there she had rolled into a moat where the Koi were obviously trained to nibble on bleeding ponies, nearly drowned, and somehow made it to the alley she figured she was probably going to die in.

At first, she thought her life was flashing in front of her eyes. The first miniature figure that approached her was her father, clad in silver armor and a stony disposition. Trotting up in the stiff uniform manner she remembered from long ago, he stopped in front of her just long enough to give a disapproving glance and turned to leave, tiny tail somehow seeming equally judgemental. Only he could be so small and still look down on me. A miniature version of her mother trotted up next and took her foreleg tearily in both hoofs before letting go, trotting away despondent before Vinyl acquired the mental acuity to speak. It wasn’t until the red, anthropomorphized canteen walked by and gave her a thumbs up that Vinyl reached back to feel the now softball sized bump on her head and realized she was probably hallucinating.

“Pssst. Wake up.”

Seeing as how the last two figures had been her parents and assuming the red thing had been a fluke, Vinyl was fairly certain she knew who this next one was. The last pony she wanted to see. “Go away ‘Tavi, it’s too late. I don’t want your pity.” I can just see her there, sticking her lip out… but Vinyl suddenly realized she couldn’t. After near endless line of grey and black ponies, somewhere along the way their faces had all muddied together and she couldn’t remember what Octavia looked like. She opened her eyes in a panic just in time to see the hoof come down.

SLAP

“Ow! I’m awake, I’m awake- you” She stopped, confused at the face above hers. “You aren’t ‘Tavi.”

“I’m Trixie.”

“What?” Vinyl snickered loopily, “Are you clever or something?”

When the unicorn only stared blankly in response, Vinyl wondered if the head injury was affecting her sense of humor.

“I’m here to save you.” ‘Trixie’ said flatly, and Vinyl found herself wondering if her newfound friend was an angel. She certainly looked the part of cherub in disguise: wavy white hair, almost colorless blue eyes and an orange cloak the color of the sunset. All she was missing was a halo. However, this was around the time that Vinyl remembered she did not believe in angels and snapped her eyes shut once more.

“Nope. Can’t be real. You’re just going to up and disappear like my parents and that walking canteen.”

“Oh boo hoo, like you’re the only one in the known world with unresolved parental issues,” The angel snorted, understandably missing the context. “Tell me, if I’m not real could I do this?”

In a moment of freak clairvoyance, Vinyl could see the hoof pulling back and opened her eyes to defend herself. “Okay, okay, you’re real!” She admitted loudly. The other unicorn (Trixie, was it?) shushed her furiously and lowered her hoof.”

“Let’s get down to brass tacks. Regardless of what you’ve done to get here, I assume you don’t want to be the Empress’ plaything for the rest of your life?”

Somehow, the harsh words cut through her thin veil of fog. Just thinking about the Empress’ emotionless gold eyes was enough to make her skin crawl. “…No. No I don’t.” Vinyl said, finding herself the most lucid she’d been in months. “But I don’t exactly see a good way out of this. There’s a lot of them, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I have a plan. But…”

“But?”

“You’re going to have to trust me, and play along.” Trixie’s eyes were moving back and forth as she spoke as if her mind were somewhere else entirely.

“Not like I have a choice. What do I have to do?” Vinyl winced as she struggled her way up to a sitting position. What looked like a modified saddle bag was placed around her waist

“Wear this. And look scared.”

Vinyl had less than a second to ponder the instructions before she was tossed from her hiding place into plain view in the middle of the street. Despite a relatively soft landing, lights and dots swam in front of her vision on impact. A foreleg went up to shield her face from the sudden brightness of the sun. Surprised shouts sounded from either side were followed by the sound of galloping hooves and clanking armor, rectifying any doubt of whether she’d been spotted. Helpless and confused, she looked back to the alleyway waiting for her eyes to adjust.

A single hoof stepped out of the dark alley methodically, followed by a second. Vinyl’s blood went cold. As a dark cloud covered the sun, the pony she had thought to be her savior stepped towards her. Technically nothing had changed, same colors, same frame… but her eyes… her eyes were the stuff of nightmares. There was no trace of the concern or frustrated compassion that had been there mere moments before. It was like looking into an abyss frothing with more loathing and hatred than she could possibly to imagine, yet somehow worse. Step by unhurried step the mare that had called herself Trixie grew closer, lips pulled taut in a wide smile that whispered of madness. Vinyl would have run to the guards and begged them to take her back had she not been paralyzed by the display. Then again, seeing as how the surrounding guards seemed as terrified as she was, they probably wouldn’t have been much help.

After what felt like an eternity the unicorn reached her, putting a hoof that felt as if it’d been dipped in ice on her chest. Her lips quivered as Trixie leaned downward, face unchanging, leer growing more and more disturbing. This was not the same pony she’d spoken to in the alley. It simply couldn’t be. When Trixie finally spoke the voice was low and monotone, occasional alterations of pitch giving it an almost alien quality. “YoU ThInK… YoU CaN DiRtY mY EmPrEsS… ThE fLaMe Of My FlAmE… AnD jUsT dIsCaRd HeR LiKe SoMe ReD DiStRiCt… DiSeAsE rIdDeN… CoMpAnIoN MaRe?”

The pure threat in the voice broke Vinyl’s momentarily paralysis fight or flight to kick in on full “flight.” All four legs pinwheeled to no avail, cries of “LEGOLEGOLEGO” suddenly silenced with a flash of lightning followed by a monstrous roar of thunder.

“YoU… DoN’t KnOw WhO I aM… Do YoU?” Somehow, the demon’s already freakishly wide smile managed to grow wider. Vinyl couldn’t speak, only quiver; It was like all the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the circle of guards that now incased them. The demon looked down and underwent an almost seizure-esque convulsion. “Huhu. Huhuhahu.” Its cackle started small and steadily grew into a sickening guffaw. “HuHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH HAH Hah aha ahm hee… hee… ho… ho… ho…” Raising a foreleg to wipe the spittle from its mouth, it leered down at her, once more extending the awkward silence.

Vinyl was only vaguely aware of the throng of guards around them. She heard one whisper in the pause, “Shouldn’t we-“

Another guard shushed him violently. “Quiet idiot. Look at her mark.” Vinyl twisted to get a look. On her flank was a rabid looking Hyena in mid-cackle. It didn't mean anything to her personally. Regardless, was without a doubt the most disconcerting Cutie mark she’d ever seen.”

“Nah. Ah. My EyEs aRe Up… HeRe.” Everything else disappeared from her mind as it started to speak and she was helplessly pulled back into its gaze. “My name Is Mildred the Maleficent, but you,” she tapped a new rib with each title, “may call me: Miss, Ma’am, Milady, Mistress, Miss Mildred, Mistress Maleficent, or My Goddess if you’re feeling mirthful and moderately milquetoast.” The circle of guards around them seemed to visibly recoil in response.

“Didn’t her mane used to be black though?” The dumbest pony in the Yoketo Guard wondered aloud, only to be shushed in panicked unison by every guard in the circle.

“Whooooo said that?” Mildred hissed, staring directly at the guards for the first time, “I’ll have him next.”

There was a slight shuffling of hooves as the guards nervously tried to hide behind each other like foals huddling together. The collective response was a jumbling overlap of various low mumblings. “Nopony… what… naw… it looks good, better even… white’s in this year… totally kawai… still some black in it… we really don’t taste good…”

“May I have the speaking stick now?” Mildred asked in sickeningly sweet tone. The guards nodded their immediate support and began looking around in case she was being literal and there was an actual speaking stick… all except one.

The dumbest pony in the honor guard stepped out of the protective huddle, nearly staggering as three of four sets of teeth tried to pull him back by the tail. “Mare-eater Mild-“ He was immediately interrupted by the entire circle of guards erupting in random combination of “Humanahumanahumana’s” “Kahkaw, Kakaws,” and “LADEE-LADEEDEELADEEDA’s” in a chaotic attempt to cover up what, judging by their panic, was a life altering faux pas. Instead of retreating into the circle, the stallion who was now being considered for the Dumbest Guard in the Known World award cleared his throat and tried once more while Midred’s gaze calmly burned a hole in his forehead. “Miss Mildred. We were instructed to bring this pony back to the palace so the empress could decide her fate… I don’t mean to interrupt you… but… “

Mildred leaned down, nose almost touching Vinyl’s. “Now. You be a good little pony, and stay.” The last word was spoken in the sort of happy force tone one would use to train a dog – Though Vinyl imagined if Mildred had ever had a dog, it hadn’t “stayed” anywhere on any plane of existence for very long. With a crack of her neck and a stretch, the demon raised herself to full height, looking the guard up and down with fake interest. “You fascinate me ser. Please, come closer.” Somehow the completely normal tone of voice was more frightening than the inequine inflection had been. The guard, who was perhaps now realizing he should have kept his big mouth shut, took a very slow, half step forward. “Cloooser.” Another half step. “A little mooore.” A somehow even smaller step. “now, remove your mask.” The earth pony removed his mask, entire body trembling.

A red glow originating from Mildred’s horn levitated the mask and placed it on top of her upward facing foreleg. She cocked her head, still leering at the guard before bending down and biting off one of the metal helmets ears before bringing her head back up, never breaking eye contact. “And here you are. Now, I’ll now your face and your helmet. Wherever you go, wherever you’re assigned, I’ll always be able to find… you.” The guard replaced the maimed helmet back on his head, shivering.

Strangely, Vinyl was almost certain she’d seen a flash of light when Mildred bit down.

“Now, Suuuurely I’ve not been gone for so long that you’ve all forgotten my position here. I am the flame of the Hime Dynasty, the keeper of the hearth, and the ward of embers. What does that mean little guard?” She asked, casting a crooked smile in the direction of the shaking pony.

“It means… y-y-y-y-ou, y-y-y- you’re – the … the… buh… buh..”

“Bu-bu-boss. She’s the bu-bu-boss.” One of the other guards whispered emphatically

“You’re the b-b-b-b-bub-boss.”

“Cooooorrect. Bravo.” Mildred waked around the circle, animated her story vividly. “I was on my way back here when I was thinking to myself; I’m finally home, a little peckish; Haven’t had anything since that duck I found wandering around in the middle of nowhere – and come on, that’s really more of a itty bitty appetizer – then suddenly it hits me: it’s been soooo long since I’ve had a guard – “ She paused with a sudden glare, as if daring anypony to laugh. “to. eat. Just to be clear. But every one of you I stalked in the shadows was too busy running about like a foal with its head cut off to pay attention to me!”

A small spout of half-hearted apologies were uttered.

“I… know! Ridiculous. But then I got word of this juicy little ember with the spine to defy the Empress, and do you know what I thought?”

“ …What a terrible life decision?” offered one of the guards quietly after an extended period of silence.

Mildred’s head whipped back around to the unicorn at her hooves, and deep within those dilated pupils, each the size of satanic gumball, Vinyl was certain she saw the flames of tartarus itself. “TRAITOR. SOUNDS. FABULOUS” The cackling started again as Vinyl was picked up by her back two hooves and swung around like string less piñata, her ears popping before she felt the force of magic bring her down like a sledgehammer. She closed her eyes, waiting for the skull-popping impact-

-Which somehow never came. Despite the incredible force with which she was swung downward onto what should have been stone, there was no pain, not even the slightest thud. Instead, it was like landing in the world’s biggest waterbed. For a moment she wondered if she died on impact before daring to open her eyes. Mildred’s look of mania was still preserved on her face, save a single eyebrow that was bobbing up and down like a pen in an earthquake.

Oh. It suddenly occurred to Vinyl that she was previously instructed to act. She spasmed, flailing her forelegs outward and banging her head against the ground. It would have been an incredibly convincing performance, had it come on time.

As a unit, the guards began to slowly back away.

“Did you see…”

“She was slammed so hard, it took her that long to feel it?

“Empress save us all…”

Once more Vinyl’s back legs were magically pulled out from under her as her body gyrated around; She caught Mild – No, it’s Trixie, stop calling her Mildred – Trixie’s eye in midair again with a look that said “once more with FEELING.” The unicorn brought her down hard.

In a moment of poetry in motion, Vinyl sold it like dubstep: She froze on impact, mouth wide open and forelegs straight up. Every second she would jolt closer to the ground only to stop.

Until. She. Finally. Let. The. Beat. Drop

BOOM

Her head fake-slammed against the ground, tongue lolling out, eyes crossed.

“Th-They’re, THEY’RE BREAKING DOWN REALITY!” A couple guards ran away screaming. Vinyl was tossed into the alley as the rest were nervously deciding if it would be worse if they ran or stayed. Trixie landed squarely on top of her, eyes less wild now that her back was to the rest of them. Her position squarely blocked the view of the guards from seeing Vinyl directly. Trixie removed two of the altered, now dark red, pressurized tomatoes from the saddle bag and placed them on the unicorn’s stomach. With a feigned vicious looking tear motion the fruit exploded, sending it’s dyed content upward in a fleshy geyser as Trixie raised her fore hooves to sky and opened her mouth. “Sooooo goood.”

Vinyl added her own two bits. “Oh, no, I’m being torn apart!: (It didn’t sound nearly as dramatic as it had in her head.)

The galloping of hooves and squealing of full grown stallions signaled that most of the group had finally left (“SHEEEEE’S A MOOOOOOONSTER!”)

The world’s – No, The Universe’s Dumbest Guard remained at the end of the alley, paralyzed with fear. Vinyl could tell judging from the exhausted look on Trixie’s face that she was close to running out of material. The tip of a potato sticking out of the saddlebag caught her eye; she lifted it, some small part of herself still annoyed with the large amount of energy it took her to move something so small, and passed it off to Trixie who looked at her quizzically.

“Spleen” She whispered. The other mare shrugged and dug her head into the potato.

“OH CELESTIA, NOT THE SPLEEN!”

“HER SPLEEN?!” Shrieked Universe’s Dumbest Guard.

“MY SPLEEN!” Trixie roared.

After a few moments Vinyl stopped flailing and went limp. Trixie took a few disturbing sounding bites and turned, placing the nibbled on potato soaked in tomato juice in full view of the Universe’s Dumbest Guard, preparing for the coup de grace of her performance.

Mildred Looked between Guard and Potato several times before she finally let out a shrill, girlish giggle.

“HaLfSiEs?”

It took approximately 3.7 seconds for Universe’s Dumbest Guard to do the smartest thing he’d ever done: He galloped away, screaming bloody murder before running head first into the nearest wall.

***

The How’lin monk watched grimly from the rooftop above as Trixie and the other unicorn collapsed next to each other. Dagan wasn’t a particularly lax teacher, but even he understood the difference between a difficult task and an impossible one. Both were tools with different uses: difficult tasks built perseverance, impossible ones revealed character. He knew from his short time of observation that Trixie could barely lift anything bigger than a pony. He knew she was short-tempered. He knew she wasn’t brilliant and had a tendency to panic. Yet he had watched, ready to swoop down and grab them, smokebomb in paw, as Trixie had taken on an impossible task as if it were merely difficult. The method bothered him, yes: it was anything but subtle, crude, and more than a little disturbing - He still wasn’t sure how she’d picked up on Mildred’s schizophrenic diction: as far as he knew it had never been documented - What truly concerned him was how she had gone so far for a pony she’d never met before. A certain mixing of morality that didn’t set right.

In his experience, it was always the naive, inexperienced ones who were willing to dive in and play hero and as a result, always ended up in over their heads. The corrupted ones, the ones like Trixie, those able to utilize abilities with such a strong undertone of darkness didn’t bother, they tended to be completely self centered - and he didn’t buy that her darkness was simply an act. Nopony is that committed to a role, and he had seen the genuine article far too many times to be fooled by a counterfeit. The bottomless rage, the hint of insanity, they were both real.

The true paradox was that she had never shown an inch of it in training.. Not the morning before when the weapons master was tossing her around like a ragdoll to the point she had to stay in the Sanare pool nearly the entire day while half her bones mended, Not during the initial climbs, which were infuriating to anyone.

He couldn’t get his head around it, that the only time she had allowed that terrifying darkness loose was for a moment of simple kindness.

The monk shook his head. He would have to push her hard to test the waters. Incredibly hard.

But what if she didn’t break? What if she didn’t surrender to the temptations within? What would such a pony be capable of in the future?

An unfamiliar, prickling sensation started at the base of his shoulders and worked its way up his neck. It took a long time recognize the emotion, a feeling the esteemed Brother Dagan of the How’lin monks had not felt in quite some time:

Fear

***

AN:Um. yeah. I'm not sure I've ever written such a tonally bipolar chapter of anything before. It was fun to write, it just got way out of control The comedy and drama elements kinda got all smashed together and mixed up, and scenes I thought would be serious ended up funny, (I hope), and Vice Versa (I hope). As a side note, I realize I kind of put a giant Chekhov's gun on the table with Trixie's Mildred interpretation and I just want to be clear, if I do introduce Mildred she won't be nearly as disturbing as Trixie's characterization made her out to be. Consider that interpretation just taken from the "rumors" and "stories" of Mildred, many of which are likely hugely exaggerated or untrue. Anyway I have no idea what to think of this chapter, so I look forward to your comments.