• Published 15th Apr 2014
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An Extended Holiday - Commander_Pensword



Adventure, Mayhem, Magic of unknown origins, and talking colorful Ponies. All being unrelated events have brought three friends together into the wildest holiday that anyone could imagine.

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105 - Brothers of the Mine, Rejoice!

Extended Holiday
Ch 105: Brothers of the Mine, Rejoice!
Act 15


The gold-enameled murals stretched on for miles as the great stone portal yawned open. One of the Dwarven guides struck a flint to the side, and ignited a long trail of pitch that traced from one torch to the next, lighting up the pathway, and revealing the twin set of rails that awaited. A massive rail cart sat in front of them with enough seats to hold up to twelve passengers. The seats were carefully carved out of a fibrous material that felt almost like wood, but more porous, and smooth. The cushions that had been placed felt a little lumpy, but they were soft, and somewhat bouncy to the touch.

“Are these . . . mushrooms?” Vital Spark asked curiously.

“Aye,” one Dwarf answered. “They grow big enough to make furniture from, and they're comfy to boot.”

“This cart system looks ingenious. Who designed the rails?”

“An inventor from two or three generations ago. Math BearDwarf.”

“And this hall has all of your history in it?”

“We try to keep an accurate record. We don’t record every time the President cuts a fart, mind you, but we get the important stuff.”

“How far back does the record go?”

“Three thousand years,” the Dwarf said proudly.

Vital whistled. “And you’ve been underground all that time?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, this is going to sound really stupid, and possibly crazy, but you Dwarves wouldn’t happen to have been crafted out of the rock of Equis itself, would you?”

“Depends on what you believe.” The Dwarf shrugged. “We don’t know how we were made exactly, but I doubt anyone can tell you that much. We’re born, we live, and we die.”

“Have your people always dwelled beneath the surface?”

“We’re not sure,” the Dwarf admitted. “We were forced from our homes a long time ago, and found our way here.”

“Forced? By who?”

“Unicorns.”

“Oh. That . . . would explain alot about some of the looks I was getting before Hammer Strike . . . explained things.”

“You didn’t think the hornheads got all that gold and jewels through honest work, did you?”

“Um, the ones I know do. Well, with some few exceptions,” Vital amended. “Some of those nobles up in Canterlot are real jerks. Don’t know them well, but I know of them.”

“This was before all that.” The Dwarf pointed to a spot on the wall they had conveniently been passing, showing the Dwarves working on the city, even as the ground around them was saturated in frost.

“So Celestia and Luna wouldn’t have even heard about you, unless the Pegasi or other Earth Ponies said something. I wonder why they didn’t,” Vital pondered.

“They likely thought us for dead. Didn’t realize the earth gets warmer the lower you get.”

“I would’ve thought you’d at least live on in legends, though. It’s like someone deliberately blotted you out. Then again, I suppose the Unicorn nobles wouldn’t like a stain like that on their record. It would make sense that they’d either clear the history books, or worse, use a memory spell to make people forget you entirely.”

“Well, I can’t know what our ancestors thought, but, to me, it seems for the best. We’ve come a long way without interference.”

“Clearly. So what other parts of your history did you want to show us?”

“Well what do you want to see? We have a very long history, and it’s still being painted, even as we speak. Right now, Dwarves are painting this conversation.”

“Seriously?” Vital Spark raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I know keeping a record is important, but isn’t going into this much detail a little extreme?”

“And if your god appeared to ye and you had a conversation with him, would you not record that?”

“. . . Touché.”

“We might need to wrap up this visit for now. I need to go seal the tunnels leading to New Unity from the Badlands. Can’t have anything make it’s way over here, but now I’ll make sure I leave a route open for here, unless you all want me to seal the surface tunnel?” Hammer Strike questioned.

“Oh, the tunnels have been cleared and sealed already, Blue Lard. Dinnae anyone mention we’ve been fightin’ the demons for days now?”

“I think that was mentioned, but it was when we first arrived, so, yeah. But that’s great, because I could use some rest for a change. Reopening wounds probably wouldn’t be a great idea.”

“They caught us by surprise, this time. One of these big brutes killed some yearling scorpions, before we knew what was going on. Of course, the the breeding age females went into a rage. It wasn’t a pretty sight, I’ll tell you. Either way, we’ve set up sentries, and planned out outposts. Nothing will be tunneling this way again. I can promise you that.”

“That is great news. Thanks.” Hammer Strike smiled. “I needed good news for a change.”

“Had we known they were going to attack you, or that you were back, we’d have sent our warriors to help you. It’s an oversight we won’t be making again.”

“Hopefully it won’t happen again. I killed off their leader, Chrysalis.”

“Still, if you want to head back, at least let us prepare a ride for you.”

“I can walk. Good for the legs, you know.”

“Carrying baskets full of the deeper ores to use as you see fit, and your hammer? And your steam spirit, likely, by the time you reach the surface?”

After a few moments, Hammer Strike sighed. “Good point.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll set you up with three of our finest scorpions.” The Dwarf smiled proudly. “Make sure we get you a few eggs as well. That way you’ll be ready the next time some heathen dares attack you.”

“This is going to be interesting to explain to everyone in New Unity,” Hammer Strike commented wryly.

“Amen,” Vital agreed.


Pensword looked at the full moon that Luna had provided them, and back at the cemetery. They had buried the Thestrals, and the Unicorns and Earth Pony bodies were currently under cryo spells waiting for their families to arrive for their funerals. The Pegasi would conduct their ceremonies tomorrow. He looked sadly at the moon, and the graves, then broke out of his reverie as he saw one of the Thestrals walking up to him. “Yes, Moon Biter?”

“The clans were wondering if we should start moving lumber to rebuild.”

“Have them prepare the supplies at the edge of the forest. I got a bit of a chewing for building the last one without clearing it with all the boards the first time. I will speak to Lord Hammer Strike, and whomever he needs me to talk to.” He grimaced. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Sir, how many did we lose?”

“All said?” Pensword sighed regretfully, and shook his head. “From all sides, four hundred ninety five souls went to their reward.”

“I’ll . . . see to that lumber, Sir,” Moon Biter said somberly as she flew off.

Pensword nodded solemnly as he watched a Pegasus landing nearby, having been prevented from going further by other Thestrals. Luna was still passing over the new graves. A large number who had died were from her personal guard. Even as she walked on silent hooves, he could see her tears glittering in the moonlight. Pensword walked to the line, and nodded his head to the guards, before addressing the Pegasus. “Can I help you? It is far past your bedtime, flyer of feathers.” He paused, more than a little surprised at how easily he had slipped into the more traditional patterns of his upbringing. Being around the other Thestrals probably helped.

“Commander.” The Pegasus nodded. “I was speaking with some of the other Pegasi, and we were wondering if, that is, with your permission, of course. Well, we’d like to construct a hall of paragons here.”

Pensword’s train of thought immediately screeched to a halt. “I will need to take you to see Grif. He knows Lord Hammer Strike’s time table better, and he can get you in faster. I lead the troops, but he and his team run the city’s construction. I can take you to see if Grif is awake right now. I do not know when Lord Hammer Strike will return from taking care of the tunnels, but I assure you we will get you in as fast as possible.”

“Thank you, Commander,” the Pegasus said, nodding her head respectfully again.

“If you would follow me,” Pensword said as he took to the air. He waited for the Pegasus to follow. “What is your name?”

“Cross Breeze, Sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Cross Breeze,” Pensword replied. They flew on in silence for a time, until they drew near the compound, where they were soon meet by a Gryphon guard. “Is Grif awake, or should we come back in the morning?”

“The morning might be best, Sir,” the guard said frankly. “The clan leader has been working steadily from the moment that battle ended, and has only just now taken the time to rest.”

“I can understand.” Pensword nodded. “I have been falling more into my nocturnal side lately. My apologies.” He chuckled. “What time in the morning should we return?”

“How about first thing?”

“That works.”


It started with a dull rumble, and a dust cloud on the horizon rising out of the Everfree Forest. It only took moments for the guard to mobilize, and the alarm to be sounded. Something was approaching New Unity, and was making enough noise to be a stampeding herd of cattle. Arrows were prepared, archers stood at the ready, and mages prepared to weave the shield enchantment again, should the need arise. The Demos each held a set of granados just waiting to be lit and tossed from the battlements. Then two specks flew in, rapidly closing, followed by an incredibly annoying Jersey accent.

“Hey. Hey, guys! You’ve gotta see this!” the first of the Scouts hooted.

The second Scout laughed as they flew around Grenado and Charge. “Yo, Demos. I think you’ve got some family visiting! And get this. Hammer Strike’s their god!” Both Scouts fell into a fit a giggles as they clung to each other while they hovered in the air.

“What are ye talkin’ about, ya idiot!” Demolition Charge growled.

“Hammer Strike’s riding a bunch of giant scorpions like a freaking boss,” Forward Scout said. “Seriously, he’s got the whole flowing cape thing going for him with the way his coat catches in the wind. You couldn’t get any closer to epic hero if you slapped a sticker on him, and wrote it in permanent marker!”

“You know, they say our accents make us hard to understand,” Medic said, “but I never truly understand a word from his mouth.”

“Just smile and nod. It’s what I’ve been doing since we met,” Camoflauge said.

Espionage nodded in agreement. “All they ever want is attention.”

“Speak Equestrian, hippie!” Blue Soldier shouted.

“Lighten up, Blue,” Forward Scout said with a chuckle. “You’re crampin’ everyone’s style. Keep venting that hot air, and you’ll be up in the clouds with us in no time.”

Meanwhile, the Heavies remained oblivious to the whole interaction as they sat at the walls with their crossbows, nibbling on sandviches.

“Crikey!” Sniper Shot shouted. “Lord Hammer Strike’s riding this way on top of some bloody large scorpions. He looks right impressive like that!”

Demolition Charge looked at Forward Scout. “Now why didn’t ya just say that?” he said rolling his eye.

“We did!” both Scouts shouted in unison. “Stupid cyclops.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Demolition Charge said before turning to shout. “Stand down! It’s Hammer Strike!”

Visible signs of relief flowed throughout the compound. After the last great battle, they really weren’t well suited for a second assault, especially with morale so low after all the casualties.

“Also, he’s coming in on a pair of bloody huge scorpions, so prepare yourselves!” Demolition Grenado added a moment later.

The sound of deep, heavy horns heralded the arrival of the party, before they even passed the tree line. True to the rumors, three gigantic scorpions carried not only Hammer Strike and Vital Spark, but a sizable detachment of short, stocky Ponies, even by Pony standards. A series of baskets and satchels were safely secured to the creatures’ carapaces as they made their way to the bridge, before finally skittering to a stop, and lowering themselves to the ground for their handlers to dismount.

Pensword gaped at the event. “Giant Scorpions. Giant . . . Scorpions.” He groaned as he smacked himself on the forehead. “I am almost done with today, and the sun has only barely risen.”

“Cool,” Grif said. “I hadn’t realized gorgon scorpions exist here.”

“Well, that just means you weren’t lookin’ hard enough now, don’t it?” a voice called down from below. Both Scouts screeched to a halt in mid-flight.

“Uh, Demos, you guys wouldn’t happen to have been working on a ventriloquist act or somethin’, would ya?” Forward Scout ventured.

“Ah haven’t drunk enough for this yet,” Grenado said.

“We got some ale, if you’re interested, but ye’ve got ta open the gate first, ya idiots! Or have you forgotten how to be courteous to your lord in his absence?”

“Duncan!” Vital Spark chided.

“Ah’m just callin’ it like I see it is all.”

“Hey, idiots! Why ain’t the gate open?” Demolition Charge shouted to the gate house.

A pair of stallions stumbled out the door, before promptly passing out with a dazed smile on each of their faces. Big Guns approached them, took one big whiff, then snorted.

“Demos, did you leave them a gift when you two left the post for good?” he asked.

Pensword facehoofed. “Big Guns, you get that gate open right now. I’ll deal with this situation later. The Demos, and those two, are going to feel my wrath!” He looked to Grif. “Grif, we’ll have to do our meeting later. The long of the short is a Pegasus wants to build a hall of paragons, and we need to talk to Hammer Strike.” He promptly flew to the two soldiers in question, and jerked them to their feet.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Hammer Strike,” Grif said. “Let’s sort this out.”

The portcullis was quickly raised, and the gates opened as Big Guns operated the devices responsible for each, and the party made their way inside the courtyard. A large barrel marked by two blue diamond pickaxes was quickly dropped onto the cobblestones as its contents sloshed about inside. The Demos both gaped at the sight, and a tear formed in Grenado’s good eye.

“I thought it was just a myth,” Grenado said.

“What? This? It’s just your standard ale. Nothin’ to get teary-eyed over, lads,” Duncan said pointedly.

“No.” Pensword stood between the Demos and their prize. “There has to be some form of punishment for getting my guards sloused. You’re not tapping that for a week,” Pensword finished with a glare. He turned around, and nodded to Hammer Strike. “Happy to see you made it back. And . . . you found friends. Why am I not surprised?” he half asked himself. “Anyway, there are a few things to take care of, but, seeing as we have visitors, I will be sure to get the guest quarters ready, and have some food prepared for our guests. It is good to see you.” He looked to the Unicorn. “Not too shaken up, are you, Vital?” He chuckled nervously, and kept his distance.

“Nah. Surprisingly, when they’re this big, they’re actually not that bad. Just don’t insult them or go after their hatchlings, and they’re actually pretty nice. I think Fluttershy would love to get to know these critters.”

“We could have used some of these guys during the battle,” Grif noted.

“Fair point. They probably would have enjoyed a little insectoid snack. Speaking of which, Hammer Strike, if you’re going to keep a few of these here, we’re going to need to train them not to eat any of Me-Me’s Changelings.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be interesting having giant scorpions here,” Hammer Strike replied.

“You’re the one who said you’d keep ‘em. I’m just saying,” Vital Spark pointed out.

Duncan shrugged. “We’ll just leave behind a couple of trainers to help teach your men how to raise them. It won’t be that hard, ya know, as long as they treat the babes right.”

“That’ll be useful. I’d prefer as little problems as we can have for raising them,” Hammer Strike commented.

“So, Hammer Strike, who’s your friend?” Grif asked as he pointed to the hammer on the stallion’s back.

Ulkrusher. A gift from the Dwarves that’s been in the works for over a thousand years.” Hammer Strike grinned.

“Great. something else for me to keep an eye out for,” Pensword muttered. “Also, I need to see you and Grif when you both have a free moment. I’ve got some things to convey from some sources.”

“Alright.”

“So, what do you have here that passes for drink? My men and I are thirsty, and we’d like to try some of your . . . unique forms of liquid refreshment,” Duncan noted.

“Grenado, Charge, pull out whatever you guys have stored,” Hammer Strike called out.

The Demos let out a synchronized sigh as they headed to do so.

“That may well be the worst punishment of all for them,” Vital noted. “Having to watch their best brews being consumed before their very eyes without being able to enjoy a single drop. Seriously, Pensword, that’s downright diabolical.”

“Almost a war crime.” Grif chuckled.

“They could have killed those two,” Pensword rumbled. “They gave the borderline stuff. I can smell it from here.”

“Lack of alcohol might kill them.”

“I did say only the new ale. Nothing else. They have to wait a week for this new brew.”

“Just make sure you punish the idiots who drunk it equally as hard.” Grif chuckled. “Because honestly, you don’t need to be a genius to realize what that stuff is.”

“Oh, I have a few ideas involving toothbrushes, dungeons, and silk,” Pensword responded.

“Yeah. Get someone on these scorpions, and get our little friends set up. I’ll see about getting us some privacy,” Hammer Strike said.


Pensword sat, well-settled in his corner of pillows as he waited for the others to settle down in Hammer Strike’s office. He didn’t know how the others would react, so he had restricted this to just Hammer Strike, Grif, and himself. Lunar Fang knew already, but considering the nature of this particular piece of information, he knew it would be best to tell them before he sent the letters to Celestia and Luna.

“So what's with the cloak and dagger?” Grif asked as he settled down onto all fours, and casually rested his chin on his hand. Hammer Strike simply sat at his desk with his usual stern gaze.

Pensword sighed, and braced for the inevitable. “Queen Chrysalis is not dead.”

“What makes you say that?” Hammer Strike questioned. “Because, last I remember, I was the one who crashed through that stained glass window, and used a shard of it to cleave off her head.” A few stray sparks shot out from his hooves, and he promptly extinguished them with a hoof, before they could have the chance to damage any of his paperwork. He took a deep breath, and released. “So, what gives you the idea she’s still alive?”

“Because I talked to Me-Me. She informed me that, unless a Queen is cut off from her hive, she will be able to jump her mind to an unhatched larva in an egg, and morph herself into the new queen.” He groaned. “So, basically, the only way to really get rid of Chrysalis is to disrupt her link to her hive mind, kill her off, and hope she doesn’t have any backups. That, or get a princess who’s more power hungry than her mother to force a coup, and kill said mother.” Pensword rubbed an anxious hoof over his mane. “Meaning we could have the body count of ten queens, and she could still come back.”

“Well. That just made things harder.” Grif sighed.

“Just fantastic. One hundred percent delightful.” Hammer Strike exhaled heavily, and a cloud of steam hovered in the air, before gradually dissipating. “Any other bits of news?”

“Tell me about it,” Pensword said sympathetically. “I destroyed two dummies after learning that little fact. As for other news, we got a request to build a Pegasus hall of paragons. Also, I would like to formalize where to build the Thestral quarters, as the original structure was decimated, and burned during the siege.”

Hammer Strike shrugged. “Easy enough. We’ll look to the map, find the district, and follow the markers to known locations of open facilities.”

“That sounds good. When do you want to meet with the Pegasus representative for their building? I’ll look at the lands and get things situated, and get a copy of plans, so you can build around the longhouse. It is one of our most important community buildings.”

“Whenever I’m not busy with paperwork and repairs.” Hammer Strike shrugged. “I don’t know my schedule just yet. It takes a few days before I can actually get something down.”

“That's kinda the norm at the moment. We just had a battle, and I think it will take some time to get or–.”

“SIR!” Blast and Tower Shield broke into the room suddenly. “Sir, we have problems.”

“Can’t I get some good news for a change?” Hammer Strike muttered. “What is it?”

Pensword had jumped to his hooves, and was already on alert as his eyes roamed over the room, and ears flickered to catch any noise.

“They're coming. We just received the messenger. They heard New Unity was in a battle. They smell the blood in the water.”

Pensword looked worried. “One question. Is it an army marching towards us?”

“Worse,” Tower Shield groaned. “Nobles.”

“Ex Divinia Etiam. They’re going to want to change everything we’re doing.” Hammer Strike quickly joined his subordinates in an overly exaggerated groan that only the truly tried have ever managed to produce.

“Luna’s warhammer save us,” Pensword swore.

Grif let out a long stream of curses in Phrench.


Hammer Strike sat on the broken seat in the throne room. It had originally been suggested for him to use the intact throne, but something about what the broken throne symbolized called to him. The remains of the seat of power had been shifted to the center of the room, and Ulkrusher leaned against its arm beside him. The other throne had been removed entirely. A ragtag selection of Gryphon and Pony guards had been appointed, and placed in said throne room, armed with either a halberd or a spear. A representative of the Horses, the Kitsune, and the Dwarves, who had demanded to be part of the proceedings, stood off to the side.

On the dais, exactly six feet away from Hammer Strike on either side, Blast and Tower Shield stood in full armor. Grif stood on Hammer Strike’s right. He’d pressed for them to simply turn the nobles away, saying New Unity wasn’t sufficiently ready to receive them, but as Hammer Strike’s servants had pointed out, this would have resulted in all good will towards them, and to Luna’s bill, being lost.

Clover stood on Hammer Strike’s left, dressed in full formal robes. Her focus leaned familiarly against her body. Pensword and Vital Spark stood across from each other on the bottom step of the dais. Clover had decided, and Hammer Strike had agreed, if Vital Spark was going to be staying, he should learn to handle these kinds of proceedings.

“They’re only just entering the gate,” Grif said. “We can still send the vultures away.”

“It’s better to get this over with now, rather than later,” Hammer Strike replied as he rolled his eyes.

“Besides, I am sure we can use this to our advantage,” Pensword said.

“Just as long as that Cobble Pot doesn’t come, too. He gives me the creeps.” Vital Spark shuddered.

Grif was about to signal the door to be open, when, in a flash of magic, Twilight and her friends appeared in the middle of the throneroom.

“Maybe we shouldn’t jump so far next time, Twilight,” Spike commented as he wiped some soot from his tail.

Pinkie smiled at them faintly. Her coat was muted, and her hair was limp. Not straight, but limp. She walked to Hammer Strike, and ever so gently placed a cupcake on his lap. “I’m sorry about your friends,” she said, before backing away.

“Thank you,” Hammer replied after a moment as he put the cupcake off to the side. It wouldn’t be appropriate to eat it now.

Rarity approached, and took her place next to the throne. “If I’m going to be your fiance, then I’d best act like one. If you have to face these vultures, you’re not facing them alone,” she said pointedly. As part of her preparations for the meeting, she’d put on her ruby-studded earrings, and Spike’s fire heart ruby necklace. She nuzzled Hammer Strike gently, then waited.

“I guess the friendship court will be the first to send it’s regards over the battle,” Twilight said awkwardly, as if she wasn’t entirely prepared for this. “You know, Hammer Strike, if you need anything, just ask us. I know you probably don’t, and you won’t, but the offer’s still there.”

Hammer Strike allowed himself a small smile. This was perhaps one of the only genuine offers of aid without strings attached that he would be receiving in the coming days. “Thank you for the offer, but, yes, you are correct.”

“Hello, Hammer Strike,” Fluttershy said meekly. “Can we go now? I mean, if that’s okay with you. . . .”

“Go ahead.” Hammer Strike nodded his assent. “I know you’ll probably not want to stick around for what is to come.”

“Why not take her to see our new friends?” Grif said, signaling a Gryphon, and telling him to escort the gentle Pegasus to where the scorpions were resting via one of the side passages.

Rainbow Dash sighed. “Look, I know I’m pretty awesome and all that, but . . . I haven’t really had to do anything like this before. So, yeah. Basically, what they all said.” She walked over to Pensword then, and saluted. “Permission to help with cloud duty, Sir?”

“Permission granted,” Pensword answered crisply. “Go and make your family proud.”

Rainbow Dash saluted again, then zipped off to find the other Pegasi left in the units. They had clouds to gather, and barges to prepare.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what y’all are goin’ through right now, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to give us a call. It’s times like these family’s gotta stick together, and like it or not, Hammer Strike, we’re like a family now, especially Grif over there,” Applejack said.

“How is my sister doing? Wedding plans going well?”

“I swear, if they keep up with all this plannin’ business, they won’t be married for another year!” Applejack chuckled. “Grannie’s gettin’ impatient for some great grandfoals to raise.”

“I’ll get Tall Oak to talk to her,” Grif promised, “but, for now, you should find a place to either watch or just wait this all out. We need to get this done as soon as possible.”

“You kiddin’ me? I’m stayin’ right here,” Applejack said stubbornly. “You’ll need someone who can tell when they’re lyin’, and you won’t get a better lie detector than me.”

“If you have an aneurysm, don’t blame me.” Grif chuckled. He lifted his claw, and signaled the guards to open the gate. The nobles were escorted into the throneroom in pairs by a guard. They would give their names and greetings, and some would even leave some small token of friendship. Hammer Strike, for his part, said nothing as they did so. When they finished, he would simply nod his head, and bang Ulkrsuher on the floor in a show of gratitude. In this way, when he was greeting a noble he was friendly with, he could make the hammer ring against the floor, but if he greeted a noble he didn’t trust, he could bang the hammer on the floor just a bit too hard, so that cracks would be left on the stone beneath, giving a clear message to any who would cause trouble. Four hours later, as the last of the nobles were shown in, everyone was tired, and the stone under Ulkrusher had been rendered to powder.

When it was done, Grif had discreetly managed to finish the speech he had been pasting together in his head.

“Good nobles of Equestria. On behalf of Lord Hammer Strike, I thank each of you for coming out to offer us your good will, and your regards for those we have lost. We realize the journey here was not a short trip, and, for many of you, it was only made longer by the current state of the Everfree forest. Please be assured we have enough troops to make sure you will each be escorted back to your place of rest safely. To those of you who so generously brought gifts, he adds his thanks a second time. Such things are unnecessary but it is good to see New Unity has such good friends. It seems most obvious that, with the current schedule of events here, my lord will be unable to give you all the immediate audiences you deserve. Therefore, if you would provide the Ponies you will find waiting outside the room with the topic of your stay, we shall sort you out appropriately, and my lord shall make time for you when it becomes available. Please remember, while you are in our grounds, to stay away from the construction you see about the walls, the buildings outside the walls, and the Thestral homes. Please also remember to avoid the Bladefeather compound, and the kennels. Thank you, my friends.”

“I also request that you avoid my troops and my office. If you have issue with me, or my troops, let the Ponies know, and I will make sure you are seen to this week,” Pensword said pointedly. He was not about to take any funny business when he had so many families to notify.

“And, of course,” Clover chimed in, “do not come around my labs, whether I am there or not. Do not tell me how powerful your foals are, and how much they’d be helpful as an apprentice. I am not accepting personal students at this time, and my current classes are for battle magic only.”

“So, without further adieu, my friends, we will disperse this meeting with our thanks. Good evening.”

Some few nobles tried to raise objections, only for a final authoritative blow from Ulkrusher to send them scurrying away.

“Huh, so that’s how you clean house,” Vital Spark said as he watched them flood into the hall, and out the main doors.


Vital Spark opened the door to Clover’s lab hesitantly. “Um, is it safe for me to come in?”

“Get in, before the wards push you out,” Clover ordered.

“He slowly shut the door. “You put up a warding spell?”

“No,” Clover said as the door slammed shut behind him. Several silver locks clamped shut, and then numerous chains of light bound the door. Frost and ice covered it moments later, and, finally, Vital heard a loud fwooshing sound, and somepony with a high class accent screamed about his eyebrows. “I put up several.”

“Huh. I could’ve sworn I shook that one,” Vital commented. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“You can live without eyebrows. It makes it really hard for people to tell your expression, but maybe he’ll find a use for that.”

Vital shuddered. “You may have given him one of the strongest weapons a noble could ask for, Clover.”

“Maybe, but I’ve also marked him, and sent a message.”

“Fair enough. How’s my baby doing?”

“Well, there has been some activity inside the egg. It seems like it could be ready to hatch soon.”

“Exciting.” He chuckled nervously. “Um, look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I upset you earlier. I, um, well, I don’t really know what to say, but . . . do you think it’s okay if I keep learning from you?”

“You’d better. Otherwise, who knows who they might try and stick me with.”

“I thought you had control over that.”

“Yes, but they’ll be lobbying me for decades.”

Vital Spark chuckled, and hugged her. “Thanks. I actually missed you guys a lot. If it wasn’t for Pinkie Pie, I probably would’ve had a breakdown back on Earth.”

Clover smiled for a moment, before breaking out of the hug, and turning back to the egg. “Anyway, I’m still having trouble finding the proper hatching stimulus.”

“Have you witnessed phoenix eggs hatching before?”

“Once, on a research experiment with Star Swirl.”

“What was it like?”

“It was beautiful.” Clover smiled. “The parents sung to the eggs as the sun was rising. They started to hatch just as the sun hit them.”

“I’m guessing this was fire phoenixes, right?”

“Yes.”

“So wouldn’t it make sense that a similar stimulus would likely work on an ice phoenix egg, only with something related to ice, instead, like the first snow of winter, or maybe something to do with the winter solstice?”

“That’s a viable theory.” Clover nodded.

“So wait till the first snow of winter, I guess, and sort of go from there?” He shivered as a sudden blast of cold emanated from the egg, covering his fur and mane in icicles. “Aww, it m-m-m-missed me,” he chattered.

“I guess so.” Clover couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Vital laughed with her as he turned the crystals to snow, and shook off the excess. “All right. Let’s get to work.”


Pensword kept his emotion stoic as he waited. Baron Sharp Spear had demanded to speak to him, and, regrettably, it had been a request as a noble to a noble. Sometimes, it was very annoying having to juggle being both a military commander and a high ranking noble. The field of battle was far more invigorating in combat, than it was crossing metaphorical swords by exchanging words. Fortunately, his higher status at least allowed him to decide the location for this meeting. As such, Pensword had selected his office. If he had to engage in a war of words, this would be the best place to do it from. Now he just had to wait for the baron.

There was a knock at his door, and Preston opened it. “He’s here.”

Pensword nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Preston left. A few moments later, the door opened again, and the light blue Unicorn with a blond mane walked in, dressed in frills, and an overcoat. He quickly approached the desk with neither invitation nor ceremony.

“How can I help you, Baron Sharp Spear?” Pensword asked.

“You can start by telling me where my son is,” Sharp Spear said brusquely. It was clear he wanted to establish a sense of control in the conversation from the beginning. “I’ve been searching all over this ruin of a keep, and I can’t find him anywhere. He doesn’t answer my letters, he doesn’t scry, and, to be perfectly frank with you, Commander Pensword, he should have been transferred back to Canterlot by now. Now where are you keeping him? I demand to see him immediately.”

Pensword’s heart nearly stopped as the impact of those words struck him full force. “I am sorry, Baron.” His voice caught in his throat. He swallowed. “But if your son did indeed receive orders of that nature, then he hid those papers from me, and kept at his post of his own volition. He led no less than five incursions against the Changeling droves during the siege, and rallied the troops from the beginning to the very end. He has been an exemplary soldier in every way.” He sighed and shook his head. The baron still hadn’t taken a seat.

“Baron, I must insist that you sit down before we continue.”

“I will not, Sir!” Sharp Spear proclaimed as he slammed an angry hoof onto the floor.

Pensword steeled himself, forcing an impartial mask to cover his face as he struggled to keep the pain contained. No matter how many mares and stallions he had lost, it always was the hardest telling direct members, even if said members were pompous, arrogant buffoons like Sharp Spear.

“Baron.” Pensword’s voice was gentle, and very quiet. “The reason you can’t find your son is because he is currently going through intensive surgery to save his life.”

Sharp Spear stopped cold. “He’s what?”

Pensword pursed his lips as he struggled to keep his thoughts organized, and anticipate what the baron would try to pull next. “I said that your son is in critical condition, Baron Sharp Spear. Right now, he is fighting for his life in a stasis chamber designed by our allies to help him recuperate as they work to repair the damages.”

“You’ve got to be joking. My son would never–”

“Never what, Baron?” Pensword cut in. His tone had grown cold, his pupils slitted. “Never risk his life for another? Never fight to protect honor, kingdom, family?” Pensword could not deny the sense of satisfaction he felt when Baron Sharp Spear flinched. “Your son knew the risks, and, like it or not, he chose to stay. I cannot change that, nor can I control that he somehow intercepted these orders, and prevented them from reaching me. But I warn you right now, each and every guard that serves in my units is a son and daughter to me. So I would be very, very careful right now about choosing your next words, Baron, because I know Silver Spear, as does practically every guard serving here at New unity. He is one of the bravest, most courageous, selfless nobles I’ve ever known, and none of us will allow that good name to be besmirched. Not even by his own father.”

Baron Sharp Spear gulped. His legs trembled as he struggled to retain his composure. “I . . . I would like to see him,” he finally rasped.

Pensword sighed, and shook his head as he rubbed a tired hoof over the bridge of his muzzle. “I’m sorry, Baron Sharp Spear. Truly, I am, but I cannot take you to see him. He’s in too precarious a state, and the nature of the equipment is too precious for me to expose you to it without the proper security clearance.”

“But he’s my son!”

“I know, Baron. I know. I can’t change the rules, though. Now, more than ever, we have to tighten our security against invading forces, and that means a strict adherence to the protocols we have laid to protect New Unity’s intelligence and magitech.”

“That’s not good enough!” the baron yelled as a paperweight flew off Pensword’s desk to slam into the wall, leaving a significant dent, before clattering to the floor.

Pensword did his best to remember the stallion wasn’t being deliberately disrespectful. At least, he tried to convince himself of that, to give Sharp Spear the benefit of the doubt as he slowly trotted over, and picked up the weight. He turned sadly as he trotted back to his chair, and replaced the item. Then he heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s the best I can do, Baron. Right now, the most constructive thing you can do is pray for your son at the nearest chapel. Faust willing, he’ll pull through. I will send a letter to you as soon as I receive word that his status has changed. Our joint staff has every confidence that he will be able to recover, but every contribution helps.”

“But–”

“Please, Baron.” Pensword came around the desk, and placed a hoof on Sharp Spear’s shoulder. “For once in your life, have faith in something other than your wallet. Your money won’t be able to change this outcome, whatever it may be, and neither will your position. I will personally have Rainbow Dash alert you as soon as Silver Spear is ready for visitors . . . or the other. The moment something changes, you will know.”

Sharp Spear’s body trembled. He swallowed once, twice, thrice. At last, he managed to rasp out a couple of words. “My son.” For the first time in Pensword’s memory, and perhaps in Thestral history, he witnessed a noble take off his mask to bear his true emotions as tears welled up in the noble’s eyes. Pensword took the stallion in a gentle embrace, and Sharp Spear wept openly onto his shoulder.


Cross Breeze’s honey tail flicked nervously in the crisp morning air as she adjusted her mane. The sun was barely rising above the treelines, starting to wash away the dead grays of twilight for the bright pastels that had always been so cheerful before the attack. Now it rose over the new graveyard that had been dedicated to the fallen. She sighed sadly, and turned away from the window to trot down the halls. She couldn’t allow herself to be late to her appointment. Her azure coat had been carefully groomed, and she’d made sure to polish her hooves to a shine to make the best impression possible. At last, she reached the door she’d sought, took a steadying breath to compose herself, then knocked.

“Enter.” Hammer Strike’s voice carried loud and clear.

She made sure that the request was under her wing as she pushed the door open, and entered the office. Chalkboards with diagrams littered the space. Papers with the layout for the city, both ancient, current, and future had been plastered on three boards over in a corner near a window. Parchments and scrolls with indecipherable texts and strange calligraphy lay in a hodgepodge mess over the floor, and bursting out from shelves. And there, sitting behind his desk, in the center of this perfectly organized chaos, was the Pony lord himself.

“Good Morning, Lord Hammer Strike.”

“Good morning. So, I was told you had a request?”

“Yes, from our living caretaker of all paragons,” she answered. She put the scroll onto his desk. “She wishes your permission to build a hall of paragons, as was once housed in this great city. So far, only two such halls exist in Equestria. The first lies in Canterlot, and the other is the original in Cloudsdale. It’s her hope to make New Unity the third. She is more than willing to pay you for the land, and to build in a spot suitable for your city planning, but, as a tribe, we would also like to request that, at the very least, a stone be used and engraved to mark the location of the original Paragon Hall, when it is found.”

Hammer Strike looked over a few of the diagrams from the city layout. After a moment he hummed. “All right. Do you happen to know the dimensions of the structure, or would it be adjusted based off the location?”

“The dimensions are in the scroll, and we’ve also included variations based on potential locations. There will be several smaller personal shrines, some of which will be built directly into the building, like with the Hurricanes’ manors but aside from that, it all depends on what you feel this city deserves.”

Hammer Strike opened the scroll, and looked it over a few times. “All right; I think we can work with this.” He looked over to the diagrams of the city once again, humming in thought. “Okay. The only problem I have with this is the location isn’t entirely marked yet, but I can push the builders to mark this district now, so this project can be started. Just keep inside the markers, and it’ll be just fine when roads are paved, and everything is assigned.”

Cross Breeze’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really? Oh, that's wonderful! We’ll have our workers arrive within the week to begin work. Thank you so much! We’ll have one of our statue carvers come to take your sketch once the project is finished.”

“That isn’t needed.” Hammer Strike assured her. “I don’t want to be immortalized in stone. If you have to give me credit, just a small plaque will do. With that settled, though, are there any other projects or questions you have for me?”

“Might I suggest a compromise?”

“I’m listening,” Hammer Strike said with a curious brow raised.

“It’s traditional for a statue of the founders, or those in authority, to be placed in front of the building. Celestia and Luna’s statues stand together outside the hall in Canterlot, and a statue of our founding paragon stands outside the hall in Cloudsdale. However, since you don’t want such a large fuss over it, how about we have one of our students carve the statue, instead of our artisans? It gives the student the opportunity to learn, and you won’t have to worry about the paparazzi coming after you, either. As for our other plans and ideas, I’ll leave that to the builders talk to you about the Pegasus Quarters.”

Hammer Strike sighed as he mulled the proposition over. Finally, he caved. “Alright,” he sighed, “but only if it’s the student, alright? And no fanfare, either. I get enough of that every time I visit Canterlot.”

“Of course, Sir. Thank you. I’ll inform the Pegasi they’ll arrive in the next three days,” Cross Breeze replied with a bow. “Thank you for allowing us this chance to preserve our history and our culture for the next generation.”

“No problem.” Hammer Strike shrugged, and immediately got back to work.


There was a knock on Hammer Strike’s door, and Grifs voice carried through. “Uh, you're going to want to see this.”

“Is it bad or good? Because I could really use something good.”

“Well several dozen Thestrals just walked in the gates hooked to as many carts. They’re asking for you, and it seems Pensword's not entirely sure what's happening. Then again, he hasn’t been seen all morning.”

“Alright. I’ll be out in a moment.” Hammer Strike sighed as he stood up from his chair, and made his way out of his office.

The two wove their way through the corridors, and out to the courtyard, where many Ponies had stopped to look at the caravan with interest.

The Thestrals all stood with furs and skins tied to poles to form makeshift sleds that dragged behind them. The items were covered with other furs, and six Thestrals pulled a new-looking cart that was so large it needed two axles to keep it stable. They stood arrayed and silent, their eyes glowing in the dying light, and their leathery wings folded at their sides. They all looked upon their Chieftess as moondust slowly drifted around her, showing just how recently she had appeared in the courtyard. Hammer Strike strode swiftly and surely towards her amidst the whispers from the new arrivals.

“So what’s going on?” Hammer Strike asked.

A Thestral stepped forward. A wolf’s head was draped over his head, and the pelt covered his body. His fangs were slightly more pronounced than other Thestrals. “I, Flury Fang of the Wolf Tribe, who speaks for Thestrals, have brought these gifts for you, he who forged our chieftess’ armor, who taught her what was needed to craft her war hammer. We offer you this gift, as only one as yourself could use them to their fullest potential.” He snapped open his right wing, and the covers were removed with a flourish. The sleds were covered in smaller Ursa bones, while the cart held the larger, along with the beast’s pelt.

“So that’s what happened to the Ursa’s remains,” Hammer Strike commented.

“It is,” Flury Fang began again. “Its remains are your right, as you killed the one who desecrated our most revered creature, and allowed it the proper path to the stars above. We doubt you would have use of so much meat, so we have taken the liberty of curing it to prepare for the coming months.”

It was here that Grif saw Pensword standing with the Thestrals, having carried the left bear paw’s claws while Lunar Fang carried the right. Both had dressed in their Ursa robes, and carried traditional thestral weapons in accordance with tradition.

“Thank you. I’m sure I can put this to use in time,” Hammer Strike replied. ‘Though it’ll potentially take longer to shape it,’ he thought to himself.

“We know you will do great things with it. And you would bring more honor to its hide than making a simple rug out of it.”

“I might try a weapon with it this time,” Hammer said as he ran a hoof through the fur.


Vital Spark knocked gently on the door as the warding spells flared yet again. He hastily entered, before they could have a chance to fry him, only to run smack dab into Twilight. He grunted, then immediately proceeded to apologize.

“It’s fine, Vital Spark,” Twilight assured him. “It’s not like you ruined a vital experiment. No pun intended.”

“Um, so what brings you here, Twilight?”

Twilight grinned, and started to bounce on her hooves. “It’s so exciting! Clover tells me Trixie isn’t the first one to manage this kind of fusion between light and dark in magic, but she is the first one to be able to have the freedom to test its limits and capabilities. We’ve been running some tests with the assistance of some of my more modern equipment for analysis.”

“. . . Do I even want to know how badly you’ve hooked her up?”

“None of that.” Clover shook her head. “That machine wouldn’t be useful in measuring this sort of phenomenon anyway.”

“I told you its processing power is unprecedented, Clover. It can help if you let it,” Twilight argued.

“Twilight, I can think faster than it can,” Clover insisted. “Just leave it alone. Besides, this is better researched manually.”

“It’s a little hard to log the data properly for compilation, if you do everything manually, though, Clover. Especially with the new units of measurement for strength and skill in magical scales. If Trixie is going to write a book about this power and its workings, she’ll need all the data she can get on paper.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess that means all my mentor’s works have become obsolete in the last century? I’ll have to get that to the inquisition. We can’t have Unicorns experimenting with defunct magical theories, can we?” Clover added sarcastically.

“. . . Did you sense that?” Trixie asked as she flinched back from the pair, and shuffled over to Vital Spark. “Welcome back, by the way.” Her horn maintained a steady glow as a sphere bobbed overhead with a black core surrounded by light.

“I felt that,” Vital Spark whispered back. “And thanks, Trixie. How have you been holding up?”

“Being a pupil to Clover the Clever has been hard work, but Trixie is most definitely satisfied. After all, how many Ponies can say they got the chance to be taught by one of the most powerful mages known in Pony history?”

“Too true. So . . . what’s this all about?”

“Debating over the best way to measure my capabilities, and notarize the data for future reference.”

“So it’s basically the ego of two big intellects arguing for supremacy?”

“Essentially.”

“Well, at least they’re keeping it civil.”

“Are you two quite finished?” two identical voices rang in stereo. Vital Spark and Trixie both jumped in surprise as they noted Twilight and Clover’s nigh-identical expressions of frustration.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Vital Spark said.

“So much,” Trixie agreed.

“Forget it,” Clover said a she took a deep breath. “As I was saying, based on my research, Trixie has, indeed, managed to merge the light and dark mana flow inside herself without causing one to overcome the other, something that both Star Swirl and Meadow Brook theorized, but neither of them had ever been able to accomplish.”

“Um, question,” Vital Spark said nervously as he raised a hoof.

“Yes, Vital?”

“I know this is going to sound stupid, but . . . who, exactly, is Meadow Brook?”

“Mage Meadow Brook,” Clover explained. “He was a Unicorn from the east who had a talent for enchantments, and was a great leader in magical theory. He hid eight enchanted items across Equestria with special powers, but they have yet to be recovered”

“Do we have any idea what they even are, or what they could do?”

“How can you not know about Meadow Brook? Every magical student knows about him,” Trixie exclaimed. “With Star Swirl and present company excluded, he’s one of the biggest names in magic!”

“I . . . wasn’t raised in Equestria?”

Trixie gaped at Vital Spark as the light on her horn died, and the sphere disappeared. “What did you just say?”

“I wasn’t raised in Equestria. It’s why I wasn’t very good at magic, why I don’t know about Equestria’s history, and, I guess, in part, why Clover took me under her wing . . . horn . . . hoof. What term do you use for that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clover said from behind them. “Shall we carry on with the research, or would you two like to sit and flirt all day?”

Flirt?” The two instantly backed away from one another as their cheeks burned red. Unfortunately for Vital Spark, his white coat showed no mercy.

“Clover!” he cried as his hooves flew to cover the spots. He promptly smacked down onto the floor. “Ow. Why me?”


It was approaching midday at the Bladefeather compound. Off on the horizon, a speck flew from the clouds, and gradually drew closer. In time, the shape became close enough to distinguish individual features. The flyer was a large falcon and leopard hybrid Gryphon, and he was clearly harried as he landed on a ledge at the front of the doors, and adjusted the messenger bags bearing the seal of the Monastery of Winds on it. When nobody opened the gates, he gave a large screech to alert the guards to his presence.

Grif had Athena sleeping securely on his back when the gates opened. Shrial rose, and approached with Gentle Wing on her back as she took in the bedraggled state of the messenger. “You’ve had a long flight, my friend!” Grif said.

“One I would do over again in a heartbeat. I have the honor of bringing news, and information for the Avatar from the Winds Father.” The Gryphon bowed. “May I have audience with you and your family? This deals with Avatar business, and is only meant for those of your blood to hear.”

“Please, come to my home. You must rest and refresh yourself, my friend,” Grif said. “Your message can wait until then, at least.”

“Very well,” the Gryphon replied with another avian bob of his head. “I’ll follow you to your home, but this message must be shared by moonfall tonight.”

They led him to their home. After the messenger had taken a nap, they put food and wine before him, and waited until he’d eaten his fill, before letting him deliver his message.

He placed the satchels in front of Grif. “I bring to you items and papers from your predecessor. After much consultation with the Winds Father, the Emperor authorized the movement of these relics to your compound. They belong to you more than the Monastery or the rulers of Gryphelheim. This is for your personal order, to show all in the world who you would call friend, and who you would deem worthy of respect. In ancient times, this award doubled as an honor, and was simply called Friend of the Avatar; however, you have the power to rename the order, should you so desire. I am sad to say that none of this order live, save for you. The Avatar is always counted at the first member.”

“I’d thought Daedalus would be more worried about keeping the empire together after the coup,” Grif said, “but I do appreciate this gift. Is Daedalus well?”

“He said you would be concerned with him dealing with the Coup. He found these items in a now desolate house of one of his enemies. He gave it to one of his troops to send to the Monastery, which then gave it to me to send to you. There are plans to move back to his birth city in the spring, and the remnants have fallen. They are fleeing to the South, but their will is broken, and they fight only because honor dictates they follow through the course to the death. They think the coup will be fully put down by spring next year.”

“And good riddance to it.” Grif smiled. “Have you other news? Other messages?”

“There are rumors that he found a pink-furred prophetess who spends her days in his care. They whisper that you may be asked to give your blessing for a marriage in the near future. However, there are certain complications in the matter. She forsook her former name, and her former house was blotted out. I believe you know of the family of whom I speak. It is possible there may be a battle over the wedding, which is why the Emperor and the Winds Father both wish you to be there. With luck, your presence will avert any bloodshed, and help the people to see that the union will be profitable for our people as a whole.”

“What does the Winds Father think?” Grif asked. “Does he support them?”

“Yes. I also have a letter penned directly to you. I have no idea of the contents. I was merely ordered to give it to you or one of your wives.” He shuffled a paw. “May I speak less formally, Avatar?”

“Please. I am a simple Gryphon with his family. Speak your mind.”

“I’m glad to be of service, and . . . I’m wondering. Do you need a messenger to fly between the Empire and Equestria?” He looked around furtively. “Service to the Emperor and the Winds Father has its price, and my family is already in danger. They’re safe in Vanhoover for now, but I don’t know how long that could last. I could think of no place safer for them than here, an ocean away from danger.”

“You realize the extent of the service you offer me? The distance between is no small feat.”

“But it will be reason to have my family live under your banner and your protection. I’d give my wings, and gladly be damned to walk the earth for the rest of eternity, if it means they are safe. If you need me for something else, name it.”

“I can understand that.” Grif nodded. “My wife has wished to have a secure way to send messages to her father. You are familiar with the Farflyer clan?”

“I am.” He bobbed his head. “I would be your personal carrier, then, if you’ll have me. I will carry letters and parcels across.”

“I do not give myself a luxury not available to my family,” Grif said in an almost stern tone. “I would need to rely on you to ferry messages for any who might ask of you. Would you accept this?”

“To be messenger for an entire clan? You trust me that much, when we’ve only just met?” His eyes widened. “It was an honor to be given the seal of the monastery, but to be trusted by an entire clan? Such a thing is beyond imagining.”

“Before you return to the Empire, you’ll stop in Vanhoover to visit your family, I expect?” Grif asked.

“I was hoping to be given time to get my family, and return with them before starting,” he admitted sheepishly. “But if you need me to return right away, I shall do so.”

“You are a competent messenger, my friend, but you are not entirely prepared to defend so many for so long. In Vanhoover, you will find a Gryphon named Graven Graytalon in the Bandaged Wing Saloon. He runs our local branch there. You will give him a letter that I will give to you. He will see that you and your family make it here safely.”

“Thank you,” the messenger replied, bowing his head. “Though my thanks means little as an outcast.”

“Then you are an outcast no more,” Grif said with a smile as he walked over to a desk, and pulled out a patch with the Bladefeather crest set to it. “What’s your name, my friend?”

“Dagger Feather Scroll, Sir.”

Grif slapped him gently with the patch “What is your name?” he asked again as he held out the patch.

“D-dagger Feather Scroll Bladefeather,” the messenger replied.

“Correct,” Grif said, giving him the patch, and the letter. “Fly strong, and fly well, my brother. All who are homeless are welcome in these walls.”

“Thank you.” He bowed once more, and then was gone as he spread his wings, and took flight.

When the Gryphon was gone, Grif nodded. “And now we wait. Either Graven will appear next week with armed guards and a family needing shelter, or he’ll appear with a head. Either way, the matter is taken care of.” Graven Graytalon was an excellent judge of character, and uncanny at sensing malcontent. If this Gryphon was lying, he’d know. Grif didn’t believe too much that Dagger had any sort of malicious intent, but one was better safe than sorry. Even moreso, now that he had two baby girls to protect with another child on the way.

Grif turned to the bag, and looked to Shrial and Avalon. “Should I, or should I have some Unicorns scan it first?”

“I’d go with the latter, Grif,” Avalon said pointedly. “We have a couple of cubs to take care of, after all, and we’d rather keep you around a while longer.”

“Very well. Still, you should find some time to pen a letter or two to your father,” Grif said. “I’m certain he’d appreciate knowing he’ll be a grandfather soon.”

“Well, I was going to try experimenting with a spell, but I suppose this way would be easier.” She chuckled. “I just wish I could see the looks on my sisters’ faces, too.”

Grif kissed her, then he pulled Shrial in for one, too. “Winds, I love you.”


Hammer Strike placed his quill down, having signed the final document . . . of his current stack. He was behind by another two. He sighed heavily. While he had others to help with all the documents, there was still several that needed his attention. He rubbed his side. Rest would come after the paperwork, or when he was less stubborn. Whichever came first.

His ear twitched as more hoofsteps suddenly started moving towards his room. After a moment, he was able to define the sound and weight placement to figure out they were heading for his room. He gave a faint grin as he waited for the right moment.

“Come in, Rarity,” he called out.

Much to his surprise, and slight pain, the door banged open with such force that it sounded like a gunshot as Rarity raced in, and flung all his papers aside to replace them with a whole new stack of paperwork. Piles of cloth samples, types of metals, armor types, and a massive pile of sketches and rough designs completely obscured his face, before the mare pranced around his desk, and planted a solid kiss on his cheek with an excited giggle.

“I’ve finally managed to narrow things down to a manageable level, Darling, and I simply had to come and share the new designs, especially with all that beautiful material those Thestrals were so thoughtful to bring. Why, it gives us an entirely new avenue to look towards for theme and decoration, but I wanted to hear what you think, before I tried going any further. What do you think, Hammer Strike?”

“Uh. . . .” Hammer Strike looked over several selections in front of him. “I think I need an afternoon to catch up on everything.”

“An afternoon? Darling, I was planning on taking a couple of days. To help you really get a proper understanding of the vision for each of these, I have to give you the full presentation. And besides that, I need your input to see what you want to add or subtract.” She shook her head sadly. “No, I think we’ll have to just set aside some time for us to have a more . . . intimate conversation.” She smiled wickedly. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Hammer Strike blushed. “I, uh. Yes.”

“Excellent. I’ll meet you at your forge at midnight. That should be plenty of time for you to sort your affairs and get some quiet time for just the two of us.” She rushed in to kiss him full on the lips. “Oh, I do love you, Hammer Strike.” Then she giggled, and raced back out.

Hammer Strike gaped for a moment or two, then looked down at all his disorganized paperwork on the floor, then to the slightly more organized piles on his desk. “What just happened?”


Pensword found himself in the middle of a large tent that has been erected on the Thestral Grounds. He looked at each of the tribal leaders, and finally to Luna herself. It seemed that he and his wives were not the only ones who had been called. The Gryphons who had sworn their loyalty to him stood silently behind with their weapons at the ready. According to Grif, the blood oath had officially made them a part of his family, and, by extension, his tribe.

“Hello, Pensword,” Luna greeted him with a nod of acknowledgment.

“High Chieftess,” Pensword replied.

“Do you know why you're here before us?”

“I do not,” Pensword answered. “But I am assuming it is due to the fact that there are Gryphons in my family?” he asked.

“Not quite, Pensword. As you know, it has always been the tradition that clans are withheld to small groups within each tribe.”

“I do. I am of the Dream Clan, which is of the Bear Tribe,” he answered with pride.

“You were of the dream clan of the bear tribe,” Luna responded.

Pensword looked horrified. “Were? Have I done something to lose my blessing of the clan?” His eyes shifted in panic as he thought what could be happening here. The grim expressions, the solemn bearing. Was he going to be cast out to appease the balance of power between the Lunar and Solar courts?

“No, no, Pensword. You misunderstand.” Luna shook her head “You are being awarded a great honor, one of the greatest that this council can think to bestow at this time. You, Pensword, are to found the next great house of the Thestrals. You are to create the next clan.”

Pensword’s legs buckled beneath him as Lunar Fang gaped at the princess, then back looked back to her mate, then back at Luna again. “A clan hasn’t been founded or awarded since just before your . . . departure,” she said.

Luna shrugged in her ursa armor. “There has been nopony able to distinguish themselves enough to merit it until now.”

“Wh–what do I need to do? What is the ceremony for this? Should I go hunt a beast in the forest?” Pensword asked. For all the things he’d been taught as a foal, none had felt the need to explain the creation of a new clan. After all, there had been no need during the time before the war, and no time for it after.

“First you will need to find volunteers to take up your name and mark. When you have enough, then we will proceed,” Luna said.

Pensword nodded his head numbly, and gave a Thestral bow. “I shall go, and find those that would be honored to take my name.” He would have to ask those in the tent first. Then the Demon Slayers. This would take time. He looked to those in the tent with him. “Who here wish to take my name?”

He had barely spoken before the Gryphons bowed in the same manner he did to Luna, only, this time, the gesture was directed at him and Lunar Fang.

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