Equestrian Frontier

Melpomene – Never Let Go

Golden Oaks Library, Second Floor – Ponyville

After a long, arduous day, night has descended upon Equestria. Most of Ponyville’s residents are calling it a day, returning to their respective homes. The sky is livened up by the billions of burning stars and the bedazzling crescent moon. It’s a pity that everypony’s too exhausted to pay notice to the glittering night sky. It’s a remarkable view, especially from the library balcony. Unlike in Bastion, or any other city as far as their concerned, what with their ever bright lights that forbid the glow of the stars and the moon.

My muscles loosen after half an hour of lying down on the soft, gentle bed that I’ve been lent. Back at the library, I fix my eyes on the ceiling lights, my thoughts scattered everywhere. Beside me are my saddlebags, both open and untouched ever since. I scope through the packs to reevaluate my inventory.

First up are my weapons: a slingshot and my old, reliable combat knife. The latter was one of a bucketload of presents given to me by Lord Mercury. A slender, silver blade with a serrated segment at its edge. Really, the knife was all I ever needed.

Next comes the writing equipment: feathers plucked from the pithecophaga jefferyi, a certain type of eagle native to a far-off land; ink jars secured by tightly-sealed caps; and sheets of paper enchanted by a spell that causes it to dissolve into microscopic fibre and be carried off to a recipient. The recipient being the first pony that comes into the owner’s mind. Once it reaches the recipient, it then rematerializes into its original form as though it had not been touched. This is how written messages are transferred between long distances.

After the writing equipment are the toiletries, the first aid kit and a healthy supply of rations. They’re a standard issue to any upstanding member of the Bastion Paramilitary, soldier or janitor or whatever. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. For the rations, higher ranked operatives are treated to only the finest, which means only the most exotic of greens, the plushest bread slices known to ponies and fresh, purely-organic beverages. Before proceeding to the next component, I yank out a ration carton from the pack to consume later.

Last among these provisions is a pouch full of money. Three hundred bits in coins. The currency is one of the very few existing ties left between Equestria and Bastion. It’s enough to last anypony a week. Maybe a month if that pony is too careful.

I stash my things away, dropping the saddlebags to the ground aimlessly. The rectangular lid covering the ration carton slides off effortlessly to reveal a wholegrain wheat sandwich divided into two halves. Protruding out of the slices are fresh cuts of tomato, lettuce, cucumber, zucchini, onions, leek and celery. Rounded off with spoonfuls of mayonnaise oozing out of the sandwich and falling on the container.

My stomach howls out of excitement. It’s ordering me to take a huge bite. I hold the sandwich, hoist it in front of my mouth and dig in. As I begin to partake in my meal, an image abruptly surfaces in my head.

A bright sunny afternoon in Bastion. All of the city was lit up, including the slums. I was on my way back to my makeshift home, after taking care of a…personal endeavor.

Carefreely, I strolled down the familiar walkways, humming a few random melodies. Carrying with me a sack that’s a few times my weight. The passersby didn’t pay much attention to me. I had them fooled with my irresistible charm. Nopony suspected a thing.

One last turn away from my home, and I accidentally bumped into something stiff. Judging from how hard the object was, I thought it was a lamppost. But I was wrong. So wrong.

Getting back on my feet, I shook my head to see what it was I stumbled upon. It was a stallion. Somepony older and bigger than me. He had a coat of green, a mane and tail of a ripe shade of hazel and a cutie mark of a four-leaf clover. The only pony I’ve ever put my faith in. The only one in this world worthy of my attention, my praise.

“Lucky. What’re you doing here?” Lucky Strike was his name. The name of my big brother.

“You’ve been gone all afternoon. Where the hell were you, Mel?” he asked, stern eyes shining through. Playing the role of overprotective older sibling again.

“Um…just coming back from a little scavenging. It’s finders keepers, losers weepers, y’know,” I lied to him pathetically. It wasn’t going to work, yet I was stupid enough to go ahead and try it anyway.

That wasn’t why I was gone for most of the day. Beneath Lord Mercury’s estate was his private vault. The thing was a heavily armored, heavily guarded behemoth that housed riches beyond comprehension. It seemed like it was well-proected. I had been eyeing it for the past month and formulating a plot to raid it and discovered a massive flaw in what would have been one of the most secure places in Bastion. Unknown to Mercury was that the guards he had appointed were very unsuited for the task. Daydreaming constantly, always conversing with each other and their minds drifting elsewhere instead of concentrating on persecuting intruders. With my small frame and the ineptness of the bumbling guards assigned to protect the vault, I was able to successfully realize my plan. Entering and exiting the vault with a large sum in my hooves and without being detected.

Lucky Strike caught on with my agenda. That’s what I was assuming.

Seeing past my lies, he questioned me further, more interrogatively, “Don’t lie to me, Melpomene. Garbage day isn’t until Monday. Where did you really go? And what’ve you got in that bag over there?”

Resisting was no use. Neither was trying to get away from this altogether. I forked over the sack to him, choosing to come clean. He turned it upside down. Out spilt all the coins I collected from the vault.

“What is THIS?” asked Lucky Strike, appalled. “Mel, where did you get all this?” I did not answer. “Out with it!”

“I took all that from Lord Mercury. I snuck into his estate and robbed him blind.” Technically I was telling him the truth.

“You did what?! Why?” I didn’t need to answer that. Lucky Strike already knew… “Do you really hate him so much that you had to do something crazy like that?”

He was right. I hated Lord Mercury back then. Even mentioning his name made my tongue taste sour. All those promises he made. Those promises that he would tend to our needs, provided for us when the need arose. They were never fulfilled. This raid wasn’t a ‘get rich quick’ scheme. It was a ‘get back at some unfaithful bastard’ one. Lucky told me about the repercussions involved with biting the hoof that feeds us. But to me, it was worth it to take that one little nibble. To make a point.

That’s what sets me and my brother apart. I was the one who often took action. Mostly because he hardly saw the world the way I did.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” I told him, embittered.

“Mel, I know why you hate him. Yes, I do too.” I doubt that, I thought. “But he’s still the one running all of Bastion. He’s in charge here, and if we don’t like it, it’s tough shit for us.” He gathered back the coins and returned them to the sack, instructing me afterwards, “Now come on. Let’s come clean and give this back to Mercury. At this point, he might’ve found out. We don’t want the police or the Paramilitary hunting our asses down.”

“Fine,” I replied, compelled into picking up the sack.

This is for your own good, Mel. Just let it go for now. You’ll get your chance someday, I told myself.

I didn’t want to risk eviction from our home. Or worse, banishment from the city. So I silenced myself for the meantime, and waited for another chance. Until I came face to face with Mercury himself.

Lucky Strike. My older brother. I cherished him more than anything. More than any worldly possession, more than whatever wealth I may have. A close-knit brother and sister, he and I were. Closer than anything out there. We played together, we laughed together, we cried together. He was more of a parent than a brother, in fact. To the point where he’d go to great lengths to pay back those who have wronged me many times over.

He was always so wise. His sage words made up for his lack of initiative. The lack of action on his part. To be fair, it wasn’t necessarily lack of action. It was patience, which was something I lacked in. I despised Mercury for not paying us slumdog ponies enough attention. For not following through with the promises he made. Lucky hated it too. But he was quick to forgive. He was the ‘see both sides of the coin’ kind. He was patient with Mercury’s unfairness. Everything he ever told me has remained in a tightly-sealed safe.

Our blissful days together were short lived. Fate had decided that those days were too good to last, and decided to rob us of them. It was that one night when reality sunk in. That night when I fully understood the bitterness of the world. That not everything is syrupy. The stress of being the next in line to be in charge of the family got the better of him. Weeks prior, he stayed up hours later than he needed to, scouting the piles of garbage for valuables. For food scrapes that can be heated for use in the near future. For anything to aid us in some way. Often times, he’d end up in scrimmages with our fellow slumdogs for the most inexpensive of items. It would continue on and on, causing him to contract a highly elusive disease that targets the circulatory system. A strain of virus that harmfully affects the blood. What the effects are are still unknown up until today.

The burden took its toll at last that night. Lucky’s health reached the ultimate low. He collapsed right in front of me, looking pale. His eyes struggling to stay open. Fighting with all they could to see me one last time. With his last breath, he apologized to me for not heeding the advice I gave him. He told me he was sorry for ignoring me when I said to him not to worry about us too much. And as he degraded into nothing more but a lifeless shell, it all fell apart. A piercing scream shot to the sky. I came to realize that I was the one doing the screaming. My brother was gone. For hours on end, a stream of tears poured out of my eyes. The enemies I’ve made came to share in my sorrow instead of reveling in it. My heart was heavy like metal.

He’s up there right now, along with all the other ponies whose times have come. I can sense his apparition watching over me, whispering his trademark words of wisdom to me to help me get through another minute. I’ve come so far. I’ve come along way ever since his passing. I’m one of the Bastion Paramilitary’s most decorated soldiers. Through the heartache, through the misery, I’ve persisted. Through the tribulations, I have triumphed. Looking from up above, is he smiling down on me? Would he be proud of me? Have I done him and his name justice? I’m certain that I did.

Once I finish with my sandwich, I reach into my pack for a roll of paper, a quill and an ink jar. I am to jot down my findings in a daily report and deliver it to Lord Mercury. I can also treat these reports as journal entries. I can write about whatever I wish. About anything. But I cannot afford to leave out any vital information. Mercury has an entitlement to know whatever it is that his subjects, his soldiers, know. He’s kind of critical about this. Besides, he’s perceptive, even though one look at him may tell you otherwise. He sees through you. He can read you like a book, tell when you’re hiding something.

Scratching my chin, I carefully think about how to word all this. I need to come off as intelligent. As somepony knowledgable. Somepony who’s competent. The words dawn on me, and I slather the quill with ink, let the small drops return to the ink jar and proceed with my writing.

Journal Entry Number 1, by General Melpomene of the Bastion Paramilitary’s Army.

The first day of my journey to the outer expanses of Equestria has drawn to a close.

Before I mention my findings, I would like to inform that I have hit a minor snag while en route to the Unicorn City of Canterlot. I foolishly neglected my growing hunger and thirst, choosing instead to travel the distances without pause. After one full day of running – twenty-four long, hard hours worth of running – the fatigue had finally gotten to me, causing me to collapse in the middle of a different town. I will get to that later. Let this be a lesson to me and the soldiers under my authority. Attempting to complete a mission at the expense of one’s well-being is not encouraged.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I shall begin with the town where I had lost consciousness. The town is named Ponyville, a quiet and peaceful community of ponies where very little has advanced compared to Bastion. Where the folk live uncomplicated lives not ruled by technology, preferring to earn their keep primarily through manual labor. Everypony here is as friendly as they come. At least, that’s what they’ve come off as so far. No, they are a warm bunch. As a matter of fact, there is one pony who I owe my life to. She was the one who brought me to her home after I had passed out and invited me to stay until I completely recouperate. Right there, I knew I had found somepony I can put my faith in. Somepony I can safely call my friend. It’s a first for me; the friendships I’ve built were always at a steady, if not dreadfully slow pace. But this mare saved me, and that’s enough for her to earn my trust.

Outside of just the villagers here, there is also the work-life element. The ponies of Ponyville are honest-to-goodness, hardworking and always ready to lend a hoof to those in need. Taking on various jobs to make a living, from running vendor stalls to counter duty at the local confectionery shop to construction of new buildings. Most of the population here, however, take part in agricultural chores. The biggest source of employment here is the town’s nearby farm. A stretch of land that spans farther than all of Bastion’s farms put together, growing many kinds of fruits and vegetables. But for the most part, it concentrates on the growing of apples; this is where the name of the entire farmland stems from – Sweet Apple Acres.

Miracles and oddities are quickly becoming routine during this mission, from what I’ve experienced. Everything around me feels quaint, and anypony in my position would think the same thing. But it’s the good type of quaint. The one that sparks an openness to all things foreign. That encourages curiosity. Rest assured, this operation will go accordingly. I will be continuing my case study on the land of Equestria, and eventually the powers that be. The forces that govern over this new nation – Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. I will return tomorrow with an even greater insight on life outside Bastion’s walls.

Until then, this is farewell. Then, now and forever. The heart of Bastion, no force in this world can ever sever!

General Melpomene

Army Division, Bastion Paramilitary

The final stroke the quill makes leaves my mark, my signature, on the report. Both the quill and the ink jar are put back into the saddlebag. I furl up the sheet of paper into a scroll and rip it into two halves from the middle. At that action, the two segments disperse into a gust of minuscule glitters that the wind carries out of the library, guiding it to the horizon. Back to my homeland. To Bastion City Hall, where Lord Mercury spends most of his time and probably is at this moment.

Twilight Sparkle – Inquisition

The last book on my desk shuts in a slam, dropping down to the pile in a freefall. I have just completed the most recent volume of a series of books regarding potions and other peculiar mixtures. It was an…enriching read, to say anything of it. So many recipes that may be native to other countries, but totally alien to me, are written in the book. Complete with highly graphic depictions of the ingredients and the effects of the potions, both intended and unintended.

I now turn to the staircase leading to the second floor. Melpomene has been quiet for the past two hours. Besides a chat that the three of us – ‘three’ meaning myself, Spike and Melpomene – had during dinner, she has not uttered anything to me. Not even a groan or grumble. She’s beginning to be more open, but there’s still an air of secrecy looming over her. I know I was doing what was right when I helped her by taking her in, but I can’t be too complacent. I need to be at least somewhat wary. Attentive to a degree, not to an extreme.

Melpomene… She’s an enigma. She told me a lot about herself this afternoon. One of the things she said to me was her place of birth, her home. The shrouded city of Bastion. Of course, I didn’t use the word ‘shrouded’ when I mentioned Bastion. That might have been insensitive of me to say that. But needless to say, I have yet another topic to engross myself in. Every little detail of the city, she said it with an overwhelming clarity. So elaborately that even I can easily envision myself standing in its streets, witnessing all of it for myself. What she said has to be true. If she can explain to me every little tidbit about her home with such confidence, then it really must be out there. She must be telling the truth. The city of myth is an actual city. A metropolis that has been lost in time, and only remains in name. Now I have a lead on this. A good one. A good start on a new study.

“Spike? You still awake?” I call out, aware of the time.

Nine o’clock. Most ponies here in Ponyville would have gotten to bed by now. Melpomene has been up there and been quiet ever since; she too must be asleep. This is a good time for me to pull of an all-nighter and read more on Bastion.

At the sound of my call, Spike enters from the kitchen, holding a half-chewed ruby in his claw. His cheeks bulging from the bite he took from the gem. He looks annoyed. Annoyed from me always calling him, sometimes interrupting him in the middle of his time of leisure. Which I completely understand, but can’t deal with right now.

“You called?” he returns dryly, biting into the ruby once more.

The name of a book chimes into my mind, prompting me to instruct him, “I need a book.”

“Of course you do,” answers Spike, using his usual sarcasm. “Which book did you want now, Twi?” A book with a self-explanatory title.

“I need you to get that book called The Four Borders of Equestria. I can’t remember where it was.”

Spike marches up to the bookshelfs to search for that elusive book, grumbling coherent phrases. “Stupid book that Twilight needs. Can’t be right in front of me, make my life easier. So annoying. Probably a large book, which means a sore back, or sore claws. Or both.”

The book should provide me with at least a summary on what Bastion is like. Hopefully a summary that’s better than the many others that I’ve seen from that other book. Everything else I’ve read have proven useless. Hooves crossed that it changes.

These hidden civilizations that were once part of Equestria… They’re reappearing all of a sudden. First was the millennium-old Crystal Empire, situated on Equestria’s north, which vanished from the face of the planet as a result of a curse cast upon them by the ruthless King Sombra. And now this mysterious city that’s said to be far and above all others. In technology, in architecture, in culture, in everything. This Bastion, rumored to be located at Equestria’s west, where both it and the Land of Griffons meet. Could the Empire and Bastion be similar in a way? Are their histories identical? Or are they two separate entities? Is it a different situation this time around?

Spike comes back to me, holding the book in his claw. Appropriately named The Four Borders of Equestria. He drops it onto my table and heads off upstairs, tired from head to toe. “I’m off to bed,” he announces on his way up.

Bidding him goodnight, I return to my book, opening it through my magic. Its title printed plainly on both the cover and the first page – The Four Borders of Equestria, volume X. This book is thick. As thick as every other book in this library, I’d say. It should provide me with what I need to know and hopefully more. An insight on the way of life there, maybe. The general architecture, geographical size, the dominant pony race, technology, any data that may be worthwhile. The first piece of information I take note of as the book opens is the publication date of this volume, written in the colophon. 999 PB.

Traditional lore has told of two eras in the Equestrian calendar. The earliest era is the Antebellum era, commonly abbreviated by the public as AB, which lasted for two thousand years. Long, long before the rule of the Royal Pony Sisters, Princesses Celestia and Luna. The last five hundred years was when the Lord of Chaos, Discord, governed over all the country with a ruthless disposition. At the end of that five-century period was when Celestia and Luna revolted against Discord’s wicked rule, which escalated to an all-out war between both sides; this is the birth of this time period’s name. This was a time before and during the long, hard-fought war that these forces endured. That Equestria would inevitably suffer from, along with the chaos and destruction courtesy of Discord himself.

Postbellum, or PB, is the current time period. The era after the war, hence the name. Until today, there are still signs of damage caused by the war and Discord’s rule. Celestia and Luna, along with the Canterlot Royal Guard, have since been hard at work, and probably still are as of late, to make reparations. Overtime, the destruction has been undone, but the effect remains. Painful memories of yore stay rife in the minds of some ponies.

The year is now 1002 PB. More than two years since I have relocated here in Ponyville.

Seeing how little time I have, I skim through the contents. Thirty seconds in, and I soon find a page containing one heading, written in bold, capitalized fonts. Western Equestria. All I need is that key word, and I’m good to go. Painstakingly, I analyze the whole section. Every last word, every last sentence and paragraph. My eyes straining, bloodshot in minutes from the ceaseless, nigh-vacant staring. It emerges in front of me at last. This is the entry, the summary, that I’ve been searching for.

**The shrouded city of Bastion, a hidden city that rests on the edge of Equestria’s west, where it borders Griffonia, The Land of Griffons. Very little regarding this metropolis is known besides two factors. The first is its name. The other is the square-shaped citadel that walls the city off from Equestria. Common speculations surrounding Bastion are its architecture, its technology and its standing in a social aspect.

Bastion is said to be crowded with intricate buildings, both new and old, that stand as high as the nearby mountain ranges. The architecture of the city, and the entire city in general, exudes modernity and diversity while retaining a sense of tradition, with an area modeled to resemble a typical Equestrian village or town, not only in structure but in culture. In addition to a more traditional part of the city is its slum neighborhood. Ponies of a lower social standing delegate themselves here, reliant on the aid of the local government for the provision of food, shelter and other essentials should they be demanded. Society in Bastion is divided into three classes: the wealthy, the in-between and the poor. While there are areas in the city that accommodate to the population’s social classes, this also greatly expands the gap between these three classes. There is a greater dichotomy between rich and poor in this metropolis than in any other civilization in Equestria.

Among the various industries in which Bastion is more matured in is technology. Everyday living has become easier due to numerous advancements introduced. Instead of travelling from one point to another by hoof and given that they are able to afford it, ponies now travel through wheeled vehicles that operate on electricity or engines that require combustible components. New modes of communication have allowed for seamless interaction between ponies regardless of their distance from each other. These machinations have become so integral that the city is virtually ruled by them. A double-edged sword, if you will. Their dependence on the machines they have built may also be their downfall.

What distinguishes Bastion from all others is its independence. Ever since its foundation, it has declared itself a separate entity. An independent nation that is more than capable of sustaining itself. Though it has stressed its ability to stand its ground by itself, it is still settled on Equestrian land, and thus is a part of Equestria in essence.

With all that being said, the question remains to be asked. Does it really exist? Is there a city out there that is inhabited by those of our kind? Besides the enormous wall that stands by the western shores, how can one verify its existence?

The answers to these questions are slowly unfolding, dear readers. As of this writing, there have been reports of several international incidents that may hint to Bastion’s presence. Anyone who reads this is likely to be aware of the collapse in power in Griffonia. For those who are unfamiliar, its leader, President Aquilina, was recently murdered in cold blood after her private estate in Griffonia’s provincial region located in the south was raided by a military-modeled faction of ponies. It was a moment of triumph for these armed forces, as well as one of great sorrow for the country’s griffon population. A moment that has lead to a friction between the republican government of Griffonia and her majesty Princess Celestia, the latter of whom denied the authorization of the attack and is not aware of the armed forces’ presence.

And that as they say is that, my little ponies. Somewhere out there, deep in the widest expanses, in that broad horizon, is a city that has isolated itself from all else. Though many stories are but mere figments and only serve to spark interest, just as many stories are proven to be factual. Only time can tell whether or not there really is a mysterious utopia out there. But one thing is for certain. There is one thing that this old coot can count on. The signs are beginning to show.

Professor Bon Voyage

Recorded 999 PB, month and day unknown

The city of Mustang Harbor

“Aquilina,” I whisper to myself, recognizing the name.

A fearless leader from all reports gathered, she was the former president of Griffonia. She was assassinated on the spot after a group of soldiers invaded her estate. The soldiers were all mares and stallions. The government accused Celestia for ordering the attack. But she did not. She never knew about a separate Equestrian armed forces. It didn’t stop the tension from building. The matter has taken a turn for the worse and is being dealt with behind closed doors to prevent any civilian involvement.

But what was that squad of ponies? Who were they? A glint in my eyes flashes; I remember. Melpomene’s words chime in. She mentioned something about a paramilitary organization within Bastion. Civilian ponies trained, conditioned to become a fighting force like no other. Like nothing Equestria has ever seen before. That the world has ever seen before. Unquestioningly serving the country through everything they do.

It all makes sense. The location of the city, the Equestrian frontier, the border between us and Griffonia. Of course it is. The ones responsible for the raid and the death of President Aquilina has to be them. It's likely that they belonged to this Paramilitary. This corps that Melpomene serves.

Melpomene. Bastion. The Paramilitary. She must be a cold-blooded killer, just like them. Ruthless. Hard-hearted. No. No, no, no, she can’t be. She must have a conscience that tugs at her heartstrings. She isn’t like them. From what I’ve seen, that is.

“No. Not Melpomene. She’s too nice to be like them,” I say, perishing the thought.

This is better than I hoped for. I now have a better set of clues to go with this study. I have some evidence to back up whatever claim I might make. But just to be sure, I draw a quill and a scroll to the table, dabbing some ink on the tip. There’s one pony out there who has always given an answer to my questions. I have full confidence that she’ll come through for me again.

My heart set in place, I get to writing, listing down the queries I have in store in the form of a letter. A letter to somepony I am certain holds the answers.

My dearest Princess Celestia,

I am writing to you to ask of your knowledge on a matter that I feel has become irrelevant to us ponyfolk. For the past two days, I have studied and engaged myself in a new topic: the geography of Equestria. My research has led me to the stories of another hidden civilization other than the Crystal Empire. According to the data I have gathered, it is not hidden from the face of this world, but is simply an isolated location. Signs of its imminent return are emerging one by one. I believe that the most prominent of these signs is the death of Griffonian President Aquilina. I feel that a new crisis will take rise on Equestria. And if an initiative is not taken, I fear that the fate of our fair country, and the entire world, will be shaken once again. With this I wholeheartedly ask you now…

What do you know about the Shrouded City of Bastion?

I humbly and fervently await your reply.

Yours ever so faithfully,

Your student, Twilight Sparkle

Furling up the paper into a roll again, I notice something that I should have paid attention to. I cannot deliver this to the princess without Spike’s help. Perhaps it can wait tomorrow. Only until tomorrow. I don’t want to make poor little Spike mad by waking him up in the middle of the night. He needs his rest…an so do I. Confound it!

“Guess it’s time for me to call it a night,” I say to myself, yawning. Covering my mouth. I stack the scroll away in a drawer, shut off the library’s lamps and lights and make for upstairs.

On arrival, I see Spike comfortably lying down in his cot, safeguarded by his petite, blue blanket. At the side of my bed is Melpomene, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. The sight of them drifting off to the next realm adds more unneeded weight to my sagging, inflamed eyes.

Delicately, I take to the bed, tucking myself in the comfort of the plush quilt. My head nicely rested on the soft pillow. After counting to five in my head, both of my eyes shut tight for the night as I put myself to sleep. Setting off for the dreamer’s wonderland. A peaceful smile curving on my lips.