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// Book 2: Part 1:  Chapter 1: Episode 1: Riders of the Temporal and Metaphysical Storm 
// Story: Ultra Eternal Prodigal Furious Very Big Sonic Fearless Perpetual Heroic Epic Legendary 
// by Sir Ostentatious 
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	Perhaps my expression of optimism was too eager, but the absence of a radiant beacon did not make us stumble. As the white mist faded, a barren landscape housed by foreboding gray battleships tumbled through and marked there in the sky a permanent harbor. Unfaltering and seemingly motionless, clouds for as far back and as far forward as our eyes could perceive marred the sky. An unnerving breeze swallowed the environment as Scattershot and I silently trotted along. A stark emptiness filled only by rocks and dead trees.
Admittedly, the melody of this duo had not yet played lyrically, though this company did present fewer shapes in the shadows and frightening noises I may have heard otherwise. Paradise Gorge and its canyons had already sank into a grim vista as we traveled towards the unknown. I missed the shine of the sun and thought of my mother’s complexion, but not of my father’s because he is dead. He is but a star flickering behind the sun; dormant, not gone from this spinning top, but threatening to fade if not properly tended to, something I planned to remedy. Such a plan though pondered Scattershot’s role, as did I.
A florist did not equate to a traveler, for her breathing grew deep and she opted to simply fly over crevices dotting the treacherous wasteland we traversed rather than simply leap their boundaries like I did. Cliff sides could not escape her grace, but a delicate frame needed time to scale them. If I could hazard a guess for her age it would be astronomical compared to my own, though she followed without question.
The wide realm of lands untouched by time stood before us, as did a figure sitting nearby. From behind a sickly tree he beckoned Scattershot and I over. Hair follicles flew in every direction, resembling spikes, though colored in a pallet of saffron. A wild scarf of white flew in the wind and flirted with the spikes. A laurel green coat hidden by a dusty cloak seemed to rise from within the earth, practically begging for some sort of entertainment. I could see it in his eyes: that flame only found in the most elite of travelers. Perhaps he was an adventurer as well? I normally did not get excited about these random meetings, but to interact and share poems with the likes of such a respectable fellow incited a giddy pep in my step.
“Hey bud.” He said.
“Hey!” I said back.
“What’s up?” He asked.  	
“Not much. You?” I returned.
“Nah.” He finished. With that, he took his leave and went into the mist behind us, fulfilled by our engaging conversation. 				Disappointed, I looked back to Scattershot and she was at a loss for words.
With the whisper and whistle of the wind in our ears, we pressed on. Every step seemed to take us to the same location as we made our northern trek. What if this mysterious land I was so strongly rushing headlong into may foster an ambush of some sort? This ambush, or the feeling of not knowing? Perhaps my father may have opted for my safety above his redemption. Perhaps I, in my state of living and serving as his only son, in any endeavor I embarked on served as the beacon of his life. Vicariously, his soul lived on through me, even without a famous title upon my name. This journey may in fact have held no purpose, and I may have served a higher calling if I simply returned to school. I halted, these thoughts boiling over with questions and decisions needing to be made.  If only a sign, perhaps maybe the hoof of my father, was to extend from the faceless grayness and direct me in the right direction.
“Are you okay, Ostentatious?” Concern brewed in Scattershot’s tone, though she immediately sat down to catch her breath.
“Breathe easy for a moment. I am waiting for something.” I replied. Extending my neck and drawing my eyes shut, I waited. I waited. I waited. I waited some more. What was that? I felt a movement, like a brush across my cheek. A wind had picked up. “Do you feel that?” I asked Scattershot, eyes still shut.
“I think I felt a drop.” She said, raising an upturned hoof.
I only waited until another brush kissed my spirit and I. “There! The wind is blowing from the west! There we will find what we are looking for!” I proclaimed.
“What? You suggest we run into a storm!?”
I turned to her, eyes bright enough to replace the missing sun. “The wind is picking up, meaning rain. Thus there must be a rainstorm in the west! My father loved the rain, therefore he must want me to go where he loves!” I did not wait for a reply and only ran to the eye of the storm, Scattershot reluctantly following.
As I predicted, raindrops grew more fervent around my body and enthralled my senses. Was this the personification of my father? I took it as so, for my father loved the smell of rain. If the storm embraced me, so did my father’s approval. A single tear down my cheek, the path became undoubtedly clear as I ran to retribution.
After only half a minute of travel, my father’s signal finally centralized. Beyond the canyon precipice stood the land I sought after. Lightning threw its fist against the earth and shook the land with every impact. Furious winds and torrential rain threatened our new destination, though I ran beside Scattershot to assure our safety. I heard her breathing growing frantic with my own, though my smile overshadowed the cramps. Our manes flew wildly in the wind and I shouted for our resolve.
“This way Scattershot! I know it is here! Just a bit more!” I yelled as rain filled my lungs with nature’s bounty.
Passion encouraged our pace as my hooves guided Scattershot and I to the area’s entrance. No figures peeked out of bushes or plotted against me, thus ushering me into a haven of safety amid the hostile climate I now knew these journeys to posses. From the slippery craggy faces of the land we located a large silo and found refuge inside its pleasant emptiness.
With a slam of the door, the wind pulled it shut and Scattershot and I relaxed in the tranquility of the shelter. Both out of breathe from our marathon, we gave each other ample time to recollect ourselves before we pondered where we had actually ran to. Stray droplets sent a whooping cough throughout my throat, though it subsided. Scattershot seemed at ease, just exhausted. Time seemed to have no bearings on that world of eternal dismalness, thus we opted to stay in the silo until the storm had passed.
In the darkness of the silo I could hear her. “It looks like we’re on a farm.” Scattershot deduced when she could finally speak.
I nodded weakly.
“That was really reckless of you, Ostentatious!” Scattershot chided. A piercing noise had muffled the comment, most likely the lightning outside. Scattershot yelped. Shivers erupted across my frame.
A retort was formulated and ready to be said, though a pain in my chest stopped me short. Sharply it constrained my heart, like the grasp of a demon’s hand. Slowly it ran nails across my capillaries and vesicles until it forced me to the floor. I groaned, and heard a faint gasp and the rush of hooves as my eyes flirted with darkness and were won over by the abyss.

***

I threw open my eyes to respond to Scattershot, but saw no one looking down at me. All was silent. No elements beat against the metallic walls of our hiding place as a simple candle flickered nearby. A blanket had been draped over me and my mane had been matted down, as if dried by a towel. The warmth of my breath felt heavenly against my damp coat and I took solace in the serenity of our stop. So much so, I pondered leaving the dimness and safety of the silo, but I needed to find where Scattershot had gone off to.
Blanket still over my back, I dared to peek at the outside world and what nature had made of it. Not dilapidation, but an idyllic whiteness scattered itself across the horizon. I took a step, powdery to the touch and uncharacteristically out of season. The mountains in the distance too slept beneath their snow banks and a gentle pace of snowflakes kept the rate even and constant. Against the canvas I could make out the silhouette of a home and a light in the window.
Who authorized this epoch of winter? Surely any weather patrol had known the month of May was a time of sunshine and prosperity among the leaves, but such assumptions were ignored in this strange, strange land.  I crafted an aura around the blanket and tightened it around me as my teeth clamored. The candle light invited me across the ice like a trance.
Of a modest length, width, and height, the area of the house did not impress. A small size though followed behind a small range to heat, and the crackle of a fire and all its glory filled up my senses. The door creaked and a conversation stopped.
“Oh Ostentatious! You feel any better?” Scattershot asked, walking towards me from the fireplace.
“A pantheon of the wicked and transparent had their hold of me, but I have arisen. Are you in somepony’s company?”
“I am. She’s in the living room.” Warmth spread across our bodies and the walls of the room as we neared the fireplace of the home. Beside it sat a comfortable mare of muted cobalt and an air of enigma. Blends of charcoal and gray ruled her mane which rested in wild paths around her body. Freshness and youth met her smile well and her eyes gleamed in the embers. She cocked her head in my direction, spectacles resting on the tip of her nose. Of a similar nature, she rested beneath a plain quilt of uninteresting colors. Austere walls watched our brief exchange of glances until she spoke.
“You must be the young adventurer Scattershot has told me about.” She said, beaming. “Please have a seat by the fire before you catch your death of cold!” Scattershot and I obliged and sat around the fire. Absolution from the ice ran through my veins and warmed my blood and lulled me. A yawn escaped and shook the fire. “Feel free to rest here, dear. The snow should surely change soon.”
I looked to Scattershot. She shrugged with a smile. “You need the rest anyway, Osten. You probably swallowed the storm with all your shouting.” The two mares giggled as my head slipped to the floor in the embrace of the fire’s aura. I liked the nickname.
“Snow begets an untimely arrival.” I said, eyes closed in relaxation. “Esoteric weather patterns abound, who is in charge of the sky?” I asked inquisitively.
“I see it is true. You are from Equestria.” Her gaze was drawn to the fire.
“The whole world is Equestria.” I reminded her.
“The long reach of the monarchy ends at the barriers of mist. You are in a mad world now.”
“Who rules this land, Bellamina?” Scattershot inquired. “Do you have a princess?”
“There is not one definitive ruler, though many seek to stake their claims around here.” She looked up to the dingy wood roof. “They’ll surely have this house when I dance with my last storm.”
“A somber metaphor.” I chimed in.
“It’s actually quite exhilarating. The smell of rain and the sound of lightning make these old bones feel alive again. I never miss a storm, but of course I’ve got nothing to do to make me miss it. You see, every storm is supposed to bring a rainbow, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I was to miss it. So far they’ve gone missing, but hope is abundant around here.”
“Don’t make me feel old too!” Scattershot laughed with Bellamina, though soon knit her brow. “Doesn’t the sun come out?”
“I haven’t seen a ray since the mist first fell on these lands so many decades ago. Other ponies did not seem to mind and they went on with their lives, though others succumbed to the madness here. But my hope lies in that I’ll have plenty of time to watch every storm until I see the rainbow or the lightning.” She smiled at the crackling fire.
“Where are your parents or your siblings?”
“Mother and Father and my sisters live elsewhere. I took the farm long ago when I came of age. My parents and sisters I cannot speak for, but I trust they are doing well. One must not dwell on what could be when there is so much.” She looked to me. “What are you to be, Ostentatious?”
“I endeavor to be the most venerated, unlike all before me. By this test I am to ensnare evils and beasts, my father’s legacy is my cause. I plan to live up to the connotations of my title: ‘Eternal’.”
“How whimsical!” She cheered. “Just remember that prospect is often better than possession.”
“I’ve heard that tune before and she too changed her mind.” Scattershot did look at me.
“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I finally saw the sun. I suppose I would be able to die happy. Surely I would!” Bellamina rested her chin on a hoof and thought. I flirted between the waking and sleeping world as she talked.
“With such resolve, why not go with Scattershot and I?” I asked, in between yawns.
She was about to answer, though a knock at the door broke the spell.
“More visitors?” Bellamina looked to us, but we did not expect anyone. The cracking and scream of wood shattered the tranquility of the gathering as a hinge sputtered to the floor. A second hinge gave way to the impact of kicks, flying across the room and landing before the hearth. Wild eyes stepped through the threshold, dirty hooves and an even dirtier coat following suit. The feral stallion gazed, eyes glazed over, into the fire. Mouth open with heavy breaths, teeth missing, and black like an abyss. Colors were gone and washed out by dismal ashy grays. It grunted and moaned and began a slow advance on us.
Without reply, Bellamina shot to her hooves, twisting as she stopped before the stallion’s mania and brought hooves to face like a comet. With a whimper he backed away and fell into the snow outside. Other voices were heard from outside the missing doorway.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
Visibly shaken by the intrusion, Bellamina stared with frightened eyes into Scattershot and I, though I reacted when the savage rustled in the snow. My magic enveloping him, a flick of my horn threw him farther back into a deep snow bank.
“Fear not! Gallantry rises above this pool of evil, and I shall swim with such dignity!” With that, I leapt from the home and surveyed the opposition: two others looked over the fallen stallion with empty eyes. Not sure of what they were looking for, I eagerly invited them to a sight worth remembering.
To the heavens I threw my head, gathering energy from the universe around me. From the mechanical and potential and kinetic and solar, small orbs began to flow from the air and culminate around my horn. Its base shined triumphantly, a paragon of supernatural excellence. All sweetness and light flew in droves to meet my call for power to vanquish these foes.
“Should you choose to not leave in a prompt manner, I shall not dry your tears!” I called, gritting my teeth and sculpting the force into a tool of slaying. Slender body, curves like a battle axe, though I spawned a string to connect the creation. Crystals stemmed magnificently from the frame and shined with their own power. To fit the bow, a prismatic arrow began to extend and take form. Head sharpened by sheer vigor and vitality, it glistened with the bow and began to melt the snow around me. Finally, two majestic wings spread from the base of the arrow. They fluttered and tested the area around them before they took flight. With a sweeping motion of my head, I pulled back the bowstring, letting the arrow ready itself.
Dull and listless eyes did not blink in the arrow’s presence. Motionless, the empty shells before me only watched the pretty lights in awe. The energy neared its zenith and tears began to fall from the savages’ eyes. Mystified and still, they waited for me.
“Dynamic Redemption Arrow of Destiny!” I screamed to the world, the built tensions escaping with my words. The massive span of angelic wings stretched wide and took with it the momentum of the galaxy. Paradigms of the gods themselves gazed in awe as the arrow shot and sliced through the air. Its path of travel tore open a rift in the clouds above, letting precious sunlight exude its glory upon my projectile. With a thunderous collision amid icy howls, the three feral stallions were no more. Snow in furious flurries and tornadoes spiraled about the battlefield as I simply basked in the sunlight.
When the snow finally settled, there was no sign of the marauders, making me the victor. Scattershot and Bellamina emerged from the home, though Bellamina rushed passed me. Atop the rock and melted snow, she craned her neck. There in the sky, the ancient father of time smiled upon her, though clouds began to mend the opening. As she basked in the fading light, her colors shined but began to grow a grayer tint. At zen, though the sun stole decades from her. Features became rigid against her once youthful figure. Her mane wilted with the approaching age as did her color, but her smile only grew with the feel of mortality upon her. What manner of sorcery spirited away the young mare? Her eyes did not move from the gap until the light was gone.
A new gem glimmered in the light. Something appeared on her flank, an image of some kind.
The wound mended itself, the soul and youth returning to her smile and her colors. More saturated and brilliant than before, her colors returned as did the years. Left in the darkness and constant surveillance of the clouds once more, Bellamina turned to me, her countenance visibly brighter and vibrant. Cobalt colors became a more lustrous blue and her mane seemed livelier, even more than before. Despite the vibrancies, her mark had disappeared again. Her smile would not fade. She ran to me, embracing me and sobbing. I heard her whisper, “It is true. You are from Equestria.”

***

The snow had settled as had our spirits as we adjourned to the company of the fire once more to talk. Bellamina seemed shaken, her grin fading into a bittersweet mixture of elation and regret.
“These are the best of times and the worst of times. It is our spring of rebirth and the winter of our despair. We have everything before us and we have nothing before us. Living is death; dying is life.” Uneasiness welled in her eyes, fire crackles filling the silence. “We are not what we appear to be. On this side of the grave we are exiles, on that side we are citizens; on this side orphans, on that side we are children and sisters and daughters.” Scattershot began to console her with the brush of her hoof.
“How many times must I break this night’s shadow until you are cured?” I asked, staring intently into the aged eyes of a young mare.
Through her spectacles she replied: “A river of shadows runs through this world. If I could escape I would be free, but where would I go? This is a terrible thing you two have done.”
“Are we under the same curse now?” Scattershot asked.
Bellamina’s eyes widened though withdrew themselves in a reluctant nod. “I believe so. I don’t remember how long I’ve been asleep in this spell, but surely I’ve passed my time, maybe a bit less.”
My yawn cut the tension and silence. “Another cog in the scheme I must face down and overcome. Temporal boundaries are a hindrance anyway. One less coal in the pile I must sift through to find the carbuncle buried beneath their depths.” I yawned again. “I enjoy the thought of remaining in my prime. Make it your cornucopia.”
“Are you sleeping already? Aren’t you hungry?”Scattershot asked, a question I could hear almost a shred of maternal quality resonate in.
“As I walk the surroundings, the universe feeds my body with energy so much so I may last through the night.”
“That doesn’t sound too filling. Why not stay up a bit and humor us?” A foul note in our harmony, but I conceded.
Bellamina then withdrew a three bowls, chipped slightly around the rim, of what appeared to be a fruit of some kind. Not wanting to besmirch this extension of hospitality, I ate voraciously.
“So, you are after your dad? Mind if I ask what happened?” Bellamina asked in between bites, the sustenance easing her turmoil.
By the hearth’s glow I grew passionate and bright and heard it like an applause goading me on. “Cut down in his perfection, my father could no longer brave what the world dared him to. No wounds but only the internal horror of betrayal and toxins. The kiss of death and the spit of a God upon this undeserving stallion crumbled his world and left a son with one less father. Depraved were these creatures of death and their dance, as the overturned body of my father lay deceased on our doorstep with only a note to show for his symptoms which read: “A pony with no title but ‘dead’”. My father, as a tactful business pony, went by many names, though he could not have expected this title. I intend to write this wrong however I may, and this journey of mine may just show me what clues I am missing to this puzzle. Just as he was known by many names, I too venture to add any and all adjectives to myself so that the very utterance of my name in a city street may rile up and recall wonderful and vivacious words.”
“It’s a wonderful journey, but aren’t these words and words only; what telling do they have on you?” Scattershot asked, the two mares engrossed in my mission.
“These words are but letter arrangements, I agree, but the connotations of these arrangements are what strike certain emotions and cords within ponykind and cause actions where they may not have occurred otherwise. Words have the power to turn citizens into rebels and colts into stallions, thus whatever solidifies my position as a threat to all those who may have opposed my father serves to bolster my mission.” I paused and looked to Bellamina. “How would you describe me in one word?”
Without thinking and pausing for only a second between a bite of an apple she let out “lofty”. Scattershot and Bellamina chuckled in unison. I took the word with acceptance and as a testament to her support of my own journey, for it seems to always begin this way.
I turned to the snickering Scattershot. “If I am simply ‘lofty’, riddle me your reasons for following me. Surely it wasn’t that I just inspired you to go, no matter how flawless my skills in eloquent locutions were.”
“No reasons other than the point that you seemed like you were going somewhere and you knew where you were going. From the moment you snuck into my home and slept on my couch, I knew you would be somehow influential to me, at least in the back of my mind I did. You see, I believed I was invincible like you see yourself as, though when you foretold of the world beyond my doorstep, it put the world into context and how small I might be. Apply it to yourself and your desire for words, for once you lose them, you’ll see they aren’t and never were solely yours.” There it was again: that blend of “matter-of-fact” and motherly wisdom which skirted an issue I could not identify.
“If I ever lose a battle than may I choke on my own words and titles, but until then I claim them as my own.” With that, Bellamina and Scattershot went on, but I could not. The employment of magic performed previously finally caught up to me in an exhaustive wave. As it washed over me, I became stone and would not budge, even for my nightly entries into my adventure log. I would catch up on it tomorrow, as would my search for a definitive answer to my offering to expand my team. I saw Bellamina’s mark again in my sleep. The fire felt calming as I drifted off to sleep there on the floo