Order from Chaos

by TwilightSnarkle

Rating: everyone
Tags: Crossover, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 10281

A handful of pages recount a remarkable journey to Equestria by someone who sought only a little peace.

A handful of pages recount a remarkable journey to Equestria by someone who sought only a little peace. The story continues in Justice, and concludes in Hope.

Published 2013-02-02 04:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-02 04:30:02 UTC

Chapter 1

Day 1

Wasted.

So much time, wasted.

So much of my life spent in a singular pursuit: a pursuit that I believed was both possible, and deserved; a pursuit which alienated me from entire planets, peoples, and planes of existence; a pursuit that consumed every fiber of my being, and transformed me from a great man to a cackling lunatic; a pursuit that finally forced me into solitude... and reflection.

That reflection brought me here: a cavern in a cliffside, surrounded by scrub and broken earth.

And I have that damned mutant to thank for it.

It was his unflagging determination, his relentless drive to undo my work and prevent the growth of my power, that finally led to his success.

Not because of some great moral victory. Not because of some miraculous change of heart. Nothing so noble. No, it was simply due to his stronger will. He outlasted me. And now? I’m tired. I just want out of the game.

He can have his victory. I can’t afford to care any more.

Still, I suppose the thanks are sincere. After all, were it not for his constant opposition to my goals, I might still be trying to fit the world beneath my heel. A plot of land and some solitude might just be the best thing for me.

I’ll go into details later. The light is failing, and I must still prepare the fire.

Until then,

R.

Day 3

I suppose now’s just as good a time as any.

After I came to the decision, the implementation was a fairly simple procedure. After all, it is the nature of Chaos to facilitate change, and subvert the laws of Order. I simply had to modify the teleportation schematics to affect that change across a different dimension. Doing so enabled me to travel, not across vast distances, but across realities. Across universes, if you will - universes that are layered over our own, sharing a great many of the same laws.

As I said, it was Chaos that enabled this change. I aligned the transporter field through my last Emerald and, after collecting a few tools, engaged the relays. There was an enormous, noiseless rending... and then I was here.

I do not know where I am, or when. Indeed, I may still be on Earth, but at a time in the far past or far future. The days seem to last about 24 hours - while I packed a timepiece, it did not survive the journey - and the air is comfortably breathable. Gravity is similar as well.

Further thought on that subject is best saved for another time; I can do nothing to affect it at this juncture, and there are more pressing concerns.

Water is one such worry, but one easily met: it snows here, and a few moments with a makeshift pot renders a refreshing drink. The mineral content, however, seems high to my taste; the unmistakable tang of copper is heavy on my tongue. This may have adverse effects in the long-term, and I have begun fashioning a still to eliminate the issue.

Secondly, my nutrition must be seen to; I shall soon run out of my daily meal bars. It would be best to test new foods while I still have a few dependable meals remaining. While the terrain around my new home is fairly barren - loose rock, snow, and stunted scrub abound - I can see a small wood in the distance. The trees are very similar to those from home. If this is a different universe, it may not be one too far removed.

I have not yet seen nor heard any creatures. Whether this is due to my altitude, the season, or the absence of such organisms remains to be seen. There are some marks on the floor of my cavern which resemble hoof-marks, but could simply be scuffs from stones and seasonal run-off.

But I digress. The wood is my goal; I should be off in a few moments to properly investigate.

Until next time,

R.

Day 4

This world is incredibly similar to Earth, yet with enough disturbing changes to convince me otherwise.

I reached the wood yesterday, and found what could only be described as an apple tree growing wild on its borders. The fruit was withered, but seemingly unspoiled. I picked all I could, and have begun testing the skin, flesh, and seeds methodically to determine edibility.

While I was there, however, I noticed something that was not immediately obvious from my cavern home: the colors.

Everything here seems, at once, both simpler and more bold. Where a tree at home might have a thousand shades of brown in its trunk, these plants show only a few clean pigments.

There are creatures, too: all similarly shaded. A squirrel-like animal was a single shade of nutmeg-brown, save for its features and its oddly expressive eyes. It showed no fear of my presence, only a growing curiosity. A bird of some sort bore flat grey feathers and a dramatic black crest. It, too, regarded me with an inquisitive stare.

One could almost imagine them capable of speech, despite possessing skulls far too small to support the necessary neural development.

The landscape shares this palette. The sky is a cerulean blue, save during sunrise or sunset. The clouds are uniformly white and fluffy, like tiny cumulus, with no evidence so far of the wide variety of cloud types of Earth.

Whatever realm this is, it isn’t the planet I know. It is uncanny, to be sure, but with enough ever-present differences to establish a clear separation.

I suppose I should be thankful for the sustaining air, food, and water. I don’t believe in luck, per se - I know I’ve never experienced a smile from Fate - but I certainly was lucky to land here. Then again, perhaps the Emerald chose this location for these properties.

Hm. More research is necessary. That is, of course, if I ever leave this place.

I must return to work. The still needs more fuel, and I am still clearing out assorted washed-in clutter.

Until later,

R.

Day 4, Nighttime

Apples they are, indeed. I am supplementing my packaged meal bars for the time being, but will need to find more variety, and soon. Subsisting on apples alone can cause every manner of gastrointestinal distress.

Apples? That’s not why I decided to write. No, I decided to write because of the moon.

It is absolutely stunning. Its craters differ from the ones I recall, but if this is a ‘close parallel’ Earth, then that would make sense. The constellations are almost identical; Orion is up, as are Canis Major and Minor. Judging from their position, it is late winter, and I am in the Northern Hemisphere.

Nights are nearly silent, broken only by the shifting of melting snow, and the occasional whistle of the wind in the high crags.

There is a chill in the air, but there is also the promise of spring. I cannot remember a time when I actually felt excitement about the change of seasons.

Maybe I should have unplugged a long time ago?

But I ramble on, and waste ink. I bid you goodnight.

R.

Day 6

There is, or was, intelligent life here.

This morning, I stumbled across a moldering bag as I wandered in the woods. It was filled with all manner of fashioned goods: parchment, carved gems, a small wooden bust of an equine, and several shards of glass. I’ve pieced the shards together to find they once comprised a vial.

The stitching of the bag shows impressive skill - the work of an artisan - and its contents hint at talented craftsmen of all stripes. Whoever was carrying these goods, they came from a culture that prized and nurtured artistic expression.

Tomorrow, I shall set off through these woods and see if I can find other evidence of intelligent life. I am, at once, both thrilled at the prospect, and frightened of the possibilities. If it’s out there, would the life-forms be open to outsiders, or xenophobic?

Time, I’m sure, will tell. Until then, there is work to be done. I’ve gathered more apples and some root vegetables, and managed to snare a squirrel for my protein needs. I feel strangely guilty about that - it had a very expressive face - but I’m probably projecting. I’ve been a few days without any social contact, after all.

I will fill my pack with foodstuffs and tinder, and my canteen with fresh snow, and carry the bust and gems with me in case I find a chance to trade.

Hm. I should probably be more cautious. After all, with my record, I am hardly someone who can be counted on to make the right decision under pressure.

It would be a small thing to fabricate a weapon, or even a companion, from the materials I brought. That almost seems like cheating, though. I have already proven that, with the aid of machines, I can be the master of my domain. I feel like I need to prove something to myself, and live by my wits.

Until tomorrow.

R.

Day 7

I have discovered a path, and one that has recently been traveled, as there seem to be no attempts by the underbrush to reclaim it. I will follow this path out of the foothills and into the lands below, in hopes of discovering the creators of the goods I now carry for trade.

There is a great variety of fish, here. I fashioned a makeshift net from an old shirt and snagged myself about a half-dozen small, brightly colored fish, in all the colors of a rainbow. When I camp, I plan to cure them with smoke for on-the-go fuel.

My spirits are high, and oddly enough, I don’t seem to get tired as easily as I recall, back on Earth. Perhaps there’s something in the environment that keeps me on my feet. Whatever the source, I intend to take full advantage, and avoid camping until I can no longer see the path.

But I make no progress sitting on a stone and writing.

R.

Day 7, Nighttime.

The moon is just as beautiful as it was a few days ago, and does not seem to have altered its course or its shape. It may be synchronized with the solar cycle, although I do not pretend to understand how. Such a synchronization would require the moon to remain nearly motionless, traversing around its host planet only once a year.

A matter for another time, perhaps, and a telescope.

The smoked fish are delicious, by the way, and remind me of trout in flavor. I finished my evening meal with a fresh-picked pear and some roasted carrots. My compliments to the chef.

I should get some rest. While excited, I’m sure that my unusual exertions will eventually come back to haunt me, if I neglect myself.

R.

Day 9

I couldn’t be more thrilled!

I am writing this from heavy cover on a hillside, watching over a quaint - and strange - village. It seems to be fashioned around a central building, slightly taller than the rest, built in a Tudor style. The other buildings are a mishmash of architectural motifs, from thatched roofs and plaster, to tiles and timber, to brightly-colored tents.

I am not close enough to make out details, yet, but will approach once the sun is no longer directly overhead. Now that I am out of the mountains, its warmth is impressive. Even though the stars tell me it is winter, the streams here run free of ice and there is green on many a hillside.

That may not last. Dark gray clouds are gathering over the town, as if being willed into position. I expect a heavy snowfall to reclaim some of the greenery by the end of tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow... perhaps I should plan for contingencies. I think I’ll head back half a mile and set up camp, before I journey closer. I may need a known safe place to stay, if the locals are not friendly.

Work waits for no man.

R.

Day 10

What I wouldn’t give for some coffee.

I decided on caution, and spent the remainder of yesterday building a makeshift shelter. I am glad I did. The snowfall began around midnight, and did not let up until shortly after dawn. With my shelter and fire keeping most of the chill away, I spent the night in relative comfort. I have just finished my last meal bar, and will hopefully find something to add to my apples later today.

Being under the canopy, the snow is not as heavy here as it could be. The walk back towards the village should be uneventful, and I am eager to begin.

I will spend a few minutes, though, copying these pages and leaving them here under my shelter. If this trip does not end well, and I must leave quickly, I would hate to lose these notes. If the outcome is worse, perhaps another wanderer will find them, and heed whatever lessons they might find.

Hopeful,

R.

Day 10, Afternoon

Horses. Brightly-colored, intelligent, talking horses. I’ve not gone mad - of that I’m fairly certain - but I cannot deny what I have discovered.

The village in the valley is populated by tiny horses! Well, not exactly horses. They are perhaps closer to ponies, with similar limb length and size to Shetlands. I do not understand their language, nor do they mine, which is strangely comforting; were we able to communicate immediately, I would have suspected this to be a fever-dream.

While understandably nervous about a large, bipedal creature approaching their town - and organized enough to assemble a group of four to come out to meet me - they are open and generous.

My newfound escort allowed me to approach the village, and there I was able to pantomime enough to communicate my desire for trade in foodstuffs. I exchanged the gems and the sculpture for a large satchel filled with all manner of supplies: flour, sugar, carefully-packed eggs, salt, and so forth. I also received a small bag of brass coins, each marked with a stylized sun and a moon on opposite faces. Barter, and currency: marks of a growing society.

These ponies are remarkable creatures.

Each one is a different color, but closer in variety to a box of crayons rather than the drab browns, blacks, and whites of Earth-bound equines. Most have manes and tails of a hue different than their coats. Like the intelligent life from home, it appears that fashion is considered important - several ponies wear garb which serves little purpose but to accent their colors, and a few have manes styled in a way only possible through artifice.

Most of the larger ponies - I’m assuming they are adults - bear an emblem on their hindquarters. Each emblem is different, from what I’ve seen, and appear to be either dyed into their coats or painted on. More fashion? Perhaps - but I’ve begun to notice a trend. The pony from whom I purchased my baking goods had a cake as her emblem, and two of the ponies who came out to meet me bore positively military motifs - one had crossed swords, and another a shield.

I write this as I sit on a dry haybale near the town’s edge, on what appears to be a parade ground. The tents that I assumed to be shelter have actually been erected for some sort of festival, and busy creatures bustle about preparing for the event. One of the escort ponies stands beside me. She is grey with a light blue mane, and bears an emblem of a sunbeam through a cloud. She occasionally tries to explain my curious gaze, but is more intent on the marks I make.

Hm. A thought.

I have just shown this drawing and enunciated the word ‘apple’ to my companion. I have also shown her a withered example from my pack. She looked at me, quizzically, and then called over to another pony. That pony dashed away, somewhere, intent on a purpose. My companion, however, is happily repeating a noise which I can only guess is their version of the word.

Yes, that’s certainly it, although I cannot begin to wonder how I’d transcribe the sound.

The other pony returns.

He has brought me a book! They bind books here! Well, of course they do - they have houses, and bake... no matter. This appears to be some sort of primer in their language. An encyclopedia or children’s dictionary, I cannot tell just yet. But...

Ah. There is a sketch of an apple, with glyphs below it. I shall attempt to transcribe them here:

I have just shown the letters to my companion. She nodded and made the noise once more. I covered up the spiral glyph, and pointed again. This time, she gave me part of the noise, a sharp click with the tongue. Covering the horseshoe, I pointed to the other. The other half of the noise, a light exhalation over loose lips. I reversed the noise, and she made a sound like laughter, then flipped ahead in the book, showing me a tree - with these symbols, reversed - and repeating my word with a heavier accent on the first syllable.

A phonetic language. Wonderful!

I shall put this book up for now - it seems I am wanted somewhere. The other pony escorts have returned, and the grey one is nudging me.

Until later,

R.

Day 10, Evening

I am a rational man. I do not say this lightly. I believe in cause and effect, in the slow progression of change, and in immutable physical laws. Even the universe-shifting trip I took here did not violate the laws as I know them: It used focused energy of certain wavelengths to open a harmonic window in space-time and send me through. But... these creatures - these ponies - use magic.

I was introduced, earlier, to the mayor of this town. Her name is Whisper, and she is a pale green pony with a silvery mane. Furthermore, she bears a horn in the center of her forehead. She is apparently a unicorn pony, unlike the ‘earth’ ponies that make up the majority of the villagers, and was elected to office about a year ago.

And I know all this because she willed me to.

She cast a spell - it’s my only explanation - and I can now understand, with a little effort, the pony language. I can also speak it, with what is apparently a heavy accent, if I concentrate. I suspect that as I learn it truly, that accent will dissipate.

I am thrilled at this new chance to learn... but also worried. She considered it a small thing indeed to inflict her strange energies upon my person, knowing nothing about my physical makeup or origins. Is magic use so commonplace? Still, that’s a conversation for another time.

The ponies know how I am here, and what I intend - quiet retirement - and we both seem content to leave it at that.

My companion’s name is Skyshine. Her friends - all adult females - have similar names. The two militant ones are Saber Dance and Bulwark. The last is Holly, but I’ve not seen her since she brought me to the mayor’s office. I’ve not asked whether these monikers are given at birth or selected upon an age of majority, but I will find out later. As for my name? After some thought, I was able to translate it from its original Polish into their tongue. The closest approximation I am able to make is ‘Worker’, which satisfies most of them.

Now that I can communicate, the more timid ponies have introduced themselves. I’ve met the baker again - Miss Tart - and a postal worker, a hairdresser and a lapidary, a farmer and a woodworker. Each has a name, emblem, or both that reflects their choice of employment.

Oh, yes. The emblems are called ‘cutie marks’ and are obtained when a pony is young, after what sounds to be a personal test where one’s talents are revealed. More magic, and more questions.

R.

Day 13

So, what do we know?

This land is called Equestria. I cannot decipher if it is the name of a nation, a continent or a planet, and the ponies seem unconcerned with the question.

Pony-kind is ruled by two princesses: Celestia and Luna. As their names imply, they are tasked with the journey of the sun and moon of this world. That’s right - the sun and moon apparently orbit the planet, not the other way around. They are, for all appearances, kind and benevolent rulers.

There are three types of ponies. The most common are earth ponies, which is an unfortunate translation. They are tasked with the care and keeping of Equestria itself, and have talents that lend themselves to growing, building, healing, and leading. Of all the pony races, these are the most steadfast, the most resolute, and possessing of the greatest physical fortitude.

The second most common are pegasus ponies. I have yet to meet one, but I am told that the town has its very own weather-pegasus on the payroll - I’ll get to weather in a minute - and I should meet him soon enough. As their name implies, they are capable of flight. They tend to be more energetic, with a higher metabolism and lighter frame than their earth pony counterparts. They are also more fragile. I suspect hollow bones, much like birds.

Pegasi have a secondary ability, and responsibility: they control the weather, in a strangely physical fashion. If a rainstorm is needed somewhere, a few pegasi will clump clouds together and influence them to rain. If a storm is forming on its own and threatens a region, the local weather ponies do what they can to limit its effects.

The third type is the unicorn pony, like the esteemed mayor. The only type of common pony - I say common because there are two notable exceptions - able to channel magic directly, unicorn ponies typically have skills around a certain aspect of their personality, although there are rare exceptions who can perform a wide variety of magic.

Whisper’s magic, by the way, affects understanding and communication. She has told me she couldn’t light a candle with her horn, and I believe her. She also tells me that her abilities are the reason my welcome party did not come armed.

This came as a surprise. While I had considered the chance of fearful creatures, I had not imagined a military response.

Unicorns have a secondary ability as well - telekinesis. Instead of relying on their hooves and mouths to grip, they can manipulate objects as if they had an invisible pair of hands. Most fine-detail work, such as sewing and surgery, is done by unicorns.

This leads me back to the princesses. They exhibit the powers and forms of all three pony races, possessing large, graceful bodies, long horns, and great wings. They are unparalleled in power and, if the stories are to be believed, immortal.

There are other intelligent races here as well, and other creatures. Most, if not all, of the animals who inhabit the realm are capable of higher thought. This makes me a little uneasy about my first snared meal... but I shall think on that later.

I am told that a family of griffins resides on a nearby mountain peak, and a dragon has been seen from time to time in the forests to the south. Once I expressed interest in these creatures, there was no end to the number of ponies willing to tell me a tale of adventure, each one featuring a frightful menace. Cockatrice, manticores, hydra, giant translucent bears... it’s a marvel such a quiet, peace-loving society can survive.

And it is peace-loving, and quiet. The closest concept I can apply to the political environment is a communist monarchy. It’s like a perfected form of socialism, with minimal government involvement, ponies filling the roles needed in their towns and villages, and everyone seemingly eager to excel at their natural talents.

Technologically, there are parallels to late 19th-century Earth without the advent of the motorcar. Balloons and railways are used by the land-bound races to travel great distances, and there are phonographs, pianos, sewing machines, and so forth. There are also some anachronistic pieces - full-color flash photography seems commonplace, and an advertisement I saw today can only describe a dance club, complete with bright lights and a two-turntable DJ booth.

I’ve spoken of my talents to Skyshine, the grey pony who was my constant companion on my first day. I’d like to find out if they could help the community.

I’ve just spent ten minutes staring at my last sentence.

I’ve never had a thought like that in my life. Am I being controlled? Altered? Is it just so pleasant here that I feel compelled to give? I hate being suspicious of so good a feeling, but there it is. I think I’ll talk to Whisper tomorrow, if I can, before I dwell on this any further.

A busy day. I am staying in a barn on a nearby pony’s farm for the next few days. My landlord’s name is Pearmain, and he grows apples and carrots. I’ve pledged him my bits for the roof over my head, and after asking around in town, I’ve found the usual inn prices mean I only have about four days left. Still, I find the expense worth it: while home is where you hang your hat, it’s nice to hang it in such a cozy place from time to time.

Goodnight.

R.

Day 14

I’ve just left the mayor’s office, having managed an early-morning meeting.

Yesterday’s concerns go largely unanswered, but Whisper insists she did nothing with her spell other than enable me to understand Equestrian. She seemed offended, at first, when I asked the question. When I clarified that there were some people back in my own world who would do just that... well, she seemed more concerned for my well-being.

I did not clarify that I was such a person. I’m not sure that’s true any more.

Oh, I still am myself. I pride myself on my intellect, and my hard-earned skill. I still have a temper. Indeed, I nearly blew up at a filly last night who only wanted to make sure I was comfortable, repeatedly, over the course of ten minutes. I still want to be respected and honored for my accomplishments.

But, for all my flaws... well, they’ve changed. For one, the hard edges are gone - while my mood shifts, it does so within a smaller range, with smoother transitions. Secondly... well. It’s like I’ve been turned into a mirror image of myself. When my temper burns down, I get grouchy... but I don’t feel the urge towards violence. When I think of my abilities, I think immediately of how I can best share them. When I think of my accomplishments, I find I want to help others obtain the same.

And, perhaps most terrifying of all... I no longer care why.

It’s as if all the negative aspects of my personality are being worn away by the patient smiles and eager honesty of this new world. If it is brainwashing, I find that the result is so desirable that I would be a fool to resist.

When the meeting was over, I asked Whisper for access to a cart so that I could retrieve my tools and belongings from the mountains. I think I want to stay here, and learn more about these marvelous creatures and their magical - and I mean that literally - culture.

We’ll see what can be arranged later today. In the meantime, I think I’ll take a walk around the village, and stretch my legs.

R.

Day 14, Evening

I was interrupted at lunch by Skyshine, who told me that she would be accompanying me to the mountains. Before I could swallow and thank her, she was joined by the rest of the escort.

I’ll take a moment here to describe them.

Skyshine is an inquisitive, bubbly mare with an easy canter and easier smile. She genuinely enjoys stumbling across the unknown, as it gives her a chance to experience something new. As I’ve mentioned before, her coat is grey and her mane and tail are a light sky blue. Her cutie mark is a sunbeam through clouds.

Saber Dance is a very delicately-built earth pony; Bulwark has teased her more than once with the description ‘flightless pegasus’. She has a temper and a sharp tongue, but tries to keep both in check when around her friends. It’s very possible that this small group comprises the sum of these friends, as she seems to rub everyone else in town the wrong way. She is a pale purple with a deep blue mane and tail, both intricately braided. Her cutie mark is a pair of curved golden swords, crossed.

Bulwark is, in many ways, Saber Dance’s opposite. She is stockier than her peers, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, and when she sets her hooves she’s immovable. But her true joy is animals, and she will coo and purr at a baby otter for hours if she is able. Her gifts lie in the realms of caretaking and protection. She’s the shortest of the group, and is almost uniformly white, with a faint green tint to her mane and tail. Both are cut short, which reflects her no-nonsense demeanor. Her cutie mark is an ornate shield, grey and green.

Holly is a quiet, unassuming, almost timid young mare; according to Skyshine, she has just earned her cutie mark. She has a great love of the outdoors but cannot abide other people. She’s not afraid of them, she simply finds their presence annoying. Her skill apparently lies with the preparation and production of natural remedies - a hedge doctor, if you will, but one with proven results. Her coat is a light red and her mane is a slightly darker shade, worn very long. Her cutie mark is a clump of three bright holly berries against a deep green leaf.

Me? Well, I’m used to shorter company, but I still feel like a child being escorted by his toys. I’m about twice their height, round, with spindly limbs, an ungainly gait, a shiny head, and an enormous bottle-brush moustache. On second glance, I’m not so round any more. Two weeks of living light seem to have begun to reduce the old waistline.

I’m woolgathering. It is time to pack our bags and prepare. According to Sundown - he’s the pegasus I mentioned earlier - we’re not due for more snow for another three days. Best move now.

R.

Day 16

It was Holly who noticed it first.

“Sir?” She always calls me sir. “Your, uh, hair?”

“What about it?”

“It’s... there. Not just your moustache.”

Sure enough, I’m regrowing my hair. It’s the same orange as my moustache, and only about a quarter-inch long, but it’s growing. My moustache? It’s fuller, too. Coupled with how I feel, internally, this place must have a rejuvenating effect on me. I have more energy, and feel more eager and motivated to do, instead of be.

We reached my cave today. Traveling is a lot faster when you know where you’re going. It should take us the rest of the afternoon to pack, and then we’ll set off again in the morning. I hope to get some rest; my sleep has been troubled by strange dreams when I can close my eyes, and one of the ponies’ snoring when I cannot.

As to my materiel, I brought more than I remembered. There are a half-dozen boxes and crates full of my tools and basic equipment. Each item in my kit brings about a number of questions from Skyshine as to its design and purpose. If I ever need a helper for my work, I know who I’ll call upon.

I think I’ll collect some wood for tonight’s fire. The girls have been extremely helpful, and the least I can do in repayment is make sure everyone’s comfortable. Besides, they’ve been telling stories throughout the trip. Maybe it’s time I shared a few.

R.

Day 17, Before Dawn

The stories were well-received, last night, and we all spoke of this and that until the wee hours. One by one, my companions drifted off, muzzles buried in their hooves as if praying, save for Bulwark, who slept on her back with her legs splayed inelegantly.

It’s Bulwark, by the way, who snores.

I spent most of the night watching the moon travel its course. From what Skyshine told me, the Princess, Luna, shapes how the moon will appear based on what she thinks is needed, and sometimes on her mood. Certain anniversaries are marked with special appearances: an enormous blue-tinted orb on the Night of Winter’s Moon; a shining but smaller white sphere, almost painful to look at, for her and her sister’s festival; and a black, lightless orb for a more recent event, the defeat of some entity known as Nightmare.

Magic.

It still unsettles me.

Judging by the position of the moon, sunrise should be about three hours from now. I think I’ll try to steal a few winks before my companions - no, my friends - stir.

I’m just glad I have earplugs in my kit.

R.

Day 17, Evening

I should be terrified.

This place - this Equestria - is changing me, and not just through the rejuvenation I commented on yesterday, or the improvements to mood.

It’s altering me directly.

This morning, as I washed up before the day’s travel, I noticed a tenderness to my forehead, as if some insect had bitten me. There was a spot between my eyes, about an inch in diameter, that sported a swollen, angry-looking knot. I asked Holly about any salves or poultices she might be carrying for bug-bite, but she said there was no noticeable wound. Just the swelling.

It’s larger now, as I write this. Prominent, even, as if I were growing a horn.

A horn like the mayor’s.

None of my companions have ever heard of someone gaining a horn, but then, they admit they’ve never heard of a non-Equestrian visiting.

So, I’m being altered. By what? Natural forces? An outside actor? Some side-effect of the Chaos Emerald’s space-time warp? I can’t say, and I’m hardly in a position to research with any hope of a concrete answer.

My hair is longer, too. It must have grown two inches over the course of the day, and I am beginning to resemble an orange haystack.

At this rate, I’m going to wake up one morning with hooves.

And... I don’t know if that frightens me, or not.

As I said, I should be terrified. What I am, though, is excited. I’m eager to see what happens next on this journey.

Time, as always, will tell.

R.

Day 18, Morning

My horn - and it is, indeed, a horn, with a graceful spiral down its length - continues to grow.

According to Saber Dance, it is longer than that of a foal, but not quite the length of an adult. Her daughter, Tea Blossom, is apparently a unicorn - as is her husband - and anxiously awaits the arrival of her cutie mark. I hadn’t even known she was married - none of the other ponies are, they’ve now said - and it is difficult to imagine her dour, coarse personality caring for a child.

Ah, that reminds me. Cutie marks. I’ll explain it here as Saber Dance did to me.

At some point in a young pony’s life, when she has discovered - and accepted - her innate talent, a change overtakes her body and an emblem appears on her hindquarters. This emblem, called a cutie mark, is a representation of this talent. These talents are the central guiding force in a pony’s life.

Names are said to influence a pony’s talents. Saber Dance was walking, and challenging other ponies to step out of her way, at a very young age. Whether this was her parents picking up on her talent, and naming her accordingly, or her name shaping her talent’s growth, I cannot say.

Talents also run in families, often overlapping or supporting one another. A family who needs someone to help turn a failing farm around might discover that their cousin down the way has just recognized their talent for accounting.

It’s as if serendipity has taken on a form and is actively shaping pony society. Frankly, to an outsider like me who distrusts such things, it’s disturbing. It’s all a little too convenient.

I asked about it after breakfast. What if a pony doesn’t find a talent? What if they never get a cutie mark? The group was shocked by my questions; apparently, the subject is taboo. I was informed that they had never met a pony who did not have a cutie mark as an adult, and the stories of ponies in other cities who lived as ‘blank flanks’ - the common term - were dismissed as old mare’s tales.

Back to the horn: apparently, even foals can channel some rudimentary magic. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to try, but with no unicorn in our party, I worry about any problems that might arise.

We should be back in town late this evening. I may ask around after a good night’s rest.

Onward!

R.

Day 19

I cannot take long to write, at the moment. A great many things have happened, and I will share them all - I promise - but I did want to note three important items:

The residents of this town - Pasofino, it’s called - are wonderful, giving creatures.

I am in high spirits.

I have what amounts to a lesson scheduled for the evening with the mayor.

More later.

R.

Day 21

I think it’s safe to say that things have gone much better than I ever hoped.

When the girls and I returned from our trip, I was directed to stop by a house at the edge of town instead of returning to the barn. Upon entering, I found a low lantern and a note on a small table.

The house is mine.

The previous owner, a stallion named Cobalt, had joined the Royal Guard and no longer needed the home, choosing to grant it to the town. I will owe a small amount of bits per month for the next year or so - back taxes, apparently - but in all other respects it’s a glorious gift.

Speaking of glorious gifts, it seems that I have some promise with magic. I’ve not successfully performed any task, yet, but Whisper says she can feel the potential. It may take a few more days, or weeks, but she thinks I will at least be able to use basic telekinesis.

I must admit, though, that the horn looks better on her, even when hidden by my wild orange hair.

On that note: despite my best efforts, short of pulling it back into a ponytail, my ‘mane’ is unruly and wild. I look like I’ve been electrocuted, most mornings, and even with constant brushing it doesn’t improve. Still: hair! I have hair! I’ll put up with the lack of style.

I noticed, yesterday, I’ve stopped craving meat. Indeed, for my entire time with the ponies, I’ve lived a vegetarian lifestyle, but one with such variety that animal protein isn’t missed. Besides, I get enough of that from beans, wheat, and other sources that I no longer need to pursue an omnivorous diet.

My concern, now, is earning my keep. I’ve set up shop in my home, even though it’s a little cramped for me, and built a humble awning out back where I can stretch my legs and test my latest devices.

So far, I’ve had little success at interesting my friends in any of my whirring, buzzing, clicking machines. Even the sketch of my automated farming robot - it harvests and replants in the same pass - has been passed over. The fillies and colts, though, are mesmerized. I think I’ll try some toys - I certainly have the ability.

In the meantime, I’m helping out at the smithy. While not exactly my specialty, I understand alloys and metalworking, and the bits are appreciated. I’m due for work in about an hour. Before then, I think I’ll take another walk around town. Sometimes, it’s nice just to say hello to everyone.

R.

Day 23

I’ve done it! I am currently holding up a mug of tea - unsteadily, to be sure - while my hands write this line.

Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. I’ve just had to clean up the tea.

Regardless: magic. Through will (and horn) alone, I was able to influence the world, and apparently violate the laws of physics. I say apparently because I certainly felt a power being used. Perhaps this magic is simply another form of energy, concentrated by the horn, and expended. It would explain the feeling of stress and the draining sensation when I try something too long, but I am no hungrier or sleepier in these states - just unable to use magic again until I recover.

So, if it is energy, it must be supplied by another system.

A thought for another time.

My first few toys were finished yesterday, and have sold well. Having no real knowledge of the worth of things, I’ve had to consult with my friends to establish a base price. Fabricating most of the parts, save the power supply, is a simple thing using scrap metal and other materials. The power supplies are precious indeed, and I cannot yet duplicate them with ease.

To reflect this, I offer my toys at two prices; the lower for a wind-up or steam-powered version, the higher for one that runs on an energy cell or solar panel. I sold all three wind-up models almost immediately, and the two energy-cell versions have a few parties interested, but not yet willing to spend the bits. I may just render all my toys in spring or steam, from now on, and save the cells and panels for special commissions.

Monetary issues aside, the sheer joy in the faces of these fillies and colts is heartwarming. It makes me feel good to use my abilities to make others happy.

That still feels so strange to write. I really am becoming someone different, if the horn weren’t enough proof.

So, in the space of two weeks, I have income, a job that is satisfying, and a strange new ability. What miracles are in store for me in the next two?

I can’t wait to find out.

R.

[This page, although clearly an attempt at an entry, is illegible, as are the next two pages. The fourth page has been torn out completely.]

DAY 32

I AM NARRATING THIS ENTRY TO A SMALL DEVICE THAT TRANSCRIBES MY WORDS, AS I LACK THE DEXTERITY TO WRITE WITH HOOVES, AND HAVE NOT YET MASTERED MY MAGIC FOR FINE WORK.

HOOVES. I AM, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, AN EQUESTRIAN. A PONY. MY COAT IS A BEIGE THAT OFFSETS MY WILD ORANGE MANE AND TAIL. I HAVE NO MARK. I AM NOW A UNICORN.

I AM... NOW A UNICORN.

THAT IS PERHAPS THE MOST BIZARRE PHRASE TO EVER LEAVE MY LIPS.

I AM A UNICORN.

I WALK ON FOUR HOOVES, NOW, AND WHILE I CAN MANIPULATE ITEMS WITH MY FORELEGS, IT IS CLEAR THAT MY BODY EXPECTS TO USE MY MOUTH FOR CLOSE WORK, OR MY HORN.

I MAY TRY WRITING WITH MY LIPS, LATER, BUT HOLDING ANY INSTRUMENT IN MY MOUTH FEELS AWKWARD AT BEST.

AS FOR THE TRANSFORMATION, THE FINAL SHAPE OCCURRED OVERNIGHT, AS I SLEPT. I WENT TO BED A MAN, AND WOKE A PONY, MY GARMENTS EITHER DISCARDED OR TORN.

I HAVE ASKED THE LOCAL TAILOR TO FASHION MY RED COAT INTO A POCKETED VEST. I FEEL NAKED. HE SHOULD HAVE IT DONE BY TONIGHT. I CONSIDERED REQUESTING PANTS AS WELL, BUT I REALIZED THAT IF I HAD TO ATTEND TO BIOLOGICAL MATTERS, I MIGHT NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO REMOVE THEM IN TIME.

SO, HERE I STAND, NARRATING MY THOUGHTS TO A SMALL, CELL-POWERED TRANSCRIPTIONIST AS I PACE MY SUDDENLY-ROOMY HOME.

A PONY.

IS THIS A NATURAL EVENT? A SPELL? SOME STRANGE CURSE? IF I MANAGE TO RETURN TO EARTH, WILL I REMAIN A TALKING, MAGICAL PONY OR WILL I CHANGE BACK?

I HAVE NO ANSWERS.

MY FELLOW TOWNSPONIES HAVE NONE, EITHER. MOST FIND MY NEW SHAPE UNSETTLING, SAVE MY FRIENDS, THE MAYOR, AND THE FOALS WHO LIKE MY TOYS. TO BE HONEST, I’M UNSURE HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT, MYSELF.

R.

Day 35

Writing with my lips is painful, after a few minutes. I’m sure I’ll master it, eventually, if only as a backup to my horn when and if I am unable to use telekinesis.

I’m writing this entry with my magic. I’ve spent almost every free hour practicing my, er, penmanship. I make the occasional blunder when my concentration wanes, but it’s easy going. And I can use the practice to build up my strength and dexterity.

So, life as a pony. What’s it like?

None too different from bipedalism, once you get past the different way to interface with the world. Most ponies use their mouths to grip, save unicorns, who rely on their telekinesis. I’m practicing both, just to be prudent.

I have vastly more energy on a daily basis than I did upon first arriving. My new body is athletic, and I enjoy a good run now as much as a day spent researching.

My eyesight is still poor, despite all the other changes, although not as bad as it once was. I understand there is a pony that fashions glasses in a nearby town, and have sent a letter requesting an appointment.

The vest fits me well, both physically and personally. Without it, I feel naked. With it, despite the lack of trousers, I feel properly attired.

I do miss the gloves.

Looking back, I suppose I was being groomed for this from the beginning. First, the change in mood, and in outlook. Then the change in diet, and the feeling of closeness to a random group of ponies. The horn, next, and magic. Finally, the shape. It all makes sense, in retrospect. What I wonder about is ‘how’ and, if applicable, ‘who’.

I do not resent the changes. Indeed, I feel better than I have in decades, with clearer focus, and a readier smile - one without malice. I do not mean to, if you’ll excuse the phrase, look a gift horse in the mouth. But I feel a need to know the reasons behind the transformation.

So, I’ve written another letter, to the University of Canterlot. I understand it is the pinnacle of magical research, and hope that it bends a willing ear or catches a curious eye.

In the meantime? I have toys to make, and Pearmain has requested a machine that can help him harvest his apples. There is research to be done!

R.

Day 37

The apple-harvester is a success, and deceptively simple in design. After watching Pearmain’s normal harvesting methods - something he calls applebucking - I created a sturdy, solid device with a large gripper, and a funnel-shaped split net on top. It grasps a trunk, shakes it with purpose, and collects the falling fruit in its net, before feeding them to a waiting basket beside the machine. Not one bruised fruit.

I mentioned I could create a second machine that would sort, grade, and so forth, if he were interested. He thanked me for the offer, but said he preferred to do that himself. Something about a personal touch. I respect the work ethic, which surprises me. In my past life, I’d have called him a fool and sought to replace him with the machine, regardless of his wishes.

Physical changes? I can accept those. After all, I was once a robot. It is these changes to character that make me marvel at the subtle magic of this place.

No response from the University. Either they think I’m a crackpot, or they’ve ignored or missed the letter. No matter. I have enough to do now without explaining myself to an understudy.

My glasses arrived yesterday, after the optometrist visited in person the day before. A minor expenditure of bits and I can see clearly once more. While he was here, he recalibrated my goggles for my new form as well. I paid him in bits, but I’ve also fabricated a lens-cleaning machine that I will be surprising him with, shortly.

Simply ‘doing’ for another is my new hobby. I have the bits I need, I have a warm home, and I have friends - Tea Blossom bought a wind-up butterfly, yesterday, after her mother mentioned my work - what more can I ask for?

I left Earth seeking a quiet sort of peace. I think I’ve found that a noisy peace is vastly preferable.

Until next time.

R.

Day 39

My calendar is clear, my toys waiting on a few touches, and Skyshine is off enjoying the early spring.

A moment, then, for reflection.

For someone who has worked on his own, alone save for his creations, this new society of acceptance takes some getting used to, despite my desire to fit in.

No, that’s not the right phrase. The weak ‘fit in’. I aim to belong. That’s new: being accepted, part of a whole, and still myself. It will take some getting used to.

My new physical form allows me to do just that. Whatever its source, being a pony among ponies allows me a kinship I never felt among my fellow men.

Is that the lesson in all this? Is there a lesson in all this?

To think someone like me could find peace - happiness - simply by meeting a few friendly faces... it makes me realize how right my first words in this journal were.

All that time, wasted.

But now, tomorrow comes with a promise of another chance. A new life under the old name.

A few last touches on this latest batch of toys, and I think I’ll head down to the lake. Skyshine’s normally down there about now, feeding the ducks.

R.

Day 40

A short entry today.

Sundown, our weather pegasus, has been gravely wounded in a crash outside town. A freak lightning bolt from a rogue cloud dazed him in flight, and the resulting trip through the trees has apparently caused severe injury. He is still in transit to the clinic, and Holly says the doctor wants me present. For what, I cannot imagine, but I am happy to help in any way I can.

I must be off.

R.

Day 40, Evening

His left wing will never heal on its own, even with unicorn magic and earth-pony poultices. I have been asked if I can fashion something to help restore his flight. The muscles on his back are still strong, as is the limb itself, but the individual bones and tendon structures that supported his feathers are destroyed.

I have placed my other work on hold. Mechanical flight is a fait accompli with turbines, or propellers, or jets, but not with self-powered wings. It will take some study. In the meantime, he needs to heal from his other injuries. He punctured a lung, in the fall, and damaged other organs. He will pull through, though, Holly says. The doctor agrees.

Let’s see... leaf springs, and hollow spans, and-

Well. Let’s not clutter up the journal, hm?

Until later.

R.

Day 43

Still no progress. My designs have, so far, been too weak, too bulky, too unwieldy, and now all three. Back to the drawing board.

I have apparently begun to worry Skyshine. I’ve warned her that, at times, I become engrossed with my work to the exclusion of all else. She doesn’t choose to hear, I guess, or prefers to help regardless. She will show up regularly with a hot pot of tea, or an encouraging word, or, like yesterday, a simple smile, accompanied by a sandwich. I fear the lass has taken a liking to me, and does not know what I can be.

But perhaps what I can be is not what I must be...

No time for that. Not now.

I need to see actual pegasi in flight. I’ve asked around and apparently, away from Cloudsdale or the Royal Guard, pegasi aren’t terribly common.

Since I cannot walk on clouds, I’ve mailed the head of the Guard with a request to visit, and examine some pegasi in flight, both free and under burden.

I sent the letter yesterday. I expect an answer, one way or the other, tomorrow. If it’s denied, I’ll see if some ponies from Cloudsdale would be willing to visit.

Oh yes, I become engrossed in my work. May Celestia have mercy on those who keep me from it.

R.

Day 44

I woke this morning to a knock on my door, and was greeted by three pegasi - two stallions and a mare - from the Royal Guard. They informed me that while organizing a visit to the barracks might require more planning, they could be spared to assist in my efforts.

I immediately set to work - measurements, questions, close studies, and so on, and so forth. I had one pony carry another, while walking, and in flight, to see how they preferred to balance loads. I measured flight speeds, calculated torque, and gathered reams of data for this one task.

I will not be denied.

By the time they left - with my thanks, and more exercise than they probably expected - the three were exhausted. But I have, now, what I need: a comprehensive study of pegasus flight.

It’s time to get back to work.

R.

Day 48... I think.

I woke, moments ago, from a wonderful dream, and I think I know how to complete this design.

I also woke to a still-warm tea service, complete with buttered scones. That Skyshine... she’s irreplaceable.

Anyway. The dream. Bats.

Yes, yes, I know that pegasi are feathered, but I think a bat’s wing structure will be the best fit to approach this, mechanically. I’ll get the basic frame sketched out, and compared to the measurements of Sundown and the guards, we’ll get it sized appropriately.

So much to do. I’m glad my toys have sold well - I haven’t had time to make new ones, and the bits are helping me stay on task.

R.

Day 50

The wing is promising. I’ve built three versions, each slightly larger than the last to account for any oversights to weight or thrust. When Sundown’s limb folds, the wing should collapse with a snap and lie flat on his side. I cannot make it look like its natural partner - not yet - but for now function is more important than form.

He should be well enough to try them tomorrow, and insists on keeping the wings with him until then. I think I understand. I’ve only had access to magic for a few weeks, but if I were to lose it now I don’t know how I’d handle it. I can only imagine what losing flight must be like.

I’m going to get some sleep, but first, I need to visit someone.

R.

Day 51

Skyshine is truly a gem. I woke today in her living room, the sun’s rays through the window serving as my alarm clock. I must have passed out during my visit; I cannot even remember if we had a conversation.

She left me a note, and some lovely carrot muffins. The muffins were appreciated, and the note was even more so. It said that she would return when Sundown was ready, but to meet her at the clinic if I woke before then.

So I did, and she met me halfway. We hurried back, together, and I helped fit Sundown into his harness. We tried the smallest wing, first, and set out into the sun. We’d be running our first tests on a level, grassy field outside town. I carried the other two with me, and watched as he flexed and tested the range of the new wing, one eye on the path and one on the construct. I was pleased to see it met the same motions as his natural one, if a fair bit larger in sweep.

He said nothing as we walked. Every time our eyes met, his shined with hope, on the verge of tears. I let him have his peace.

We met up with Swift Winds - his physician - and Holly at the edge of the field. Still silent, Sundown stepped past us, paused, and flared both wings, stretching his limbs. One feathered, one metal and silk, they shimmered in the sunlight.

Folding them once more, he took a tenuous step, and then began to trot, then run, and finally he swept his wings wide... and careened face-first into the dirt. He had lifted, momentarily, but spun into the ground. His left wing was too weak.

Still, I was prepared. Helping him change out the wing, we set him up again, and he tried once more. Again: a trot, and a gallop, and a leap - and he lifted into the air. Flapping furiously, he gained altitude, and slowly turned to face us, and the sun.

He was a half-mile away... and I could hear his laughter as clearly as if he stood beside me. Hooting and hollering, whinnying and neighing with sheer joy, he swept past us again and again, buzzing low and soaring high, spinning like a top, his oddly-paired wings lifting him high above.

I looked away. It wouldn’t do to see me cry. It was then that I noticed it.

My cutie mark.

R.

Day 55

It’s been almost sixty days since I arrived in Equestria. Over that time, a great deal has changed. Almost everything, in fact - except for this journal. This is the last thing connecting me to who I once was. I think it best, then, that as I close that chapter in my life, I close this journal as well.

I do so with a sketch, and with a story. First, the sketch:

This is my cutie mark.

I am no artist. It’s an egg, hatching a gear. To me? It’s my new life, having been properly nurtured, bursting forth. I can also imagine it reflects my skill at improving others’ lives, through machines.

The egg, shattering, to show its golden gear? Well, that’s more fitting than most will ever know. Eggman is gone. Only Ivo Robotnik remains, and that, dear friends, is a vastly improved version.

The story? Well, one day, a man who was tired of living, and who never felt truly whole, left the world to find himself. Over the course of two months... he did.

And he lived happily ever after.

Now and forever,

Robotnik

Elsewhere in Equestria:

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been quiet, this morning. Even for you.”

“Yes, sister. I know you worry so, but I’m fine. I’ve just been busier than normal, lately. I’m happy to say, though, that I’ll be returning to my normal workload tomorrow.”

“That is a relief. Might I ask what this secret project was?”

“You might, but I won’t tell you. Not yet.”

The elder sister rolled her eyes, and sipped her tea. “Fine. Keep your secrets for now.”

“I will, thank you kindly.” She smiled, and briefly stuck out her tongue. “But, Tia... tell me something?”

“Mm.”

“Back in my dark days, when I was... someone else...”

Her sister waited patiently for her to continue.

“If I hadn’t been me - I mean, if I had just been some poor pony, or even a griffin, or a diamond dog, trapped in the Nightmare’s grasp... would you have worked so hard to redeem me? To send the Elements after me, and remove Nightmare’s influence?”

“Of course. All my subjects - indeed, all creatures - deserve a chance at redemption.”

There was a silence, then, as the younger alicorn took it in. She would never be able to tell her sister how much that answer meant, or how its immediate arrival made her feel.

A moment passed - perhaps two - and she recovered.

“I’m glad you agree,” she declared, regal and mysterious. She stood, and nuzzled her elder sister. “I love you, sis. I’m going to go to bed, now. I look forward to your sunset.”

“I... love you too, Luna. Even when you’re confusing. Perhaps especially then. Sweet dreams.”

Her little sister nodded in appreciation, and then left the dining hall, closing the door gently behind her.

Celestia stared out at her rising sun, lost in thought. “I wonder what she meant by all that...”