From Stalliongrad With Love

by LoyalLiar

Quantum of Schoolhouse

        A chain of five white dots moved across a solid black backdrop.  The sixth hovered, in the air, and then grew larger with a glossy surface, until it took on an entirely reflective sheen.

        Roscherk Krovyu wandered into view from the right side of the round mirror.  At first, the motion was calm and collected.  His black suit jacket trimmed perfectly to his form, and the black tie around his neck was immaculate.
 
        Without turning his head, his eye caught the mirror.  And for him, that was enough.  In a single smooth motion, as fast as lightning, he swiveled on his rear left hoof and lashed out.  A lacquered black dress shoe flew off his hoof.  Some glass vial on the shelf above the mirror shattered.  Thick red liquid spilled over the mirror, dribbling like blood over the reflection of the well dressed stallion.  Somewhere outside the Golden Oaks library, a brief guitar riff played.  It was followed by the sound of a rising band, led by trumpets.  

        Though the stallion failed to notice, a line of bold black text appeared in midair before him.

        When the tremble of strings sounded again, Roscherk Krovyu released his voice.

"A memory brought me from Stalliongrad
In need of my rare and hard-earned skills

But now that I'm here in Ponyville
I'm missing the life that I had.

I've fought soldiers, monsters.  I lived for the moment.
But oh, it just couldn't last.

In a moment's weakness
I lost all control.  Now I'm trapped,
Unmaking my past.

For now I endure in Ponyville,
I'm trying to change who I've become.

But someday they'll need the soldier again.
He'll come from Stalliongrad with Love"

        When the stylized text card finally faded, and Red Ink was once more the focus of attention, he wandered over to the window of the guest bathroom, pushed it open, and leaned out.  Below, a rather large band dressed in snappy red vests was staring up.  They gave him a startling applause.

        "Thank you," he called down.  "I am app–  I mean, I appreciate accompaniment."

        "That's what we do," the conductor shouted back.  "I enjoyed the number."

        Ink gave a small smile.  "It just came to me.  I was enjoy the guitar especially."

        "Oh, why thank you."  The mare holding the shiningly polished acoustic stood up, and Ink's smile became much more genuine.  She was a rather plain yellow coated mare, with a cute short mane and a slender physique.  "You have an excellent tenor."

        "I am thanking you.  Although I can go deeper.  In fact," he continued, wiggling his eyebrows ever so slightly, "if you are caring to join me for drinks tonight, I will show just how much deeper I can go."

        She smiled, blushed, and looked away.  He earned a few disapproving glares from the others in the band, but he never got to hear her response; a sharp tug on his tail pulled him away from the window.  Only a moment later, an aura of rose magic shut the window and the blinds.

        "Sparkle–"

        "Twilight," the unicorn corrected.  "And what do you think you're doing?"

        Ink considered explaining his advances, but ultimately decided against it.  "I am doing– sorry."  He grimaced.  "I do my best to not look like an idiot in this jacket."  He gestured to the black fabric hanging from his neck.  "What is the point?"

        "The point," Twilight explained, "is that you make a good impression on your pupils.  And that means not being late on the first day of class."

        "Fine, fine."  Ink shrugged in the garment.  "I leave, go get my jacket from Rarity, and head to class.  Good?"

        "Close enough," Twilight replied with a slight smile.  "I'm impressed with how much progress you've made in just two days.  Though I do have to ask:  how do you sing so well in Equiish when you can hardly speak?"

        "I... was think it natural.  Being much the same as how, when one pony is starting to sing, everypony else is knowing lyrics, even if song is being made up off top of head.  Some magic all ponies are sharing, perhaps?"

        "Hmm..."  Twilight scratched her chin.  "That's an interesting theory, Mr. Ink.  Why don't you sing something in Stalliongradi, and I'll try–"

        Ink shook his head.  "Everypony is knowing it has to be spontaneous, yes?"  Twilight chuckled.  "What?"

        "Just that you know a word like 'spontaneous', but you can't conjugate 'know'."  Twilight chuckled as she stepped out of his way.  "Have a good first day at school, Mr. Ink."

        "I am looking forward to it," he responded, tightening his tie and adjusting his cuffs as he made his way out the door.

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Carousel Boutique
0737 Hours

        When the bell above the door rang, Rarity looked up from her work.  "Oh, Mr. Ink!  Please, come in!  I'll be with you in just a moment."

        "Mr. Ink?"  The second voice met Ink's eardrums the way a blender might greet a vat of gelatin.  After the dull humming that he recognized as shell shock faded, he turned to the unicorn filly in front of his hooves.  The light reflecting off her polished smile was just shy of blinding, and he squinted as he beheld the way she looked up at him with awe and wonder.  "How come you're here?  Don't we have class in a half an hour?"

        "Yes we do, uh..."

        "Sweetie Belle," the filly supplied.

        Ink nodded.  "Yes, Sweetie.  But first, I need my jacket."

        Rarity looked up from her work at the pointed comment and smiled.  "Oh, that's what's so important?  I thought you might need me to refit that jacket.  It's a good deal too tall for you."

        Ink's eye twitched.  "Twilight said it was her brother's."

        Rarity's mouth made an 'O' shape, but it was Sweetie Belle who put words to the uncomfortable thought.  "Oh, well that makes sense.  Captain Armor is a lot taller than you, Mr. Ink."

        Gritting his teeth, the stallion ignored the comment and walked across the room, to where Rarity had laid his most precious garment across the back of a model dummy.  

        "Here we are, Mr. Ink," she began.  "I patched up the holes and the burns in the fabric, but I'm afraid I haven't yet had the time to actually repair the stitching near the wing slits, or the fraying under the collar.  Also, I considered adding some quilting and a Trottingham fold to those false pockets you have sewn into the inside."

        "False pockets?"  Ink cocked his head.  "They are being–"  He interrupted his own sentence by slapping himself across the face.  "They are called sheathes, Rarity."

        "I see Twilight's lessons are bearing fruit."

        "Убейте меня."  Ink ran his hooves along the sleeves of the garment, and stopped at the cuffs.  "I told you I did not want gems."

        "Oh, I know.  I had originally intended to do over the entire breast in black opals, but I wouldn't go against your wishes.  These are like the improvements to the, uh, sheathes as you say.  They'll help to hold the garment together better without changing much of its appearance.  These are just cufflinks.  I imagined you might like them."  Her magic gave one a slight twist, revealing a little crooked pin that glowed with the aura of her magic.  "They open ninety percent of Equestria's locks."

        Ink's jaw slowly fell open.  "What?"

        "I'm teasing, Mr. Ink.  Though picking a stubborn lock with a cufflink is sometimes a valuable skill for a gentlecolt."

        "I would sooner die than be called a gentlecolt.  I would wind up like brother."

        "The one who bought you this jacket?  I dare say–"

        "No, no."  Ink chuckled a little as he shook his head.  "Polnoch... that is something like 'middle of the night' in Equiish - he was younger brother.  And he never had anything stuck up his–"

        "Roscherk Krovyu!" Rarity interrupted, gesturing to Sweetie Belle.

        Ink coughed awkwardly into his hoof.  "...accounting tables," he concluded.  "I meant older brother...  nevermind."  

        Rarity laughed a little at the stallion's awkwardness, though her smile was genuine, appreciating the effort he was putting into controlling himself.  "Well, I had to take your 'sheathes' out, along with some of the lining.  I also noticed it isn't properly fitted for you.  If you need it now, go ahead and take it; it looks fine on the outside at least.  However, I'll need you to bring it back so I can finish my work.  And then, perhaps, we can talk about doing something with a slightly nicer fabric for you."

        He rolled his eyes, but nodded nevertheless.  "Fine.  I am bringing... no, not right.  I brang?"

        "Will bring?" Sweetie Belle suggested helpfully.

        "Ah, yes.  I will bring it back tonight."

        "Excellent," Rarity observed, as Ink and his student progressed toward the door.  "Oh, and make sure you bring it back in pristine condition, darling."

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Schoolhouse
0759 Hours

        Sweetie Belle appreciated that Mr. Ink had held the door open for her.  That meant he was a 'gentlecolt', as Rarity would put it, which was good.  She'd been worried when he'd yelled at her and the other crusaders in the market, but he was probably just having a bad day.  After all, Rarity yelled at Sweetie when she was having a bad day, or when she'd taken too much of the medicine she kept in the high cabinet over the sink, and that didn't make her any less of a lady.

        Smiling, Sweetie Belle made her way into the nearly-packed classroom and moved to take her seat.  She wasn't quite there, though, when a familiar and unwelcome voice called out.

        "Oh, look!  The blank flank has to get the teacher to walk her to class.  Did you get lost, Sweetie Belle?"

        She recognized Diamond Tiara's voice - the 'leader' of the two bullies was almost always the one to sling the first insult.  Sweetie practiced what Rarity had taught her, smiling and breathing gently through her nose without saying anything.  That's what a responsible adult would do, as Rarity put it.

        As Sweetie Belle had walked back to her seat, Mr. Ink had made his way into the room.  However, rather than stand behind his own desk, he was looming over Diamond Tiara's, glaring daggers at the filly.

        "Uh, Mr. Ink, is something wrong?"

        "Respect," Ink replied, before stepping away from her desk to the front of the room.  Sweetie didn't have the eye of her sister for fashion, but she could see something was wrong in the way the stallion's coat shifted on his back.  He made his way to the chalkboard at the front of the room and wrapped the tip of his wings around a stick of chalk.  

        Mr. Ink faced the class as his wing moved with a mind of its own, darting around to the chalkboard and beginning to write in funny-looking Equiish.  "My name is Red Ink.  You may call me Mr. Ink, or Sir."  His wing stopped its work for a moment on a long list near the edge of the board to scrawl out six enormous letters.

        "Uh, Mister Ink?"

        Ink turned to the filly who had addressed him.  "Yes, Apple..."

        "It's Applebloom," Sweetie's friend called out.  "And yer 'arr' is backwards."

        Ink glanced at the way he'd written his name, and then shrugged.  "It looks better with a 'Ya'.  Thank you, Applebloom."  Having concluded his thought, he turned sideways, so that he could look at the class while his wing scratched a single word in strange and foreign letters.

        "...find out what it means to me," the teacher mumbled, in the style of superstar pop sensation Sapphire Shores, from the hit album Sensaaational!, available at a record store near you.  Remember, colts and fillies, record piracy is a crime.

        By the time Sweetie Belle's attention had returned from the memory of those obnoxious commercials that always seemed to be on the radio station Rarity liked, Mr. Ink had moved on.  "Stand up," he ordered, glaring in Diamond Tiara's direction.  She rose tentatively to her hooves as the class watched.  Ink rubbed his free wing over his face in an expression of what Sweetie would define as a mixture of lassitude and exasperation, had she the grasp of Equiish to properly use such polysyllabic terms.  Instead, her young mind had to settle on the thought that he seemed unhappy as he continued to speak.  "No.  All of you, be standing."

        The class rose as he turned, and he gave them a 'smile'.  Something about the expression left the little unicorn unsettled, though if anypony had asked, she wouldn't have been able to explain it.  For just a moment, she was tempted to call for an adult... but then, he was an adult, wasn't he?  And that meant he was trustworthy, right?

        After all, nopony would actually let a dangerous pony become a teacher.

        Right?

        Ink tapped the blackboard with his wing.  "Can anypony tell me what this says?"  The teacher seemed surprised when Twist raised her hoof.  Glancing her direction, he raised a brow.  "Yes?"

        "Uh, I guethth it thayth rethpect."

        His eyes slid to Sweetie in the next seat over, though his head didn't move.  "What?"

        "She says 'it says respect,'" Sweetie explained on behalf of the linguistically challenged filly.  It didn't seem like it really needed to be explained, but then again, Mr. Ink's accent was even funnier than Big Macintosh's, those few times when he actually chose to speak.

        "Ah.  Smart filly."  Mr. Ink returned his attention to Twist.  "What's your name?"

        "Twitht."

        He cocked his head.  "I don't know that word.  What does 'twitht' mean?"
        
        The class burst into uproarious laughter, as Twist hid her head beneath her hooves.  Sweetie felt bad for Twist, but evidently her sympathy wasn't as strong as the new teacher's.  The class' laughter cut off abruptly when Mr. Ink slammed a hoof on the surface of his desk.  When he removed the offending foreleg, his shoe remained lodged in the wood, standing bolt upright.

        "Apology, Twist," the teacher muttered.  "I had no want to embarrass you."  Stumbling past his awkward word choice, Ink turned to address the rest of the class.  "Twist is right.  This word is Uvazheniye.  Say it with me.  Ooh-vah-zen-ee-yay."

        The class tried as best they could, though their efforts momentarily put a sort of green color on Mr. Ink's face.  Suspecting they'd said it wrong, Sweetie chimed in.  "I think we should try again.  On the count of three?  One... two..."

        "No!" Mr. Ink shouted, having finally returned to his usual red self.  He braced a hoof on his desk for two desperate gasps of air.  After a moment of recovery, he leveled his gaze across the class.  "It does mean respect, in my tongue.  Stol'nogradskiy  Pay attention to this: it is not 'Stalliongrad.'  In this class, we say Stol’nograd, because we are not uneducated swine.  The city name is not a stupid joke.  Understand?"

        Tragically, the back of Ink’s mind reminded him that he was, in fact, butchering Stalliongradi grammar to make the statement work.  But the less sophisticated edge of Equiish forced a compromise, and at least he’d gotten rid of the damned pun.

        The class nodded slowly, though Sweetie Belle was sure their responses were more out of intimidation than actual comprehension.  She didn't see a stupid joke in 'Stalliongrad' - it wasn't any different than Manehattan or Canterlot, really.  Just a name.  She didn't give the complaint much further thought, as her eyes kept drifting to the solid steel shoe jutting up out of the splintered wood of the teacher's desk.  It seemed funny that he'd been able to do that.  Shoes weren't supposed to stand up on their ends.  

        Mr. Ink snapped his wing, which caught everypony's attention just as much from how startling the action was as the actual noise.  Sweetie was sure Scootaloo's wings didn't bend that way.  She lost track of yet another thought when the teacher spoke up again.  "Now, to point I was intent on making in the first place.  In class, we will be practicing uvazheniye.  Respect, as you would say it.  I would like very much that we get along before your teacher comes back.  However, if you are not respectful to each other, it is very likely that we will not get along."  And then he gave that smile again, and let his gaze drift over the entire class.  "Nopony would like it if I did not get along with them, I think.  Do we have understanding?"

        The class generally nodded with a mixture of fear and outright confusion.  Ink seemed satisfied by the reaction, as he pulled out Cheerilee's chair and flopped back into it so that his hind hooves were resting on the desk next to the standing shape of his shoe.  "Now, I have introduced me.  We are getting started..."

        A hoof rose into the air.  Mr. Ink turned to Twist.  He seemed unhappy to have been interrupted by the raised hoof.  "Yes?"

        "Thouldn't we introduthe ourthelveth?"

        "I don't care," Ink told the class.  To his credit, he did eventually realize he'd said something wrong.  "I will learn names better during the course than from listing off like a roster.  Besides, Ponyville has, what, a hundred foals?  Two hundred?  If you do not know one another, introductions are not changing things.  We will start learning now instead.  So..."  He glanced down at a manila folder lying open on the desk, and the shoe pinning it to the desk.  Judging from the slight shock in his eyes, Sweetie concluded he hadn't actually intended to thrust his shoe through an inch and a half of wood, as well as the middle of his document.

        "Uh, our first topic is be..."  His voice trailed off, though the class could still hear him clearly.  "No, that's not right.  Just is?  Yes."  Volume returned.  "Our first topic is reading.  Get book from there, in corner.  And, uh... Applebloom, bring me one."  As the class started to mass around the bookshelf in the corner, he continued to speak.  "Our book is being 'Crime and Punishment' by... wait, what?"

        "Is something wrong, Mr. Ink?"  Sweetie Belle asked.

        He shook his head with a look of trepidation, or perhaps regret..  "Nothing wrong at all.  I have met the author of this.  Fyodor Dostudyevsky."  There passed a brief wistfulness through Mr. Ink's eyes, and then he shook his head.  "Miss Cheerilee has been nice to me, choosing a Stol'nogradskiy novel."

        An orange pegasus in the back of the class looked up from her book.  "Ooh!  Are you from Stalliongrad, Mr. Ink?"

        Sweetie Belle could have sworn she smelled smoke as Ink dedicated his attention toward Scootaloo.  "Little one, you remind me of the way I like my milkshakes.  Was that not clear?  Yes, I am from Stol'nograd.  So was Mr. Dostudyevsky."  Mr. Ink glanced down at the folder on the desk in front of him briefly.  "Evidently, we are to discuss him before we start reading.  So let us.  Dostudyevsky was a..."  Mr. Ink hesitated, and Sweetie watched his mouth test words without lending them voice.  He finally settled on "...rebel.  He was an earth pony who wrote literature about equality between the types of ponies.  This got him in a lot of trouble with the Baron of Stol'nograd..."

April 22nd, 1442 A.S.
Petrashevsky Building, Stalliongrad
0424 Hours

        "You're sure this is a good idea, big brother?  The Commandant told us to wait for backup, and–"

        "Stop being such a pussy, Polnoch.  It's not like we're raiding armed dissidents or deserters or something actually dangerous.  They're poets, for Celestia's sake.  Earth pony poets.  Predvidenie is probably scarier than any of them."

        "Roscherk, one of these days you're going to get us all killed."

        The older of the two pegasi slapped his younger brother upside the head with his wing playfully.  "Come on, Polnoch.  Enough with the doom and gloom.  We do this on our own, we'll be up for promotion.  You'll finally make lieutenant, and you'll be swimming in mares the way I am.  How 'bout it, huh?"  Roscherk tapped the silver bands on the shoulders of his fitted black shirt, and then adjusted the cap of his uniform.  

        "I don't know, Roscherk... I mean, you're right.  They aren't dissidents or deserters.  What have they actually done wrong?"  The faded purple pegasus glanced at the bronze bars on his own shoulders with a bit less pride.  "They just wrote some books, right?"

        "They broke the law, Polnoch.  And either we take them down, or somepony else does.  I'm not going to kill anypony; just scare them shitless so they obey.  Then they get hauled off to the dragon border to build Frostbite's wall for a few years, learn their lesson, and everything's fine."

        "Yeah, but what's really wrong with writing a book?"

        Ink shrugged.  "Predvidenie's the one who'd answer that for you.  You tell him, and he'll tell Frostbite.  But for right now, this..."  Ink glanced at a card he'd tucked into the breast pocket of his uniform.  "...this 'Dostudyevsky' is getting arrested no matter what.  So are we going to do this?"

        Polnoch sighed, staring at the tacky carpet.  "Yeah, I guess."

        Ink wrapped a wing around his brother's shoulders.  "Look, Polnoch, relax.  I get where you're coming from, okay?  But right now, we can't worry about it.  Now, you go ahead and get the door; I'll do the talking.  Okay?"

        Polnoch nodded.  "Fine, Roscherk.  I've got your back."  Then the younger stallion reared up and bucked the door off its hinges in a shower of splinters and sparks.

        "Police!" Roscherk shouted.  "Everypony down!"

        The room erupted into a blinding flurry of motion.  A table toppled on its side.  A stack of pages flew into the air.  Ponies ran.  One came charging toward the door, hoping to make it past Roscherk to freedom.  

        A padded wing crest absorbed the collision, as Roscherk clotheslined the stallion, flipping him back over onto his back.  Before the unfortunate pony could even catch his breath, the black-clad pegasus finished his work with a dual-hooved stomp to the ribs.  From the crack and the hoarse scream that followed, at least three had shattered.  

        "Anypony else?"  Roscherk walked forward, leaving the unfortunate stallion to writhe in agony.  "I honestly cannot stop you from trying, after all."  

        The papers finished their fall from the air, and a stillness filled the chamber.  An icy draft ruffled Roscherk's feathers, and he glanced to the corner of the room, where an earth pony mare was halfway out a window.

        "We're on the seventh story.  Unless you're planning on growing wings on the way down, I'd shut the window."  He smiled when she climbed inside, and then turned to the mass of ponies at the other side of the room, huddled beside a bookshelf.  "Which one of you is..."  His wing fetched his little note card.  "Fyodor Dostudyevsky?"

        Out of the mass came a scraggly looking white stallion with a white beard that had been grown out to compensate for his balding mane.  His eyes were lined with wrinkles of anger.  "What do you think you're doing, colt?"

        "Colt?"  Roscherk chuckled, adjusting his hat.  "I am Lieutenant Roscherk Krovyu of the Secret Police."

        "I know who you are."  Dostudyevsky's eyes darted to Polnoch.  "Both of you.  The alicorn's sons, right?  Though in those uniforms, somepony might mistake you for Frostbite's children."

        "Who we are isn't important," Polnoch countered, stepping past the stallion in the entryway of the apartment, who still lay clutching his broken ribs.  "Fyodor Dostudyevsky, you are under arrest for distribution of seditious writings, and for rebellious activities in service to the dragons."

        "Dragons?"  The author shook his head from side to side with almost pitying disappointment.  "The same ghost story the baron has been telling for a decade, and yet we haven't seen a scale."

        "Not my issue," Roscherk interrupted, grabbing the manacles from his belt and dropping them to the cheaply carpeted floor.  "Judging by your writing, I'd say you know the laws just fine."

        "So you've read my work?"  Dostudyevsky's glare grew tighter.  "Then let me ask you: what gives you the right?"

        "Right?  What difference does it make?" Polnoch asked.

        Roscherk, on the other hand, extended a wing to grab Dostudyevsky's attention.  "You want to know what gives me the right?  The fact that I can do it, and you can't stop me."

        Dostudyevsky opened his mouth to reply, but Roscherk's steel-shod hoof cut off the speech.  Crumpling and gasping for breath, Dostudyevsky's eyes managed to stay open only long enough for Roscherk to give him a sarcastic smile as the chill of steel wrapped around his forelegs.

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Schoolhouse
0814 Hours

        "Uh, Mr. Ink?"

        Red Ink shook his head, ridding himself of the memory.  "What?"

        Sweetie Belle was talking to him from the corner of the room.  "You were talking about Mr. Dostudyevsky, and then you just sorta stared out the window and went quiet, and..."

        "Apologies."  Ink nickered as he shook his head again.  "Remembering home.  I was talking about Dostudyevsky?"

        "Yeah.  You said he got taken away to a work camp by... and then you just sorta stopped talking.  What's a work camp, anyway? Is it like summer camp?"  The palomino colt in the corner smiled despite his proverbial massacre of the word.

        "A work camp is like a dungeon.  Prison.  Jail.  Only, not as nice.  In Stol'nograd, ponies were sent east and forced to build the wall.  Many froze to death."

        "The wall?" Appleboom asked.

        "There's a huge stone wall on the border with the land of the dragons.  Baron Frostbite built it, because he apparently forgot that most dragons can fly, and was too busy suck–"  Ink went so far as to slap himself across the face to cut off the sentence before it went too far.

        "Sucking what?" Diamond Tiara's ugly gray lackey called out.

        "Lollypopth?"

        Ink nodded, struggling not to laugh.  "Actually, that's a great way to put it, Twist.  Baron Frostbite was always after my older brother's lollipop."

        "Oh!  Ith your brother a candy maker too?  I know everypony ith alwayth trying to get my lolllypopth!" Twist exclaimed.

        Ink took a brief moment to nearly pass out from laughter, before looking up at a class of entirely unbemused students.  "I..."  Another few chuckles escaped his control.  "I'm sorry.  That's some, uh, grown-up humor.  Now, why don't we actually start talking about the book?"

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Schoolhouse
0914 Hours

        "Alright, class.  Putting your books aside for now.  And, since you are all so interested, we will do our history lesson next."

        "But Miss Cheerilee said we were gonna learn about the history of Prance!" somepony shouted.

        Ever the student of 'history', their teacher summarized the topic quite effectively.  "Once upon a time, Prance had many good knights.  They had wars with Saddle Arabia and the camels of the Marehara, and they wore stupid wigs.  Then they lost three wars with Trottingham.  The domain has not mattered since.  The end."

        "But what about–"

        "No," Ink insisted.  "I am quite sure that is all that has happened in Prance, ever.  Just smug ponies wearing stupid scarves and ugly glasses, as far as eyes can see."

        "Ain't that a little, uh, racist, Mr. Ink?"

        The question caught Ink's attention.  "No, Applebloom.  I didn't say anything about whether those ponies were unicorns or pegasi or earth ponies.  Stupidity and bad fashion sense are not races.  Now, we should get on with our lesson."  Ink looked at the roll of maps hanging above the blackboard, and sorted through them until he found the one he wanted.

        "Here we are..."

        "Cloudsdale isn't in Stalliongrad!"

        Ink winced.  "No, Scootaloo, Cloudsdale is not in Stol'nograd.  A long time ago, however, it was.  Does anypony know when?"

        Ink's eyes glanced briefly to the ecstatic waving of Twist's hoof, and he scanned slowly over the class.

        "Ooh, Mithter Ink!  I know!"

        Ink found himself struggling to suppress a powerful and blunt urge. While it might be stretching the definition of 'speech-therapy', his ears would certainly find the action therapeutic. Ultimately, he had to remind himself both that she was just a filly, and that Celestia would quite literally kill him, in order to defeat the sudden magnetic attraction that sought to unite the polar opposites of her jaw and his steel-shod left hoof.  Groaning, Ink gave up and acknowledged her, though he couldn't quite stop a small jab.  "Thplendid, Twist.  Since you're the only one in the class who seems to know anything, why don't you tell us?"

        The lanky filly wilted at his comment, and Ink could not bring himself to care.  Instead, he crossed his forelegs in a deliberate show of impatience, and coughed gently.

        "Oh, um... that wath back when Hearthth Warming Day happened, right?"

        Ink elevated his forehooves briefly, giving her a small clap which punctuated an otherwise silent classroom. Though his posture and balance were excellent, the stallion eventually had to put his forehooves back on the ground.  "Yes, Twist.  Eight thousand years ago, Stol'nograd was under control of three races.  Pegasi from Cloudsdale, Earth Pony from Amber Field, and Unicorn from River Rock."  Ink realized what information he was actually going over halfway through the thought.  "You are already aware of this story, I trust?"

        The class nodded.
        
        "Good.  Because when you all are my age, you will be tired enough of hearing about Commander Hurricane and Princess Platinum that you'll wake up the day after Hearth's Warming hung over in an alleyway, and you'll still think it was a good day because you didn't have to sing that song."

        "Uh, what does 'hung o–"

        "The point is," Ink interrupted after realizing what he had just said aloud, with all the subtlety of a bull in a porcelain overused metaphor factory, "that everypony knows the story.  So we're going to skip it, and move on."  Ink turned back to the sliver of chalkboard, grabbing a piece of chalk in his wing and beginning to write a series of names.  "Commander Hurricane's oldest son was a pegasus named Tsyklon."

        "Uh, do you mean ‘Cyclone’?" asked Pipsqueak.  

        "I don’t think so.  That is like... dizziness?  Uh..."  Ink scratched his brow, thinking.  Finally, giving up, he drew an enormous spiral on the board.  "When clouds go like this in storms, that is his name.  I do not know Equiish word for it, but it is not important.”  Before the class could object, he continued.  “This pony, Tsyklon, did not go with his father when Equestria was founded.  He stayed in Stol'nograd."

        "That's stupid!" Diamond Tiara announced.  "Who'd want to stay in the snow?"

        Ink's brow rose as he gave the filly a look of false curiosity.  "A good question.  Let me ask a similar question.  Who would want to live in a backwater dump whose only attraction is that six special madmares happen to have met here?"

        A clamor of voices rose up in the room, and Ink proceeded to ignore them all.  His focus remained locked solidly on the pink filly who had become the object of his ire.  Diamond Tiara opened her mouth to speak, and only then did Ink decided to grace the room with his thoughts.

        "Do not answer that.  It was hypo... hippo..."

        "Hypocritical?" Sweetie Belle suggested.

        "Yes, that is it.  Hypocritical question."  Ink ignored what sounded like snickering as he returned his thoughts to ancient history lessons collecting dust in the little wedge of his brain between 'military tactics' and 'ways I can punch my brother and get away with it'.  

        "Now," the stallion continued, "Tsyklon had some problems, because as Tiara was correct in observing, Stol'nograd is snowy, and it is hard to grow food.  So what did he do?"

        Scootaloo raised a hoof, and Ink gave her a nod.

        "Uh, did he light himself on fire?"

        Applebloom leaned over in her seat to box her friend over the ears.

        "Ow!  What was that for?"

        "Cause yer being thick, Scoot.  If ya tried to grow a farm with fire, you'd burn everythin' down!"

        "Well, maybe if you didn't put the fire right next to the plants–"

        "Girls," Ink cut in.  "What are we practicing in this class?"

        "Uh...  respect?" Scootaloo muttered.

        "Yeah, that's it!" Applebloom chimed in.
        
        "Exactly.  Respect.  

        Ink nodded.  "Respect, yes.  Uvazheniye .  That means not cutting off one other's thoughts.  Also, Applebloom..."  She withdrew under the stallion's gaze.  "...that was the worst punch I have ever seen.  Form is sloppy.  You are more likely to hurt your ankle than the target."

        There was a very extended awkward silence in the class.*

        Red Ink returned to the chalkboard.  "Well, there is a famous book about Tsyklon in Stol'nogradskiy.  It has a funny title, and extremely short chapters, but it's actually very long.  If I were to summarize, it is just ‘Tsyklon Flies East.’"

        Ink's large intestine barely managed to resist collapsing in on itself as he continued his lesson unabated.  "He eventually met and made a deal with King Twisted, the ruler of the dragons."

        "Twisted?" somepony in the back of the room asked.

        Ink nodded, scratching up a few words on the chalkboard.  "Stol'nogradskiy is based on the Draconic language, but it is much nicer to listen to, without so many reptile noises.  The dragon ruler was called Krenen..."

        "...which means twisted or bent or malformed, because he has a stunted right leg, and he is missing a wing.  He walks with a cane.  Now, in Stol'nogradskiy, krenen is a very old way to say that word, and as result, his name has been shortened to..."

        "Krenn.  Of course, that isn't his real name, but I would not be surprise if Celestia and Luna were the only ones who know it anymore now.  Now, we return to our story, yes?  Tsyklon flew to Krenn, and asked him to give him heat from beneath the earth, so that the ponies in Stol'nograd could grow crops.  Krenn..."

        A loud yawn interrupted Ink's lecture.  He turned away from the chalkboard to find the class in a general state of disinterest.

        He almost lit himself on fire.

        "You think Stol'nograd doesn't matter?" Ink asked, in a voice that might have been more pleasant had it not been forced to lose a ton of weight and crawl through the narrowest of spaces in his gritted teeth.

        What ensued would go down in history as one of the stupidest decisions ever made.

        "Well, not really, no," Diamond Tiara told the teacher.  "I mean, like, who cares about a bunch of stupid ice and snow, anyway."

        If Red Ink's physical strength had not been evident when he rammed a blunt shoe through the surface of his desk, it was made perfectly clear when he swatted Diamond Tiara's entire desk out from in front of her with a single foreleg.  The class panicked at the show, at least at first.  Foals rose from their seats, though most were too afraid to speak as they stared at the pile of splinters that had come to rest against the schoolhouse wall.

        "Stand, Tiara."

        She looked at him, eyes wide and genuinely afraid.  Her eggshell coat grew wet at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to contain her tears, hiding behind the little strand of matted off-white mane that hung down over her face.  "P-please, Mr. Ink..."

        He blinked, and the colors returned.  Pink.  She was pink.  Not that filly.  He staggered backwards into the desk of another student, tripped on the leg of a stool, and collapsed.  

        The foals were staring, confused, as Mr. Ink held a shuddering hoof over his own eyes for far too long.  Yet nopony asked if he was okay.  In their eyes, spelled out in letters too plain to ignore, he could see why.

        Fear.

        "Go...  go outside, class.  Having break.  Recess.  I need... need advice."

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Schoolhouse Road, Ponyville
1101 Hours

        "Well, that was close, Doctor" muttered Derpy as she adjusted her mailbag.  "I thought we were going to be too late."

        "Oh, do relax, Derpy.  You've been through this enough times to know things always turn out okay.  Why, we practically had all the time in the world.  And I..."  The brown stallion in the red tie and white dress collar stopped.  "Why, my good sir, what seems to be the problem?"

        The 'problem' in question was a 'fresh blood' coated stallion with a 'dried blood' mane, sitting just outside the door to the schoolhouse with his chin on his forehooves, staring blankly at the ground.  "Nothing," he mumbled, with the thick tones of Stalliongrad filling his word.

        The brown stallion responded with a crisp Trottingham accent of his own.  "Well, I dare say that if 'nothing' were the problem, then I wouldn't find you out here moping about, would I?  Do tell, it's not as if we bite.  Or shall I guess?  Did you have a bad breakfast?"  He waited for a reaction, but got nothing from Ink's face.  "Trouble with the misses?"  Nothing.  "An obnoxious exterminator won't leave your home, and keeps shouting his job through his gasmask in a monotone voice?"  Then the stallion gave a false gasp as if coming to a sudden realization and leaned in close.  "Did you eat a pear?"

        "Doctor," Derpy scolded, grabbing the stallion by the scruff of his mane.  "Stop bothering Mr. Ink."

        "Oh, you know him, Derpy?"

        Ink looked up.  "Have we met?"  He was sure he would have remembered those eyes... had he punched her too hard?

        "No, but you're Dinky's teacher."  Derpy extended a hoof.  "I'm Derpy.  This is the Doctor."

        "Do–"

        "Don't say it!" the stallion interrupted.  After a moment of tense silence, his muscles relaxed, and he exhaled.  "Thank you.  Just 'Doctor' will do."

        "So... it is not 'the Doctor?'"

        "Well, that's quite complicated, and I think I'll spare you the explanation.  Suffice it to say that both work just fine."

        Derpy nodded.  "It's really complicated.  Anyway, what's wrong, Mr. Ink?  Why are you outside when class is going on?"  The gray mare gave a wide and genuine smile.

        "Well..."  Ink sighed.  "I lost my temper at one of the students, and–"

        Trotter Louis Stallionson would have been proud of the transformation that followed.  Derpy's eyes focused to a single point of undiluted rage.  "IF YOU HURT DINKY, CELESTIA HELP ME–"

        "Derpy, calm down!  You're doing it again!"

        "I'LL MAIL YOU HOME IN TINY BOXES!"  Derpy's wings ignited in flames, yet Ink could not even tear his eyes away from hers, given the sheer might of her Empatha.  

        Sighing, the Doctor reached... behind his tie?... and pulled out a long slender metal object with a blue tip.  Acting quickly, he thrust it against Derpy's flank.  After a sort of whirring noise issued from the glowing blue tip, her eyes lost focus and she just sort of fell backwards.  "Muffins?"

        "Yes, dear, on the way home."  He reached out a hoof and pulled the mare back from Ink's face.  "Apologies, Mr... Ink, was it?  She's quite protective of her daughter, though she's really quite a nice mare."

        "What did you do?" Ink asked the earth pony.  "What was that thing?"

        "Oh, this?"  Somehow spinning the little metal tube around his hoof, he smiled.  "Well, it's a miniature jet injector–like an injection needle, only without the needle.  I had it custom made.  It has a mild anesthetic in it right now, and I only gave her a quarter dose.  She'll come about... well, right about now."

        On cue, Derpy rubbed her eyes.  "Oh...  well, that was no fun.  I'm sorry, Mr. Ink.  Dinky is okay, right?"
        
        "Dinky is fine... I think.  Which one is she?"

        "Little purple unicorn, blonde mane, cutest smile in the entire world..."  The Doctor shot Derpy a small grin.  

        Ink, however, raised a brow, glancing between a pegasus and an earth pony.  "Unicorn...?"

        "Oh, I'm not the father," the Doctor clarified.  "I was still in the Guard proper when she was born."  

        "Guard proper?"
        
        The Doctor nodded.  "Reserves now; actually, you'd be surprised how much of the population of Ponyville is reserve guardsponies.  I think Princess Celestia is a little bit protective of her student."  He chuckled, and then leaned forward to whisper in Ink's ear.  "But I'm sure you already realized that Commandant."

        "Wait, you know–"

        "Well, I've got an appointment with the mayor, and it wouldn't do to be late."  Ink's eyes widened as the Doctor chuckled and stuck his... jet-thingy... back into his tie, where it seemed to completely disappear.  "So let me leave you with this, Mr. Ink.  If you waste your time trying to go back in time, you'll drive yourself insane.  The only thing to do is, well, soldier on."

        Ink stared as the earth pony smiled and ran off, muttering something in Prench under his breath as his hooves carried him away.  The soldier's mouth hung open until he felt a gentle hoof push it shut.

        "He's like that sometimes," Derpy explained.  "I don't really understand it either."  Then the same hoof on Red Ink's chin pulled his head around to look her in her wild eyes.  "Now, I don't know what all that was about, but you seem like a nice enough pony.  Everypony makes mistakes, right?  I know I do."  She giggled lightly at a joke he didn't quite understand.  "Anyway, you should go back in there, tell that pony you're sorry, and go back to teaching.  Now, I do need to get back to work too.  Have a nice day."  Derpy smiled and took off, before turning to hover at about the height of the school building roof.  "Oh, and one more thing.  I meant what I said about Dinky."

        It took Ink twenty seconds to build up the strength to swallow.

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Schoolhouse Playground
1104 Hours

        Some twelve seconds after finishing his conversation with Derpy, Mr. Ink had found his way around the side of the schoolhouse building to where the fillies and colts were playing.  Or rather, had been playing.  They all stopped as he approached, watching him.

        Unsure of what else to do, Ink spoke to them.  "You can all, uh, go back playing.  Tiara, can I speak with you?"

        The foals all tentatively returned to their activities, save the pink filly who had been called out.  She hesitated in approaching Ink, and did so slowly, without meeting his gaze.  She stopped nearly four full strides from where he had taken a seat, and called out to him uncomfortably.  "Yeah?"  
        
        "I..."  He took a deep sigh as he built up the effort to force the words out of himself.  "I must apologize.  Losing my temper, it was not fair to you."

        "Oh."  Diamond looked up.  "I'm not in trouble?"

        "No," he told her.  "Though you would be smart not insulting Stol'nograd to other ponies.  Many powerful and dangerous pony are coming from there."

        "Okay..." Diamond muttered.  "Well, can I go back and play now?"

        Ink shrugged.  "Help yourself."

        In literary tradition, Ink might have expected to feel a great weight lifted off his soul, yet for the pleasure that Diamond's forgiveness gave him, the blots on his past were no less weighty.  Instead, he still found himself facing doubt as his eyes scanned the playground, watching foals swing and spin on the merry-go-round and play an incredibly disorganized game of hoofball.  Yet in their glances he saw fear–not so outright as before, and not so paralyzing, but present nevertheless.

        "Hey Mr. Ink."

        He turned to the orange filly with the unruly purple mane as she approached.  "You are... Scootaloo, yes?"

        She nodded with a little smile.  "That's me.  So, uh... can I ask you a favor?"

        "What is it?"

        "Well,"  Scootaloo took a moment to glance around the playground before continuing.  "See, Rainbow Dash was helping teach me how to fly.  Only, after she got back from Zebrica a few weeks ago, she's kinda been... keeping to herself.  I was hoping I could practice and get better so I could impress her."

        Knowing nothing better to do in the conversation, Ink skipped to the end.  "You want me to help you fly?"

        "Uh, yeah.  I just need help getting in the air, so I can practice gliding and trimming with the wind and stuff."

        "Okay."  Ink held out a hoof.

        Scootaloo was familiar with the practice.  She would climb onto the older pony's hoof, and let them lift her up, providing the strength of full-sized wings while her smaller pair controlled her trim as she flapped.  

        Unfortunately, Red Ink was not familiar with this idea.

        We now go to Mr. John Magnum for commentary of this amazing play.

        "Why thank you," the older stallion in the Hawaiian shirt replied.  "Now, as you can see here, the Stalliongradian Quarterback takes the foal in the hike.  From there's he's up on his hind legs, great posture.  Look at this step.  Count it with me.  One, two, three, and then back up and throw.  It's like he's got a cannon for an arm!  Let's see that again."  

        The stallion grabbed a yellow marker as the scene rewound, and began to play again in slow motion.

        "Now you can see here," he highlighted around Ink's hoof.  "the pacing here is gorgeous.  You just don't see this kinda attention to detail in the modern sport anymore..."

        Magnum rambled on as his yellow marker came to dominate the instant replay.  Meanwhile, Scootaloo found herself rather high in the air, and moving incredibly fast, relative to the speed with which Rainbow would usually carry her.  It took her a very short moment to realize that Ink wasn't holding onto her belly.

        Then she screamed.  

September 1st, 1452 A.S.
Ponyville Schoolhouse
1238 Hours

        The door swung slowly open to reveal the silhouette of a terrible, but rather small, bog monster.  The class stared in confusion and silent fear, though Mr. Ink mostly seemed amused.  

        "You are okay, Scootaloo?"
        
        "Yeah," the filly answered, pulling the tree sap out of her mane as she stepped into the interior light.  What seemed like most of a tree was sticking out of her mane.  "It just took a long time to walk back from Froggy Bottom Bog."

        Sweetie Belle's jaw dropped.  "He threw you almost three miles?"

        "I think I caught an updraft," Scootaloo replied.  "I landed pretty softly, though, so that's something.  Anyway, Mr. Ink, what did I miss?"

        Ink resisted the urge to respond with 'the entire Everfree Forest, thankfully', and instead chose a less gruesome answer.  "Oh," Ink looked around the room.  "Uh, class, physics time is done now.  We are going to do activity I told you about after recess.  So stand up from desks, please, and we will begin.  Diamond Tiara, come forward and stand at the front of the class."

        As the filly moved up, Ink pulled out from behind his desk a rather large metal bucket filled with water.  Reaching into his pocket, he removed a dozen bits, and dropped them into the water.  Before they had drifted down all the way through, he placed his wing on the surface of the water and froze it solid.  The class ooh'd at the display of magic, to which Ink shrugged.  "That was not strong magic.  Only a bucketful.  I am not good at ice."  Having concluded his work, he hauled the bucket off to the corner of the room, and then moved back to the front.

        Diamond Tiara made looked to her teacher with considerably less trepidation than her previous approach.  "Yes, Mr. Ink?"

        "Congratulations, dear," Ink told her with a dry sarcasm that escaped the grasps of much of the class.  "You are now Baron Frostbite."

        "What?" Diamond asked, cocking her head in confusion.  

        Ink waved his wing toward the standing students in the classroom.  "You are now the ruler of the Domain of Stol'nograd, and these are your subjects.  You can do whatever you want with them."  Horror flashed across the faces of the class as a wide grin grew on Diamond Tiara's.  

        Ink's explanation, however, was not done.  "You will need some to go out and work the freezing fields.  You will need some to stand guard against the dragons on the wall to the east.  And the rest can work in the city, in warm houses, enjoying life.  But if you have too few farming, your ponies will starve.  And if you have too few on the wall, the dragons will sneak in, and burn down your cities like they did to Coltpenhagen thirteen years ago.  So choose."

        "Hey!" Applebloom called out.  "Why does she get ta' be the Baron?"

        "Because," Ink responded calmly.  "She was born the wealthy third son of a noble from Canterlot.  Her blood is the blood of Lord Iron Curtain, and Princess Platinum, and Commander Hurricane, and ultimately all the way back to Princess Celestia herself.  She was born to rule.  Raised to rule."  Despite the drama in his words, Ink's voice was dull, flat, and deliberately unconvincing.  "How could some commoner from Stol'nograd hope to compare?"

        "Exactly," Diamond Tiara announced, with considerably more enthusiasm than Ink had.  "Silver Spoon, come here.  You get to be with me!"

        "Totally!"  The duo did a little dance number, and then looked out at the rest of the class.  "Like... what should we do with the rest of them, Diamond?"

        "Ooh!  I know!"  Diamond smiled predatorily as she turned her attention toward the Cutie Mark Crusaders.  "I want all the blank-flanks to work the fields."

        "Do you know this story?" Ink muttered to himself as he looked Diamond's direction.  She didn't hear him.  He turned his attention to the Crusaders.  "Well, you heard the Baron.  Get the bits."

        "What?" Scootaloo asked.
        
        "It's solid ice," Sweetie Belle complained.

        "Ah don' wanna!" Applebloom shouted, pounding a hoof on her desk with finality.  "It ain't fair, Mr. Ink!"

        "Life isn't fair," Ink observed.  "Diamond, are you just going to take that from her?"

        Diamond looked up at her teacher with excitement.  "You mean I get to make her shut up?"

        "Well, you could always send her to the wall.  Lots of ponies freeze to death there.  Some even get eaten by dragons."

        "Ooh!"  Diamond Tiara rubbed her hooves together.  "Alright, everypony, here's how this is gonna work.  If you're a blankflank, get farming.  If you complain about it like Applebloom, you get to go to the wall."

        "Applebloom," Ink directed.  "Go to the back wall, and stand on your hind legs with your forehooves up."

        "Why?"

        "Because otherwise the Baron's secret police with throw you over the wall, and you'll freeze to death or get eaten for sure," Ink answered.  "Stol'nograd does not tolerate dead weight."

        Grumbling under her breath,  Applebloom made her way to 'the wall'.  Meanwhile, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were joined by Pipsqueak, Dinky, and a few other young foals as they beat their hooves against the ice and shivered at the cold.

        "The rest of you get to live in the city," Diamond told the class.  Ink watched the students that relaxed back in their seats, noting the discomfort on most of their faces as they watched their friends being mistreated.

        Ink spoke up, his voice commanding the attention of everypony in the room.  "This, class, is what Stol'nograd was like twenty years ago.  Only, instead of blank flanks, we had earth ponies forced to work the fields, and in addition to prisoners and dissenters, pegasi were put on the wall.  It was a life, though not a comfortable one.  Pegasi are more resistant to the cold, and serve better as scouts and soldiers.  Earth ponies' magic allows them to grow more crops.  But, as Applebloom put it, it was not fair.  Unicorns ruled the cities, living in the warmth and controlling the money."

        A hoof was raised, and Ink gestured to it.

        "Why didn't Princess Celestia do anything?"

        Ink nodded.  "Well, at first, she allowed Baron Frostbite's actions because they were necessary.  Most of you are too young to remember this–I was younger than most of you when it happened, but the Dragon Wars leveled most of the Domain.  Forced work orders were necessary to reseed fields and cut down wood to rebuild homes.  The threat of dragons made ponies willing to serve on the wall.  Everypony did their part."

        "But after that–" the foal protested.

        "After that, Princess Celestia did do something.  She sent a guardspony."

        "One guardspony?" somepony else asked.  

        "A special guardspony..." Ink muttered, as his eyes scanned the room.  "Pipsqueak, come to the front of the room, please."

        "Me, sir?" he asked in his amusing accent.

        "Yes, you.  Come on up."  

        Pipsqueak darted forward.  "Who'm I, Mr. Ink?"

        "Your name is Commander Steel Lining.  You are the Captain of the Honor Guard, Princess Celestia's personal bodyguard, and the hero of the Dragon Wars."  As the long list of titles progressed, Pipsqueak's eyes grew wider and wider.  "You've come because you and Princess Celestia are worried about how the ponies of Stol'nograd are being treated.  So tell me, Commander, what do you think about Stol'nograd?"

        Ink had to give the colt credit for the resolve he lent to his role.  "It ain't fair!"

        "And what are you doing about it?"

        "I'm gonna go tell Princess Celestia!"

        "Really?" Ink asked, before catching himself.  "Ah, I shouldn't expect you understanding these politics.  It would be bad if Stol'nograd did not become free because of native ponies, or so Commander Lining thinks.  So he decided he would get ponies inside of Stol'nograd to help, instead of bringing in an army.  So now, Commander, who do you go to if you want to find ponies who want to change Stol'nograd?"

        "Oh, uh, Applebloom!  And Rumble and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo and–"

        "The blank flanks," Ink interrupted.  "That seem like a smart choice.  Hm...  Actually, this will do nicely.  Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Rumble, and..."  Ink's eyes wandered the cluster of blank flanks by his frozen barrel before alighting on a purple unicorn with a loose blonde mane reminiscent of her mother's.  "...Dinky.  Coming up to front, please."

        Diamond Tiara's eyes widened in fear as her temporary power began to slip through her hooves.  Ink took a bit of amusement in this before he began to speak.  "Now, class, there will be several names here, so I will write them for you on the board, in Stol'nogradskiy and then in Equiish, along with what they mean."  Ink grabbed a piece of chalk.  "First up, Dinky, you will be Watchful Eye."

        "Now, Watchful Eye is an alicorn.  Does anypony know what 'alicorn' is?"  Ink scanned the class before rolling his eyes.  "Yes, Twist?"

        "An alicorn ith a printhethth."

        Ink winced before nodding.  "Yes, that's one way to put it.  An alicorn is a pony like Princess Celestia and Princess Luna.  A winged unicorn, some ponies say.  But alicorns have all three types of magic – unicorn magic, earth pony magic, and pegasus magic."

        "Earth ponies have magic?" somepony asked.

        Ink nodded.  "We will talk that later.  But yes.  Now, important thing to remember, class, is that not all alicorns are princess, or even prince.  Watchful Eye was not a noble pony.  His parents were an earth pony and a pegasus."

        "A doctor earth pony and a mailmare pegasus?" Dinky asked with excitement.

        "Uh... sure, why not?"  Ink shrugged, having basically no knowledge of his grandparents’ occupations.  The dragons had killed them both.  Nevertheless, his acknowledgement had put a smile on Dinky's face.  "Now, Watchful Eye had three sons.  A unicorn, and then two pegasi.  The unicorn was the oldest, and his name..."

        "...was Foresight.  Today, Sweetie Belle is going be our Foresight."

        The filly nodded.  "Okay."

        "We'll come back to you in a moment, Sweetie.  Scootaloo, you next.  Watchful Eye's next son was a pegasus, he named Roscherk Krovyu."

        Ink paused for a moment considering what to put.  He didn't want to put Red Ink, not only because it was wrong, but because he had no intention of revealing his part in the story to his students.  After a while, he filled in the blank.

        "Roscherk Krovyu means something like to take blood, and make writing with it.  But most often, I have heard it translated like this."

        "Blood Stroke?" Diamond Tiara asked.  "Who'd name their foal that?"

        "I don't know," Ink answered, unable to resist himself.  "Who would name their foal after something as superficial as expensive clothing?"

        Thankfully, Diamond didn't seem to catch on.  Ink smiled just a little as he continued.  "Watchful Eye's last son will be Rumble, because his colors are close.  Just a bit more blue or purple to his mane and coat."

        The little colt stared up at Ink, and the grown stallion nodded.  "This last son was named Midnight."

        "Now, Baron Frostbite..."  Ink paused, waiting.  "Ahem.  Baron Frostbite."

        "What?" Diamond asked.  "Oh, right, that's me.  Sorry."

        "You have a problem, Baron.  You are supposed to be the pony with the blood right to rule Stol'nograd, but here there is an alicorn.  And everypony believes that alicorns come from royal blood, whether they are known to be royal or not.  Your ponies are starting to ask why you should be allowed to stay in power.  What are you going to do about it?"

        "Send her to the wall!" Diamond Tiara said without missing a beat.
        
        Ink shook his head.  "Wrong, Baron.  Think for a second.  If you sent Watchful Eye to the wall, he would be among many other ponies who also do not like you, correct?"

        "Well, yeah, so?"

        "So what happens if those ponies group together?  What happens if they rise up against you?"  Diamond gulped, and Ink nodded.  "Right.  The real Baron Frostbite saw this threat.  So his plan instead was to welcome Watchful Eye into his family.  Keep your friends close, enemies closer, is phrase?"

        "I think so," Sweetie Belle told him.

        "Close enough, then.  Well, Frostbite took in Watchful Eye.  It was his intention to solve two problems in one go.  You see, Frostbite did not have any heir to take his place as Baron."

        "Heir?" Scootaloo asked.

        "It means kids.  He didn't have any kids."
        
        "Why not?" Diamond Tiara asked.

        Ink paused, and then smiled.  "Well, see, Frostbite was too busy trying to get other stallions' lollipops."  And then scolding himself, he added "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

        "Oooh," Twist noted, sending a chill down Ink's spine.  "Tho when you thaid he wanted your brotherth lollipopth, you actually meant that he wanted to thuck hith–"

        "Yes!  I mean no!  I mean... just, stop, please."  Ink buried his face in a wing for a moment, until he was certain the onslaught was over, and then cleared his throat.  "Right.  Well, what matters here is that Frostbite wanted Watchful Eye's sons."  The class stared at him, and Ink slowly realized what he had said.  "The sons he already had.  Foresight, Re– er, Blood Stroke, and Midnight."

        "Oh!" the class observed in collective understanding.

        "Right.  So Baron Frostbite paid for Foresight to go to a bunch of fancy, expensive, stupid colleges in Canterlot and Trottingham and Prance, and he started wearing a bunch of really ugly scarves..."  Ink realized he was rambling, and cut himself off.  "Meanwhile, because they were pegasi, Blood Stroke and Midnight were given high-ranking positions in Frostbite's guard, who everypony called the Secret Police."

        "If everypony knew what to call them," Pipsqueak asked, "wouldn't they not be secret anymore?"

        "Well, they weren't really secret.  They were just called the secret police.  It... don't worry about it, okay.  What matters is this: Dinky, you don't have to work in the fields anymore.  Your family gets comfortable, important jobs, and some day, your eldest son will be the Baron of Stol'nograd.  How does that make you feel?"

        Dinky looked around the classroom and shook her head.  "But my friends are still over there..."

        "Exactly," Ink noted, patting Dinky on the head with a wing.  "So one day, Commander Lining came to visit Watchful Eye, and they hatched a plan to fix Stol'nograd.  Revolution."

        Ink stepped over to stand behind Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Rumble.

        "Now, in many ways, Watchful Eye's sons were perfect team.  Foresight was genius of numbers and logistics.  He could feed army better than Frostbite, and get ponies from place to place easily.  He also knew strong, rare magic if things became dangerous.  Blood Stroke was a great soldier, and Commander Lining taught him to use powerful pegasus magic.  And while Midnight was also a soldier, his great skill was manipulating the weather.  He was fast enough and strong enough to push away the clouds of Stol'nograd, if only for a few minutes.  And he could build a cloudstone wall faster than anypony else I've ever heard of.  He made bunkers, and barracks, and he let their ponies march without dealing with the strongest of wind and snow.  His dream was to end the storm over Stol'nograd, but first they needed freedom from Baron Frostbite."

        Ink sighed.  "But there was one more they needed, Commander Lining insisted.  A hero for the common pony who had not lived with Baron Frostbite in Burning Hearth Castle.  Somepony who the earth ponies and the pegasi would stand behind because they shared in pain."

        Ink turned to the back of the room, his face drawn with grim determination.  "Applebloom, come here."

        "Alright!" Scootaloo exclaimed.

        "No," Ink answered, putting a calming wing on Scootaloo's back.  "This role is not as happy as the others."  The teacher rolled his neck, forcing deep breaths to control his emotions.  "So Commander Lining and Midnight went to the wall, and there they found their pony.  An earth pony mare named Stoikaja... she calls herself Soldier On in Equiish."

        Ink looked to Applebloom.  "Stoi–sorry, Soldier On, was a huge mare, stronger than most buffalo, but she had been sent to the wall when one of her foals was accused of stealing a golden necklace from a noble."

        "She was a mom?" Applebloom asked.

        Ink nodded.  "Though she was young.  I believe... nineteen or twenty, when she had second foal, and joined the rebellion."

        The guardspony could see their faces when he let his mind wander back.  So worried about their mother, as if there were anything Frostbite could throw at her that would even make her bleed.  He could see the way Predvidenie held them on his back, as the unicorn stayed back from the fight, directing the war alongside Mentor with nothing more than a map and a ledger.  

        "Somethin' wrong, Mr. Ink?"

        The stallion returned to the present at the sound of the accented voice. "No.  Nothing, Applebloom.  Now, I am not going to lecture you in battles and tactics.  You would not remember, and most of you would not care.  But here is what is important to know: the curse of Hearth's Warming is still strong in Stol'nograd, and when the ponies there fight one another, the storm grows worse.  That is why it was named the Blizzard Revolution.  For almost two years, the Domain had worst storms in its history.  In summer, winds blew like the worst of winters.  In winter, you could freeze to death walking across the street.  Ponies suffocated in their homes when they were buried under snow.  Others starved.  It was terrible..." Ink sighed.  "...but it was a short pain, to free Stol'nograd from ponies like Frostbite forever.  And that is what happened."

        Ink collapsed backward, sighing gently.  "Go back to your seats."

        The class, attentions still riveted on Ink, scrambled back to their stools.  Ink looked over them with weary eyes.  "After fighting all across the Domain, the rebel army finally reached the city of Stol'nograd.  Ponies loyal to Frostbite, mostly unicorns, fought in the streets.  It was brutal.  The rebels were hardly a trained force.  The blizzard was too harsh, and supplies too short, to stop and train.  Even in the winters, when fighting stopped for the sake of survival, nopony could do anything in those cramped holes.  The rebel army could never beat Frostbite's force... but there was a plan, so that they did not have to."

        Ink brushed back his mane with a hoof.  "The army marched on Burning Hearth Castle.  It was a bloodbath, going up the narrow, icy path on the cliffs, with unicorn magic raining down from all sides and pegasi pushing the soldiers off the cliffs to their deaths.  But Soldier On and Midnight fought it, and because of that, the army was drawn away from Burning Hearth Castle itself."
        
        "Did Baron Frostbite fight in the battle?" Pipsqueak asked.

        Ink shook his head.  "He stayed in the castle, watching from a window in his study, with two fireplaces to keep him warm, and his personal elite guard to keep him safe.  At least, that's what he thought.  But Commander Lining and Foresight had found an old book that told of a secret passage into the castle from the valley below.  The Commander and Blood Stroke snuck into the castle, and killed Baron Frostbite's guards."

        Unable to contain the suspense, one of the students spoke up.  "Did they kill him?"

        "No," Ink answered.  "At least, not at first.  They captured Frostbite, and then they snapped off his horn."  

        Most of the foals winced.  A few unicorns, familiar with the pain of just hitting their heads too hard, sheltered their heads.  Ink nodded somberly, though inside he had no regrets for what he had done.  

        "Then they dragged him outside, up to the balcony of the castle, and the fighting stopped.  The loyalists surrendered.  The revolution was over."

        "But what happened to Baron Frostbite?" Pipsqueak asked.

        Ink sighed.  "I told you earlier about how Frostbite would throw ponies over the wall.  Let them freeze to death, or be eaten by dragons."  The class' eyes widened, and Ink nodded.  "Blood Stroke threw Frostbite over the wall, with robes, and oil, flint, and steel for a fire."

        "Why all that?"

        "Because it is said that freezing to death is as painless as falling asleep.  But ponies who lost legs and wings when the dragons attacked... they say the alternative is much more painful."

        After a long period of silence, Ink glanced at the clock.  "Now, Miss Cheerilee says to remind you, Family Appreciation Day is next week.  Remember to find family you can bring.  And... class dismissed."

        Before the students had even filed out, Ink's head hit the desk, and he was lost in his memories.

        *Ink's mind imagined that the pause probably lasted about as long as it would take for an arbitrary hypothetical reader to glance not merely to the bottom of their page, but all the way to the appendix of their book, and then look up the item in question.  That is to say, the pause lasted a long time, and subsequently, it also became very awkward and jarring.  It disrupted the flow of the class, much as a poorly used and inappropriate hoofnote would.  Thankfully, this brief lapse in his imagination only stole his attention for a short time before he returned his thoughts to the regular flow of the class.