Verve

Tempest led the way south through the gardens and into the more front facing new-town trade district. Pumpkin stuck close to her side, humming quietly in delight as they set about their work. The couple had their directions to follow, along with a list of ingredients the wine-colored mare constructed that morning.

A banishment orb was a multi-step and vastly difficult construct; partly an arcane infused outer shell, to an interior filled with swirling smoke - a perfect ball was black and green. It can penetrate magical barriers, and when it shatters - the target is turned to onyx.

The main component they were searching for was magma essence; a condensed, sparkling red powder that could easily catch flame, if even a minor magical spark was induced. It would boil near instantly when put in water, but when suspended in a non-flammable balanced pH solution, you could infuse it with wraith oil to help neutralize the flame aspect, then flash raw magic into it to produce a black, tar-like jelly. From there, you would boil it down over a few days, and smoke in several uncommon herbs for the petrifying effect.

Once you had a powder, you’d scoop it into the arcane orbs, and basically shock it again with unfocused magic; which Tempest had in spades. After a few days to settle, you’d know if you had a viable product.

In Equestria, these ingredients were highly illegal for the civilian sector. They were volatile in the wrong hooves, after all. But the White Tail had no such laws; the only problem was they were hard to come by, especially the magma essence; it had to be taken from fire elemental spirits, typically in extremely inhospitable regions.

The new town section of Silversun was just past the old town wall; cities like this typically had multiple barriers that dictated the age of them. The older parts of town were closest to the center, while each new layer grew outwards until another wall was required for safety. As a population grew, the need for housing would send buildings on the outskirts of the safety of the gates- much like the distant farms are currently situated. Canterlot City had one wall, for example, as it was only around several hundred years old; Silversun had two.

Pumpkin nosed gently against the distracted Commander’s side, pointing a hoof at a duo of large wagons blocking the sidewalk. It was quite obvious to see that they dealt in the matters of the arcane, as the sheer stock they carried stretched out partially into the street. On a soft cushion in the center of her sprawling wares, sat a single doe - the other caravan tended to by another, taller doe who seemed busy tinkering with… something, from behind her wagon’s window. Regardless, balms and oils galore lined their wares beneath a large maple tree, and it was an obvious place to stop.

Approaching through the clutter, the doe smiled at her new guests - setting her gold hair filled brush to the floor. “Aha~ Welcome my new guests, to Madam Eve’s Gypsy Arcanery.”

She delicately withdrew a cup of tea, sipping pleasantly at it. It was a bit worrying, the doe’s yellow eyes and warm sunlight coat gave off an… odd energy. One the chipped-horn Unicorn couldn’t place just yet.

“Thank you, for the kind greeting. But we have little time to chat. We’re here looking for some alchemical ingredients.”

“Ehehehe! You’ve come to the right place, definitely. I have much to browse, and much more to brush. Let me know if you need help finding anything,” Eve replied, yellow eyes shining as she lifted her tea to her lips.

“Psst! Hey you! Small pony, come here~” a voice called; the other doe, fondling pieces of magical charms, caught sight of Pumpkin - and wanted to talk to the little witch. Sharing a look with Tempest, the Commander nodded - letting her run off as Tempest spoke with the… strangely familiar doe.

“What’s a cute little pony like you doing here in White Tail lands?” the tall deer asked, her short green hair cut in a butch pattern. The strange cervine leaned over the side of her wagon’s window, eying her oddly. She didn’t look like the other deer, actually… She had a red coat, and was missing a lot of the white colors the cervine typically wore on their tummy. Her soft red eyes were also a little more almond shaped and layered in a thin shade of green eyeliner; perhaps she was foreign?

“W-Well um, we’re looking for some reagents…”

“My my~ Reagents? Why don’t you come inside and tell me more - I might be able to help~ I’m Bastrii, by the way. And you are?...”

“P-Pumpkin Spice!” She smiled innocently, raising a hoof to her chest; looking up to the tall doe with a smile. Bastrii licked her lips, waving her inside with a flick of her cloven hoof.

“That stutter is absolutely adorable, cutie~ Well, come along then. I have much to show you~” She gently closed the window to her cart, flicking a latch over it. Wouldn’t want anydeer intruding on their privacy, would she?

Pumpkin had a strange feeling, that perhaps entering the wagon wasn’t the greatest idea. The tall gypsie doe appeared by the heavy door, smiling and beckoning her to join her. “Follow me Pumpkin, I won’t bite. I promise.”

She cast a worried look to Tempest, who continued to speak to the other doe over her list. Eve would occasionally nod and sip her tea, the rattle of her glass breaking their quiet conversation when her spoon gave it a swirl.

“Well? I don’t have all day, you know.” Bastrii tapped a hoof impatiently against the floorboards to her wagon, until - despite the little mare’s best judgement - she relented, and clopped her little hooves inside.

“Why do you not go home, little one? We have played many hours now. You are not tired?” Oarkin asked, as he darted a Knight forward to take a rook. The tiny doe frowned, hiding her eyes beneath her short tuft of scraggly hair.

Her voice came in a small, fragile whisper, “I don’t like my home.”

“Oh? Explain.” He frowned; he looked over her again, perhaps a little worried. He had a large heart, after all - even if he was a menace on the battlefield.

When she didn’t immediately speak, those feelings of his grew a little deeper. His gray eyes scanned over his little friend, seeing the bruises and marks she bore. Instead of answering him, the tiny fawn nosed a castle gently to the left - taking his knight. How did he not see that one coming? He nearly pinched his nose in frustration, until her little voice broke that thought.

“My dad hurts me.”

…

At those four words, his muscles tensed with such ferocity that you could almost hear the potent fibers beneath the skin straining. His once soft features tightening as he stared at the board. “Why.”

Before she could respond, a blue aura surrounded her - ripping the little fawn from the board as a tall buck quickly approached. Covered in dirt and carrying a heavy satchel at his side, he threw a scornful glance at the Seraph as he walked away.

“Calia, I said I wanted you to stay home. Why won’t you listen to me? Am I not clear? Stay away from… whatever that thing is.”

“B-But…”

His magic seized so tightly around her snout that the tiny fawn whined in pain, dragged alongside her father in the dim moonlight. “You know what this means. Shut your mouth, you weren’t like this before your mother passed. Why can’t you be good for five seconds? Is that too much for you?”

Oarkin had to fight every single notion of justice in his body, to not use his immense strength to crush the very life out of the buck, and save his little friend. But for once, he was powerless to help. If he did as he pleased, the little one would surely be scarred for the rest of her life. Furthermore, it would put their mission to save Equestria at risk; they needed the aid of the White Tail, and murdering a buck in the streets for no other reason than a fawn’s words would bring them no aid. As much as a mountain he was, and the towering strength he carried in his fists - they would need the support of the White Tail to fight this… ‘Nightmare Moon’. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t abandon the little fawn to her fate. He wanted to be a hero. And if he wasn’t a hero to those he cared for, was he even worthy of the title?

He stood up upon his towering legs. Slowly, as quietly as the ten hoof tall giant could - he followed a safe distance behind. He even stripped his shoes for a bit more quiet - as odd as it would be. The father and daughter headed west, into the old town - the buck scolding her with every step of the way.

“Welcome to my humble abode, little pony.” The doe smiled, clicking the door shut behind her guest. Pumpkin gave a quick look around Bastrii’s home, frowning. While it had plenty of decor, it had little in the way of merchandise to sell. In fact, the gypsie quickly withdrew a second pillow, tossing it to the floor as her cloven hoof fiddled with the small wood stove on the left.

“Er… B-Bastrii, I um… I don’t h-have much time to chat. We really n-need to work on our project…” Pumpkin mewled, even as the doe waved her to sit down. Well, her lil’ hooves were a bit tired… and it was comfy in here, as the tall doe lit several candles.

“Oh please, we all deserve a little rest, cutie. Take a load off~ Let’s talk about something fun! Like, say… mm… something intimate.” Puffing her match with her lips, the small wagon was now pleasantly lit with flickering flames. She even managed to light a couple over her luscious bed, to fully illuminate the room in soft orange.

“I-Intimate?” Pumpkin squeaked, growing nervous. Maybe Tempest should be here…

“Yes! Intimate. You are exceptionally adorable, after all.” The doe scooched her pillow close with a flick of her red magic, settling in much too close to the tiny mare. “Besides, I know that tall pony is busy speaking with my mother… how about we look over what you’re really after. I can read you like a book, after all.”

Pumpkin gulped. She could?

With a flash of red magic, the deer slid a drawer out from under her bed. Within seconds, she had a small display set up, shocking the smaller pony as she looked it over.

“You’re a submissive, I can tell. And that cracked horn unicorn - she’s definitely your dom. Am I wrong?”

“W-What?” Pumpkin blushed, as a row of collars dangled before her. There were plenty of… other toys, as well. In fact, some of them looked similar to…

“H-How d-did you k-know?”

Bastrii rolled her eyes, lifting a mirror up in her red aura. A faint bruise from exceptionally rough tugging could just hardly be seen through her fur. “Garbage collars leave marks, cutie. I’m the only trader you’ll find that carries an inventory like this one; after all, I’m one of the rare Red Tail you’ll stumble across in Silversun. And Red Tail are a lot less prude in our interests.”

“What?...”

Pumpkin simply couldn’t snap out of the moment, her jaw refusing to lift from the floor. It took the rattling handle to snap her awake, as Tempest made her way inside with a call.

“Why are you in-...” She looked over the variety of wares presented before her Pet, stepping into the cabin with a clatter of hooves.

There was a moment of hesitation, as she took in the sight before her. Her left hindleg then slowly reached out - catching the rim of the door with her hoof, before flicking it shut behind herself. Maybe they had a moment to do some… much needed shopping.

The deeper west you went, the less refined the buildings became; more shoddily appointed and roughly constructed, this was truly the old roots of Silversun. The only reason this section still stood at all was a testament to the sheer age of the city; a value Oarkin would normally appreciate. But now? No.

At some point in his spying, the giant heard a shatter of glass faintly from beyond a corner, and felt it along his feet when he later stepped across the remnants of a wine bottle. Of course, his heritage gave him thick skin - so it was merely crunched beneath him. But it was a worrying sign. In his society, all children are treated with love and respect - the Southern Spears valued blooming life as much as they did honor, and a freshly broken bottle of spirits gave ill news.

He kept his ear to the alley as he rounded the bend; by now, he was hopelessly lost in the corridors of Silversun’s aged past, but it hardly mattered. He had wings. He would simply fly past the trees, as soon as he could gather their whereabouts.

“Cross my branches, Calia - your worthless hide couldn’t even prepare dinner before you disobeyed me and ran off to the streets. You are NOTHING compared to your mother - you hear me?!”

Soft sobbing broke his heart to pieces, knuckles turning white in his fist as he listened through the door. How could this injustice stand? Did the King not care for his kind? An echo of slurring cervine curses met his ear, occasional thunks of movement breaking the father’s voice. Shattered glass soon followed, Calia’s scream breaking his resolve.

“Calia?...” the slurred voice spoke, in a quiet, guttural voice. As if he was choking on something. “Calia, speak to me. Get up. You’re fine. It…”

Silence. Something Oarkin didn’t want to hear. Not now. He couldn’t even hear the faint cries of the fawn’s voice anymore, only the soul numbing silence.

Before he could even barge in to save her, the door swung open - the buck dashing down the road in a frenzy. Alone, save the alcohol in his pack. This saved the deer’s life, for had he not ran - Oarkin would have crushed the door to wooden shards, and caved in his skull.

In a rush before the father could return, he squeezed himself through the small doorway into the buck’s home. Disaster. Like a tornado had ripped through the dirty dwelling, shattered glass of empty wine bottles and broken furniture lined the floor, the sty of the abusive father leaving little hope for the fawn he barely knew.

There, in the corner, lay Calia’s broken body. And for the first time in three hundred years, the giant of a Seraph felt true and total defeat. Not at the edge of a sword, or through silly games… but the crack of his heart, as he picked up the now corpse of the little fawn. Her glasses shattered to pieces; a large shard of glass poking through her wine-covered chest where her Father smashed her beaten form. It struck deep, not intentionally - but it hit her tiny heart.

For once, he put forward every bit of gentle effort to handle his little friend, his first tears in a long time falling across her fur. Clutching her to his chest, his vision blurred. He failed her. He failed the little friend he made. Had he only seen the signs in their short time together…

No. He would not let this pass. King Arin could save her. He was a White Mage. White Mages could heal, they could resurrect the dead. He would treat her. He would save her.

His massive, powerful wings spread wide - crashing through the mess of planks and wood, as his strong legs kicked through the floorboards - bursting through the roof in wind whirling beats of gray wings.

He wanted to be a hero. A hero for Calia. And he would be.

Arin and Umbra returned from their night out, swaying happily against each other in the cool air. The castle soon beckoned their approach, the Seraph yawning after a long, and mostly quiet day. Using a stretch as a reason to spread his wings, Arin sneakily dragged the pinions over his very close friend. Much to her blush and stare.

“A bit close, would you not agree?” she teased, much to the mirth of her companion.

“Not close enough, really. Are you saying it’s a bit too hot out for a little warmth from your friend?” He ran his hand along her oh so luscious mane, sighing in content. She looked so much better after a quick shower, and her hair - by the feathers, it was so poofy now. Just the right amount of volume.

“I suppose you carry truth to your words. It is cold. Though perhaps not terribly so. I am rather attuned for it, still. Have you forgotten where you found me?”

“Like a flower in the endless snow, your memory is a beautiful landmark in my mind.” He mentally patted himself on the back for that one, much to the surprise of the former Umbrum. For once, he had absolute confidence in his voice - and this felt natural to him. He was speaking to possibly the closest pony he had in this world, and they both knew that.

The silent guardian bucks watched their approach, their ears swiveling to the skies much like Umbra’s did, just now. The heavy beats of wings dropping the Mountain of a Seraph before them, his massive weight crashing down as gently as he could before them.

And like all good things between the Seraph and his former Umbrum, they must come to an end.