You Never Appreciate the Laws of Physics Till They're Gone.
Under an inside-out sun, the Canterlot Palace loudly pontificated on how things had been much better in its young days when young structures had respect for their elders.
“AND IF YOU GAVE CHEEK TO ANY OLD MOTTE-AND-BAILEY, THAT’D EARN YOU A BRICK-TANNING, SURE AS SUNFIRE!” it boomed to all and sundry and nopony in particular. Alloy tried to trot through the wobbling roads underneath it in as composed a manner as possible, which was hard when he was both trying to shield his eardrums and balancing on a street that was turning gradually into jam.
“AND NONE OF THIS WINTER RESIDENCE OR SUMMER RESIDENCE NONSENSE! WE HELD PONIES ALL THROUGH THE YEAR! AND IT MADE FORTRESSES OF US!”
Alloy cleared the last length of jam and leaped with some difficulty onto a nearby bench. The young mule stood there and trembled slightly as mayhem assailed his senses. In a courtyard to his left, statues had set up a bowling alley with the use of protesting spherical Nightguard. Towers to his right, whenever they weren’t hammering up and down like pistons, were apparently trying to copulate. Contrary-inverted-widdershins of his position, the purple-smelling air shrieked casually to itself. Above, the sun had apparently grown bored of being inside-out and was now floating around and eating stars.
Below him, the bench began to growl. He hopped primly off onto the grass - which, Depths have mercy, had failed to act contrary to the laws of nature thus far - and thought.
To his credit, he had at least tried to find out the reason behind it all, if reason was a thing that was on speaking terms with the world anymore. He’d marched around, authoritative and smartly attired in his Royal Household uniform, finding anypony that still had the mental and/or physical ability to speak. From a hysterical maid who he’d rescued from a baying horde of buckets, he’d picked up some story about a statue in the gardens coming to life after a school trip’s visit. From a colourfully sprouting gardener, he’d heard about the Element Bearers heading into a hedge maze.
There was surely some coherent narrative there, but damned if he could see it. All he had was what was before his eyes, and gauging that was hard enough without it changing every few seconds.
Fine. He’d report what he could to his masters.
Alloy, overt servant in the Princess’s Royal Household and covert Agent of the Asinial Republic, slipped off his saddlebag and rummaged around for paper, pencil, and an alchemically-treated paper twist of messaging-fire.
He set the pencil to the paper, closed his eyes as he composed the information he had, and opened his eyes again to find that his paper was fluttering off to enjoy its new existence as a parchment-coloured butterfly.
Low and heartfelt Asiniol blasphemy escaped him as the grass before his hooves grew and twisted, taking the shape of … of …
Of some horrible demon-goat-dragon-chimera thing, which loomed above him in a sudden flourish. It grinned, and reached down with a claw to tweak Alloy’s nose.
“Don’t fuss,” it said. “They’ll all find out soon enough. I’ll make sure.”
Alloy opened his mouth to query, to protest, to swear with sheer bewilderment, he had no idea. But another firm tweak from the creature’s claw stole the words straight from his throat to send them bobbing happily off into the open air, and any further interjections he mustered were swallowed by a tide of full-body confusion that rippled across him.
Alloy’s pony and donkey halves spent a great deal of the next while switching, separating, re-organising, and generally making a nuisance of themselves while he struggled forlornly.
“GET OFF MY LAWNS!” the Palace boomed, and was ignored.
At the same time and eight hundred miles eastwards, under skies in which the sun pretended to behave itself, Asincittà teemed. Asincittà hoached. Asincittà broiled.
Suchlike verbs applied at all times for the great donkey capital, of course. But today was the Revolution Day Regatta, and neither hell nor high water could have prevented the city’s inhabitants from crowding the waterfront and high towers. Some had even commandeered private airships and ornithopters to observe proceedings.
Arch-Minister Burro Delver of the Asinial Republic held pride of place above it all, seated on a balcony extending from the Parliament Building and surrounded on all sides by rows of rising seats and attendant guards. The thunder of the crowds below buffeted even his elevated position, mixed with the high calls of whatever enterprising merchants had had the foresight to set up stalls next to the waterfront, and backed throughout with the throaty growl of distant engines.
It was the ships producing these growls that fixated his attention. Oh, certainly, there were hundreds of smaller sailing vessels circling the harbour in a constant race, thousands of sails and pennants cutting jaunty slashes of colour into the blue sky and waters. Behind them, vessels sailed that represented individual companies or captains. Sleek windjammers, their sails billowing like clouds; puttering paddle steamers and small steamships; privateer battleships flying obscure heraldry proudly. But at the harbour’s centre there rested, still and stately, a squadron of armoured and heavily-armed ironclads from the Merchant Fleet. And to their side, several experimental designs from the city’s military shipwrights.
As was customary for relations between Asinia’s merchants and government, many of these same shipwrights had bought the seats next to the Arch-Minister, and were loudly extolling the manifold virtues of their ships.
“Feast your eyes on these lines, Arch-Minister,” said the young jack at the far right of the row, Vallaire, manager of the Cheval Sea Arsenal, as he gestured at an armoured sailing ship. “Strip out the steam engine, and the Regicide could still outsail anything else on the water. Several captains have already put in offers for her prototype. A Merchant Fleet with her as a mainstay could fly across the oceans to exert our will anywhere.”
“Then strip out the steam engine,” interrupted the elderly, austere-looking jenny to Burro’s left. Grand Noir, who was as close to a fixture of the maritime industries as any donkey still drawing breath. She casually glanced towards a squat, powerful-looking ironclad. “Waste fails to impress, pup, as does needless strain on the overseas coal reserves. Look to my own Horizon Chaser instead. She’ll outperform any current ship-of-the-line on any practical metric you may care to name, Arch-Minister. And at thirty thousand rucats per vessel, you’ll certainly call her a good deal.”
Burro, who’d dozed off through most of his Maritime Engineering lectures in school and had gone on to pursue jennies and a degree in politics in higher education, nodded and affected an expression of critical regard for the vessels. Damned if a lifetime in government had given him much, but it had at least imparted the ability to outpretend even stage actors. “Fine vessels, one and all,” he said, whilst juggling figures in his head to see how many Horizon Chasers he could get before haggling.
The jenny to Burro’s right hadn’t spoken thus far, but had simply observed the regatta and the bickering in the balcony with a subtle smirk playing around her features. He turned to her, and she simply toyed with a flute of wine while maintaining the smirk.
“Ms … Amiatina, was it?” said Burro, gracing her with a smile. “You went to the lengths of buying a seat next to me. Since we’re regrettably past the days where that would be for the pleasure of my company alone, I assume you also have a pitch to make. Would you care to make it?”
Amiatina grinned, drained her flute and rose to make her pitch, throwing one hoof out towards the cluster of ships. “My thanks for your attention, Arch-Minister. Look to the left, and find your reward there.”
Burro looked, and tried to stop his eyebrows rising as he properly took in the largest vessel there. No suggestion of a traditional ship’s lines and features in its massive, grey-armoured hulk; merely a great, imposing brutality blistered over with rows of weaponry. Enchanted ballistae and springalts, steel-wired catapults, and at its heart, two vast chimneys venting a sky’s worth of steam.
“Snappy names rather escape me, I fear,” said Amiatina, intruding in Burro’s enchantment. “The Fear Nowt is her working name, though I’m always open to suggestions.”
“The Overdesigned Rubbish?” suggested Grand Noir. “The Eater Of Coal Reserves? The Oh No, I’ve Overbalanced After One Broadside And Now A Thousand Sailors Have Pointlessly Drowned? My suggestion rates are very reasonable should you want more.”
“Where could you dock her?” said Vallaire, his own tone contemplative rather than acerbic. “I’m trying to think of anywhere else outwith Asincittà with the necessary harbour depth. Maybe Fort Foresight down in the Ceratos Sea, but apart from that ...”
“Her onboard coal stock could let her sail to our most far flung possessions four times over without stopping,” replied Amiatina smoothly. “If, as I suggest, she’s used to enforce Asinial interests down in that area of the world, then the issue should never arise.”
“Then thank the Depths unforeseen calamities never happen at sea,” said Grand Noir.
“I am aware of the factor of risk involved in any sea-going entreprise, Noir,” said Amiatina, a note of sharpness entering her voice. “And I am aware that any ship is susceptible to these risks, that any ship is a careful compromise between all these ideal factors we’d rather she held, a balancing note against the world’s chaos. And I’ll answer all of your complaints in short order, and one just now. The Fear Nowt is indeed very well designed. Designed to do her job perfectly! Contemplate the expression on the Ceratos Emperor’s face when one of Fear Nowt’s kin sails past a treaty port. Imagine his subsequent compliance. Behold!”
Amiatina gestured towards the Fear Nowt, some alchemical twist of paper burning in her hoof and sending sparks flying in its direction. A moment passed, and then Burro saw sailors on the ship’s deck angling lights down across her sides. Her armour gleamed fit to outshine the sun.
“Armour thick enough to withstand dragonfire, magical blasts, and any weapon in the world - and let me tell you, we employed some pretty damn good weapons in the testing.”
Another gesture, and each of the countless weapons on the Fear Nowt loosed at once. Burro winced at the recoil of the ropes and springs, but the ship remained steady and was surrounded briefly by a cloud of multicoloured lights - magical blanks and nothing more.
“Enough weaponry to challenge a whole other nation’s fleet, single-hoofedly. One stiff broadside could make a crater from a city.”
The tall lattice mast on the Fear Nowt flexed, and then curved down towards the rest of the ship. The behaviour reminded Burro of a curious animal, and he thought he saw the lookout inside struggling to hold on.
Amiatina frowned, and then rallied. “Flexibility in the mast’s structure, to bow before and withstand any inclement weather at sea. Let us spare our ships pointless breakages where we may!”
Sections of the hull near the water’s surface split then, and long lengths curved off to splay from the Fear Nowt’s side. They rose into the air, and Burro saw sailors on the ship’s deck pointing and yelling.
“...Combat tentacles? Clever donkeys, our shipwrights,” said Amiatina.
And then the Fear Nowt’s whole bow bent up sharply at a sudden hinge at the ship’s middle. Sailors tumbled back along the deck as it continued to rise and rise, revealing the remaining lowest section. Huge teeth slid into existence all around the sudden aperture’s perimeter, and the two navigation lights at the bow flickered to life.
“...Bwuh?” said Amiatina.
The bow rose. And rose. And rose, finally exposing innards that seemed to have become disquietingly fleshy. And then the ship roared.
The metal tentacles lashed out, faster than the symphony of shouting that rose from every quarter. They seized closed around a nearby smaller ironclad and neatly lifted it out of the water, provoking screams from the sailors on its deck and several scattered replies from the faster-thinking weapon operators. Slung bolts and stones glanced off the Fear Nowt’s hull, and the ship continued to lift the ironclad over its new maw. Other ships were only now turning to flee from or deal with the sudden threat. Ballistae mounted on the towers of the harbour loosed shot; ornithopters droned as several of the devices descended down through the sky. Screams and shouts and a few cheers thundered up from the watching crowd.
Burro turned slowly to Amiatina. His smile was still settled and gentle, but the expression dancing in the pits of his eyes was somewhat more suited to some grim, black-robed jack sharpening a worryingly curved knife. Behind him, Grand Noir and Vallaire were watching in mute admiration and taking discreet notes. Amiatina had subsided into opening and closing her mouth mutely.
“First things first,” murmured Burro, closing his eyes and breathing in. He turned to a nearby stunned-looking guard and gave him a hard poke, breaking his stupor. “Gallop to the Naval Secretary. Tell him to instruct the harbour authorities to scramble the aeronauts and deploy as many ornithopters with incendiaries to sink the Fear Nowt as needed. Keep their vessels and any civilians at a far distance. Thank you. Go.”
“...a year’s worth of provisions for a crew of six hundred ...” Amiatina mumbled to no-one in particular.
The Fear Nowt had since eaten the ironclad, and was now reaching for the Regicide. A stream of profusely swearing sailors were spat out the side of its mouth into the waters of the harbour, and stones and blasts of magic careened off its sides. Ornithopters dropped firebomb after firebomb across its now-empty decks, and several of the devices were snatched from the sky by metal tentacles for their trouble. The surrounding regatta had devolved into chaos, with the civilian ships either turning frantically for safety or enthusiastically steaming into the fray. Crashes, unkind invective, and brawls between impromptu boarding parties spun out of the cross-purposeful mess.
Burro regarded the display with a grim expression, one hoof rubbing at his forehead. The daylight shifted, and he looked up. The sun had donned a tutu, and its swerves and motions through the sky with its moon partner were something to behold. Several of the buildings to his side had grown and grown, and were flexing in time to an unknown beat pulsing through the ultraviolet sky.
Underneath his grim expression, something snapped. Burro smiled serenely up at the sun.
“This is something to do with Equestria, and I claim my five rucats,” he said to himself.
“Your cynicism is resented, for all that it may be correct,” said a familiar voice at his back. Exclamations came from several of his guards. Soft white light abruptly emanated from behind Burro, and he calmly turned and looked up to see its source.
Tall legs supported a white-coated equine form, adorned with gold regalia of state. A dawn-coloured mane flourished like a banner, past a expression that, while looking somewhat more harassed than usual, still managed to convey benevolence and thousand-year-old wisdom in every crease.
Celestia. Of course.
“Princess Celestia,” said Burro, with a polite nod. “Forgive Asinia the lack of a formal reception, but I wasn’t expecting your visit. Also, a ship in my harbour appears to have turned into a kraken. Would I be taking an inordinate leap if I were to suspect you know why?”
“That accurate cynicism again.” Celestia shook her head with a weary chuckle. Heavy saddlebags across her back shifted and rustled. “Yes, I do know the cause of this, and came to see that you were forewarned. Unnecessary, as it turns out.”
“Ah. Before I ask after that cause, could I prevail upon you to turn the aforementioned kraken into molten slag? It’s rather spoiling what was a lovely regatta.”
“My apologies. But in light of the cause, it’d be a plaster over a full-body wound, and be effort I cannot expend now,” said Celestia. “I cannot tarry. But time and energy permitting, I will come back and appraise you and help however I can. The others must be warned first, though, and my own preparations attended to.”
“What? Celestia!” snapped Burro. The alicorn was already gathering the magic for teleportation about her horn, and ceased briefly at Burro’s exclamation. “I’m calling in my favour from when Luna returned, for holding the fort here with the others. Tell me what’s happening and what we may do about it!”
Regret flickered across Celestia’s face. “I’m sorry, Burro. The favour’s acknowledged. But time isn’t on our -”
The magic around her horn winked out with a thhpt.
Both she and Burro glanced up, startled, before she tried to gather the magic once again. Golden light once again flickered around her horn, before thhpt cut it short after half a second.
“And to think they say blind chaos is cruel,” a new voice drawled, making Burro nearly leap out of his with its proximity. “Deary me. I’ve got nothing on when order gets its act together.”
Burro wheeled to the voice’s source, to the serpentine figure coiled around the railing at the edge of the balcony. It … his mind recoiled and floundered for any description other than hideous demon-goat-dragon-chimera thing. It waved at him with patchwork limbs and uncoiled from the railing to hover unsupported into the air. Vivid red-gold eyes sparkled above a snaggle-toothed grin.
Celestia ground her teeth, an action alone that would have alarmed Burro if there weren’t so many other alarmers in the vicinity pressing for his attention. “Discord.”
“Me,” the creature - Discord - amiably agreed. “You run to such interesting places. Is this the donkey high panjandrum? Does he like my handiwork?”
“Arch-Minister,” hissed one of the guards then, tramping up behind Burro. “I think it’s best we get you off this balcony and out of the city now.”
Burro breathed in, steadying himself. He gestured at Discord. “I’m inclined to agree, Captain Baudet. Before then, however, kindly introduce this interloper to the stonework teeth-first. Repeatedly.”
Baudet grunted, and hooves scuffed as he and the five other guards present trotted past the rows of seats and paralysed occupants. Their gazes were intent upon Discord, who sported a guileless smile.
“No!” said Celestia. “Stand down! There’s no point to it, you’ll just -”
She went ignored. The half-dozen guards, serious and professional jacks and jennies all, dipped hooves into their dark jackets for hidden spurs, compact crossbows, steel darts and hoof-blades. Baudet brandished his own crossbow, and opened his mouth to shout.
Discord snapped his talons. In the next second, the air was filled with ear-splitting brays and shrieks.
In the second after that, weapons and coats lay strewn across the ground. Above, six dark-winged butterflies flapped in a state of some confusion.
“Do you ever have days where you’re just in a butterfly sort of mood?” said Discord casually as the butterflies recovered and, professionals all, resumed the attack. They bounced off his face, one after another, and he absently waved them off. “I’m having one of those days; I should have one more often.”
Burro stood frozen. There was surely some sensible, practical route to be taken from this sort of encounter. The drums of panic hammering in his skull were making it hard to divine, however. He looked reflexively to Celestia. Infantile, perhaps, to look to someone greater to protect you when you yourself ruled a country, but when it was the immortal sun-wielding alicorn sovereign of Equestria herself …
It took him a moment to register and process the utterly unfamiliar tense, nervous scowl on Celestia’s face as she stared down Discord.
Celestia was nervous.
They were all going to die.
Possibly while screaming and on fire.
“Well then,” said Burro, mastering himself and turning back to Discord. “You appear to have us at a disadvantage. Consider your force thoroughly shown. Cease this ...” He gesticulated with his hoof, taking in the tumultuous harbour, the warping city, and the chromatically-confused sky. “... this silliness, and we can discuss terms like civilised beings, Discord. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Discord purred out the words, stroking the tuft on his chin. “What do I want? Now there’s a question worth a ponder.”
“Burro,” said Celestia, her tone low and warning. “Don’t. He’s not anything that can be negotiated with, don’t engage with -”
Her voice cut out as Discord leaned across and casually stole her mouth, yanking it off her face like a plaster. Outraged muffled noises came from the base of Celestia’s throat, and the wriggling mouth in Discord’s grasp tried to bite him all the while. Burro tried not to whimper with terror, and failed when Discord loomed over him.
“Arch-Minister, I want you.”
One claw seized hold of Burro around his midriff, yanking him off the ground as effortlessly as if he was a foal in spite of his struggling. A third arm sprouted from Discord’s form and grabbed for Celestia. The alicorn, moving and gathering magic faster than Burro had ever seen, reared back, her wings spread, and lashed out with a thin cord of incandescent flame. Discord’s body smoothly parted down the middle, leaving the cord lashing harmlessly through empty air. His hand blurred in the air and gave Celestia’s horn an affectionate tweak, disrupting her magical energies. Her eyes blazed, and one of her hooves whirled through the air towards Discord’s grinning face.
It never connected. The same hand that held her horn released its grip to tap once upon her forehead. Celestia staggered as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull, and she slumped to the ground. Discord slung her over his shoulder, while Burro thought every blasphemy in every language he knew.
The old jack’s gaze flitted over Asincittà, desperately trying to take stock. The harbour was still in full uproar, with the ship-kraken casually eating more ironclads as shots and flames glanced harmlessly off its surface. The sky warbled and grumbled. Pavements coiled around the sides of buildings like angry snakes, with donkeys on them desperately trying to keep their footing. The crowds were either screaming, fleeing, milling around in confusion, or some combination of the above. Burro could swear he also heard entrepreneuring voices offering odds on which ship the kraken would eat next, and patriotic pride glowed briefly within him.
To his side, the others on the balcony had either fled or were trying to hide under their chairs. With the exception of Amiatina, who stood stock-still and looked to Burro with wide-eyed serene terror.
“Apart from all that, Arch-Minister, what do you think of the Fear Nowt?” she stammered.
“Ms Amiatina, why are you not already fleeing?” shrieked Burro, just as Discord stepped forward.
Pink light enveloped him, and whatever part of Burro’s brain dealt in trying to ravel sense out of the world gave up.
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OOH
5797884
YEAH
Well, I have to like any story that involves ornithopters. One that builds on Moonlight Palaver while making fantastic use of Discord? Instant follow and eager anticipation of the next installment. Especially if it involves the Capricious Crown of Capra.
They were all going to die. Possibly while screaming and on fire.
Oh, yes. Bring it.
5797884 5797908
mlpforums.com/uploads/post_images/img-2499165-1-Yeah_Pegasus_YEAH!!_S2E22.png
5797959
That particular artifact'll be making itself known in the next chapter.
5798171
In the process of being brought, rest assured.
I wonder how long it will take for the various world leaders to become jaded to this sort of thing.
"Intelligence minister how goes world affairs?"
"A horrible ancient evil is attacking Equestria and if it succeeds there it will become unstoppable and the rest of the world will be next."
"Oh my, it's early this month. How is Cameltopia's disputed succession going? That could get ugly and we import 75% of our dates and incense from them."
5800391
There's almost certainly a well-used sign somewhere in the depths of the Asinial Intelligence Office reading 'It Has Been X Days Since Equestria Has Last Skirted The End-Times'. As well as an organised betting pool based around it.
5800416
Oh my. The betting pool sounds almost too good to pass up. If not Asinial, perhaps with the sheep then? I could totally see a scene starting off in their intelligence offices with that, the whole thing concluding with Fairy Floss pulling a Celestia when she finally comes in and claiming the whole pot.
5800484
5800642
#DyingFromLaughter
I'm intrigued
5801373
The Cupcakes approach to death. I approve.
5801375
Glad to hear it!
5801420 Like man do I love your writing style and your world building is superb.
I really hope Discord wears the Crown of Kappa as a prank at some point. He'll find it hilarious.
Also, props to Amiatina for still trying to make the sale during a Discord
attackfriendly visit. That's keeping your eye on the bottom line!If I told you have written a wonderful story, would you hold it against me?
Already fantastic, and it's barely starting. Can't wait to see where this goes.
Hey look, a sequel to my favorite one-shot on the entire site.
5802376
There are many negative epithets one could reasonably attach to Asincitta's mercantile classes. 'Easily swerved' ain't amongst them.
5802512
If you like. Give me your location, a convenient time, and I'll get a copy printed out for holding-against-you purposes. We'll sort something out.
5802691
Cheers! I can't wait to find out where it's going either.
5802763
Happy to delight with the last one.
Flatterer.
I do like the idea of Canterlot palace taking its brief foray into sapience as an opportunity to be grouchy and old.
Really, whoever named the Fear Nowt was just asking for it to be turned into a seagoing abomination.
I commend Celestia's mouth for refusing to go gently into the bodyless night. Bite him, bite him good!
This is everything I could have wanted in a sequel.
5802376 I'd go with friendly attack.
5802873
Glad it's living up to your hopes so far!
This is amazing. I'd distantly hoped for a sequel, and here I am. Though if it's anything like it's predecessor, Discord really doesn't need to help the world leaders at all to further his goals.
I wonder when they'll all just resign themselves to the fact that Ponies have all the maguffins?
I kinda want to give Amiatina a hug..
Dear, dear... this is going to end... hilariously.
5803103
I'm sure they'll all do their best to thwart Discord ... for varying definitions of 'best'.
Glad you were hoping!
5803267
Hilariously? Horrifically? Pyrotechnically? So many adverbs, so few actual differences between them.
You just amaze me, you little pony cube.
5803560
I'm the amazingest cube that ever cubed.
5803623 You sure are and stay true to that title with pride because of this story.
Oh dear. Those are the only words beyond mad giggles that suffice for this story. Poor, foolish Celestia. Poor, unknowing other world leaders. MORE!
5803864
Working on a Crown section currently.
More's in progress!
5804340
I don't think it's that dark, or likely to earn a Dark tag as it progresses. There might be a few darker elements here and there or passingly alluded to, but nothing that'll merit it being a main aspect of the story.
Oooo, a sequel. Very nice! Also, Discord's not actually killing ponies, which makes me think this will be just my speed.
5808635
Glad to have you aboard!
That part's necessary for an accurate rendition of Discord, I think - he's not especially malicious or overtly sadistic. Just ... 'chaotic' is the best term.
5808789 Glad to be aboard! Yeah, I think it's true to the show, which i really appreciate. Too many people are too eager to start throwing around 'dark' and 'mature' tags when writing for this fandom. Not that those stories are bad, but the sheer preponderance is slightly staggering.
Now that I'm aboard, I should-
Huh?
What?
TENTACLE!
You used the word "panjandrum"!
I think I might be in love.
5810272
Fancy words exist to be whipped out and used with gleeful abandon.
5810283 Made-up words doubly so. Thank god for Samuel Foote.
Also, great job showing how absolutely unlivable chaos is. There's plenty of "it's just chaos, it's not so bad!" stories trying to condemn Celestia and Luna's actions against him as wholly unjustified and portray Discord as a harmless prankster, but... at this point, it frankly doesn't matter what his intentions are. It simply isn't possible to make a life in... that.
5810300
It's a curious balancing act to walk - like Not_A_Hat was saying (5808635), there's a limit to how villainous Discord can be played. He's not a especial sadist or truly malevolent, but he's certainly callous and unconcerned with the consequences his (nigh-omnipotent) actions might have on others. His intentions would just be self-interested and relatively benign if he was any less powerful. But as it stands, he's a complete menace.
Aaand here we see Discord flexing his full powers as God of Unpredictable Change.
The castle spoke! The castle spoke! The castle spoke!
Also
>ornithopter
cardkingdom.com/media/images/products/standard/195146_1.jpg
Ornithopter hype!
This is really impressive. Your Discord seems to be the Discord that would be in a show aimed at just a little older demographic, without going overboard. Also, the donkey city reminds me a lot of Ankh-Morpork. I doubt that is a coincidence?
Anyway, on to the next chapter. This is great!
I won't bother asking how. I just want to know why it was that I started hearing Tchaikovsky during the kraken bit.
I love this so much
5800391
5800416
I want to hug you both right now. I am barely restraining myself from roaring in laughter (my brother works night shifts and is sleeping). I'm close to crying instead at the sheer hysterically funniness of all of this!
Hey Carabas. I just finished this story. For the second time. It's really good. Ho-Lee-Hell.
So, yeah. Loved it. Canterlot Castle threw me off at first with it's talking, but then I realized "Oh. Right. Discord."
And the castle talking about how things were different back in its day is a Terry Pratchett reference if ever I saw one. If memory serves, it's Reaper Man?
And that poor jenny, Amiatina!
Oh lawdy! That was good.
Patriotic pride is a wholely acceptable feeling for the Arch-Minister on seeing how strong the entrepreneurial spirit truly is.
This all fits Discord very much and it's really funny.
1. I'm imagining the donkeys in the ornithopters pedalling with all four feet and controlling it with some sort of mouth-based stick while the passengers idly sit back and sip on alcoholic drinks where the dehydrating effect is enhanced with crusted salt because why the hay not?
2. I'm also picturing an incident with Discord where he just followed some random person around all day and pretended to be surprised that nothing weird was happening. Because what's the point in chaos when it's predictable?
Your Discord is totally on-point and absolutely chilling. Loving this so far.
Double-spaced.
...
So, all your Donkey names are words for donkey. ... What happens when you run out of breeds/whatever?
7304432
Improperly-spaces street fixed. Cheers for pointing it out.
The Asinian names and language are mostly hashed together from the various Romantic languages - Spanish, French, Italian, et all - so if I run out of Romantically-named breeds, I can just use words from those or at least Romantic-sounding words. There's a 'Desperada' and a 'Conquista' in a later chapter, for example.