The Convoluted Life of Gleaming Shield

“Oi! Open up!” Standing on the porch, Gleaming knocked on the reinforced door. The evening air was chilly, and Gleaming fought off the cold with a green scarf accompanied this time by a baggy purple sweater. A large, flat box floated beside her head, held in her magic.

When nopony answered the summonings, she banged even harder. “Oh, come on! I know you’re in there! Be a sis and open up already!” As she waited, she glanced around at the surroundings.

Located on the edge of Lower Cantlerot, the house certainly looked the part. Borderline derelict, the beige siding—which had originally been white—was rotting away while dozens of shingles had fallen from the roof. They lay scattered about the house, hidden among the jungle of vegetation that was retaking the yard. The fence was almost nonexistent.

Sighing heavily, Gleaming tried to peer into one of the ground floor windows. Unfortunately, a thick curtain blocked the view, although the glass was so dirty that it wouldn’t have made a difference if the curtain was there or not.

“This is ridiculous,” Gleaming muttered under her breath before pounding on the door again. “I know you’re in there, dweeb! Open the bucking door!”

Nothing.

“You know it’s me. Open up! I need your help.”

Still nothing.

“Open the bucking door right now or so help me Celestia, I’ll…” When the door remained closed, Gleaming sighed again. “Alright, fine. Have it your way.” Her horn started to glow brighter. Before she could cast any spells though, a small slot in the door opened, right at eye level.

A single eye glared at her. “What do you want?”

“I need your help,” Gleaming answered. “It’s… important.”

“Are you alone?”

Gleaming deadpanned. “Aren’t I always?”

The eye narrowed. “Why should I help you?”

Horn glowing, Gleaming lifted the box into view. “I brought tribute.”

The slot slammed shut and a moment later the sound of multiple locks being disengaged came from the other side. After about half a minute, the door was flung open.

A lanky mare stood in the open doorway, her beige coat as stained as the threadbare sweater she was wearing. Her long maroon mane was in a similar state, the strands coated in grease and ending in horrible split ends. Her bangs were parted evenly down the middle by a small, stubby horn. A pair of taped-together glasses were perched atop her pimple-covered muzzle. But the pièce de résistance was the tinfoil cap that was located on the top of her head.

Information broker (and local conspiracy nut), String Board.

“What is tribute?” the mare asked, keeping herself in the shadow of the door frame. Her eyes darted around the yard quickly before returning to the box floating beside Gleaming.

“Nice to see you too, String,” Gleaming said. “How are you doing? How’s your sister? Been busy lately?”

“What is tribute?” String took a step forward, yet refused to leave the safety of the home.

Gleaming rolled her eyes. “Good talk.” Still, she levitated the box over to String, who immediately tore it from Gleaming’s magic. Her eyes still locked on Gleaming, she ripped the lid off the box, revealing a large, steaming pizza inside.

“Aaah,” String purred. “Yes, good. Pineapple. A mare of quality, I see.”

“Oh, shut up,” Gleaming grunted. “It literally made me sick just asking for it. And I had to smell it all the way here. Now, are you going to let me in or not?”

“Fine, but be quick about it,” String hissed. She motioned behind Gleaming with a nod of her head. “I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Gleaming sighed. “String, that’s a tree.”

“That’s what she wants you to think,” String whispered before disappearing into the shadows inside.

Gleaming looked back at the tree again—which was decidedly not a mare—before shaking her head and following after the retreating pony. As the door closed behind her, all the locks reengaged themselves automatically.

The inside of the house was about as pleasant as the outside. It was gloomy and dark and smelled like unwashed pony and stale cheese puffs. Gleaming had to light up her horn in order to prevent herself from tripping over the various trappings that lay discarded about the place.

Following String Board further inside to the kitchen, she stepped gingerly over a tripwire attached to a bunch of empty cans. “I see you’re still as paranoid as ever.”

“I’m not paranoid,” String Board sniffed. “I’m informed.” Taking a few pieces of pizza out of the box, she stuffed them into a blender she had pulled out of a cupboard. “And that’s more than I can say about you,” she shot over her shoulder before turning the machine on.

Gleaming said nothing as the blades whirred loudly.

Once the pizza was liquefied, String Board poured it into a large, stained styrofoam cup. She added a thick straw and a bent spoon before placing the cup next to a closed door.

“Hey, Floor! Wake up. Dinner’s here!” she called out, knocking loudly on the door. Not waiting for an answer, she returned to the box and began picking out her own pieces.

“Look,” Gleaming sighed, “are you going to help me out or not?”

Cheeks bulging with pizza, String stared coolly at Gleaming as she chewed. It was a slow chew, the kind of chewing one does when they try to look serious but just end up looking like a cow.

“Fine,” she said eventually after swallowing. “Step into my office.” Grabbing the remaining pizza in her magic, String exited the kitchen and headed off down the hall.

Gleaming started to follow but paused long enough to watch as the closed door slowly opened and a small, cheese dust-covered hoof reached out and grabbed the styrofoam cup of pizza juice. “Hi, Floor.”

“Meep!”

“How are you?”

“G-aaah, uh… um…”

“That’s nice.”

“H-uh… uh… uh…”

“Enjoy the pizza.” Leaving the trembling, heavy-breathing hoof to its meal, Gleaming made her way to String’s office.

As she entered, a tinfoil hat was shoved atop her head. “Wha… really? Do I have to?” She gave String a deadpan look, who just replied with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, fine. Whatever.” Readjusting the ‘hat’, she glanced around.

Large cork boards covered all four walls, each one covered in hundreds of newspaper clippings, pictures, drawings, and scrolls. Red and blue strings ran throughout the room, creating a chaotic spider web of connections. They mostly congregated around the same board, but occasionally a string would jump from one board to another one across the room. In this instance, they hung in the air, looking like a poor mare’s party streamer.

Eyes drifting to the nearest board, Gleaming snorted. “Oh come on!” The board was almost hidden behind a plethora of pictures and clips, most of which had two things in common: the Empress and a bunch of black figures with glowing eyes.

Turning to String, Gleaming gave her a lopsided smile. “I can’t believe you’re still going on about this.”

“And I can’t believe I’m still letting you into the house if I’m being honest, yet here we are,” String Board said as she collapsed into an old, worn-out swivel chair. Pieces of pizza orbited her head, and she took a chunk out of one as it passed her muzzle. “I know we’ve known each other for years,” she continued around a mouthful of food, “but with you being in the guard and all… it’s too risky. I shouldn’t have let you in.”

“And I keep telling you that your theory is stupid,” Gleaming countered, motioning towards the board.

“And I keep telling you that when the Empress turns out to be a changeling queen in disguise, I’m going to be rubbing it in everypony’s faces so hard,” String snapped back before taking another huge bite of pizza. “Now—” bits of food flew from her stained muzzle “—what is so important?”

“Okay, so…” Stepping forward, Gleaming pulled her sweater over her head before standing up on her hind legs, placing her hoof on the ceiling for support. She motioned towards the glowing mark about her crotch. “Do you know what this is?”

“A horrible decision you made during one of your sleep-deprived episodes?” String offered.

Gleaming blushed. “W-what? No! That was only one time, and we swore we’d never speak of it again!”

“I don’t th—”

“Never again!”

“Okay, fine. Fine. Keep your tits on.” String’s glasses glinted with pink light as she leaned forward, ears perked. “Fascinating,” she muttered as she studied the mark.

Craning her neck down, Gleaming did the same. It was a little difficult with her upside-down view, but the mark looked roughly the same as it had in the mirror. Centered above her teats, the rune glowed bright pink. It looked like a cross of a heart and a uterus, with bat-like wings as the fallopian tubes. Two small hearts acted as the ovaries.

String Board studied the mark for a while before sitting back in her chair. “Well—” she nommed on a pizza as it floated past “—it doesn’t ring any bells to me at the moment. Maybe if I had some more information? How exactly did you acquire said… tramp stamp?”

“Okay, first of all, buck you,” Gleaming growled as she dropped back down onto all fours. “And second of all, it’s a bit of a story.” And so she told String what had transpired, from her arriving at work to her waking up in the glue factory. She left some details out but kept the important bits in. Through it all, String listened quietly as she whittled down the cloud of pizza.

When Gleaming had finished, String nodded slowly. “Well… I don’t know what that is,” she said, indicating the pink glow coming from beneath Gleaming, “so I can’t help you there. However, I do know what the symbol you saw on the pony’s mask is.”

“Wait? You do?” Gleaming asked, surprised.

“If your description is accurate, yes. I’m familiar with it,” String said. She was rooting around a small bookcase behind her desk. Pulling out different books, she studied the covers before tossing them onto her bed. “It sounds like it’s been modernized, but it should still be the same. It’s an old symbol, one used by a group of individuals with unique views and beliefs.”

“A cult, then,” Gleaming said. “Great. An ancient cult broke into the Royal Vaults and beat my flank. Terrific.”

“Not just any ancient cult,” String said. Turning back to Gleaming, she opened a large, worn tome in her lap. “The ancient cult. The first cult. The cult that started it all. The cult to end all cults.

“The Cult of Primae Noctis.”