Origin Story (Part Seven) · 9:46am Jan 2nd, 2015
And now, the further adventures of Daring Do!
art by Slawomiro
Origin Story (Part Seven)
"Origin Story" was originally conceived of then abandoned as a fanfiction. Now, it has been reincarnated as part of a Fallout: Equestria tabletop roleplaying adventure. Each segment that I post consists of a report by Daring Do while on a mission for wartime Equestria, followed by a few pages of rough draft for a Daring Do prequel, intended to be used as a cryptography OTP. Each of these "pads" amounts to the most crucial part of what would have been a story chapter.
Previous Pads:
Origin Story (Prologue & Framing)
Origin Story (Part One)
Origin Story (Part Two)
Origin Story (Part Three)
Origin Story (Part Four)
Origin Story (Part Five)
Origin Story (Part Six)
Please enjoy! 
As always with Origin Story, please let me know if you stumble across any errors in this writing. Nothing here has been through a proper editor. 
art by Derpyworks
Eighth mission report.
“There is nowhere left to run, Daring Do. Even if you could fly, there is no place left to go. Except down, we agree.”
“How is my Equestrian? I have been practicing. No more rhymes.”
Come on. Just a little closer.
“I will give you this, Daring Do. You could not have chosen a more cinematic place for our final confrontation. To face me above the great hole in the world. But then, you have always had a flair for overly dramatic storytelling. So why not stop hiding? Come out onto the bridge and face me.”
“You ponies have such a place in your own homeland, do you not? A cavity in the world, leading to where the worst of monsters are imprisoned? In the Imperial Tongue, this place is called Cavum Orcus. The common people call it Kutengwa Shimo. Our zebra ancestors imprisoned the Quetzalcóatl Empress here. Built this temple above it to seal Her in. Until you ponies plundered the temple for its riches, and weakened that prison!”
I seem to recall you zebras doing your fair share of weakening this place, Jua.
“Ah! A decoy. Nice try. Now where are you, really? I weary of this, Daring Do.”
“Wait. Did you actually go down the stairs? Are you that eager for the end? The poison must be agony in your veins. You are too weak to fly. Too weak to climb back up. Unless… Is this where you hid the Amulet of Atonement? Are you hoping it will give you the strength to climb your way out again? Or are you just hoping to drag me down with you into Orcus?”
That’s it. Take the stairs. Just a little farther.
“There is nothing sacred anymore.”
“The Senate speaks of the depravity of ponykind, trumpeting the hastening degradation of your social and moral values, as if they have kept theirs. I remember when spirits were respected and feared. Now we bind the power of spirits of rage to make our bullets burn and spirits of whispers to make our war machines silent. This place was once held in reverence. Now it is a resource for the war effort. We are weaponizing Windigos. The Legates listen to the likes of Xero. Even the blasphemous horrors of necromancy are not above the Senate’s consideration.”
“If the citizens realized the full extent of what we have done, the Hidden Nightmare would not need to destroy us – we would tear ourselves apart for her.”
“Some zebra needs to remind everyone why we must respect and fear the old ways.”
By taking control of the Radiant Shield of Rasdon? What are you really doing here, Jua? Are you planning to lock Equestria in eternal day? Or are you just planning to shut it off and open this Tartarus pit wide?
“What? There you are! Sneaky, Daring Do. But not enough. I will be up there in a moment. Though, before I kill you, I have to ask: how did you stick yourself to the underside of the bridge like that? You are no alchemist.”
Wonderglue. Same stuff I used to glue all those explosives to the chasm wall beneath you.
“No!”
I will not kill you, but I will send you to jail. Goodbye Jua. Say hello to Cerber-
>> File Corrupted. Data unrecoverable. <<
Eighth Pad Begins
Eighth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from
Chapter 7: Interrogation
I will not even attempt to transcribe the words spoken to me in the zebra’s native tongue.
To my shame, despite all my years adventuring in the Tenochtitlan Basin, I only learned a passing amount of the language spoken in the rural areas and the outlying villages. I schooled myself on the Imperial language – that spoken in the central cities, for it was the language of their government and military. And as I had a penchant for finding myself in trouble with them, the ability to smooth-talk my way out of that trouble saved my feathers on several occasions. Likewise, I grew very adept at translating the ancient glyphs that were often the key to understanding the ruins and artifacts that were the focus of my endeavors.
The zebras put us to shame by being more willing to learn our tongue than we were to learn theirs. Within their trade centers, such as Bahari Soko, many zebras strove to learn Equestrian. The method of education involved nursery rhymes and a rhythmic learning structure which is so at odds with Equestrian schooling that I cannot imagine how it would make learning our language any easier. I would be hard pressed to consistently express myself in the form of poetry.
In younger years, it was exceptionally rare to find a zebra fluent enough in Equestrian to speak without rhyme. Rarer still to find a pony fluent in either of their languages, much less both.
In this era, I fear the art of language is slowly dying. I have read The Principles of Proper Pony Speech, and I am aghast. As a writer, I fear what we are doing to our own ability to express ourselves. And if we have so little respect for our own language, what hope have we to respect the languages of other cultures? Or to respect and strive to understand those cultures through learning their native methods of communication?
What was rare then is scarce now. The other nations have grown recalcitrant to learn Equestrian. Perhaps they have finally grown tired and decided to adopt our exceptionalism-driven ignorance. Or perhaps they have simply decided that the best way to protect their secrets is linguistic isolation.
~-------~ oOo ~-------~
Daring Do screamed as the pony in the red hat pressed the burning tip of the flamewood arrow against the base of her left wing and slowly dragged it across her flesh until it reached her feathers. Bright, searing pain lanced through her brain. Her body arched against the ropes binding her to the wooden rack.
The pony in the red hat lifted the flamewood arrow and Daring Do collapsed, unable to keep her tears from flowing or to stifle the ragged sounds in her every breath. She fought the urge to look down and to the left, instead focusing on the pony in front of her.
The pony looked at her patiently, the arrow held in his mouth. Daring Do took a deep breath and glared back at him. He sighed. Then lowered his head and pressed the burning tip against her flank, just an inch below her cutie mark.
Daring Do howled as he held it there. One second. Two. Three. Her body began to shake. Four.
“Stop it!” screamed Bluebell from her cage, her voice cracking.
Finally, the pony in the red hat pulled the flamewood arrow away, tossing the it into a barrel filled with its brethern. He gave her a pitying look that she didn’t believe for a moment.
Behind him, two zebra cultists guarded the entrance of the cultists' storage room, now turned into a makeshift interrogation chamber. They spoke to each other in hused and, at least in Daring’s imagination, disapproving tones.
“Where is it,” the pony asked again, taking a civilized, conversational tone.
Daring Do spat. “Under a rock somewhere. I forget which one. Try looking under all of them.”
“I have many ways of helping you remember.” The pony shook his head. “Why do you resist when it only hurts you more and delays the inevitable?” the pony asked. “Sooner or later, you will tell me where the Amulet of Atonement is.”
“Never!” Daring Do hissed, forcing herself not to look down and to the left.
The pony tsk-tsked. “Never? In my experience, ‘never’ will come shortly after I stop hurting you and start maiming you,” he told Daring. “Trust me, the ponies and zebras who speak sooner are far better off.”
“Why are you doing this?!” Bluebell cried out, sobbing. One of the zebras spoke sharply to her. Even without knowledge of the zebra languages, it was easy to tell he was ordering her to be quiet. Or, perhaps, threatening her.
“Because the zebras have no stomach for the fine art of interrogation,” the pony said casually, turning towards Bluebell. “Truly, it’s nothing personal. I have no stake in the freeing of the Quetzalcóatl Empress. It is a job, nothing more.”
Horror and revulsion and denial fought for supremacy in Bluebell’s wide-eyed expression. She cringed away.
Both the pony and the two zebras turned towards the entrance as voices, speaking in the zebra’s tongue, carried in from outside the ruins that the cultists had taken over. They listened carefully to make sure those outside were friend, not foe.
While they were distracted, Daring Do risked a quick look down and to the left, to where A.K. Yearling’s pith hat had been knocked from her head when the cultists dragged her in here. It was a small miracle the blow hadn’t knocked the Amulet loose from where she had hidden it in the hat’s inner headband just before being captured.
Her blood ran cold as she spotted the silver chain snaking out from under the brim.
Daring Do quickly looked back at the earth pony in the red hat and the zebras, praying that the hat remained forgotten.
The pony in the red hat turned back to Daring Do. “Perhaps we should just skip ahead,” he suggested, looking towards the rickety wooden table which held an ominous collection of tools. He hovered a hoof over each in turn before stopping at the bonesaw. “Maybe the removal of a wing will convince you to unshackle your tongue.”
Bluebell let out a paniced shout. “No!” Then followed it with forced bravery. “You better stop! Fleetwing got away, and when he gets here, he’ll be bringing the whole Equestrian army with him!”
The pony exchanged a glance with the zebras, one of whom said something Daring Do couldn’t understand. The pony chuckled wryly. “The pegasus who abandoned you and fled? I seriously doubt that. He’s probably hiding under a rock somewhere... if the ahools or couatls or jungle cats haven’t made a meal of him already.”
Bluebell sobbed, whispering insistantly, “He didn’t abandon us!”
The pony in the red hat picked up the bonesaw in his teeth and looked towards Daring Do. Then towards Bluebell. He dropped the bonesaw back onto the table. It landed with a clatter amongst his other tools of torture. “On second thought...” he mused, trotting over to the barrel of flamewood arrows. “I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
The pony barked an order to the zebras and they decended on Bluebell, unlocking her cage and dragging her out. The pony pulled one of the flamewood arrows from the barrel, its tip flickering with fire.
“No!” Daring Do ordered, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Leave her alone!”
The pony approached slowly, the tip of the flamewood arrow held before him, burning hot. Bluebell screamed, pulling at the zebras who held her. The pony in the red hat pointed the tip of the arrow at Bluebell’s right eye.
Bluebell screamed again. Daring Do screamed with her, shouting at the pony. “Don’t! In the name of Celestia, stop!”
One of the zebras adjusted her grip to hold Bluebell’s head still. Her eyes went wide as she tried to shrink back from the flaming weapon. The pony stepped closer, bringing the flamewood tip close enough that the heat dried her tears.
“Daring Do has it!” Bluebell blurted.
Daring Do felt the world fall out from under her.
The pony took a step back, turning to stare at Daring Do. Then he rushed to her, tossing the flamewood arrow back into its barrel as his hooves worked over her jacket again, being even more thorough than the first time. Finding nothing, he started to check her mane and tail.
Bluebell sobbed. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
Despite all the pain, Daring Do felt numb. It was over. Any moment, the pony would remember the pith hat, see the chain, find the Amulet of Atonement. The Tenochtilian Basin, maybe even the world, was doomed.
And Bluebell had broken before the pony had even touched her. Somehow, that was the worst part of all.
The voices from outside got louder. Three more zebras burst into the room. Two of them were assassins dressed in cultist robes. The other…
“Mhudumu?” Bluebell whimpered, then let out a cry of horror.
Mhudumu had put up one hell of a fight before they captured him. He was covered in cuts and bruises, one of his eyes was swollen completely shut, and there was a stump wrapped in blood-soaked bandages ending above where his left forehoof should have been.
Daring Do stared, her heart bleeding for the brave zebra. Her own pain suddenly seemed like nothing. They had chopped off his hoof!
The pony in the red hat began talking rapidly with the zebras -- no doubt, Daring thought, informing them that he almost had the Amulet. The two guard zebras dropped Bluebell, leaving her sobbing on the floor. They took custody of the prisoner. One of the zebras who brought Mhudumu in turned to speak with the pony torturer while the other zebra headed back outside.
“Mhudumu… not you too.” Daring Do had never felt more hopeless.
Mhudumu looked at her with his one good eye. Daring Do looked down, unable to meet his gaze. She had failed.
The zebras pulled Mhudumu to a rack and started binding his forelegs to it. They secured his right hoof, then paused, speaking to each other in confusion as they realized they couldn’t properly bind the half-missing limb.
In one fluid, rolling maneuver, Mhudumu struck at the zebra assassin, bucking her with both hooves. The assassin flew into the pony with the red hat, knocking both of them back through the barrel of flamewood arrows. The barrel shattered, arrows spilling everywhere, as the pony and zebra crashed to the floor of the storage room.
One of the flamewood arrows fell into a stack of the cultist’s cloaks, and they immediately caught fire.
The two guard zebras grabbed ahold of Mhudumu, struggling to restrain him. The zebra assassin clambered off the pony interrogator, getting back to her hooves.
Daring Do looked down. One of the flamewood arrows was beneath her, almost touching one beam of the rack. She strained, trying to reach it with her tail.
The pony clutched his red hat, surprisingly still on his head, and rolled over. His eyes fell on the discarded pith hat. The silver chain snaking out from beneath it glowed in the reflected light of the spreading fire.
Bluebell, forgotten on the floor, scrambled for cover, cringing behind the cage that had recently held her. Her eyes cast about wildly.
The assassin spun, lifting up her foreleg, aiming her crossbow at the struggling Mhudumu, who was being pinned against his rack by the two zebra guards. The assassin shouted something at him.
The pony torturer dove for the pith hat.
Daring Do groaned loudly, her eyes clinching shut as she strained against her restraints, her limbs flaring with agony. He tail tip barely brushed the arrow.
The fire licked upwards, climbing a set of hanging masks carved and painted as feathered serpent. Flames tongued at the stone roof of the ancient room.
The pony in the red hat knocked over the pith hat. The Amulet of Atonement fell out onto the ground. The silver and blue gold turned a hellish orange in the light of the fire. The pony’s eyes went wide.
One of the burning masks fell from the wall, clattering onto a crate of alchemical supplies.
Three flamewood arrows floated through the air, wrapped in magical blue light, and sank into the calves of the assassin pony. She crumpled to the ground just as she fired. The shot meant for Mhudumu sank into the neck of one of the guard ponies holding him. She stumbled backwards, clutching at her neck, blood running between her hooves.
Bluebell’s horn stopped glowing blue. She shut her eyes tight, not willing to see.
The pony with the red hat stared into the sapphire that sat in the center of the Amulet of Atonement, caught by its inner glow.
Daring Do let out a scream, feeling something tear in her right foreleg as she forced herself to pull harder. Blackness crept into her vision, but she forced herself to focus. Her tail brushed over the flamewood arrow beneath her, then wrapped about it.
Mhudumu knocked the other guard zebra back and twisted about, biting at the restraints binding his right hoof to the rack.
The pony torturer scooped up the Amulet of Atonement with a triumphant cry. He turned, galloping out of the room, trampling the assassin along the way.
Daring Do brought the flame arrow's tip to the ropes binding her left hindhoof. The arrow burned through the ropes and they fell away. She almost fainted as her leg was freed, radically changing the strain on her limbs. Her tail whipped the arrow’s tip around and started burning through the ropes binding her right hindhoof.
The assassin, crippled and trampled, began to pull herself up on one of the crates. She turned to see one of the guard zebras slumped against the wall, a river of blood from her neck. The other guard zebra was pulling a small sword off of a weapons rack, his eyes fixated on Mhudumu, who had nearly chewed through the strap on his forehoof.
Daring Do freed her other hindleg. Her eyes locked on the exit that the pony had just run through. Her eyes narrowed, a fierce determination burning through her. She curled her body upwards, her tail bringing the burning arrow tip to the ropes on her right foreleg.
The alchemy crate exploded!
The explosion sent shrapnel – wood and pottery shards – across the room and filled the air with odd, brackish smoke.
Daring Do burned through the last of the ropes and dropped to all hooves, biting back a scream as agony ignited through her right foreleg. She looked about, her eyes watering as much from the horrid alchemical smoke as from the pain.
Daring Do stepped over the unconscious body of the assassin.
A hoof reached out of the smoke and grabbed her. She tried to strike out, but Mhudumu blocked the blow. “Hurry,” he said, speaking in his heavily accented but non-rhyming Equestrian.
Daring Do nodded. Mhudumu was in no state to chase after the Amulet of Atonement. It had to be her. She bolted forward, only to stop at the doorway as Bluebell called out her name.
“D-Daring?” Bluebell choked. “I-I’m coming with you.”
Daring Do’s mind flashed to the image of Bluebell being held by the zebra guards, the burning arrow close to her eye. She heard the memory of Bluebell’s words in her ears.
“No.”
Bluebell stepped forward, reaching out a hoof for Daring Do. Daring batted it away.
“It’s not safe for you,” she said. This was wasting time.
“I’m s-s-sorry!” Bluebell said softly.
Daring Do turned away and galloped out of the room. Each fall of her right forehoof sent fire lancing through her leg. She wasn’t going to be able to catch up this way. She spread her wings, ignoring the hot pain where the firewood arrow had been dragged along the base of her left wing, and took to the air. The pony with the red hat had a big head start, but she had gotten into Baltimare University on an athletics scholarship.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Daring heard Bluebell call out behind her.
“No,” Daring Do whispered to herself. “It was my fault.” She told Bluebell about the Amulet. She put the mare in that position. Daring Do knew it wasn’t right to blame Bluebell for talking just because she wouldn’t have.
Daring Do stopped when she reached a fork in the paths. She landed, peering closely at the ground, trying to determine which way the pony with the red hat had run. The passage was well-used, but most cultists would be walking these halls. That pony was running; his gait was different.
Daring Do spotted the tracks she was looking for. The passage he had taken looked like it went deeper into the ruins.
Daring Do spread her wings again. She glanced backwords. Mhudumu would take care of Bluebell. She was sure of that.
Daring Do felt a sharp pang of regret. Bluebell... she was a good pony. Just not made of the stuff necessary to handle something like this. Daring Do shouldn’t have put her in danger. Shouldn’t have put the burden of keeping a secret this important on anypony other than herself.
“From now on,” she resolved as she took to the air again, flying into the darkness, “I work alone.”
Eighth Pad Ends
Origin Story:
Origin Story (Prologue & Framing)
Origin Story (Part One)
Origin Story (Part Two)
Origin Story (Part Three)
Origin Story (Part Four)
Origin Story (Part Five)
Origin Story (Part Six)
Origin Story (Part Seven)
Origin Story (Part Eight)
Origin Story (Epilogue)
Tense shift.
In any case, clearly a formative experience for Daring there. I can't really say I can blame Bluebell. Burns are one thing, but losing an eye is quite another.
As for later on... well, this actually would make sense as a place to leave the story unfinished. I'm frankly not sure whether or not you have more planned. If so, I look forward to it.
That was intense. I love torture scenes.
“There is no where left to run, Daring Do.
"nowhere" is a single word
So why not stop hiding.
Technically a question
Behind him, two zebra cultists guarded the entrance of the cultist’s storage room,
"cultists' " (in second case)?
“Where is it,” the pony asked again, taking a civilized, conversational tone.
comma in quotation should be question mark
Daring Do brought the flame arrows tip to the ropes
apostrophe for "arrows"
the image of Bluebell beign held by
"being"
Now we are seeing Daring Do becoming the Daring Do we know.
Gotta say you write her well!
Interesting dialogue between Daring and Jua there.
We hear about a lot of the bad things ponies did to zebras and other ponies during the war. But we only really see a shadow of what the zebras did.
Windigos is something I find more interesting. I always wondered if they were like some kind of polar opposite magical sentient manifestation of when enough ponies hated each other. That's why they never really manifest in the wasteland, simply not enough ponies and wrong type of mental atmosphere to be created.
Interesting how they mention spirits of whispers too, seems like deals with spirits is a thing of the past. That is unless their war crimes aren't so dissimilar to what Rarity sounded like she was getting into when she found the blackbook.
Though that final cut off with Daring Do Talking with Jua and how her past story ended does sound all sorts of ominous. Sounds like Daring Do never learned that working with others can be the difference between success or failure. Something from the sound of things Jua might not have a problem with.
Interesting read...Hope Daring Do is alright.
hi hi
“If the citizens realized the full extent of what we have done, the Hidden Nightmare would not need to destroy us – we would tear ourselves apart for her.”
I have to say, there is so much potential for a good story in the zebra lands, both before the end of the war and afterwards. I think perhaps these little snippets are my favorite parts of these origin stories. Not just learning about individual characters, but how they relate to others.
It certainly seems from an outside-the-pads perspective that Origin Story is over, but within the pads there seems to be more to tell...
Well, I can't stand entirely opposed to you. You certainly speak truth when you say that both sides have gone much too far.
Was the word you were looking for "transcribe" or "translate"? It's definitely not "transpose."
I wouldn't imagine their are a lot of cultist ponies around here. You must feel quite privileged to have been afforded a torturer of your own species.
Can't you even be bothered to try to convince yourself of a justification beyond money to perform morally repugnant acts in service of dark powers? Many ponies will creatively reinterpret their principles for the right price, but I cannot respect one who will so easily admit that he never had any to begin with.
Not really the most pleasant way to be broken up with.
Such touching loyalty.
Sloppy. You need to upgrade to a higher quality of captors, Daring.
You've got chutzpah, kid, I'll give you that. You know you're way out of your depth. Most ponies would just give up.
I just realized about this part when I noticed that part 8 was released
awesome read as always about the craziness of me 
I'm sure I can trust a few ponies