On harvest-turn, a star fell from the sky.
The white flame of its falling lit the night,
Glowing was the tent-wall like a lamp,
The world outside a light-moth in its cage.
The sky-priest dashed outside to see it drop,
And bright indeed the flare of impact was
When into White-Plume Mountain slammed the star,
In eerie silence for a frozen breath,
Quick-followed by a roar that shook the earth
As if the Eldest Dragon bellowed out
In wounded cry at spear-pierce from the night.
The wind that followed set ablaze the tents
And flung them as a hoof-sling flings a stone
A half-day's journey down the valley floor,
The drying sweetgrass also all ablaze.
Our tribe of fliers bold and shamans wise
Was blasted by the cruel and scouring winds,
And of the two-score sleeping in our tents,
Just six would reach the muddy river's edge
To soak our pelts and salve the burning wind.
We breathed through moistened reeds to guard our lungs
From searing sky-ash, as the water turned
To black with grass-char from the roasted plains.
Morning dawned as silent as the grave,
And weakened by the horror of the night,
We spoke of where to flee, and looked about,
To see a star-touched world laid to waste,
A barren land of cinders and still forms,
With not a stalk unburned on which to feed.
The sky-priest named us victims of a curse,
Our tribe laid low by vengeance from above,
And said our only hope of clemency
Was travel to the mountain where it fell
To supplicate our hostile visitor.
We salvaged from our camp what feed we could
And limped on swollen legs up barren slopes,
Until the sky-priest faltered and then fell,
Unable to pick up his wings or hooves.
He asked that we would leave him where he lay
And press on with our journey to the star,
To beg forgiveness for our ruined earth.
My clanmates held their tears and trudged along,
But I refused to leave the sky-priest's side,
And sobbed into his chest and clasped his hoof.
He smiled at me, and whispered in my ear,
"My little moon, your soul I see aglow,
The purest light a foal has ever cast.
If anypony ever is to glean
Our mercy from this vengeful fallen star,
It will be you to draw the heavens' tears.
So you must dry your own and move along,
And be for us the hope I cannot be."
With that, he closed his eyes and sighed aloud,
And when he moved no more, I dried my eyes
And looked up at the remnants of my tribe,
The ponies who had once seemed proud and strong
All waiting in dull silence for my gaze,
And when I staggered to my hooves and walked,
The other four fell into step behind.
The fallen star was glowing in the night
When first we cast our eyes upon its form,
A strange and sleek conglomerate of lines
Of substance I had never seen before.
Spider-Eyes, our scout, whose wings had flown
To valleys far beyond our fertile plains,
Picked up a tiny scrap of fallen star
And named it "metal", saying that the points
Of spears used by the furthest northern tribes
Were fashioned of the same celestial gift.
Upon the star glowed many foreign runes
Whose purpose none could glean, but Laughs-Out-Loud,
Who bartered with the tribes far to the east,
Suspected that they were a naming-spell,
And that the name resembled "canters-far".
We camped upon the crater's-edge three nights,
Unable to proceed into the heat,
Our feed-stores dwindling while we slept and prayed
To Canters-Far, that she might hear our voice.
Until a storm swept through the autumn sky
And mighty rains blew down the mountainside.
The star released a mighty serpent's hiss
That lasted through the night and through the storm,
And morning found its glow had faded down.
I gave my final oats to Spider-Eyes,
And asked her to approach the quiet star
To see if she had offered any sign.
So Spider-Eyes flew up to Canters-Far,
And on returning said she spied a cave
Of pony's size into its darkened heart.
I bid the others wait for me, and pray,
And staggered to the star with trembling hooves,
To find the jagged edge where metal ripped
And clashed upon the White-Plume Mountain rock.
Into the star I trod, where cool winds blew,
And ghostly lighting flickered deep within
Through straight-edged caves of metal lined with doors.
I listened as I crept through Canters-Far
And heard a hollow, flattened distant voice
Speak words which no mare's ears had ever heard.
I froze, then raised my voice to speak my pleas,
That she might offer mercy to our world
And open up her heart to hear my plea.
Upon my words, a serpent's-hiss burst forth,
And for a moment I knew I was done,
Until a door behind me rolled away,
Revealing a square cavern holding eggs.
I entered, and approached the central one,
Where through its shell a star-light softly shone.
Within the egg, a lovely sleeping mare,
With hair afire like all the northern lights.
Another serpent's-hiss, an icy breeze,
And then I saw the mare open her eyes.
"Sister," said I, "Sister from the stars,
Let us heal this world from its fire.
Let us heal the scars of Canters-Far,
Let our tribe renew their nights in peace."
Then the mare reached out a hoof to mine,
Pressing to the inside of the shell.
Gazing straight into my tearful eyes,
A gentle, lonely smile crossed her face.
"Sister," whispered from her silent lips.
It's a bit rough near the start -- some of the lines don't really seem to gel together in my ear ("The white flame of its falling lit the night, / Glowing was the tent-wall like a lamp," in particular makes me want to demand a period from you) -- but once it settles down, this is a really nice piece. I think I picked up a nod to HG Wells in there -- We camped upon the crater's-edge three nights, / Unable to proceed into the heat -- and the lines worked well in letting me build up a vision of the place. I enjoyed reading it.
Btw, how mad am I for interpreting this as an unascended Luna coming across a superman-esque delivered Celestia? & 4 srs? Three shorts about pony princesses? Dude, you are obsessed.
Also:
The noun phrase modifies "tribe" to the extent that treating it as a collective noun is incorrect (I think). Were, pls.
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Critique appreciated. Yeah, I wrote the final line as my fellow judges were calling time and giving out instructions for submission; I didn't have the luxury of editing even a little bit, and I wanted to post it as an artifact of that two-hour process rather than continue to polish it beyond the deadline. Three hours, and I could have made the ending not quite so abrupt and really tightened up the rhythm and voice of the rest of the lines. You're right, the odd diction of the start of the piece (which was an attempt to give it a unique narrative voice, which was far too ambitious for a two-hour job) doesn't do it many favors.
To answer your questions, in order: Not mad even slightly; yes; I think you mean four shorts since Twahlicorn is a proncess now; and that's not a question but yes. Yes I am. Princess pones are best pones, by definition, because they are princesses. The other pones acknowledge their superiority and/or unfairly ignore their awesome nights.
> The noun phrase modifies "tribe" to the extent that treating it as a collective noun is incorrect (I think).
Ah yes, the special "the rules apply except when they don't" argument. I think in your honor we'll have to call that one the Celestial Exemption.
That having been said, according to the experts there is a gray area and so your reasoning is not outright wrong. I am still referring to the tribe as a collective, though — everything and everyone was blasted, rather than individuals who were blasted — so I don't feel the modifier phrase changes that.
One of the more original alicorn origin stories I've seen, here. Ever thought of adapting this story to straight-up prose?
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Thanks!
If I did prosify it, it would probably turn out a lot like The War And What Came After (with fewer deerfolk and more ponies). Actually, I did try my hand at a prose mythological origin story a while back — meant it as a little digression to Haylander, and it turned into its own thing, and I never quite figured out what I wanted to do with it. I may have to clean it up and post it here someday.
The Luna/Celestia/origins angle is interesting, but I'm leaning towards putting Canterlot directly above the crash site. For some reason I find that at least as interesting as the origin angle if not more so.
This was easier to follow on the second read-through. I guess I didn't realize I'd read it before.
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I realized I never responded to this — but yes, I do like that idea. Headcanon-modifying headcanon accepted!
That was really good. :D
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Thank you, in return, for the review on your blog!