An Equestrian Rogue

Canterlot.

The shimmering city up on a mountain. A white city with decorated gold and purple trim. It screamed royalty quite literally to the heavens its spires threatened to reach out and touch. Every facet of the city was to be unicorn perfection. Even the slums seemed to sparkle with iridescent hints of magic.

It was said if you couldn’t make it in Canterlot, then you weren’t of the elite, and should try your luck in Manehattan. It was the city that everyone wanted to be inside of. The city where a pony’s dreams could be made. It didn’t matter where you hailed from, so long as you did your best and put the values of ponykind first, then you were sure to be rewarded. Stories churned of how it was utopia where benevolent rulers sat within their ivory towers, bequeathing unto ponykind the blessings of day and night.

There was no crime. There was no intolerance. No hatred of any kind. Not even the poor or lower class existed in Canterlot. It was far too blessed for such things.

Thorne was disgusted by what he saw.

He could see it in the way the ponies carried themselves. This arrogance that flowed from their motions that told the human eye that they were trying too hard to impress everyone around them. Thorne had equated it to show-ponies. A sin circus that held deep and repressive natures under the surface, all of it hidden behind fashionable clothing and bountiful manestyles.

He could feel their eyes upon him as he trudged the streets. Again, they were clean and tidy--something that was almost unnerving. A thought went shooting across his mind that he was the trash on the streets. That was the oppressive nature of the city, he assured himself.

Thorne had felt oppressed since he stepped off the train. Like every eye was judging him--demanding perfection from him. It was a strange sensation; a sensation that he wouldn’t have paid any mind too, yet he did. For some reason, it held his stomach in a knot. Such a thing wasn’t foreign to him and he had dealt with it before.

He thought back to when he received that letter--one from a flashy pegasus with the royal stamp of approval, both on his armor and the message he carried. Once he had gotten his summons, he then went to address the guards that were tailing him and asked for an escort to the royal city. They were almost too happy to oblige. It had been a solid three day ride within the confines of a train car. It was small and cramped--triggering a hint of claustrophobia within the man.

He had asked the guards about the city since they were eager to travel with him as escorts. Nothing was held back as they spoke about the city in a manner that had given Thorne the idea that the city was perfect. They had heaped praise upon praise upon the city, insisting it was the height of everything. Thorne could now see why. It was a shimmering jewel to the untrained eye.

To the conceited and distrustful eye, it was a cesspit of racial hatred that was one lit fuse away from exploding. To the mobster’s eye, it was a city in need of extortion. To the thief’s eye, it was a target rich environment. To the soldier’s eye, it was a fortified mountain position with few escape vectors unless you were winged--or had access to airships.

Something else Thorne had learned was that Canterlot was recently besieged via the air. By one single airship. He wondered if he would be able to get an airship the moment he heard the stories. He even began sketching a design for one in his book as the guards began regaling him with the tale of the Storm King and Tempest Shadow.

Canterlot was a varied city to a lot of discerning eyes, yet to his eyes, it was also full of boundless hope. There was arrogance and old hatreds that still stirred, but it held with it a promise of something more. Something more grand and pure. Intangible but well within the hooves of those who could seek out what it was they were hoping to grasp at. There were many pockets lined with bits and while some were eager to keep it to themselves, others weren’t concerned about the material wealth. The ‘better-than-everypony-else’ stance that ponies took was simply a coping mechanism that they had adopted in order to insure their own weakness against a city that threatened to take everything.

And they had good reason to fear the city. At the pinnacle was royalty. Two ‘alicorns’. Thorne had gotten over the existential crisis upon learning that ‘alicorns’ possessed incredible magic--meaning a horn--and a pair of beautiful wings. They also had the third trait relegated to earth ponies: strength. They were a combination of all three and that was the reason they sat at the peak of pony society.

Thorne had been correct. He was about to throw a punch at gods. Only now did the irony sit in and he had not found it so amusing.

Still, he was disgusted. He couldn’t shake the feeling. He had seen the pinnacle and the pit in one fell swoop and he understood it. But it didn’t do anything to alleviate the feeling. They had places like that back home--every major city was this grand show of ‘everything good, everything bad’. This one was no different.

Yet it felt different. Not because of the denizens, but because of how similar it was. And he surmised that was why he couldn’t shake the feeling he had. He had already notched off his belt with his talk with Page Turner that ponies and humans were similar, but now it was getting to a level of discomfort. But with that revelation, he also came to understand that this world was full of hope and harmony--something easily seen. It had charm and style, but it also hid old scars. Scars that were easily picked at.

In truth, Thorne, as he walked the city, came to the conclusion that this world was much like his own and that is what disgusted him. That these weren’t just animals. Nor were they humans. But they deserved the respect that he would give to humanity. Cunning and cruel monsters humanity could be, but full of potential for more. Creatures that deserved to be saved and safe-guarded. A race that constantly took missteps but tried to do better with each attempt forward.

Now, looking at the grand city of Canterlot, Thorne could see the same traits in the ponies.

He stopped in his walk through the market street that was a lower rung but led to the castle proper. He decided to lean against a lamp post and just pony-watch for a moment. He wanted that feeling to fade. Upon seeing the citizenry going about their days, it made the feeling worsen. It made him grit his teeth.

‘It just reminds me of home. That is all it is. If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I could find shady business dealings. Crimes. Criminals. This city isn’t perfect like they said. Nothing is… They’re simply stuck-up ponies going about their business. They’re stuck-up because they’re in a city that turns you into such a thing. You have to be in order to survive.’

His mind began to race. He shut his eyes and began to contemplate.

‘Maybe it’s the overabundance of magic. Maybe it’s the mountain air. Lack of clothing? The bright whites of the city? The odd but colorful spires? My devious nature getting the better of me and wanting to go thieving? Maybe--!’

The sudden cry of a foal brought him from his ruminations. He shot his eyes about, glancing at where the cry had originated. A second shout brought his eyes up. Then there was a mild panic of ponies that were scrambling to try and help, but couldn’t find the source.

It looked as though a small bat was plummeting to the ground. Immediately the human sprung into action, his golden eyes going from the ground where the thing was speeding toward to the small thing itself. In a mad dash, Thorne took off.

He leapt over ponies with steady breathing. Footfalls slammed into the concrete with enough force to launch him forward with fervor. He jumped up onto a table and began to sprint over the open café area, disturbing the meals of several who were awestruck by the sight of a falling foal. Several pegasi had begun to try and catch the screaming blue ball of fur and bat-wings, but each attempt was met with either them being too slow or their target being too panicked.

Thorne managed to land and roll off the last table in the row and continue his marathon sprint. The analytics in his mind told him that he was going to have to dive for it or he would be too slow. A brief flash of a broken child’s body splattered against the pavement appeared in his head and his inner monologue snarled in rage.

‘You can make it damn it! Come on!’ He spurred himself onward.

In the final feet before the ground and Thorne’s dash, the human sprung off the pavement with as much force as he could muster, spreading his arms out in front of him. The midnight blue blur was suddenly grabbed in the human's arms and brought swiftly to the chest of the soaring creature, moments before the foal hit the ground. Now, instead, Thorne was continuing his momentum.

He tucked himself into a ball around the small foal, protecting it with every fiber of his being as his human body became a fleshy shield against the concrete. Thorne skidded onto his shoulder and then went rolling several times down the slope until the momentum ceased. He groaned out in pain but swiftly sat up.

In his arms was a crying bat. Or what he thought was a bat, until he got a less world-spun look at the foal. It was a batpony. Thorne instinctively hugged the foal.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. No need for tears.” He stroked the mane of the little colt, his eyes starting to look at those gathered. Soft gasps and mutterings began to erupt from the ponies that gathered around. Thorne sighed and looked back down to the child. “I know it was scary but you’re alright. You can stop the waterworks. Seriously, kid, this is my only change of clothes right now…”

Thorne gave a soft chuckle. Surprisingly that got a mild snort from the midnight blue foal in his arms. Thorne released him from the hug and shifted slightly, wincing in pain. His eyes looked about one more time. Finally, something began to budge through the crowd, shoving ponies aside.

“Let me through! That’s my son!” A mare cried out. The crowd parted and out stepped another batpony, this one decked in midnight blue armor. She had a perfect Canterlot accent, despite the fangs that were presently protruding from her muzzle. She was ashen gray in her coat--a thick coating that was probably torture in the summer heat. Hidden under the armor was her short mane, though flakes of gold peered from under the helmet that obscured it. A glance over her frame showed no cutie mark for the armor covering it, but her tail was obsidian black with gold at the tip. Thorne had a brief flash of ‘frosted-tips’ go sailing through his mind, making him smirk. A pair of sunglasses protected her eyes, though from her face, Thorne could read the distraught mother’s panic like a book.

Thorne noticed the little one in his arms also had a pair on. “Momma!” The colt shouted and his mother came rushing to the foal that sat in Thorne’s lap. Once he felt confident, he stepped out and the two embraced. Thorne, however, sat there. “Anypony a medic? I could use a touch up… That hurt…”

Another pony stepped forward and smiled, lighting their horn and touching it to Thorne’s mildly bleeding shoulder. At that, the mother looked to Thorne and nodded. “Thank you so much, Thorne.”

“Ah, my reputation follows me. Makes my heart sing in joy knowing that everypony reads the paper,” Thorne said with a soft smile. “So what happened, if I might ask? You look like a royal guard, but uh… Night version?”

The mare laughed. “Night Guard is correct… My son and I were on our way to the castle after being woken up so early.”

Thorne gave another twitch and a glance to the pony casting the cantrip. A rather rough-and-tumble construction worker stallion that looked like the reason he knew a medical cantrip was because of on-site mishaps. The human nodded in appreciation, giving a soft ‘thanks’ before looking back to the mother-son pair. “Hmm. Night dwellers, huh. Explains the bat-like appearance. And the thick looking sunglasses.”

The mother nodded. “The sun is harsh. And we were flying to the castle when a strong breeze knocked him off. He isn’t a strong flier yet.”

Thorne rolled his shoulders as the cantrip finished. He stood and dusted himself off with a grunt. “Well. Just glad nopony was seriously hurt. Try to be careful, yeah?” His glance went back up the path to the castle. The feeling was returning now that the adrenaline had run its course. “I’m needed in the castle too. So if you’ll excuse me. The letter made it sound like they wanted to see me as swiftly as possible.”

With that, Thorne gave a slight bow and began back up the street, leaving all the ponies staring at the man who just dove to save a foal without so much as a complaint to the pain he had caused himself.

The castle was a strange affair. The moment he was allowed inside, he felt that knot in his stomach slowly unwind. As if the castle was somehow calling him and beckoning him inside. It had a strange cleansing effect on him and his mind. He would have found it disturbing, but all he could think of was how oddly calming it was.

In truth, he thought the moment he set foot inside he would be under a mental assault. He thought his curse mark would burn with vengeance, telling him to fulfill his mission. But that was the farthest thing from the truth. Not only was he welcomed physically, he was welcomed mentally. Something he chalked up to the inherent magic that seemed to pour from every brick.

Upon arriving, he was greeted and told that he had a room waiting for him for him to freshen himself up within. News that took him by little surprise, but it was welcomed. He knew that they would treat him like a guest--it’s what the letter entailed. Though his encounter with his body becoming intimately familiar with the pavement, it was more seen as a gift than something to be expected.

One he did not take for granted as he was escorted back along the long and winding hallways. He thought he’d meet dignitaries or nobility upon his walk, yet all he was met with was guards, silence, and marble.

He had thought that the castle would be gaudy. That it would reek of social status. Yet, it was simplistic. Charmingly, so. It was bare bones. Only containing the essential. He surmised that the only reason this was a castle was because of the fortification it provided. Something intuitive told him that the pony, or rather, ponies, behind this castle, only had such a castle because it was requested of them. It spoke volumes of either their society, or these benevolent rulers. He didn’t know which was which, yet.

Once the escort to the room was over, he gave a quick nod to the assistant, telling the stallion that he would be ready in about thirty minutes. He just needed a bath and perhaps a chance to dust off his toga. With that, the human excused himself behind closed doors. He didn’t take the time to acquiesce to the room. He broke his own standard in protocols in not checking the room and not combing over every inch. He just wanted that knot to untie itself fully and to see these ‘gods’ for himself.

He found the bath and thanked the gods for that.

“Announcing Lord Thorne!” The guard who stood at the door shouted into the throne room. All the guards stood at attention as Princess Celestia and Princess Luna arose in greetings. The crier bowed and stepped aside.

A side glance was shared between the two as they stood upon the dais. Thorne entered, freshly washed feet stepping onto the regal rug that went to the pedestal the two mares stood on. He began to walk with all the practiced professionalism of a noble gentleman.

Then the ambient magic in the air snapped.

The room seemed to fall away. The guards all vanished. Instead, Thorne was left walking upon a floating carpet that remained stiff despite the scenery being in space. Before him stood two regal mares, manes and tails flowing in an unseen wind.

One was a pure white with a large sun on her flank. All around her a golden aura seemed to shine and twinkle like diamonds. It was as if she had a halo of golden rays. Hope and warmth radiated from her presence--and Thorne felt like he was standing before a mother. A strict but loving mother, one he had never known yet was somehow familiar. She was accented with golden slippers encapsulating each hoof. A majestic purple gem rested in the center of a golden plate that rested upon her breast and wrapped around her withers. Upon her head stood a tall golden crown.

Pink eyes stood out as her aurora of a mane and tail billowed around her. It held every color imaginable and seemed to glimmer as the light touched it. Behind her in the tapestry of space stood the sun. Her Sun. It burned and scorched all that dare tread too close. Thorne felt the rays penetrate into his body, igniting his blood. It felt as though it was cleanse him with fire, but somehow, he would remain. That he would be reborn.

The other was dark blue. Shorter, younger, more youthful in appearance--if such a thing was possible. Teal blue eyes stared sternly at the human who approached. They were cold and judgmental, but were understanding in their own way. He felt an ethereal presence that tried to call him into a slumber. From her, the temperature seemed to drop, replacing the burning rays of the sun with ice in the veins. Somehow she had corralled a nebula of the cosmos, enraptured it and pinned to her body. Stars went streaking across the mane, and then followed into the tail. They then went streaking into the space that stood all around them.

Around her withers was a blacker-than-black plate that held a crescent moon at the center of her breast. It somehow absorbed the light around it and funneled it into the moon, making it blindly bright. Crystalline slippers adorned each of her hooves, shards of starlight etched into the design. On her head rested a smaller crown that her sisters, but it held the same weight of responsibility. Behind her was the very same moon that hung in the night sky. It was un-obscured, hiding none of the blemishes--rather, it displayed them proudly. But every moon had its dark side; this one was no different. The same could be said of the inky blot that consumed this mare’s flank. Yet resting inside of that blot sat the moon, in its crescent phase, untouched and unburdened by the darkness surrounding it.

Thorne continued his approach. His stride remained undeterred. Each step sent ripples through reality. This was their domain, but an intruder had broken through the gates. They had allowed the monster to get inside--welcomed it. The serene scene of the two rulers was promptly disrupted. Though they three were in the vacuum of space in those moments, the sound of his bare feet slapping against something echoed.

It was wet, this sound. The cosmic sky seemed to darken. The light of stars began to dim and eventually blink out of existence. Then it began to rain. It first began as a trickle and then turned into a drizzle. The cosmic bodies of planets within the solar system all crumbled into dust around them, washed away in the rain. The Sun and Moon stood resolute in defiance, but they were subject to the horrors that followed. They noticed the rain was hot and smelled of copper.

Each step was soaked in blood, leaving a print that stained the carpet a deeper red. A torpid current flowed about the man, the rain beginning to dance to an unseen phantasmal tune. It wasn’t until they stared into those golden eyes did they ignite it. Midnight blue and golden hues of lightning struck from their gazes as eyes met, his gaze returning a reddish-gold volley. A torrent erupted, spawning a crimson cyclone. The hurricane roared in desperation, begging to be released from an unknown torture. At the center stood Thorne.

It wasn’t until the human stopped did the scene fade. He knelt before the Princesses, a fist going into the carpet with a deliberate motion. His head lowered in supplication.

“Your Majesties,” he said, breaking the palpable silence. “I am Thorne.” His head rose and he looked at the two. He smiled with the weight of his sins present on those lips. “What can this humble stranger do for you?”

He finally felt comfortable. He didn’t understand why, but his lingering unease had vanished.