Location:
R-13: Farway
Caelum, Cygnus, Belfiore Academy
2037 P.C.E. (Post Creator era)
The academy’s galley was a simple unassuming building located in the middle of the campus, for the easy access of the students. To obtain food in the galley was also a simple affair, after the register, students had access to the salad bar (The only unchanging source of nourishment) which split into two separate lines offering the same choices listed on the day’s menu. Lunches and dinners varied from simple pasta meals to some of Flumine’s vastly elaborate sushi styled dishes, meatloaf to premier cuts of steak, lamb, venison, all manners of food available depending on the time of year, or holiday season. As for this particular day’s meal, Roasted Ham, Garlic potatoes, with or without a rich white gravy, mixed vegetables, and assorted seasonal fruits. It was unfortunate for Trevor that the breakfast offerings had stopped being served for the day (Trevor’s favorite meal was just about anything dealing with breakfast), as the time he lost reading put him into the lunch hours. Having decided on forgoing the hot meal offered, settled on a salad of simple greens, cheese, and ranch dressing.
Small pockets of what little students that stayed on the campus during the summer stand down, littered the galley’s eating area in small pockets of groups, dispersed in a haphazard manner. A few students called out to Trevor, hoping to gain some favor with him, or maybe trying half heartedly to recruit him to a house. Trevor just politely declined the invitations. Eventually, Trevor made his way to a small table off in the corner of the galley, it’s most important feature, it was an unoccupied table.
Unbeknownst to Trevor, his actions were being scrutinized by another across the galley. Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) Milos Mirkovic, an instructor outlining the operation and maintenance of the Creatia Drive System (CDS) (A passive magic propulsion system that uses creative ideas as a power source), looked at the lonely cadet and sighed. What would you t’ink ‘bout yur lad if’n you were still ‘roud Ed? thought Mirkovic.
The LCDR was a close personal friend of Captain (CPT) Edward Fields, Trevor’s father, for almost their entire respective careers. As a matter of fact Mirkovic was the godfather of the late captain’s son. Because of that fact, but not being the only reason for doing so, the LCDR tried his best to be a father figure for Trevor since CPT Field’s disappearance sixteen years ago. Trevor, on the other hand, rebuffed Mirkovic’s fatherly efforts. Still, Mirkovic persevered, he owed it to his old friend regardless if his son wanted his advice or not. This is why he kept a watchful eye on Trevor, and why, at that moment, he watched with a heavy heart. Teh lad needs friends... deciding that an intervention was in order, Mirkovic made his way toward Trevor.
Halfway through his modest meal of nothing more than a salad, Trevor felt the ever so subtle presence of a person near the table, and felt it sit down, across from him. Not wishing to be too rude, Trevor looked up to see who wanted his attention. An older man, mid to late forties, a small spattering of freckles dotting his face and exposed arms, lastly he had a round and slightly stout face. Dressed in civies (civilian clothes), which consisted of a dark green polo like t-shirt, and khakis. He was also clean shaven and his ginger red hair cut short, yet not in a high and tight fashion. Trevor recognized his father’s old friend, Mirkovic, and sighed knowing full well why he sat down, and what was most likely to come.
“Greetin’s boyo.” Mirkovic greeted, with his, always present, thick animanan accent.
“Good afternoon Lieutenant Commander” Trevor Replied, keeping his military bearing
“See’n tat we’re both in civies. we k’n drop teh formalities.”
Trevor grimaced. If Mirkovic wanted to drop formalities, it meant only one thing. He wanted to have a man to man style chat. While Trevor understood the reasoning behind the LCDR’s actions, Trevor wanted nothing to do with them.
“I’d rather keep to regs, sir.” Trevor replied.
“Two thin’s boyo. F’rstly it’s teh summer stand down. Two, agin we’re both in civies, so we’re laxin’ on the bearin’. Yet, I do expect some respect r’gardless. Also bein’ a friend of yur ol’ man means ‘bout the same too.”
“I’ll try sir.”
Mirkovic sighed. Teh lad’s more stubborn t’en ye were ol’ friend.
“Tell me boyo, why’d ye stayed here stead o’ goin’ back home to yur mum?”
“I didn’t feel the need to impose on Tibbia,” Trevor paused, “and with respect sir, Tibbia is not family. She’s just my guardian.”
“Tha’s a might bit cold for some ‘un who’s cared for ye for the las’ sixtin’ years.”
“And for that I am eternally grateful. But, I consider her more a gentle caretaker, then as a mother. Tibbia understands this, and is not in anyway upset by my opinion on the matter. The fact that I don’t consider her my family doesn’t mean I don’t care for her or hate her.”
“Right,” Mirkovic sighed, “Well t'en what about yer sister, ensign Meadows? sur’le teh lass has tried to convince ye to go home wit her.”
“I’ll admit it was...difficult...to inform her I was staying at the campus, and getting her to go back to Tibbia’s for the stand down. Not because I would miss her, but for the fact she would keep pestering me on finding a girlfriend. Her constant scheming in that regard has been nothing but a hassle…I do love her as if she was actually my sister. Yet, her constant drive to get me “hooked up” with someone is something I don’t have time for, nor do I need the distraction from my studies at the academy. I don’t need a girlfriend or friends to graduate.”
Mirkovic stared on in disbelief. teh hell’s wron’ wit teh lad?
“Tha’s not right. Ev’r since ye dad disappeared ye’ve been cold and distan’. Have ye ev’r talked about it to anyone? I mean how lon’ has it been since what hap’en, hap’en?”
“Is this to be some psych eval sir?” Trevor’s voice turned cold.
“What? No! I jus’ wanna… Lad, I’ma only concerned ‘bout ye.”
“With due respect sir, if you want to know when my dad died it can be found in my records. If you want to know my mental health then I would recommend putting in a chit (form) to have me go through a psych eval.” Trevor took a breath, “I understand you are under some self imposed obligation to make certain that your friend’s son will be a well rounded citizen. As a lieutenant commander these mentor style talks aren’t appropriate if I’m the only one you give them to. So I must insist that you refrain from them, sir.
“I can do my job without such things as friends, so long as I’m polite and respectful to others. If I keep that in mind I won’t have a problem getting people to work together. Personally, I don’t need the drama, conflict, or chaos,” (to which, at that particular moment, a certain dragonequus sneezed) “that comes with friends. I like my life to be nothing more, then being in a simple order.”
“Now lis’n here boyo,” Mirkovic snapped, no longer caring for Trevor’s attitude and opinions, “if’n there was one thin’ I’ve learn bein’ a sailer, ye need friends. At the very least, ye need allies, pers’ns that will help ye because t'ey care for ye boyo. Friends, t'ey help ye when ye can’t do t'in’s on yur own. if’n ye keep yur piss poor attitude ye have, one day not to far from now, yur goin’ to find yurself in a dark place unable to fight or tink your way out. It’s at t'at point ye’ll be wish’n for a friend to be pull’n yur arse out teh fire."
Trevor looked away and tsked
“Look boyo, I know ye wan’ nuthin to do wit me, but I owe it to yur fadder to look af’ta ye. Sum day down teh line ye be thank’n me.”
Trevor said nothing. He couldn’t come up with a counter argument, and further discussion would only make both himself and the LCDR angrier until a full out shouting match would make a scene in the galley. Also, sensing this, Mirkovic spoke no further, leaving Trevor to finish his meal in silence. His salad all but finished, Trevor politely said goodbye to the LCDR and started back toward the barracks.
He was still annoyed by the conversation he had with his father’s well intentioned friend. Trevor thought further on the conversation, his pace slowed slightly. The only person I’m close to is daisy. And, I hate to admit it, but maybe the LCDR is right…I might need some friends. But not now, not here, it’ll just have to be later, further in my career. Right now, I don’t have time for the distractions, that’s why I turned down the invitations to the houses.
Elsewhere in Belfiore Academy
Skeleton felt a disturbance in the magic of the land. Hell, it was bigger then that, it was a disturbance in the structure of the border. Something broke through the walls that separated the realms from one another. To make matters worse, who ever or what ever broke through, wasn’t of a realm that Skeleton was in charge of. Who ever decided to breach the realm, much less into MY realm, is going to pay dearly he thought darkly. Closing his eyes, Skeleton brought his breathing to a steady and calm rhythm, and letting his senses go, beyond, into the metaphysical.
It’s not human in nature. It seems more equine, but not. It’s all over the place, I can’t place it into just one realm or origin. Yet, it feels very familiar for some str— No, it can’t be…None of the princesses would be so stupid to send something here, much less what I am beginning to suspect broke through. The intruder felt like a storm. A never ending, completely inconsistent, storm, and only one being had that kind of signature. Last time he checked on the being, who Skeleton had suspected crossed the barrier, was incased in stone.
Senses still extended, Skeleton hoped whatever broke through was close at hand, not wanting to jump all across the surface of Farway. He was in luck, the breach happened here, at Belfiore. Where is it…I know it is here somewhere. Slowly Skeleton started to turn, narrowing his focus to which ever direction he was facing. Getting closer, closer, ah! It is near the student barracks. The one with— NO, he couldn’t possibly know what importance that student holds here. I need to get there now!
With a brisk pace, Skeleton headed off to the student barracks.
Student Barracks
Trevor’s mood did not improve much since his discussion with the LCDR. Even after he admitted his father’s old friend was right, much of the reason for his sour mood was simple. It’s very frustrating to have him constantly pry like that. Especially him blaming my father’s disappearance on how I am…dad has nothing to do with this… Still, Trevor couldn’t really convince himself of it, so he just kept walking. Hoping that the book on Farway’s history could make him forget the whole thing.
After going through the whole ritual of showing his Naval ID card (NIC) and requesting permission to enter the building his room happened to be located in, (a strange old tradition Trevor could never really make heads or tails out of). Trevor made his way back to the peace and quiet that would be his room. Through the p-ways (hallways) and up a flight of stairs, Trevor’s pace was a slight bit faster then normal, his frustration, and his want of being rid of it, the reason. That was until, however, he neared his room. A series of random thumps growing louder the closer he got to his door, slowed him down to a crawl at first, then a complete stop.
What in the world?
Confusion apparent on his features, Trevor’s inquisitive nature started running lists of possible causes for the series of thumps he was hearing inside his room. The steam pipes, the source of all the hot water on the academy’s grounds that doubled as part of the heating system during the colder winter months was a plausible cause, though unlikely. The piping system set up in the building wasn’t near enough to his room to produce the sound. While the acoustics of the building might make it a possibility, the slightly wooden sound to the thumps made it highly unlikely. Something of a more probable nature was that a construct might have gone bad.
Constructs going bad weren’t an entirely unheard of phenomenon, occurring quite frequently when constructs were first introduced to passive magic users. Modern constructs often had someway to vent the excess build up of passive magic. Constructs that had too much passive magic stored in their capacitors turned them into ticking time bombs, of very dangerous magical backlashes (often of which killed the castor) or into very large explosions depending on the amount of passive magic stored.
More than likely, a construct was to be the source of the noise, Trevor still thought it unlikely. Trevor often kept meticulous maintenance on all of his constructs. Having inspected and calibrated his constructs earlier in the week, and not having to worry about any one else’s constructs, because he was the only one in the room, made Trevor’s inspections very easy. Still mistakes could have been made. Maybe I forgot to double check the formula. Ensure that there was a relief for any excess build up. Or maybe one of the other students placed one here as a prank? Coming up short for any other probable causes of the random series of noises, Trevor kept to a working theory of a faulty construct discharging the build up of magic at random intervals.
As was taught, Trevor made his way into his room cautiously. Slow deliberate movements were needed. Passive magic users, like Trevor, naturally drew in the magic forces in the air. His very presence in his room would change what ever magic that was being drawn into the construct. If he moved too fast, or got too close too soon, the construct could collect more magic making the likelihood of an explosion happening. Slowly the door to Trevor’s room swung open, Trevor moving the door as if someone was sleeping in that very room. The series of thumps was joined by the briefest and fairly quiet creak, produced from the hinges and their diminishing lubricates. The thumps stopped entirely.
That’s odd
A few carefully place steps and a slow close of the door later, Trevor once again took stock of the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary, no scorch marks from the discharge of directionless magic. No residue of the slow ooze of magic that would leak from a slightly failed construct. Nothing at all indicating that a failing or failed construct was the source of the random series of thumps Trevor heard outside his room.
“What in the Void?” Trevor wondered out loud.
“Is somepony there?” Came a velvet and whimsical voice, “I was beginning to wonder if any pony was hearing my morse code distress signal.”
Trevor froze. He lived in this room by himself and there would be absolutely no new room assignments until after the stand down was over. So how come there was someone in his room, not to mention his wardrobe, which was magically sealed and locked so no one but him could open it. What does he mean somepony/ anypony? And if he was sending out a distress signal using morse…why was it a series of random thumps instead of three short, three long, three short? It doesn’t make any sense…
“Who’s there?”
“Yes, at least I think he’s still on first” came the reply, “While I’m quite certainly the fellow to enjoy the occasional talk from a cupboard or wardrobe or what ever this wooden container so happens to be," what ever was inside knocked on the wood twice, "and whom delights on making ponies uncomfortable, I’m not quite so humbled to enjoy the experience of both at the same time. So, would you kindly find it within yourself to release me from this wooden prison. Admittedly it is better then petrification, but the muscle cramps are simply too much.”
Trevor stepped closer, feeling strangely compelled to do what the voiced asked. It did ask kindly…but Trevor’s curiosity stayed his feet.
“How? How did you get in my wardrobe?”
“Took a wrong turn at a lamp post because a certain faun wasn’t very clear with his directions.” The voice chuckled.
“Start making sense!” Snapped Trevor, angry at not getting a straight answer.
“Make sense? That is sooooo boring, predictable, pedestrian. I am a being who is very much at war with sensible sense. Still, I can’t but help noticed I'm not being helped here. Tell you what, help me out of this jam and I’ll give you a treat! Some cotton candy clouds raining down any flavor milk your heart could desire.”
Trevor not liking anything to do with the situation at hand. Should he help who ever was inside the wardrobe despite however annoying they were? Should he get someone else from chain of command to take over? Trevor really couldn’t figure out what to do.
“I seem to notice you are still hesitating. I assure you I am reformed. Scouts honor! No longer do I partake in less then reputable chaotic activities that harm my fellow ponies, and or what ever else might be in the lands…mostly.”
That was it. Trevor made his decision. Who ever this is, what ever this is, needed to be dealt with, now! Not wanting to face this thing unarmed, Trevor looked around for anything that could be use in defense of himself. The heavy history tome laying on his desk would serve that purpose. Snatching up the hefty book from his desk, Trevor slipped his free hand into his pocket to retrieve the key for the wardrobe. Just as slow and as cautious as before, Trevor went from his desk to the wardrobe at a pace even a snail would beat. A moment of eternity later the key held in his hand was lined up with the lock for the wardrobe, a soft rumble of the tumblers when the key was inserted, and the click of the key turned, unlocking what ever it was inside. Instantly a bright flash occupied the room as the doors sprung open as if they were kicked. The Brilliant light shining, forced the nearly blinded Trevor to cover his eyes. As the light faded and Trevor’s eyesight returned, what Trevor saw, he couldn’t fathom.
Standing in front of Trevor was the strangest creature he had ever laid eyes on. A mishmash of all manners of animal. The paws of a lion, talons of an eagle, a head that seemed to be a cross of a horse and goat with two different horns, two wings on his back, one feathered, one bat like in nature, two misshapen eyes and a snaggled tooth, it looked as if it was something the Artist had drawn as a joke. To further Trevor’s disbelieve was the top hat and tux the creature was wearing.
“I dare say, it appears I’m no longer in Equis anymore, Toto.” said the creature, “Now then…where am I?” He took a deep breath, “Oh dear. That grumpy old man isn’t going to like this. It’s not even my fault this time you know!” he smiled and turned to Trevor. “Oh, where are my manners…” and with a snap of his talon a bag popped into existence, his taloned hand started rummaging inside, “nope, nada, definitely not, why did I even…? A HA! There they are!” with another quick snap the bag disappeared and a doily with the word “Manners” embroidered into it, was held in his talon, which he immediately tossed in his mouth and swallowed, “Allow me to introduce myself” another pop was heard and standing beside the creature was an exact duplicate. “His name,” both creatures said at the same time as they pointed to one another, “is Discord, Master of chaos and all things disharmonious.” the creatures rejoined, and now a very single Discord leaned forward coming face to face with Trevor, “I’d go on a bit further, but if it’s all the same to you…I think I’ll be making my grand escape before the old grump finds m—“
BAM!!
The historical text that was in Trevor’s hand connected with Discord’s face. An unfamiliar tingling sensation coursed through Trevor’s hands, a ghostly white aura surrounding the book unseen by Trevor. By The Creators and The Named what is this thing? I’d better report this. I need to secure it before I leave. It seems too dangerous to let wonder around. Not being able to locate any other sufficient means of binding up Discord, Trevor settled with a few of the long sleeve shirts he had. Again, as Trevor used the shirts to bind Discord’s legs and arms, a tingling sensation ran through his hands. Signs that a less rattled Trevor would have recognized as active magic casting. But all that Trevor thought about it, was it must be his adrenalin levels returning to normal.
With Discord subdued and bound securely Trevor made his way into the p-way, looking for the Building Officer, or some higher authority. Trevor found the latter not ten paces from his room as Trevor bumped into Admiral Skeleton, the temporary replacement for the CO of the academy. The very same Skeleton looking, unbeknownst to Trevor, for the very thing in Trevor’s room.