The Nature of War
The Nature of War
They say…
In the year 356 after Banishment, the Greater Griffonstan Empire declared war on Equestria for, it must be said, no reason at all. Six hundred and thirty years hence, the Griffonstan Ambassador in a happy confluence of scholarship and diplomacy, called it ‘the most senseless of wars.’ But, at the time, the war seemed not only sensible, but inevitable. As the Emperor himself explained to an enthusiastic Imperial Council, while honor surely lies in victory, the greatest honor must then lie in victory over the superior foe. And which foe could be more worthy than one led by a living goddess?
Somewhere around the autumn of 357, the enthusiasm for war was cooling a bit. The ponies proved to be not only worthy opponents, but boring ones, too. They preferred to avoid large glorious battles and instead sulked in fortresses, and struck at supply lines and poorly defended materiel depots. Even the pegasi, who could usually be relied upon for a good stimulating bit of bloodshed, hid behind clouds and seemed to prefer striking from ambush. After conferring with his generals, the Emperor decided that the whole war started off on the wrong foot and was in serious danger of being utterly ruined. To forestall that, he devised a plan to inject some much-needed glory into the proceedings, inspired as he was by ancient sagas.
Thus, under his orders, a measure of starfall iron was taken from the imperial treasury, and conveyed to the finest smiths in all of Griffonstan, in the many caves and grottoes of the Steel Fastness Eyrie. An ancient dragon lived here, and suitably propitiated with a king’s ransom of gems, she used her fire to help the smiths purify the metal, and then forge it into the finest blade the world had ever seen. It is said twelve smiths worked it, with hammers passed from claw to claw for untold generations. It is said, also, that it was quenched in ancient, untouched glaciers, its power—even while being forged—such that the heat of it split the glaciers in twain.
As it was worked, it was sharpened finer and finer still. First on coarse stones, then on finer ones, and finally, it is said, on sounds. First, the rumble of a waking volcano, then the scrape of stone on stone, then the crackle of fire, and finally on the high pitched war-cry of a thousand griffin warriors.
The wisest griffins are said to have been summoned, and to have sat under lock and key in council for forty sleepless days and nights distilling their wisdom: the ice-runes of the fallen Crystal empire, the mysterious petroglyphs found in Northern Griffonstan so alien than no more than one in ten could study them without succumbing to madness and death, and a thousand other mysteries besides, each more terrible than the last. After forty days they had whittled down their storehouses of knowledge and hoards of ancient secrets to a mere twenty inscriptions fitting easily on the blade.
It is said that they were written in ink made of crushed diamonds, and the blood of the sages themselves. It is said that the flight-feathers of the first emperor himself were brought out of their jeweled reliquaries and used as quills. The power of the inscriptions was such that upon being written with trembling claws they sunk themselves into the metal itself, becoming part of the heart of the blade. The strain of summoning so much power into the world was terrible, and a full quarter of the sages died in the attempt, and still a further quarter went mad.
The chief of the smiths then fitted an ornate gold-and-sapphire hilt to the blade, with sturdy claw-rings lined with dragon-hide and studded with lapis lazuli. She then took the blade to the deepest hall of the mountain, and spent the night there in solemn contemplation of the work she had done. When she emerged with the sun the next day she was nameless, having sacrificed her name and her clan to the perfection of the blade. And so, even now, none know who the smith was, or where her bones lie.
The sacrifice sealed within the blade such power as had never been seen before in any weapons but those said to be used by gods in long past ages. Until that moment the blade was kept from the sun, and was only worked in the dead of night under flickering torchlight. But now it was judged strong enough, and was taken to greet the dawn with defiance. The Emperor himself held it aloft, and such was the blaze of its polished blade, and the menace of its mien that none would dare meet his eyes. He struck a light blow on a stone crag and it shattered in a clap of thunder.
This, he said, was good.
He then had blades from all quarters of the world brought to him—prized Qilin blades forged over lifetimes, curious leaflike Zebra swords, delicate Unicorn’s blades of Equestria, and a dozen more besides—and he struck each in turn. Every one of them shattered, but he would not stop until the ground beneath his talons was aglitter with broken metal.
This, he said, was better.
At last, he caused the finest of Qilin silk to be brought, and holding the blade straight, he allowed a wisp of it to fall onto the blade. No sooner had it touched the edge than it split in two. The Emperor sheathed the blade and inspected the cut. It was arrow-straight, and free of the slightest blemish or tear.
This, he said, was best of all.
The sword, then, was held under guard in the imperial treasury while the Emperor caused the greatest warriors of Griffonstan to be summoned to the White Peak Eyrie. Fully ten-score answered his call. This robbed many a unit of its commander, or finest fighter, but there was little worry. The ponies were content to sulk in their infernally effective fortresses tending to their bizarre instruments of war.
The proud warriors arrived resplendently arrayed, each more magnificent than the last. The Slayer of a Thousand, whose bones and name lie beneath White Peak, was there, as was The Red Terror, whose bones and name lie beneath Iron Crag, and whose every feather was dyed crimson, so that no foe could ever say that they were attacked by stealth, and many other storied warriors besides. The Emperor decreed that they were to fight in single combat until only a dozen remained, and so they did, joining battle with joyous fury. Such was their fierceness that, even though they fought in armor with blunted blades, fully half were wounded, and ten were killed. But their deaths were judged to be of great honor, and none grieved.
At last, only a dozen remained, and these were taken to the highest point of White Peak, where the air is so thin, that all but the hardiest cannot dwell and none but the most powerful can fly. It was so cold, so far up and in the dead of winter, that no griffin dared perch still for more than a moment, lest hoarfrost root them to the spot. There, the twelve were bid to fight in a mock battle, first six to the side, then three, and finally alone against two others. The victor would be granted the blade.
The fighting was terrifying. Not only was the cold murderously strong, the wind cruel and relentless, and the air thin, but the passing clouds could unexpectedly cloak combatants from one another, suddenly turning the long drawn-out stalking into a welter of unseen claws and deafening battle-cries. After four hours, all the Emperor’s attendants either fled to lower altitudes and into disgrace or died where they stood, obedient to the last. But the Emperor yet lived, and so did the warriors. All had survived, though most bore grievous wounds that would, in time, become honorable scars.
One stood above them all: The Breaker of Chains, whose bones and name lie beneath White Peak. He was not, perhaps, as strong as Howling Storm, whose bones and name are lost, nor was he as quick as the Red Terror, whose bones and name lie beneath Iron Crag, but he was the most fierce. He would never back down, and never fail to press home his attack. Even the toughest of foes wilted at his will, and he had no fear.
At once, the course was clear. Griffin armies converged on a powerful pony fastness near Whitetail, and, arraying themselves outside, waited as their champion was sent forth. Breaker of Chains, whose bones and name lie beneath White Peak, flew forth, in gilded armor that displayed proudly the colors of the empire, with blade held high. It blazed bright in the dawn sun, each gleam and glitter a declaration of defiance against Celestia and her children. He hovered, outlined against the rising sun, and bellowed out a challenge to any pony brave enough to step forth. He exulted. His whole life, first as a hunter, then as a soldier, and now as champion to all of Griffonstan, was mere preparation for this one moment of utter glory.
It was then that Corporal Sure Cut, of the 133rd Royal Hussars, shot him with a crossbow. How much his previous life as a mane-dresser prepared him for that moment is unknown.
The war ended shortly thereafter, with the agreement of the Diet of Whitetail, where the griffins agreed, at last, to give up a diet of pony forevermore. The blade survived, and is today kept in the Armistice Museum, at the Griffonstan/Stalliongrad border.
* * *
Carl von Clawsewitz, ambassador of the Greater Griffonstan Empire, paused, and smiled the best one could with a beak. The two foals had taken cover. The little one behind her older sister, peeking from between her legs, and the older one, the colt, behind a stack of folders perched atop a filing cabinet lying on its side.
A sign of a good story well told, children hiding behind things, he always thought.
“And that’s the story. I hope you liked it.”
“It was very nice, Your Excellency,” said Rose politely, “though not quite as I had heard it.”
Carl made an expansive gesture with a wing, expertly keeping balance on his perch atop a small hillock of filing cabinets piled together, apparently, in emulation of ancient Equestrian megalithic sites.
“Well, I do put my own spin on it, I must admit. And please, Miss Salad, ‘Carl.’ Titles are for diplomacy. This is storytelling. You can tell because it is a lot more fun.”
“Um,” came a little voice from below.
Carl bent down, until his beak was level with the tiny filly.
“Yes, little Daisy?”
“Um. Um. Why do you do the dipl—diplomaty stuff? If you like tellin’ stories why don’t you be a storyteller? ‘Cos, ‘cos, you tell ‘em really well,” the little filly said, blushing.
“Yeah,” said Dandelion perking up, “with the fighting and the sword and—” he meant to punctuate that last line with a dramatic gesture, but overbalanced and fell from his sister’s back. He caught himself before he could hit the floor, and ended up flying upside-down. This did not seem to lessen his enthusiasm to any appreciable degree.
“Well. Young Miss Daisy, Mr. Salad, I’m very glad you think so. As for why I do, ah, this diplomacy stuff, ah…” Carl cast around for something he knew about foals.
“Well,” he continued, “it’s like alfalfa. It makes you big and strong, your mother says, right, but you don’t like it?”
The two foals nodded vigorously and Rose smiled.
“But you have to eat it, yes? Well, this,” he said, sweeping a wing to indicate the office of the Cabinet Secretary piled high with paper, “this is my alfalfa. You can’t always do what you want. Even as a grown-up.”
“Oh,” said Daisy, looking sad. She crept up from between her sister’s legs, and inched forward. The she rushed forward, gave the ambassador’s downy legs a quick nuzzle, and said, “I hope you can have cake after, then, an’ tell your stories someday.” Then, she scooted back, hiding.
“Thank you, little Daisy, that’s very—” Carl stopped, hearing the sound of intemperate language coming closer. “Ah. That would be your uncle approaching. By the way he’s referring to ‘Those Bastards in the Rising Damp,’ he’s still quite put out with the weatherponies of Cloudsdale. It’s likely we are going to be snowed in for a while yet. You were right, Mr. Salad. A story really did help pass the time.”
“I wonder,” said Rose speaking a bit louder to be heard over the threnody on the subject of damages and forms that need filling in being preformed just outside, “why you picked that story to tell, Your Ex—Carl.”
“Well it is a very curious tale. The most curious, I should think.”
“Why?”
“Because it is often told and retold by both ponies and griffins alike, both of whom tell it in order to demonstrate how the other side utterly misunderstands the nature of war.”
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3696262
(Sorry, I'll try to keep myself to productive comments now...)
I'm reminded of the Samurai Jack episode "Seasons of Death," with massive montage of a sword being forged with all this esoterica and then Samurai Jack shattering it in one blow and walking onward.
Surely you mean the Civil Serverse.
3696262
No, honestly, I think that's the combination of tags that's best fitting.
3696311
*glee* You got it! You got it!
And, I want to point out I came by the dimethylmercury idea honestly, by reading John D. Clark's "Ignition!"
3696351
Awww, gosh, thanks.
3696353
Thanks!
And, hah, I can see Celestia arranging that Octavia Van Clef play it at the Grand Galloping Gala. It makes Rose happy, it mortifies Dotty, and it annoys the nobility. Win, win, win for my uniquely benevolent Trollestia.
3696366
Oh dear. What have I done?
...
...exactly what I intended.
3696385
There's a bit of that in there, sure enough. With a twist, of course.
Ghost, all of these are genius, and I don't understand why any of them aren't one shots. My crush on Dotted Line only grows with each story, and I love your writing in every situation. Write more, you ninny.
(Um, this was supposed to be a compliment. So, pretend it just says "good job!")
3696385
Ah, but that is a legendary blade against a legendary warrior. I can see the similarities, yes, but I think the point of each one is different. Opposite, even. Not perfectly opposed, but...on the one hoof, we have the triumph of a person over equipment (I want to say technology, but I think there was some magic involved in the forging?) in Samurai Jack, and on the other hoof we have in this story the triumph of mere equipment--and not even notable equipment--over a mighty warrior (with his own legendary equipment).
3696433
I remembered there being some intriguingly nasty propellants discussed in Ignition!, but I also remembered that there was a short story with hilariously nasty propellants, and since I remembered that red mercury came up in the short story googling that was much faster than digging through my copy of Ignition! to come up with astoundingly atrocious combinations.
3696393
I'm considering that being the official nomenclature...
3696411
I know.
3696424
Glad you liked it!
As for the line being laying it on a bit thick... in retrospect maybe. There's some groundwork that makes it a bit less out-of-the-blue in A Canterlot Carol. After all, it's pretty clear he's been pretty much adopted as a family member by the Salads in that one.
Ah well. I'll do better next time.
3696428
It's an oblique reference to a "Dungeons and Discourse," with nods to Azad from Player of Games by Iain M. Banks.
3696443
Oh. Wow. Gosh. Um.
...gosh...
...thanks.
I'll try to write more. Honest. I've one story at draft 0 already. Perfect fit for OD. And there's going to be a few non-pony words, too, which may interest you.
3696447
It isn't Calvinball exactly. Rules exist. They are just complex enough that it may seem to an outside observer that there aren't any.
That's exactly what it is!
GhostOfHeraclitus posting a new story?
Look that, its xmas all over again.
Glad to see you posting more work!
3696490
Oh certainly, the lesson was different, I'm just talking about the staging of the forging scenes being similar.
3696512
One may wonder how much of Equestrian history, including border skirmishes, key events in the formation of Canterlot's Civil Service, and Luna's banishment, were actually Byzantine outgrowths of this game. Dotted will probably sleep better if he doesn't know.
Let the chapters roll like fine tea into crystal cups. With honey. And just a little lemon. Perfect...
Ghost, I have no words to describe how brilliant this is.
We really do need a history tag.
3696262 Read the story. /Then/ criticize. With something other than a frowney face.
3697165 I think it was more a sign of confusion.
/me reads fic
/me dies due to the sheer inadequacy
Goddammit Heraclitus, you just have to be amazing, don't you.
Argh.
I need a drink.
Well, I must say that this was mildly orgasmic. You know ghost, you are so similar in your writing style to the great Sir Terry Pratchett that it is downright uncanny. I don't suppose an Orangutan has visited you in the past with a book of writing tips, an encouraging "Oook" and a congratulatory banana?
Ah, The Nature of Hyperbole. What a tale. It's clear the griffins don't subscribe to the idea of dedicating one's life purely to their passion. Perhaps a result of their lack of magical glyphs that declare the nature of their talent - though often with debatable clarity - to all the world. Who needs degrees when you've got cutie marks? Then again, maybe if they had it their way, too many of them dedicate their lives to glorious victory.
I do wonder, since it was mentioned, what this tale would sound like from the mouth of a pony. These idiots, see, kept killing random ponies and demanding that we meet them in disadvantageous positions to be killed by their superior forces. We let them break their skulls on our walls for a while until they gave up. Did Celestia the Terrible manifest at some point during this silliness?
At some point during the forging process, I wondered whether there might be some sort of metaphor for the creation of atomic weapons in there, as since a fair number of people died as a result of accidents in nuclear research, I thought it might fit with all the griffins lost in the absurdly arduous process of enchanting the blade of wonton destruction, but then the sword proved to be utterly ineffective at cleaving the ground where the honorable whatever his name was fell.
Hopefully, through my excretion of these vague impressions of mine, I have done my part to - ever so slightly - sate your craving for comments. They do tend towards being flat analyses devoid of feeling, but believe me when I say I thoroughly enjoyed every one of these, especially that sad comedy.
Oh yes, you asked for comments, didn't you? Well then. Ahem.
I noticed one spelling error during my initial run-through of the first story, which I immediately ignored so that I could continue to imbibe this wonderful elixir of a story. It's not very helpful of me, I know, but it's nearly two in the morning now, and I have to be at work at eleven. If no one else has caught it by the time I re-read (and I will most likely re-read, at least three times over the nest few weeks), I will make a note of it, and pass it along.
Dotted Line is, as usual, an unusually well realized character. I see the princesses, especially Celestia, through his eyes, and am intrigued by what I see. Still, though, you can see the pony underneath, even though he himself is too humble, starry-eyed and (hmm) pious to do so. It makes for an interesting dynamic.
The Salad family are a fun bunch of folk, especially the newly introduced (but early and oft referenced) children. I feel that I know them. That's a hard trick to pull off in, what was it, five thousand words? I don't know that I can praise that any more highly. The song at the end of the first story was an interesting addition. As always when I hear a song described in prose, I wonder what it sounded like to you. For myself, I have a series of feelings presented to me (rather nicely) and no melody to go with them. I wonder if it's like trying to explain color to the achromatic.
Moving on, the Game the Princesses Play was a rather fun aside, inviting the reader to play along and guess the references. I picked up Calvinball and a few theory of knowledge nods myself, while others quite eclipsed my knowledge, by the looks of the comments. Again, we see this wise Celestia, so exalted in Dotted's eyes, and catch just a glimpse of the soul behind it. I wonder if that will ever change. I imagine that Celestia has had quite a lot of time to get used to it, over the many, many long years of her reign. I wonder if that's why she thinks better of confronting her Secretary over the matter. (Also, I love seeing Luna here! Just thought I'd say that)
The next story was short, sweet, presented an observation that we've all made at one point or another, and introduced me to an informative and entertaining video. Plus it was cute, in a sad, look at the adorable puppy way. I meant to have something more scholarly or profound to say about it, but, I find that I am not, in fact, a poet. Or a plumber with the soul of a poet. (I apologize for those last two sentences. I find that I am incapable of good humor at this time of night. Please be merciful)
The change in tone for the next tale was swift and palpable. The use of repetition, formalized phraseology, and grand, stark, sweeping statements speaks of an old tale, passed on through an oral culture (reminds me quite a bit of my childhood, actually). While the tale itself was tonally consistent, I wondered what had brought about this change; if this story was an experiment with a different style, placed here in this collection because this is, after all, a collection of snippets.
Imagine my surprise then, when I get to the bottom of the page to find that this story is being told by a new character (with a really cool name, I might add), and this choice of tone is both deliberate and considered. Well done! Once again, I was delighted to spend a bit of time with the Salad children, and I literally clapped my hands in appreciation of the last line of the story.
All right then. I hope this meets the standards of commenting around these erudite and well-spoken (well-written?) parts, and that this post brings some enjoyment. Or at the very least, does not offend.
B+
Dat Irony.
Do you mind if I shamelessly praise you once again? Because this is deserving of shameless praise. Great heaps of it in fact. The last one in particular. Nature of War indeed,
3698165
Oh god. Don't do that. Don't you put that evil on me. I'm supposed to be good and write more normal Snit!
*Mumbling* Man, I could post it as another interlude to Alicorn Stories and everything. That would make it an update! That'd be alright, wouldn't it...?
3696585
Awww. Thanks.
3696490
3696597
You are both right, really. It does have a completely different point than the episode in question, but the forging sequence was semi-consciously modeled on that and other "An Epic Weapon Is Made" scenes.
3696638
Sadly, it's so often his job to know. No wonder he's allowed to write off sedatives as a legitimate business expense.
3696510
Your chem-geek cred is noted and respected.
3696648
3696673
3696884
Thanks!
3696747
3696889
I know, right? I mean how do you tag it otherwise? Slice of life? But there's war and stuff. Adventure? But nobody goes on an adventure.
3697023
I've not read those, but know that you mention 'philosopher's chess' I feel almost honor-bound to do so.
3697035
Only a little bit of FOOF. Maybe some mercury. Hardly harmful at all.
3697253
That's really quite im... well. I won't say impossible. I've heard the fanmusic this fandom makes. But it is unlikely.
3697415
Awww, gosh, I'm blushing.
And, yes, the title has layers. The original meaning was that it was meant to be just Dotty being happy. It's just an afternoon, entirely for Dotted Line. The story equivalent of a hug, really.
One reason I wrote it is because I was planning a story where Dotted gets in a really bad way and this was a sort of preemptive apology. You'll be pleased to know I've abandoned the story because the villain I created was simply too horrible for me to write.
3697547
It's not really Calvinball (references aside). It's more, as someone pointed out before, a game of Nomic that got way, way, way out of hoof.
And the enlightenment is meant to be in relation to this: Everypony sat around trying to figure out what the game meant, as if that was the important thing. It wasn't. The important thing was that, well, there were the two princesses. Together. The game and, indeed, the score are of secondary importance.
3697588
If it is any consolation, I got your intended meaning[1] immediately.
And, also, how do you know how much a "Neighton" is?
[1] "Oh really?"
3697602
Do I have to be amazing? Listen, grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and brotha' I brew tea and then imbibe it.
So no, I guess I don't.
Being amazing is a conscious choice on my part.
In seriousness, don't fret over things. Writing isn't a race or zero-sum. Write the best you can, and things will be well.
Just don't ask me to repeat this advice after I've read a Skywriter story. Gah. Talk about feeling inadequate...
3697687
Oh, you should see her in the pro-epistemological variant. Downright brutal, she is.
3697727
Oh, wow, gosh, thanks. It's hard to give me a more extravagant compliment that that. And, no, my life has been Orangutan free. Hah as if I would take writing tips from a monke--APE I meant AP--*thump*
Also I am geeking out so much over your avatar...
3697895
Calling in Celestia is the nuclear option in these sort of things. Treaties and solemn accords state that the sisters two or their control over the firmament will not be used in wars that do not:
(a) threaten the execution of duties delineated in the treaties of Dusk and Dawn,
(b) involve paramilitary forces or forces not representing a well-regulated regularly constituted military force of an acknowledged state,
(c) involve slave-holders or slave-takers with whom the state of Equestria and all her holdings are in a permanent state of war, or
(d) follow the conventions and customs of civilized warfare in respect to the treatment of prisoners and civilians, the use of magic on the international prohibited list, or wide-spread environmental degradation.
Why, yes, I did think about this.
3697982
How the song sounded to me? Well, you know what Zappa (I think) said: writing about music is like dancing about architecture. That's why I focused on the emotions and the general structure of the piece trusting that everyone will compose their own definite version.
That's the nice thing about writing, really. Infinite special effects budget, and the scoring is a snap.
As for the tonal shift in Clawsewitz's tale, well, originally it didn't have the coda with the Salad children. It was left ambiguous who was telling it and why. But then the mysterious 'Nettlefish suggested that it would be nice to know who the teller was (I always imagined it to be a griffin poking gentle fun at his own people) and Bradel[2] suggested the Salad children as the audience and then I wrote it, and then Bad Horse suggested that the 'Nature of War' line be moved to the very end of the coda, and there you go.
[2] As should be obvious by now, getting awesome collaborator-pre-readers is a must when writing these things.
3698189
I'm sorry you are unwell(and hope you get better soon!) but utterly gleeful that my story managed to pick you up a bit.
3698196
Damn right she is. There is a lot interesting in how someone with a sweet disposition and mild manners might, when someone they love is slighted, discover hidden reservoirs of fury the didn't even know they had.
3698254
Praise? Well... sure. I can stand for a little bit more...
(I want all the praise...)
3698341
Why, thank you.
And you note correctly, by the way. Dotted does have something of a crush on Celestia. Not Celestia the princess, or Celestia the divine. Just Celestia. He'll never tell, of course.
3698566
Unacceptable! I demand all the gush all the time!
That would be telling...
3698676
And that's part of the motivation for the story, actually. The saying is wrong. And Twilight fixed it. That's what she does.
My take:
As the griffons see it, the nature of war is to be fought. As the ponies see it, the nature of war is to be not fought.
(Why don't we have a :gildadweebs!: smiley, again?)
3698690
Oh, wow, that's brilliant. Very, very well said. That might be a quote at some point in my stories[1] (with your kind permission, of course).
[1] Perhaps an observation in Vom Kriege.
The lessons fillies and colts? Never bring a sword to a gun (or, in this case, crossbow) fight. Martial honour is all well and good but, when it is combined with dumb, is probably just asking to be dead.
Love these short stories, especially An Afternoon for Dotted Line, and here's to hoping you get to a more meaty story in the Civil Serviceverse soon.
Thank you for creating these excellent stories!
I always imagined that the pony view of war and the griffon view would be diametrically opposed. I've imagined that griffons would relish the glory of a hard-fought battle, while ponies would tend to just take out the leader.
3698689
Beware the fury of a patient mare.
Yes this is probably one of my favorite anecdotes ever.
This and "never laugh at live dragons," anyway.
3699003
WHOOPS
3698698
Go forth and use it!
I love how "The Nature of War" is utterly predictable, even if in a good way, until you drop that last line. It isn't really a twist, but it works wonders in recasting the story in a new light.
As always, a splendid look into one author's take on the politics and culture of Equestria and now her neighbors. This series reminds me of Alexis Gilliland's Rosinante series.
If one could offer a request, I would LOVE to read about the Civil Service's reaction to, and coping with, Twilight's ascendance. "With an iron hoof!"
3699483
Seconded, Oh so very seconded. And thirded, for good measure.
As usual, a collection of delightful masterstrokes There were several - as usual - laugh out loud moments, though I my favourite is Corporal Sure Cut...
The only complaint I can make about your works is always that there is never enough if it...!
Superlative work!
If this was written about humans, or even unlicensed nonhuman characters, and published in a book or magazine, it would be in textbooks long after I'm dead. Bravo.
3696512
Ah, was it? I thought it might be a Dungeons and Discourse reference, but dismissed the idea because the Sisters appeared to be taking the roles of the schools of thought themselves, instead of adherents to the schools of thought.
3698690
I'd put the distinction a bit differently (though I'm having a lot of trouble remembering where the version I'm paraphrasing came from): Gryphons go to war to fight. Ponies go to war to win.
I think "Methods of Rationality" referenced that particular distinction too, in one of the Quirrel-wars.
Definitely enjoyed this collection!
There is so much that I could say, and that others have said, about your writing but... well, in the words of Voltaire, the easiest way to be a bore is to tell everything, so I shall stick to brevity.
Reading what you've written makes me aspire to be a better writer.
Reading your stories makes me aspire to be a better person.
3696353 Ah, sorry. I didn't really mean footnotes. Just that the notes were sometimes (Ch2 (or 1 if we don't count the contents) note 2) missing the marker denoting the note had started, or were missing the number connecting it to its text, though that seems to have been fixed now.
Could Carl's thinking be perhaps described as... Eaglion?
Great story. Like really, awesome story. I wish this had more likes.
One compliant thought about Dotted... why couldn't he be a biologist instead?
(Just kidding. Just a joke with my friends in the different sciences.)
So on a serious note, it seems Dotted is...lonely? Is that the word? He seems so consumed with his work that he has a hard time connecting. It seems he has a relationship with the princess, but even Celestia does not seem that attached to her work. Like he does not have someone to connect to fully.
I feel for Dotted, but I worry, what will happen when he can no longer work? What will he do?
Again thanks for the story, it is awesome reading your work.
3698750
I didn't want to suggest that there has been pony/human contact with Fizzbin. But I do like the idea of Celestia and Luna as Star Trek fans.
3698758
There seems to be an entire class of these things--hideous unspeakable lies told to children. I remember being told during elementary school that "These are the happiest years of your life!" over and over again. Now, I don't know what tomorrow may bring, but on the evidence of the past twenty-seven years, I'd just like to say that there is no way for that statement to be less true.
3698818
You are very much welcome.
3698886
Interesting. In the Civil Serviceverse it is a accusation often leveled at the Equestrian state that it arranges that... accidents happen to belligerent leaders. This theory is based on little evidence, but the suspicious timing of several deaths, and the Equestrian fondness for the decapitation strike as a tactic.
Does it really happen? As Dotted would say, "It doesn't really matter if it does. It matters that people, especially people in power, believe that it does happen. A little mortal dread is good for world leaders. Gives them a sense of perspective. More tea, ambassador?"
3698998
3700712
Gosh. Thanks. Do keep an eye out for my non-pony words then, and see if you still feel the same.
3699275
Thanks!
3699711
Wow. Thank you for the compliment. You are most kind.
3699732
Nonsense! I demand all gushing all the time! I thought I made that clear.
Seriously, though, thank you.
3700533
I am immensely gratified that such a large percentage of my reader base is either exceptionally educated (and thus knows about spectacularly noxious chemical fuels) or of exceptionally good taste (and thus reads Stross) or, best of all, both.
3700560
Oh, goodness, no. Just imagine what Cadance could do. Right know she nudges minds to a better course. Magical couple's therapy. Harmless. But angry? Truly furious? She'd be Cadence THE MIND-TAKER! All would love her and despair.
I've half a mind to write a story about such a thing coming to pass or almost coming to pass.
3701049
There's a game they play in Canterlot. A mare's game.
3701229
Even more adorably, perhaps Twilight doesn't understand what the big fuss is about. The rules are obvious. Right?
...right?
3701241
Thank you very much.
3701883
Wow, that is truly an extravagant compliment. Thank you.
3702043
Well, it is a fairly oblique reference. And there's more of Banks there than Dungeons and Discourse, I think.
3702770
Thanks!
3702908
Honestly, I thought the reference would be more obscure than it turned out to be. Either there's a lot of British people about, or the popularity of the brilliance that is Mornington Crescent is greater than I thought.
3703762
Your mustache is appreciated, but, alas, the research for that line is not my own. I do a lot of research for Dotted's off-hoof comments about chemistry though.
3704157
Wow. Those... those are some hefty words. I am humbled. Thank you.
3704362
Late addition, that passage. Didn't pass proper editing. My bad.
3704459
The hedgehog is a reference to
a) Spintronics
b) Hox genes
c) Hedgehogs of the supersonic variety
Since you ask.
And the game isn't as anarchic as I made it seem. I haven't made up how it works, but essentially, the rules change each time they are played, but in codified ways -- they are tweaked, rather than rewritten. Once year (for their birthdays, actually) Luna and Celestia get to add a completely new rule, and tradition dictates that it be an outlandish one. Hence the yarrow sticks and all that.
And, so, he point is fairly hedgehoging-free.
3707295
Thanks!
Frankly, so do I.
It's not that people don't like it. It's that people don't appear to want to read it in the first place.
Dr. Inky-Salad is a biochemist specializing in plant physiology. Does that help?
He sure is.
Celestia feels duty bound to he work, and even likes it. But if she didn't have to do it, she'd cope easily. Dotted... not so much. Work, more than work, service has become a replacement for something. A way to fill an internal void. That's why even in the relationships he maintains he's uncomfortable being the one who is cared for. That's not healthy.
Dotted has a great many issues. Most of the higher echelons of the Civil Service have their share. Dotted's just the worst of a bad lot.
In a word? Die. Dotted cannot function without his job.
In-story, some ponies have noticed this, and are starting to worry, much like you do.
You are very welcome. Thank you for your comment & your time.
3707699
Just tell where to find your words, I and shall arrive.
I can think of a way. I remember hearing that line in Junior High. That wonderful period of schooling between the horrible innocence of elementary school, and the horrible sub-realities of high school.
Doooooo eeeeeeeet.
3707699
Hehe, I know how you feel about getting more views and likes. I am currently writing stories myself, and had some moderate success (though I know my place. My writing does not compare to yours or other great writers.) But the moment it has a tag that said reader is not comfortable with, or the plot is something new, they are hesitant to read it. I actually consider removing [Dark] or [Sad] tags from stories, even though it touches on those ideas. It is not like I am using them as shock value or anything.
Anyway, back to Dotted Line. What you said about him only makes me feel more sorry for him. He is so dedicated to his work. And while it is true that some of the greatest minds every to have existed were dedicated to their work, if you look at their personal lives, they were riddled with problems and plagues that haunted each of these individuals. Beethoven was depressed and made at the world, Einstein had family issues. It is sad because these are such great minds.
Dotted seems so capable, so brilliant at his job, but that is it. It is his entire world. Celestia would be the closest pony to him in terms of their attitude. But I feel Celestia knows her limits. She knows how important friends are, and she has personal connections. She taught and raised Twilight, she has her sister who will always be there for her. Celestia has those personal bonds and connections.
But Dotted is different, his work is everything to him. I don't want to see him when he is finally taken away from it.
Again great characters. Now normally I don't do ask for such things, but I would love to see more about Dotted personal life. Or more about other ponies trying to help him. Maybe Celestia or Leafy. If that is a future project for you, then awesome. I feel so bad that he cannot find that significant other in his life. That other being a hobby, something else besides work, or even a lover. Just something that is not work. I get the sense that when he see Leafy's family, that is something he desperately and secretly wants, but doesn't know where to start.
Again kudos to you. Great story!
PS: Right now, I am a little put away from biochem at the moment. Bad experience I had with the department at my school XD.
I find myself frustrated with my lack of eloquence. The words come and go like flashes of lightning, but I read a story like this and think of the torrent of writing it must have been founded on, and it's just amazing.
For some reason, my analogies often deal with water or weather, when working with writing. Wonder why?
3707699
To reiterate a tired and worn out-phrase:
This is really very good. You should write a book.
Note to self: never delay reading Ghost's stories again. I could heap praises upon you for a few hours until my fingers were bruised from typing, but you seem like the type to argue with that sort of thing, so I'll just say: It's like Pterry decide to write pony. I love it.
3707898
New plots scare off readers?
New plots intrigue me. PREPARE YO STOREEEZ. I find myself out of backlog fics, so new ground shall be broken.