//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: On Self Awareness // by Messier //------------------------------// On Self Awareness By Messier Prologue Ponies trotted hurriedly along the dark, cobbled streets of Stalliongrad, darting into the stocky houses that hemmed them in on all sides. They did so because they were chilled by the wind, or because they were running late, or because they needed the exercise and a good powertrot is excellent cardio. In many cases these things were true, but they weren’t the real reason everypony wanted a solid door between them and Luna’s night. An industrial juggernaut of grey stone and cold steel, the city had little in the way of unicorn citizenry. Little in the way of ponies who could identify the vile energies that hung in the air, grasping at the unconscious mind. Were they of the horned persuasion, the factory workers of this northernmost bastion of ponykind would know precisely what they were attempting to cower from. Dark magic. >>>><<<< Within the confines of his inner sanctum, one of the very few unicorns of Stalliongrad stood in a blood red circle on the flagstone floor, with candles resting atop pony skulls at five evenly spaced points on the ring. He was, perhaps inevitably, cackling like a lunatic as he focused his magic on the objects in the circle with him; a copy of the Canterlot Equestrian Dictionary (Illustrated), a blank notebook, and a luxurious looking pegasus feather quill resting in an open inkwell. It is worth noting at this point that the circle was in fact daubed on the floor in red paint, and the skulls were leftover Nightmare Night decorations composed of cheap plaster. They were not in any way necessary for the spell, but if this particular unicorn was going to pervert the natural order with forbidden magic out of lust for power, fortune, and mares who are attracted to those things (it had been a while), he was going to do it right. As the orange glow surrounding the objects on the floor built, the dictionary opened. Pages fluttered as the quill rose from the ink of its own accord, not dripping despite being clearly overloaded. The feather twitched at blurring speed as the quill wrote in the notebook with impossible quickness and precision. Far smaller than anything, pony or otherwise, could discern as even being text with the naked eye. After a few minutes of such activity, if a gryphon blessed with particularly good eyes were to look at the pages of the notebook with an extremely expensive (not to mention large and possibly magical) magnifying glass, they would see that the ambulatory quill had copied out the entire dictionary, complete with illustrations. It had taken up two pages in the notebook to do so. Abruptly, the Canterlot Equestrian Dictionary (Illustrated) snapped shut with a thunderous bang, and the other objects in the circle exploded into a swirling cloud of orange light, filled with brighter patches reminiscent of stars. The light settled into a vaguely spherical shape the size of a pumpkin, floating at the eye level of the unicorn laughing madly at it. With a smile threatening to reach his ears (which is especially impressive when they are atop a creature’s head) the pony reached into his robe (black) and with his mouth pulled from his belt (also black, with a skull-shaped buckle) a small blade. It was the kitchen knife he used to chop carrots, but he had painted the wooden handle (no points for guessing the colour) for authenticity’s sake. Taking a firm grip on the knife, the unicorn gingerly made a small cut on his foreleg, wincing as he did so, and reached out. A single drop of blood from the tiny wound fell into the cloud of swirling, orange werelights. The light responded, flashing the same deep crimson as the blood (and cheap paint), before the overly mirthful equine, eyes full of the hunger only the truly mad can feel, released his magic. The cloud remained, shifting gently to a sky blue which could be confused for a patch of midday sky, if not for being awash with burning white stars. His task complete, the unicorn stared at his creation. Neither moved, aside from the pony’s laboured breathing and the cloud’s serene, hypnotic shifting. There was a pregnant pause in which the spellcaster began to worry that his obvious, magnificent brilliance had failed him. He quickly dismissed this as an impossibility, and his ego was vindicated when a voice, cool and melodious and androgynous, echoed from the cloud. “Interesting,” said the orb of swirling gas, stars brightening as it spoke, “it would appear that I exist.” The pony staggered slightly out of surprise at his creation’s first words, but barely missed a beat before proclaiming “Indeed you do, spirit! You have the honour of existing to serve the Brilliant and Almighty Magelight!” at this, the apparently Brilliant and Almighty Magelight reared onto his hind legs, robe billowing, and pyrotechnics installed in the walls and floor for this precise occasion exploded in a shining display of colours behind him.