• Published 26th Jan 2014
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Bad Mondays - Handyman



A particularly stubborn human is lost in Equestria and is trying his damnedest to find a way out, while surviving the surprisingly difficult rigours of life in a land filled with cute talking animals. Hilarity ensues.

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Chapter 18 - Regrettable Decisions

Count Henri Talonstrike, an aging griffon with brown feathers and possessing a long flow of white down cascading from the base of his beak, was seated facing the large round window of his study. The light poured in, illuminating the luxuriously appointed room. The normally bright surroundings were darkened this day by the rail thin shadow of the duke who was currently sitting on his haunches facing the window, his claws clasped behind him.

“This has gone far enough, Henri. I will not stand for your lies,” the duke said softly. The bird was tall for a griffon, possessing a slim frame and long, strong wings. His black feathers were streaked with silver in places, but the down of his feathers and the shadows of his eyes were off-gold in colour. He turned, shifting the sapphire cloak he wore as he regarded the fat count. Henri’s blue eyes were unfocused and looking elsewhere, swirling the rich, red wine in his goblet.

Karl glanced down at the table. It was the count’s fourth goblet since he had arrived. He had a habit of drinking from a new cup each time. He resisted sneering in disgust as he paced back up to the table, the count taking another sip. “And would it kill you to remain sober long enough for us to talk properly?”

“Hah!” Henri barked, putting his cup down. “That’s always been your problem Karl. You cubs new to the table always think you’re so prim and proper,” Henri said, looking hard at the duke, who bristled. His family had worked hard to gain the position he now enjoyed. He knew it was not to everygriffon’s liking. Henri, however, had always been reserved in his judgement of the duke. Despite his reputation as a drunkard, he normally kept his opinions to himself. This outburst was unlike him… and worrying for other reasons entirely.

“For now I’ll let that go, but I am ordering you to stop your baseless accusations! I will not tolerate this nonsense any longer,” Karl warned.

“And I will not tolerate being ruled by a lord who perverts life and death!”

“I have done no such thing!” Karl protested, grateful that Henri at least had the foresight to send the servants out of the room with the exception of the wine bearer. He levelled a claw at the count. “I am warning you, Henri.” He slammed a fist on the table, causing the empty goblets to hop in place. “If you keep going like this, I will be forced to act, lest your rumourmongering costs the duchy its peace.”

“You mean cost you your throne!” Henri spat, his yellow eyes glaring at the duke. “I saw the graves myself, hundreds of them! Reports of grave lights in the surrounding woods are common knowledge.”

“Even if that was true, how could you possibly think it was me!? What, I suppose I come all the way from Tallfeather every other week just to cackle madly in the night and summon the dead to do my bidding?” he said incredulously, arms outstretched at the idea.

“You know rightly what I fear! Don’t think I don’t remember your family’s little disgrace!” Henri warned, gesturing at the duke with his goblet. Karl scowled.

“So this is what this is about…” Karl said with warning. “You can’t stand that my family emerged from under the greedy little talons of yours and came to rule over you. Is that it? You’re so petty that you started spreading spurious rumours over that?”

“They are not spurious.” Henri drained the last of the goblet, slamming it down on the table before glaring up at the duke. “And I couldn’t care one wit about where your family came, only that now it’s cursed my land. I’ve been keeping the griffons quiet, Karl,” he began. “So far, most of them haven’t made the connections, but I can’t keep quiet… I had to tell somegriffon.”

“So you told Greybeard!?” Karl accused. “That old wretch!? Who knows what he’ll do with that!” the duke replied. He turned and stalked back over to the window and looked out into the city below before turning his gaze up at the tower that dominated the skyline. “Henri…” he said. “You could’ve just come to me…”

“No I really couldn’t.” Henri growled. He snapped his fingers to call his wine servant in. The door to their right didn’t open, and Henri raised an eyebrow in its direction. He was about to speak when they both heard muffled voices coming from behind the door, rapidly increasing in volume. The doors burst open, and a rather beleaguered looking griffon in a slashed tunic stumbled backwards into the room.

“My apologies, my lord,” he managed to mumble. The count’s eyes widened. Karl turned, with an imperious eyebrow raised, before his own eyes widened. The human stalked into the room calmly, followed by an armoured knight bearing a cloak in Gethrenian royal purple. Two of Karl’s blue cloaked knights marched up to the door,

“Apologies, your grace, but…” the closest of the blue knights began to protest.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Henri demanded, rising from his chair, his jowls shaking with anger, which was impressive to see on an aquiline face. Karl turned. “What is Johan’s shadow doing here!?”

“Taking care of a concern that has been brought to his highness’ attention,” Handy said calmly. He turned his cloaked head back to the knights. “A matter that requires a bit of privacy, one would imagine.” He turned to look pointedly at the other griffon in the room. The human assumed it would be the duke. Karl frowned at the human but kept a calm composure, masking the dread he was feeling right now. He nodded at his two knights, who retreated back down the hallway. Henri waited until the servant gathered himself and left the room before speaking.

“What are you doing here, human!?” he demanded, pointing a claw at Handy. Handy, for his part, merely looked at the count. Neither of the griffons could tell what his expression was under the helmet.

“Why, one would assume thou wouldst know, my lord,” Handy said calmly. The Gethrenian knight remained behind the human, shifting in his armour and watching impassively. Had either of them known the knight personally, this would have been astonishing. Tanismore was infamous for his lackadaisical approach to discipline and protocol. “It is, after all, thine accusations against your lord we have come to investigate the veracity of,” he said, gesturing to the duke with a hand. Karl stiffened. The king had sent the human to investigate him?

“By what authority does he send you?” Karl demanded. Handy produced the seal of office and presented it to the count.

“As his Swordbearer if thou must know,” he said. Karl gritted his teeth. The king had sent his swordbearer. Greybeard must’ve petitioned for royal intervention, and Johan had sent the human, of all things, to be his mouthpiece on the matter. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, we welcome you,” Karl said as Henri studied the document he had been given, his face an unreadable mask. The human crossed his hands in front of him, barely visible beneath the thick white cloak he wore. He coughed. The human finally turned away from the count to regard the duke.

“Thine Grace,” the human greeted, inclining his head. “His Majesty would hear of these accusations of sorcery and necromancy,” he said, his tone changing. “The court does not take such matters lightly as you may surmise from… previous cases,” Handy said. The duke nodded slowly.

In truth, griffons did practice magic. It was nothing like the intuitive magic of the ponies, however. No, griffons often had to resort to spellcraft that required odious amounts of preparation and ceremony to pull off. As such, griffons generally practiced alchemy rather than true wizardry. It was often simpler, more efficient, and could achieve a lot of practical ends, though nothing to compare to actual magery. Griffons, like most of the sapient races, had inherent magic, but not so much that they were prone to being natural spellcasters. As such, griffons viewed sorcery, the art of practicing magic seamlessly with inherent skill and control without the trappings normally associated with the practice, with tremendous suspicion. Ponies within the griffon realms were exempt from this suspicion, given their nature, but the stigma certainly remained for griffons.

Even that could be overlooked from time to time, but when sorcery bordered on the territory of necromancy, that was when a lot of hackles would be raised. Karl swallowed. It was certainly serious enough for the king to get involved, but he’d never thought he’d send his own shadow to do the talking for him. Silently, he cursed Greybeard for involving the king. He could’ve put a stop to this himself before it went any further. That was why he was here in the first place. Now he was trapped. “O-Of course,” Karl replied, taking himself to task, so as to not come off as too nervous.

From Handy’s perspective, the duke seemed a bit too rigid in his stance. He was resting on his haunches to give himself every inch he could in height without literally standing on his rear paws. The duke’s hands clasped behind his back as he maintained a calm demeanour while facing the griffon count. He put that down to simple nerves however. From what he had learned of his authority from Ivorybeak, he could do a lot. Mainly, he was there to listen, demand records, investigate, and interrogate as he deemed necessary. Only if he found anything particularly damning was he allowed to utilise his powers to any true effect. Ivory was vague about the details, but Handy believed he understood what that meant.

“We have heard that the good count here has been accusing thee of necromancy. Before we begin, thy grace, what doth thee have to say to these accusations?” Handy asked, looking at the bird.

Karl shifted his shoulders before replying. “I object to them of course,” he said simply. “There’s no proof to the matter. I have come here personally to dissuade Count Talonstrike from his folly,” Karl said. “I must ask, when did his majesty decide to intervene on the matter?” Karl asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

“The good count Greybeard petitioned us,” Handy said honestly, knowing full well he was putting said count’s ass on the fire by revealing it was him who got the king involved. However, in truth, he couldn’t have cared less. If the accusations were true, why not reveal him? If they were not, then Handy saw no reason to not let the chips fall where they may regarding his scheming. “He sought our intervention to put paid to these accusations. As such…” Handy turned his head to the good count, who was still bowing over the document and had been noticeably silent so far. “Count Henri, we would hear of thy accusations from thine own beak,” he said.

Henri didn’t respond immediately but eventually looked up to the human. “I… That is…” he began. Handy simply looked at the bird and then glanced at the table, taking note of the five goblets and the spilled wine stains on the table. He frowned. “T-The duke…” He pointed over at Karl.

“My lord?” Handy pressed. The count seemed particularly nervous, which worried the human. He had expected the duke to be the nervous one here, yet here was the count trembling under his gaze. Henri coughed into a fist before gathering himself.

“Right… Well the duke here,” He gestured at the thin bird in front of them both, “has been practicing the foulest sorceries on my land, raising the very dead!” he said.

“Lies!” the duke shouted, turning to the human. “This is scandalous! If I were raising the dead, where is the evidence!?”

“Its out there in the town of Featherdawn! A town you should at least be familiar with, Your Grace!”

“I meant where are the dead you speak of!?” the duke demanded, his wings spreading as his anger rose. “Nevermind, it is completely preposterous that it should be me that is causing these problems, but the lack of shambling corpses hurts your argument just a bit, does it not!?” Karl demanded. Henri looked away.

“Gentlemen,” Handy interrupted. Both of them turned to the human. “I believe we are missing a vital connection here,” he continued. In truth, he found it all a bit ridiculous. “If the dead were disturbed from their rest, and for the sake of argument let us entertain that they were, what is it that links the crime to the duke?” Handy asked, gesturing to the duke with a gauntleted hand. Henri chuckled.

“Because they have been rising from his family’s old lands,” the count said.

Handy turned to the duke. “Thine lands?” he asked.

The duke shook his head. “My family used to be commoners. We ran a farm near that village for many generations before we traded the plow for the sceptre,” he said.

Handy cocked an eyebrow at that. “And who owns the lands now?” he asked.

“No one, I believe. My father sold the land off when he became Duke before me.”

“And it was abandoned soon after that,” Henri said. The human turned to look down at the seated griffon. “Haunted. Family kept hearing whispers in the night or so the local stories said when I… investigated the issue. Recently, however, there have been strange lights sighted emerging from the farm late at night along with eerie noises. In the morning, all that’s to be seen are freshly dug holes, easily large enough to fit a griffon…”

’Well alright, that does sound fairly creepy,’ Handy conceded. ’But hardly damning.’ ”I fail to see the connection. It’s the duke’s old lands, certainly, but isn’t it possible some other warlock is causing this?” he asked. The Count looked away, and the duke seemed to smile. Handy sighed internally at the reactions. “My lord, do you have any evidence at all that it is the duke’s doing?” The count ground his teeth.

“It has to be…” he said. Handy looked at the duke, who, to his credit, simply looked the human straight in the eye. As much as he could anyway. So much for getting new material for Crimson to look over. He sighed.

“Has anyone ever seen a stranger in the area? Someone who might be seen walking the surrounding country at odd hours? Do we even know if there is a sorcerer at all?” He asked. Again, he was met with silence, and Handy felt his anger rising. In all of the shit he had gone through, this was the first time he felt his time had been genuinely wasted, which only made it worse to recall that he had insisted on coming here himself. “If there is no evidence to speak of, then why dost thou insist on thine accusations?” Handy asked, clearly losing his patience. The count looked down at his now empty goblet but didn’t respond. It was actually pathetic to look at. The old griffon, lost in his cups, lashing out at the nearest target. If Handy understood things right, Karl was relatively new blood to the nobility game, much like he himself was. However, Handy had the advantage of still being small fry; Karl did not. He fumed. Joachim was right. This was a waste of time, and it was time to wrap up. “Then, unless Duke Karl has any objections, I believe this matter to be concluded.”

“Wait…” Henri said. Handy turned to face the count, stopping mid turn towards the door. Karl perked up. “Go to Featherdawn,” he said, turning to Handy. “At least… At least see if you can help sort it out…” he asked. Handy smiled wryly at the count.

’Balls to that, you sort out your own goddamn wizard bullshit.’ ”I will consider it…” Handy said noncommittally. He bowed slightly to the lords before eventually leaving the room, Tanismore following behind, admirably keeping his beak shut throughout the exchange. Karl waited until the servant closed the doors as the human left before turning to regard the sad sight of the count. In truth, he knew he should be angrier than he was at the bird, but he just couldn’t muster it.

He let out a breath he had been holding and stalked from the room, avoiding the look on the count’s face as he did so. He had dodged a dagger there with the Swordbearer. He had been hoping to sort this out before word left the rumour-mongering of the Ducal court, but dear old Greybeard apparently had other ideas. He scowled as he stalked out of the room and made his way to the quarters he requisitioned of the count when he arrived. He’d deal with both good counts in due time. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t rest easy until he was sure the human had left for Skymount once more.

He grimaced as he entered the room. It was drearily appointed, and he’d have considered it an insult by the count had he not known for a fact that all his guest rooms were this drab. His two guards shut the door behind him as he entered. The farm… He had only the vaguest memories of the place, having left it when he was so small. His father would never talk about the place. The only times he mentioned it in passing were to denounce it and express his gratitude of finally leaving it behind. Karl understand the appeal of leaving behind a life of toil and drudgery, but ever since this whole necromancy debacle started, he couldn’t help but have his thoughts drawn to the place, at once familiar and alien to him.

And now, the human was here. Johan’s Goddamn shadow, singlehandedly responsible for ousting Geoffrey and putting the current king’s royal arse on the throne and now bringing his law to his vassals. He clicked his teeth. So what if the human went to the village? He reassured himself; it had nothing to do with him, and with any luck, the human would uncover the real cause and clear Karl’s name for him. He shook his head. It wouldn’t do to worry about it; it was not his fault, and it certainly would be proven that way in the long run. Perhaps… Perhaps if he could persuade the human to go to the farm, he’d see the cause, or at least see that it wasn’t him that was causing whatever nonsense was going down over there.

He called one of his guards into the room. The knight bowed his head to acknowledge his lord before Karl gestured him over to whisper to him. Not all of his entourage in the town consisted of armed guard. It was time to utilise one of those assets.

--=--

Handy walked down the stone stairs and out into the main courtyard of the keep, heading towards the drawbridge, Tanismore struggled to keep up with the human who was walking at a rather enthusiastic pace. “Wait!” he cried out after the human.

“Keep up, Tanis,” he said without turning around. His irritated tone betraying his foul mood.

“Oh hold up will you!” he said in response, Tanis flapped his wings once he was out of the shadow of the clustered buildings of the keep and took to the air before landing beside Handy. Both of them proceeded to walk across the drawbridge. “Well…. That went… reasonably okay, I think?”

“I suppose you could say that…” Handy said. The entire thing was a farce, just some old man, confused and scared at recent events and lashing out at an easy target. True, it meant that the duke was innocent, but it also meant whatever had spooked the count was still out there. Handy, however, was currently not in the mood to investigate, having hoped to have found something more substantive than just the ramblings of a drunkard and weird magical shit happening in the countryside. Honestly, with the world the way it appeared to Handy, he was surprised this didn’t happen all the time. So much for getting another magical scroll or book that might help with his plight. We’re sorry, Handy, you’re magical macguffin is in another castle.

“So,” Tanismore began, letting out a breath with a confident smile. “What now?” he asked. Handy stood on top of the steps where the drawbridge met the city streets. A few of the blue knights from before were still gathered there, several giving the pair of them evil looking glances though most appeared to have dispersed elsewhere. He looked out over the milling bodies of the townsgriffons going about their business. The sun was high in the sky and shining brightly. The smell of freshly cooked meat wafted through the air from the restaurants and taverns, mingling with the acrid yet thankfully distant stench of the town tanneries. He was hungry, he decided, and he’d rather not go face Joachim empty handed to tell the bird he was right after all. He figured seeing as he had nothing better to do, and since Tanis talked less when he had his beak stuffed with something, there was only one recourse in a town which considered it entirely reasonable to start drinking around noon. He turned to the bird at his side and cocked his head.

“Pub?” he suggested.

--=--

She looked out from under her hood, the eight of them looking directly at her, their pupiless, lidless eyes staring, their faces without expression. Perhaps, once a long time ago, this may have unnerved her, but she was too far gone to be fazed by such simple things. She breathed slowly as she turned her head to regard the long room she was in. The pillars that supported the roof were chipped, the odd one or two fallen away completely, the corners and nooks and crannies where furniture lay. There a short table, there a disused bookcase, all covered in cobwebs and long abandoned by their makers. The floor was perennially covered with a layer of dust that not even her hooves seemed to disturb as she passed by.

It was a shadow of its former self. Fitting considering its present occupant. The only light emanated from a crystal that sat haphazardly in a brazier behind her high backed chair, itself a ruin, rotting away. She turned back to the disembodied heads before her. The sound of rippling water was omnipresent and irritating, but it was a safe method for contacting her servants. The eight of them ‘sat’ down on either side of the dining table that had not seen true life in over a millennia of disuse. It said something about the craftsponyship of its creators that it had stood this long.

“Speak,” she said. Her voice soft and small, at odds with her decrepit surroundings, magnified by the acoustics of the chamber and easily carried down the table. The eight figures, six of them pony headed, one dog and one distinctly draconic in its appearance. All of them shared similarities in terms of their ‘faces’, consisting of the bare basic features they possessed, minus manes, pupils, or in the dragon’s case, the spines that ran down its head that she knew he possessed.

“The crown eludes us,” one of the ponies to her left spoke up, a stallion by the shape of its jaw, or that could just be Glider with her unfortunate bone structure. The voice was distinctly without inflection, possessing a sound of liquid flowing quickly over rocks. “We have attacked several likely caravans. To no avail.”

“I have trailed the carriages owners,” another pony to her right continued, “each belonging to different companies. We know the crown fell into the hooves of Stalliongrad Trading, but it’s clearly being moved around,” the mare said. “Whoever the true owner of the companies is, the pony is playing a shell game and being very careful about showing their real hoof when doing so.”

“I grow impatient with this folly,” she said, clapping her hoof lightly on the table. The heads seemed to flinch reflexively. She turned to face the dog on her left. “Where have you been conducting your raids?” she asked.

“I have had my dogs raiding both main and side roads leading from major pony towns and cities down along the Griffonian border towards Baltimare and Manehatten,” the surprisingly eloquent dog said. “The spoils have proven enough to keep my packs placated, but we have yet to find your prize.”

“And what of Canterlot?”

“The princesses have labelled the area as high risk due to bandit raids,” said another mare to her left. Had she not known better, she’d swear she detected a hint of smugness. “I have been doing my best to obfuscate matters and feed false intelligence to guard units sent to back up local militias in scouring the area.”

“It still made my job harder nonetheless,” the dog interjected. She tsked.

“Not. Good enough,” she said, pausing reflexively after the first word, stopping to take a breath. Once, one of her servants had expressed concern after she had several such ‘hiccups’. Needless to say, that servant was no longer with them.

“Mmmmiiiissstress…” a stallion on her right said, the drawn out word indicative of the owner stuttering or tripping over the word somehow. The spell was not perfect in communication, but it was nigh instantaneous and, more importantly, untraceable unless the pursuer knew exactly what to look for. Thankfully, the nature of the magic made it next to impossible for them to do so without using it. She had done an admirable job of containing knowledge of the old art if she did say so herself, concentrating the knowledge, and therefore all the power it held, entirely within her hooves. Which just made her all the more irritated that the one pony who compromised her goal was still nowhere to be found. Whatever the stallion had to say, he had better lighten her mood, for his sake. “Wwweee…”

“We found your acolyte,” the mare head beside him spoke up. She smiled lightly at the news.

“You have?” she asked softly. The head seemed to shimmer, meaning the mare had moved her head in some manner from where she was speaking from, most likely a nod.

“She’s in Gethrenia,” the Stallion said, regaining his nerve. “Alive.” She frowned at that. The young nag was alive? After failing her and wasting time and power? That was just… rude. The stallion turned to face the mare who had spoken up, and both expressionless faces turned to face their mistress as the mare continued.

“She is with the human,” she continued. There was a resounding crack. Her hoof had pushed down hard onto the ancient table with increasing intensity ever since the dog had finished his statement, lessening only slightly as the stallion and mare on her right had brought initial news of her failure of an acolyte, hoping it’d lighten her mood. It had not. Uncounted years of magical concentration in her body had turn the hoof into a foci of energy in its own right, and as such, it was more than capable of punching through the table with the most minimal of force.

Not only had that… wastrel failed her and wasted a generous amount of her own power, not only had she the nerve to remain alive after such failure, but she allowed herself to be taken by that thing, by what should rightfully be hers! “I want….” her voice intoned, the power of it resounding around the room despite its quiet nature. The crystal behind her flared in intensity as the dust shifted beneath her seat. “Her back… I want it back…” she demanded. The eight dared not speak. Her cloak shifted with force as an eerie green glow pierced the darkness that was her shadowed face and flashed dangerously. The globules of water that formed the disembodied heads seemed to stiffen as ice crystals materialized within their forms. “I want what’s mine returned to me. I will not. Tolerate this,” she said, letting out a cough. The intense pressure of the room lessened, the dust settled, the glow faded from her hooded face, the light of the crystal dimmed. “But that will have to. Wait,” she said, turning to the stallion and mare on her right, remaining silent for quite some time. “Keep watch on them both,” she demanded.

“If I may, mistress,” the dog spoke after what it assumed to be a reasonable amount of time. She turned slowly. “We may not know where the crown is, but we do know who its current owner is meant to be,” he said. Her ear flicked involuntarily beneath her hood, causing her frown to deepen. The dog’s head seemed to shimmer, misinterpreting her gesture. “More importantly, we know where he will be. And when.”

“Is that so?” she asked, lifting a hoof from the ruin that was the table edge beside her and rubbing the base of her muzzle. “Where?”

“Firthingart is holding a fall festival with a tournament. The current lord has publicly bragged of his intention to be there.”

“That would make sense,” another stallion on her left who had not spoken up yet, possibly Glimmer. It was hard to tell with the non-voices the heads possessed. “If our elusive handler found a way to bypass our efforts in getting the crown to its intended destination, the hoofover would likely happen there…”

“Precisely,” the dog continued. “It would be risky, but it could be done. So far, the pony has not used conventional methods of getting the crown to the forests. This is most likely the instance when the changeover would happen.”

“If we follow the lord, then the crown will soon come to be ours one way or the other,” she intoned, smiling once more, much to her servants’ relief. “Thunder,” she ordered. One of the stallions turned. “I expect you to handle this. You will go to this tournament, locate the lord, and follow him. Learn who his contact is and intercept the crown,” she commanded.

“Of course, mistress,” he responded. “May I request your grace in pursuing my objective?” he dared to ask. She snorted, causing his head to shimmer.

“Your own power should be more than capable of seeing you through this. Chopper?”

“Yes?” the dog responded

“Have your packs ready. Thunder, if you run into difficulties, the dogs shall assault the tournament, giving you the cover you need to retrieve the artefact.”

“But…” Chopper said. “The tournament will be full of soldiers and knights from the surrounding kingdoms, not to mention Firthengart’s guards. I’d be risking a lot of dogs.”

“So?” she asked dispassionately. Chopper did not respond immediately.

“Yes…. Mistress.” he said at last.

“Good. The rest of you are to continue your duties until I inform you otherwise,” she said. One by one, the globules lost focus and form, dropping sloppily into rough-hewn wooden buckets placed upon the chairs. The circles painted unto the chairs beneath the containers shimmered ever so slightly with dull light before dying out. She hopped down from her chair and slowly made her way out of the room. The dragon head had not dissipated, instead turning on the spot and following her as she left.

“What is it?” she asked softly, stopping halfway down the table, not turning to regard the dragon. The dragon head spoke for the first time that night.

“How have you been?” it asked.

“What sort of question is that?”

“One a friend asks,” it replied. Had it been anypony else, the brazenness of such an outburst would have cost them dearly.

“I have only slim patience this night. Be quick with your real intentions.”

“In truth, I am concerned,” it said. “About this human... what is your interest in it?” it asked. She scoffed.

“My interest is that it’s my property, brought here by my will. I want what is mine, you know this. Your concern is misplaced and unwanted. Do not do it again.”

“I ask only because the human seems to disrupt whatever balance there is whenever it arrives. It has done so in Equestria to a minor extent. It has single handedly changed the fate of a changeling kingdom and overthrown a kingdom in Griffonia,” it said. “Should you pursue the human, it’ll become aware of you. That may not be the wisest course of action.”

She hissed through gritted teeth. “That little bint probably already told it enough about me. It is not something which concerns me.” She continued her pace, her distance from the magical circle causing the dragon head’s consistency to tremble.

“Do you remember…” it asked, its voice crackling and sounding as if spoken through a waterfall. “The last time you so eagerly dismissed the danger of something that knew you sought to possess it?”

She snarled loudly, a sudden burst of aetheric energy thundering from her equine form, billowing clouds of dust and shuddering the weakened structure of the room, causing ancient plaster to crumble from the ceiling and her eyes to light afire with green flame. “Do not dare mention that harlot before me ever again, do you hear me, Meranax!?” Her voice was barely raised above its ordinary volume, but the room shook nonetheless. “The Crystal Queen was a tyrannical fool! Centuries I had to watch, fuming in impotence as she spread her dominion over the united tribes and beyond! The idiot sealed her own fate, and now she is all but forgotten. You will not make my thoughts dwell on her!" she fumed. Even as she spoke, she knew her own recollection of that ancient figure and her defeat at her hands was foggy at best, but she remembered the hurt and indignity all too well. "Not even our familiarity will save you. Do you understand me, Meranax?” she demanded. The draconic head was barely coherent. She snorted as her power died down, walking out of the room. The water dropped back into its bucket as she left, the crystal dimming until the entire room was blackened with darkness.

She made her way down the winding corridors of her ancient home. Lost as it was within the most forsaken quarters of Equestria, there could be no more private form of lodgings afforded to one such as her. The only sound echoing through the decaying structure was that of her own hoofsteps as she made her way to her quarters. Briefly, she stopped and turned. A broken shard of glass, milky and warped with age, lay upon a windowsill long overtaken by a growth of an ancient, gnarled oak that blocked the view. She gazed down at it to see her own reflection. She raised a hoof and touched her face, specifically one part that was at once both there and missing. She closed her eyes and walked on.

It wouldn’t do to linger on what did not concern her. All she wanted now was knowledge and power. Two sides of the same coin, and she wanted them for their own sake. What more was there to life? She continued onwards, her cloak trailing the dust behind her, and it was as she mused on her favourite things that she noticed it. She was not alone in her sanctum. A cold fury built within her that she had not felt in some time. Who was it that trespassed on what was hers? Who would dare? She stopped and turned, listening, sensing without seeing, knowing without being. There was nopony in the building, at least, no pony living, for no hoof trod upon the floors that did not belong to her, no breath breathing her air but her own. Something was rotten, and she could feel the pall darken the ethereal waves that flowed through the manse.

The hairs on her withers rose. She knew this sensation. It was familiar, whoever… Whatever this was, she had met it before, but where? She moved on, her mouth moving quickly, summoning wards and incantations in preparation. She had not used any magic but the old arts in such a long time, but those that she did use she had committed to memory long ago. So ingrained where they that she could list them off by rote, the words flowing before her eyes as she spoke, yet not visible to any but her. All of it could be cast at the utterance of a single syllable, and in a flare of energy, she could obliterate practically anything should she so choose. Whoever this was, they had chosen the wrong pony to trespass against.

She made her way to her chambers and closed the door. Now all there was to do, was wait. Wait and see who dared. That was when it happened. The chilling touch of that which was not, scraping the inside of her skull. Her tongue contorted, and she uttered a syllable that had no business coming from a pony’s mouth. Her horn flared with tremendous power, her eyes blazed with balefire, and her fur glowed. Innumerable flowing scripts covering her form warped and swirled as the wards of power activated all at once. A protective circle manifested beneath her hooves. The room was destroyed in the process, the ancient tapestries and drapes, long since moth eaten and ruined, were torn to shreds as a wave of force crashed into them. The walls cracked and the wooden floor groaned in protest as hoarfrost spread in icy webs across all surfaces of the room.

‘Iiiiiiiiissssssssssssss thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaat aaaaaaaannnyyyyy wwwaaaaayyyyyyy toooooo trrrreeeeeeaaaaaaat aaaaaaaaaaa ffffffrrrrriiiiieeeennnd?’

‘Sssssssssuuuuuuuuuuchhhhhh aaaaa llllooooooonnnng tiiiiiimmmmeeeeee’

Her eyes widened, and the intensity of the magic increased. The words scraped at her very mind in spite of her tremendous power. “You.” she hissed.

’Yyyyyyyeeeeeessssssssss.’

’Iiiiiiiiit iiiisssss Iiiiiiiii’

’Rrrrrreeeemmmmeeeembeeeerrrrrr?’

’Mmmmeeeeemmmmoooorrrrriiiieeeeessssss ssssssstiiiiilllll?’

She grit her teeth and tried her best to maintain her temper. She remembered this, getting under her skin, poking holes where it found them. There were blank spots in her memories, necessary sacrifices, not as if they were ever important. She learned long ago to be able to determine for herself what stayed and what was left.

“I have been…. cautious,” the pony said, not bothering to move, trying to ignore the mocking tone as the voices clawed at her psyche. How did it come back? Why? Where had it been this whole time? She kept her magic lit, though it did nothing to stop the infernal pressure on her mind.

’Nnnnnooooot eeeeennnnooouuuugggghhhhh, iiiiit sssseeeeeeemmmmmsssss’

She grit her teeth. “I will not deal with you further. Be gone, you have nothing to offer me,” she said. “I made that mistake once before…”

’Dooooo yyyyooooouuuuu rrrrrreeeeegrrrreeeeeet iiiiiit?’

She bit her lip. There was no way she was going to answer that. “Be gone. There is nothing here for you.”

’Iiiiiii thhhhiiiiiiiinnnnnk thhhhhhhheeeeerrrrrrreeee iiiiiiiisssssssss.’

“There isn’t. Leave.”

’Aaaaaaaa trrrrrraaaaaadeeeee?’

’Aaaaaaannnn accooooooorrrrrrrd?’

’Geeeeeennneeeeeerrrrroooouuuuusssss’

“What more could you want from me?” she said, raising a hoof to her chest protectively. Though what she sought to protect most certainly wasn’t there anymore.

’Whhhhaaaaaaat yyyyoooouuuu sssssseeeeeek… Iiiiii sssseeeeeeek.’

’Hhhhhaaaaaavvvvve whhhhaaaaat yyyyooouuuuu wwwwwaaaaant’

’Oooobtaaaaaaiiiinnnn… Deeessssiiiiirrrreeeee’

“The crown?” she asked, her ear flicking.

’Nnnnoooooo’

’Peeerrrrhhhhaaaapssss… llllaaaateeeerrrr.’

“Then…” she said. If it wasn't the crown it sought, then it had to be the other object of her greed. At once, she wondered what it was about it this thing could desire. She thought about looking into the mirror above the long cold fireplace in her darkened chambers but knew better than to look the tempter in the eye. Then she wondered: did she particularly care? If she could get what it desired, perhaps... She looked down at her hooves for a moment. “What is it you’re offering in return?”

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