//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 - Meet the Ranger // Story: PonyScape: Where the Heart is // by GuthixianBrony //------------------------------// PonyScape: Where the Heart is Chapter 4 - Meet the Ranger The sun hung low in the sky, yet the port was still a bustling hive of activity as the men, women, dwarves, sirens and more of Sarim went about their daily lives; dockhands moved crates to and from the moored ships, sailors lounged outside the pub, nursing drinks or singing bawdy shanties and a few shady individuals moved surreptitiously through the masses, lightening the purses of the unwary. Brother Gerald thumbed through his heavily bookmarked and dog-eared copy of the Book of Light, and sighed. Sarim was not the easiest town to preach in; the locals were a brutal, unsavoury lot all too fond of their vices and sins. The port also saw a lot of traffic from the East, where for years the notions of Gods and worship had been laughed at. Still, if the infamous Cudgel of Draynor could spread Saradomin’s Glory among the heathens, then surely the same could be done for this hive of villainy. He made the sign of the Star over his chest, trusting the Lord of Light to protect him from the worst of the degenerates. Spying a likely soul in need of saving exiting the pub, Gerald straightened his tunic, opened the Book to a suitable passage, put on his best smile and went to intercept his quarry. “Excuse me, Miss,” he called out, a spring in his step and voice, “Have you heard the Word of Saradomin?” The dark skinned woman didn’t break her stride. Judging from the longbow and quiver of arrows on her back, she was some breed of ranger. “I have, and I don’t care what he has to say,” She tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a meeting with someone.” The priest bristled, but he honestly wasn’t surprised by such a response; preaching from atop a crate for the best part of the day had yielded similar results. Still, the love of Saradomin was ever-forgiving. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied, maintaining his smile and falling into step alongside her, “But Saradomin cares about you regardless! His light guides all his children; from the noblest lord to the lowest beggar-“ “And what about half-breeds?” came the curt reply. Gerald’s words briefly failed him; he took a closer look at his potential convert. Her skin was lighter than that of an average kharidian, whilst her eyes were a blue more common to Kandarin. “Saradomin’s light covers us all, regardless of our origins,” he improvised, determined not to let this one get away, “He is the avatar of Light and Order, and Champion of the People! When Lumbridge was besieged by the foul Zamorak, He and His champions fought valiantly to keep the innocents safe from the dread demonic hordes!” “And left a ruddy great hole in the ground afterwards, didn’t he?” his companion retorted, shaking her head, “He didn’t even stay to help with the clean-up!” “The point is He triumphed!” Gerald snapped; this ranger was starting to try his patience. He composed himself once more and continued, “When we needed Him most, He delivered us from chaos and asked for nothing in return!” “But he didn’t finish him off, did he?” his companion innocently asked. “Saradomin teaches that we should love our friends and show mercy to our enemies,” Gerald replied, his smile now glassy, “Even if they are the scion of evil!” He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Perhaps sensing his exasperation, the woman stopped and turned to face him with a heavy sigh. He saw this as his chance. “Surely, after all Saradomin has done for us, the least we can do for Him is praise Him for His benevolence,” he added more teeth to his smile for good measure, “I hold a sermon every Caistleday afternoon, should you wish to give thanks for His Kindness.” The ranger smiled sweetly, and Gerald’s forced grin vanished; it looked innocent enough, but her eyes told a different story… most likely involving daggers. “Oh, I’d give thanks alright,” she assured him calmly. “I’d thank him for being a backstabbing bastard who almost wiped out my Lord Armadyl’s race. I’d thank him for all the idiots who’ve caused me no end of trouble over the years because of his teachings. Finally I’d thank him for doing sod all for me when I die, and may Icthlarin guide me to an afterlife where I’ll never have to put up with prattling twits like you again!” Gerald had gone wide-eyed and pale, clutching his copy of the Book and trembling like a leaf in the wind. His eyelid twitched. He had had enough! He would not stand idle in the face of such- such blasphemy! Time to give this- this- this heathen a piece of his mind! The ranger gave him another sweet smile as he drew himself up to his full height. “Talk to me again and I’ll put an arrow through you,” she warned. The priest’s retort caught in his throat, and he deflated as he watched her disappear in the crowd with a cheery wave. Trembling all the while, he slowly walked back to his crate and all but collapsed in relief. He’d made up his mind; as soon as his tour was over he was going to request a year’s gardening duties at the Monastery. Menial work to be sure, but at least cabbages never made death threats. Ayla weaved her way through the seething masses of Sarim, her indignation simmering gently under the calm veneer she presented to the world. Though they hadn’t helped her mood much, the little priest and his pious ramblings weren’t to blame for this state of mind; at this point anything was potential fuel for her ire; the cold temperature, the smell of salt and unwashed bodies, even the absence of camel muck in the streets. But the true source of her anger was all down to one man’s selfish stupidity. When Arianwyn had first told her of the theft, she had had been surprised that someone would have the gall to rob the Grand Library. After hearing the name of a ship that had docked the same day and left all too soon after the incident, she had had her suspicions. And now that she had followed up on her suspicions through a few direct questions and several thinly veiled threats, she was all but spitting feathers. Just what in Armadyl’s name did he think he was playing at? Aside from breaking the fingers of a would-be pick-pocket, Ayla made it to her destination without further incident; the Port’s Office. Without breaking her stride, she slammed the door open hard enough to dent the wall behind it and prompt a stutter of alarm from the bespectacled clerk seated behind a desk strewn with paperwork, charts and navigator’s tools. Pleasantries could go hang; she was a woman on a mission. “Where is he, Duncan?” The Navigator took a second to compose himself, adjusting his glasses and taking a few calming breaths, before focussing his attention on the woman who had just barged into his office. “Ahem. I’d thank you to avoid any further damage to Port property, Ms Ayla,” he responded, shuffling some of the papers in front of him, “and I’m afraid that you’ll have to be a little more specific. Ahem. I’ve never had much of a knack for mindreading.” Ayla gave the man a steely look. “I’m looking for my idiot of a husband, Duncan,” she replied, walking slowly to the desk and counting off her fingers, “You know; average height, terrible dresser, looks like he could do with a shave and a haircut, a bit lacking in the common sense department, and oh yes, your employer!” She slammed her fists on the desk, just to hammer the point home, prompting another stammer of terror from its incumbent. “Ahem. I- I’m afraid I’ve not seen the Portmaster today!” he stammered, trying to keep the desk between him and the looming ranger, “It’s quite possible that he’s still in his quarters. Ahem. He’s been spending an awful lot of time in their lately!” “Doing what?” she demanded, leaning in further. “I don’t know!” he’d pushed his chair as far back as possible by now, “For the last fortnight, whenever he’s not away on business, the Portmaster has asked me not to disturb him. Ahem. Unless, and I quote: ‘The port is burning down around your head’!” Ayla arched an eyebrow, and Duncan seemed to take the hint. “Ahem. Th- though, considering the circumstances, I suppose an exception could be made. Ahem. Sorry, should be made! Ahem.” Ayla took a deep, calming breath and released it slowly as she pushed herself away from the desk. The Navigator seemed to pick up on her improved demeanour and slowly inched back towards her and his desk. “Ahem. I- I trust you know your way there?” “Yes, thank you Duncan,” she replied with a gracious nod, “No need to trouble yourself.” “Oh, good. Ahem. I- I mean, it was good to see you again Ms Ayla,” the clerk adlibbed, producing a handkerchief and mopping his brow, “Ahem. Safe travels.” Taking care to gently close the door behind her, Ayla exited the Offices and out into Sarim’s hubbub once more. As she strolled along the promenade towards the Portmaster’s Quarters, she chided herself for snapping at Duncan; unlike the priest, the poor man hadn’t actually done anything to irk her; heck, he’d been the most willing help she’d had all day! She made up her mind to apologise to him once she’d had a little heart to heart with her “better half”. It wasn’t hard to miss the Portmaster’s Quarters, considering its lower exterior was dominated by a furnace built into the side of the building; Ayla always got the feeling that the architect behind its design had intended it to solely be a workshop of sorts, remembering only at the last minute that they had yet to provide any form of accommodation for the Portmaster, and hastily adding an extra floor above the workshop to meet demand. The end result was something that looked like it had come straight from a child’s idea of a Wizard’s house; needless to say, her husband loved the place. His little sanctuary; a place where he was free to pursue whatever project had tickled his fancy this week, without having to worry about neighbours coming around and complaining about unpleasant smells, night time explosions or asking him why he’d daubed chicken blood on his front door. Normally Ayla would be happy to let him keep his privacy, bothering him only when she needed a new supply of “trick” arrows, but not today. Unsurprisingly, the door was unlocked when she tried it; he asked not to be disturbed unless it was important, so why should he have bothered to lock it? The interior of the workshop was its usual state of chaos; if there was a flat surface available, then it was guaranteed to be cluttered with any number of books, vials, dried herbs, ore samples or empty take-away food boxes. His problem, Ayla mused as she gingerly manoeuvred her way to the stairs at the back of the workshop, was that his interest in current projects waned as quickly as it waxed for new ones. Armadyl only knew what any of these things were meant for, but she was certainly not going to touch any of it. Breathing a sigh of relief, she climbed the stairs and braced herself for the horrors that awaited her in her husband’s bedroom/study. Opening the door, she gagged as something invisible from the room beyond assaulted her, stinging her eyes and clogging her nose. By the Staff, it smelled like a stable! Taking care to breathe through her mouth, she quickly moved across the room to where her quarry waited, slumped across his desk and snoring gently, drooling slightly on the papers that cushioned his head. Wrinkling her nose, the ranger gave the desk a savage kick, startling its incumbent awake. “Fwazzat?!”Aliks slurred, knocking his chair over backwards and sending the empty bottle that had been perched on the edge of the desk spinning to the floor, “Hoozit?! S’nomine!” “Rise and shine, Dropout!” Ayla called cheerily, perching herself on the edge of the desk, “You’ve a lot of explaining to do.” The familiar voice seemed to sober the man up quickly enough, and a guilty expression quickly camped on his face. “Ah.” he grinned nervously, “If this is about me not telling you I was back safe and sound after vanishing two weeks ago, I can explain.” She narrowed her eyes and the grin quickly vanished, “I was going to get to that part later, actually.” She hopped off the desk and began slowly walking around it, idly stroking her hand along its surface. “But first of all, my love,” she purred, watching his throat tighten, “I have a question for you.” Seeming anxious to keep the desk between the two of them, her quarry started moving in the opposite direction, his eyes fixed on her hand. “Oh? What’s that, then?” Though her face was passive, Ayla winced internally at the reaction. She was not one for toying with people, having been on the receiving end once too often herself. However, she felt that she had to do this. He needed to understand the gravity of the situation. “Have you ever seen an Elven Elder spit feathers?” she asked him, her voice deathly calm. “Can’t say that I have, no.” came the response, his eyes flicking to the corner of the room and the large safe nestled there. It was a good thing he didn’t gamble, Ayla mused. “Well, I can now say that I have; it’s quite dramatic, actually, and seeing all eight Elders in that state is a fearsome sight to behold indeed,” she explained, continuing her lazy pursuit, “I don’t suppose you’d have any idea why they were so upset?” He shrugged, his eyes still trying to watch both her and the safe. “Someone stole something from them,” she answered, “Something that is absolutely useless to anyone outside of Tirannwn, but incredibly valuable to the elves.” “You know I’ve never had much luck with guessing games, Feathers.” Pet names will do you very little good here, my love, she thought. This had gone on long enough. “Let’s not draw this out any further,” she sighed, righting the vacated chair and claiming it, “I’m sure you have some clever and convoluted story to explain why one of your ships was in Prifddinas during the theft, but I’ll ask you not to insult my intelligence.” He pouted. “It was a really convincing story, too,” he sighed, realising he’d been beaten, “So, how did you know it was me?” Ayla arched her eyebrows in surprise. “Five years of sharing a name and you honestly think I wouldn’t recognise one of your schemes?” she leaned back in the chair, locking her hands behind her head, “I had my suspicions from the start,” she confessed, permitting a genuine, albeit brief, smile, “But I didn’t actually know until after I’d pinned Marcus to the wall.” “Ah,” he intoned, his face paling, “You didn’t cause too much damage, did you?” “Nothing a few stitches wouldn’t fix,” she shrugged, choosing to ignore her love’s face growing ever paler, “But I’m sure he has plenty of other shirts anyway.” “Oh? Oh!” understanding dawned as colour returned and he smiled with relief. Ayla leaned forward in the chair and raised a hand in warning. “You’re not out of the woods just yet, Dropout. Not by a long shot,” she cautioned, lowering her hand to worry the ring on her finger. It was a gesture he did not miss, “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in right now. You’re lucky that the Cadarn Clan were able to persuade the others into letting me handle this for them.” “Would it help if I said I was sorry?” he offered. “It would help if you returned the City Seed you stole.” she snapped, slamming her hands on the desk. “I can’t.” Ayla stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Aliksandar, you know that I love you, truly I do, but you can’t possibly be this dense! The Iorwerth elves are baying for blood; the more vocal are saying this is why the city should never have been opened to outsiders!” She stood up, knocking the chair over again, “If you don’t return the Seed, you’ll be jeopardising diplomatic relations between Tirannwn and the Eastern kingdoms!” She stormed around the desk until she was face to face with her husband, “We only just stopped fighting one war,” she hissed, jabbing him in the chest with her finger, “Are you really so eager to start another?” Aliks looked wretched; he hung his head, unwilling to look her in the eye. His reply was barely more than a whisper. “No.” Her expression softened and she reached out for his face. “Please, my love,” Ayla gently tilted his chin up so that he could see her sincerity, “Give it back.” He raised his own hand to hers and kept it pressed to the side of his face for a few seconds before letting it drop and walking over to the safe. Even though his back obscured her vision, Ayla reckoned she could hazard a guess at the combination he’d choose. A minute later, the dejected mage was walking back towards her, a large cloth wrapped bundle cradled in his arms. “Here,” he offered her the bundle, “It’s in perfect condition, I promise,” he walked back to his chair and righted it again, before sitting down and sighing heavily, “Back to the drawing board…” Ayla hurriedly unwrapped the bundle to inspect it for herself. She breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered that the melon-sized, ovoid crystal was as her husband said; its dull grey facets were pristine and fracture-free. Praise Armadyl for Marcus and his delicate hands. Setting the bundle down on the desk, the ranger turned her attention to the figure slumping in the chair, a far off look in its eyes. “Why?” she asked. The figure stirred, its attention snapped back to the present. “Hmm?” Aliks straightened up, massaging the bridge of his nose as he did, “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?” “I asked ‘Why?’”, she repeated, wondering when her husband had last had a decent night’s sleep, “You never do anything without a reason; I just can’t understand what would compel you to do something so stupid.” Her husband grinned. “Ah. Now, that’s quite the story.” “Then you’d better take a shower first!” Ayla gestured around at the room, “This place smells like you’ve stabled a herd of ugthanki for the last two weeks!” “Something like that, yeah…” Aliks muttered, his grin becoming sheepish. Ignoring him, the woman strode over to a wardrobe that looked as though it had hosted one of Party Pete’s all-nighters and grabbed one of the towels that had been draped over the open doors. “Strip.” She commanded, tossing the towel at him. Muttering incoherently under his breath, her husband did as he was bade, stripping and dumping his fetid robes into a heap on the floor. She let her eyes linger on his lean physique for a while before it was smothered by the towel. “See anything you like?” He asked with a grin, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Shower!” she laughed, giving him a playful push towards the stairs. You could almost forget the looming interspecies tension, she mused. While her husband ambled off to the Port’s Crew Lodgings and their revolutionary outdoor showers (a series of wooden cubicles with a large bucket and rope suspended above each them), Ayla did what she could to air the room out, throwing open the widows to allow the comparatively fresher air in, and throwing out anything that looked to be on the verge of developing sentience for the gulls to mull over or possibly adopt. His robes, however, she elected to gingerly push into a corner with the toe of her boot; there was no way she was washing, let alone touching, those. Satisfied that she’d done all within her power to make the place bearable, she took a seat behind the desk and decided to poke through the papers piled on its surface, hoping to find some hint so as to explain her love’s desire to piss off an ancient and powerful nation. Her search turned up very little of interest aside from a ludicrous number of receipts from Aluft Aloft Deliveries and what looked to be a heavily annotated timeline of Gielinor’s history. She picked up the sheet and scanned its contents; was he writing a history book? “Early Third Age,” she read aloud, tracing a finger along her husband’s flowing script, “heart discovered and,” she paused as she forced her tongue around the sounds of unfamiliar words, “eequeenee races addvancked; fahyustee exiled not long after.” Not for the first time, Ayla cursed her stubbornness as a child; if she’d just gone to the stupid Essianday School like a good girl she wouldn’t have this problem. She grit her teeth and tried another, comparatively recent, annotation. “Early Fifth Age, eequeenee races falling apart; fahyustee looks for ways to force,” she hesitated again, “Corporation? Tricked into freeing windeyegos?” What in Armadyl’s name was all this? “Careful,” a voice called out teasingly, “There are words on that!” She looked up to see Aliks standing in the doorway, towel clad and water dripping from his hair and beard, a mischievous grin on his face. She made no attempt to hide the paper; this was a relatively minor breach compared to what she’d caught him doing over the past decade. “What’s a fahyustee?” She asked pointing to the annotations, “It must be important considering the number of times you’ve written it.” “Faust, love,” he replied, using the towel to dry his head, “It’s pronounced ‘Faust’.” “Fowst,” Ayla rolled the word around her tongue, trying and failing to ignore the nudity on display, “Alright, so what is a Fowst?” “A name,” Aliks answered, as he towelled off his other extremities, “and the reason why I disappeared two weeks ago.” “Wait, you were kidnapped!?” “Not exactly,” he shrugged as he threw the sodden towel over the wardrobe door again, and began fishing around for some marginally cleaner clothes, “Honestly, it was more a case of mistaken identity than kidnap.” Ayla set the paper down and leaned back in the chair, arms folded. “I think I’d better hear this story of yours, my love.” “Where should I start?” Aliks asked as he pulled a potion stained shirt over his head. She narrowed her eyes. “I think I’d like to hear how this Fowst convinced you that stealing a City Seed from the heart of Prifddinas would be a good idea.” “Oh,” he deadpanned, paused in the act of pulling on a pair of slacks, “That.” “It seems I was asking the wrong questions, first time ‘round.” Aliks growled at the white robed alicorn. After Stardust had shown him how just how many pods were in the cavern, he had quickly excused himself, claiming he wanted to discuss a plan of action with Faust, and left her to tend to the newly awakened pony. The most puzzling thing, he had mused as he climbed the suicide-ladder, was how calm he had been about it all. He should have been furious, heck, he’d wanted to be furious (truthfully he wanted to be both furious and drunk, but would’ve happily settled for just the former), but instead he’d just felt… well, calm; serene, tranquil, at peace, all of the above. Despite the serenity saturation, by the time he’d reached the Heart, he was pleased to discover that he was feeling just a little annoyed about not being frothing-at-the-mouth furious. Upon re-entering his threshold, however, the dam shattered. “I thought this ‘Leagcy’ of yours would be a weapon to drive back these windithings, not a blasted army!” he ranted at the serene creature, “Oh, but it all makes sense now!” he snarled, “‘Change the world for the better’, eh? And would this ‘better world’ be one where you peacefully demilitarise once you’ve pushed back the invaders, hmm? Or one where you go on to take vengeance on those who denounced you and your following and then eradicate anypony who won’t bend their knee to you, accept you as their one true saviour, or sing hosannas in your name?!” He pointed a finger at Faust, “I’ll give you one warning as a courtesy, Faust,” he spat, “I’ve fought and I’ve sacrificed things you would never believe to ensure my world and its people stay free from would-be tyrants like you; don’t think for a second I wouldn’t be willing to do the same for this world, too.” Faust was silent for a moment, her face twitching and shoulders shaking in, Aliks assumed, barely suppressed righteous fury. This theory was quickly overruled when the alicorn doubled over in fits of laughter. Aliks was at a loss; thus far, mirth was not an emotion he’d encountered or expected from aforementioned tyrants, unless of course they knew something nasty was about to happen to him. Red in the face, and still tittering, Faust attempted to compose herself. “Y- you, *snort* you are willing to fight for a world you’ve no s- stake in,” she chortled, lifting a hand to hide her smirk, “And, *pffft* and speak so brazenly to a being who could likely eradicate you with but a thought?” Aliks stood his ground, crossed his arms and stuck out his chin defiantly. “Lady, I’d like to see you try it.” This produced more fits laughter from his host, and only served to irritate the mage further. “Okay, is this going somewhere?” he asked the hysterical mare, “Only I’d appreciate a heads-up if you are going to ‘eradicate me with but a thought’.” Faust turned her back and spent a minute breathing deeply, before finally turning to face her guest again. Surprisingly, her smile seemed impressed rather than malevolent. “I must admit, World Guardian,” she began, folding her hands in front of her, “When I first touched your mind, I had my doubts as to whether you were a suitable substitution for the Green Stallion, but after your… outburst, I know, with certainty, that you are the right person to entrust with this task.” “Wait, I… but, you… what?!” Faust merely smiled. “As you are no doubt aware, while we are here,” she gestured at the void around her, “You would know if I were lying, so I trust you to believe me when I tell you that my Legacy is neither weapon nor army.” Aliks waited for some sign; a chill up the spine, an itch he couldn’t scratch, the ghost of a sneeze, anything that would indicate that Faust had just lied. Nothing. She was telling the truth. And he had just… Oh, dear. “Ahem. Well then,” he began, clearing his throat, “I feel like an idiot.” “To your credit, you would make a ferocious opponent for any tyrant,” Faust complimented with a grin, “But I’d suggest losing the dramatic pointing.” “Uh… thanks? I’ll bear that in mind,” the mage replied, uncertain of where to begin, “So, if these…” Aliks hesitated, unsure how to refer to the being Stardust had released; the pony with a coat that had sparkled like crystal… crystal… eh, it’d do. “If these crystal ponies aren’t a weapon or an army, what are they? Why did you breed them?” “Crystal ponies?” the mare echoed, trying the name on her tongue, “Yes, I like it; they’re still flesh and blood, mind you, but it does seem appropriate given their outward appearance.” She gestured at the pair of cushions that had suddenly always been by their feet. Aliks took this as a sign that this would be a long explanation. He took his seat, expecting more herbal tea to materialise next to him. He was instead surprised to see Faust fussing over a pair of wine glasses filled with a dark liquid. The alicorn smiled as she levitated one of the glasses towards him. “I’m not often one to encourage self-destructive habits, World Guardian,” she explained, “But, I believe you will have a greater appreciation for this rather than more tea.” Aliks took a sip of the blood-red liquid; it had a pleasantly dark, rich flavour to it. He set it down to one side; as much as he wanted to drain the glass, he needed to keep a clear head here. “So,” he began, steepling his fingers in front of him, “What are the crystal ponies?” “A question for a question, World Guardian,” his host smiled, taking a sip of her wine before setting her glass to one side, “What do you know of the windigos?” she asked. Aliks shrugged, “As much as you passed onto me,” he answered, “You wanted a way to force the three races to play nice and… somepony or something suggested the windigos to you. You found their prison, broke the seal and to thank you they... ah.” he trailed off, arching an eyebrow at the mare in front of him. Faust nodded, “To thank me, they murdered me.” she finished, cringing at the memories. “Yes, I was going to ask about that,” the mage apologised, “How are you still alive?” The mare shrugged, “Perhaps my use of the Heart’s magick formed a connection between us, so when my body died my soul was drawn back to it. Or perhaps I’m just an echo of the real Faust, imprinted through her time with the Heart,” she replied sadly, “But whatever I am and however I came to be will not stop me from aiding my little ponies.” “And the crystal ponies will help you achieve this, how?” His host sipped at her wine as she lectured, “Since I was… since I was inconveniently discorporated, I’ve learned a great deal about the windigos: they are elemental spirits who grow stronger in the presence of negative emotional energy; hate, greed, mistrust. The stronger the feeling, the more power they can draw from it.” “And the stronger they get,” Aliks guessed, “The more they can influence their environment, right?” Faust nodded gravely, “You’ve seen the surface of our world, World Guardian. For a time, all Equus was at the mercy of the windigos.” “Wait, you said ‘for a time’,” the mage interrupted, “What changed?” “I was getting to that,” Faust smiled, taking another sip of her wine, “It was around five years ago that emissaries of the three races left in search of new land to colonise, away from the untameable blizzards that plagued their ancestral homes,” she permitted herself a sad chuckle, “Naturally, all three came upon the same land and began to bicker over who had the better claim.” “They might as well have rung the dinner gong.” Aliks sighed. “Indeed. The blizzards quickly followed, isolating the leaders and their attendants,” Faust paused as she shifted her position; Aliks wondered if she actually needed to or was simply trying to put him at ease, “What actually happened between the three leaders is anypony’s guess,” she explained, “But what matters is that for the first time since I released them, the windigos were driven back.” “How?” Faust smiled, “The Power of Friendship.” Aliks stared at her incredulously. “No, really; how?” he deadpanned. “Think about it, World Guardian,” the white alicorn patiently explained, “If windigos grow stronger in the presence of negative emotions, surely that strength would wane in the presence of positive emotions like trust, compassion and friendship.” “Point,” the mage conceded, “But then why breed the crystal ponies if the crisis was over?” “I never said that the windigos were defeated,” his host answered, “They were merely driven back to the colder, harsher lands of Equus; areas generally considered too inhospitable for colonisation.” “So, if the ‘Power of Friendship’,” the mage air quoted, “Drove them away from their food source, why haven’t they starved already?” “I don’t know,” she replied simply, “Perhaps there’s still enough residual negativity in the world for them to sustain themselves, or maybe they can feed off their own darker feelings. Or perhaps they simply cannot die,” a dark gleam came to her eye, “But, I certainly intend to put that to the test.” “Well,” the mage chuckled, a little unnerved by her tone, “Everypony needs a hobby, I suppose. But I’m still not seeing how your ‘Legacy’ fits into all of this.” “I believe you’ve already had first-hand experience of that, World Guardian,” Faust smiled, “Tell me, how did you feel when you met the pony Stardust birthed?” Aliks hesitated. He wanted to say he felt surprised, shocked, alarmed; a rational human response when confronted by a shining, bipedal horse-woman who had just emerged from a stone egg. But he hadn’t. “I felt…” he waved his hands wildly in an effort to find the right word, “I felt… calm, I suppose. Serene. At peace. All of the above,” he sighed in frustration, “I actually had to think about being angry to even get a little wound-up. It was like the whole area was… well soaked in calming thoughts.” Faust beamed at him. “Because that was what she felt at the time.” “You mean-“ “Every crystal pony subconsciously radiates whatever emotion they feel, yes.” For Aliks, the final piece fell into place, and understanding dawned. The concentrated burst of positive emotions five years ago had been akin to a club strike, blunt and unwieldy; strong enough to give the aggressor pause for thought, but not enough to finish them off. Faust had taken her inspiration from that club and refined it into what could be best described as a poison; a thousand little good-will generators, all radiating a constant cloud of friendship and happiness across the surface of the world like a smog, leaving the windigos nowhere to hide. “Oh, now that is just… devious!” he breathed. “You do not approve?” Faust asked, concern playing across her face. “Not at all,” the mage assured her with a smile, “I’m all about devious. But,” he continued, his tone deathly serious, “What’s to prevent somepony from abusing your ‘Legacy’? Manipulating the population’s emotions for their own gain?” “Now that,” she smiled confidently, “Will be all but impossible; their ability is strongest immediately after they have been birthed. My plan was to birth them all at once into an environment where they would feel both safe and loved, bathing the world in a blanket of positivity, and leaving the windigos nowhere to run.” “You’re still manipulating emotions on a global scale,” Aliks warned her, “Even if the end result is everypony feeling inexplicably happy for the rest of their days.” “Perhaps,” Faust shrugged. “But only temporarily; a few days or maybe a week at the longest, after that the strength of the blanket will wane until it’s little more than harmless background energy. Effectively, the population will gain an immunity of sorts.” “Well, if it’s so safe, why haven’t you done this already?” “Because for my Legacy to succeed, they must be birthed in an environment where they will feel protected, safe, loved even! Anything less would risk strengthening the windigos to the point that they could conquer Equus a hundred times over!” Faust’s expression was now as sincere as equinly possible, “That is why they… we need your help, Aliksandar.” The mage’s eyebrows rose in silent surprise at the use of his name rather than title. “My Legacy needs… no, my children need a home. They need a protector. They need a Guardian.” For a while Aliks said nothing, his face an impassive mask… Until it suddenly split into a large grin. “Now, how am I supposed to say ‘no’ to that face?” he laughed, reaching for his neglected wine glass and lifting it in a toast. “To the crystal ponies?” he suggested. Faust nodded. “To the crystal ponies!” she echoed. Zanaris shone high in the night sky, painting the port with silver light, yet Sarim’s denizens didn’t seem to notice or care; day and night were concepts that happened to other people. In the Portmaster’s Quarters, Ayla looked incredulously at her husband over her steepled fingers. “That’s it?” she asked. “That’s it.” he agreed. “So, stealing the City Seed was your idea?” “It seemed appropriate,” he shrugged, “A crystal city for a crystal people, you know? Oh, and growing a city seemed a better idea than building one all by my lonesome, too.” Ayla shook her head in disbelief; she didn’t know where to begin with him, sometimes. “But why steal it?” she asked, standing and walking over to him, “You know the elves owe me more than a few favours! Why didn’t you come to me first?” He shrugged again, and Ayla resisted the urge to slap him. “Because Faust asked for my help,” he answered, “I felt I owed it to her to at least try and succeed on my terms.” The ranger sighed and massaged her temples; her head was starting to ache from the tension she’d been carrying all day. Tension that finally chose to boil over. “So,” she growled, “You decide not to tell your wife that you weren’t dead in a ditch outside Varrock, steal a precious artefact from the elves, despite knowing an easier way to obtain it (through said wife), and risk starting another war, all to stoke your own stupid ego?!” He visibly winced at the accusation, but she wasn’t done yet. “You would have had the Seed for a week by now if you’d asked me!” she shouted, “You would be planning on how to grow it by now! You would be far, far closer to keeping your word than you are now!” she shook her head in disbelief, “Instead you waste two weeks just so you can puff up your chest and say you did it on your own!” “That’s not fair!” he protested weakly. “Really?” Ayla shot back, “If you had really wanted to help these people as quickly as you possibly could, you should have come straight to me!” “Alright, I admit it!” he roared, “I was wrong! I’m sorry I didn’t come to you! Are you happy now?!” “No, I’m not!” she snapped. She looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath before turning her attention back to her husband. “But,” she huffed, feeling calmer, “It’s a start. Now, we can either continue arguing like this, or you can let me help you.” “Alright,” her husband threw his arms up in defeat, “Fine. Where do we start?” “First of all, you need to stay here and try to keep out of trouble. I need to take the Seed back to Prifddinas,” she took a step closer, wrapping her arms around him as she did, “But,” she cooed in his ear, “That can wait ‘til morning.” “Fair enough,” Aliks shrugged, returning the hug, “But, I doubt I’m going to sleep after that shouting match, Feathers.” Ayla put on her best sultry smile; she still had quite a bit of tension to work out of her system. “Don’t worry, my love,” she purred, planting her lips on his, “I’m sure we can find something to wear you out.” “Oh? OH! Oooooooh…”