It was that rarest of things, a quiet evening in Canterlot. The first stars were beginning to appear in the evening sky over the capital, dusting themselves across a cloudless expanse of indigo. Alloy emerged into the dusk from a little door at the base of the palace complex and took a moment to breathe in the cool air and try to will some sharpness back into his mind. A distant and soft hubbub from the city beyond was the only intrusion on his senses; but otherwise, all was still silence.
In retrospect, Alloy should have been vastly more on edge about the tranquility. He’d only now emerged from a meeting of the Royal Household staff that had lasted for just over three hours, however, and in that sort of circumstance, there came a point where acuity of mind was overwhelmed by mental pleading for a comet to come down and flatten the whole continent just for the sake of some interesting diversion.
There was a patter of hooves on the stone floor at Alloy’s back, and the young mule turned to their source. An ibex doe came hesitantly towards him, also clad in the gold-and-white uniform of the Royal Household, her gaze meeting his for one nervous moment before she glanced aside.
“Tundra.” Alloy smiled as best he could manage past his weariness and nodded at her. “Going for the same escape route as me, then?”
“I … ah, yes.” Tundra fidgeted. “May I walk with you?”
Alloy hesitated, and then nodded. “By all means. I was headed for the gardens.” He stretched his forelegs and groaned as his withers popped. “Anything like semi-civilised conversation after all that would be more than welcome.”
He trotted out into the wide space ringed by towers and palace structures and made for a path that led out towards the gardens. Tundra fell into step alongside him, and for a long moment, they trotted in companionable silence. Alloy’s gaze rose occasionally to the silhouettes of guards patrolling along the walls and towers, and he wondered how many more of them would be on active duty in the weeks to come.
He glanced round at Tundra. Even a good few months spent working here in the palace, well away from the hellhole she’d previously been serving in, hadn’t entirely cured her of a tendency to keep her gaze on the ground and trot as though she was surrounded by eggshells. At least he’d been able to coax her into bowing at a more decent and shallower angle than when she’d first arrived.
She noticed his gaze, and wonder of wonders, ventured a nervous smile in his direction. “I’m excited for this,” she said.
“Really?” Alloy couldn’t help the question. His initial spark of excitement over the prospect seemed a foreign, distant thing after the tedium of the meeting and after his dawning realisation of just how much labour the Royal Household would be putting in.
“I’ve never … well, done anything like this before. There wasn’t much call for this sort of thing in the Old Palace, back in Bellbylon. And … ah, even personally, I’ve never —”
“Warning where warning’s due,” interrupted Alloy. “It won’t seem so exciting once we have to get stuck into setting the poxy thing up. There’s all manner of behind-the-scenes work for something this large, and the less said about the clean-up afterwards, the better.”
Alloy felt slightly guilty about the words once they’d left him. If this really was a novelty for Tundra, then why did he have to try and quash her excitement? Thankfully, his words didn’t seem to have had too much impact. Her smile had only flickered a little. “I’m sure there’ll be a fun part or two,” he said lamely. “Just stay wary for more meetings like that. Because there will be more as the happy couple decide on the fixtures and seating arrangements and exact ceremony and see fit to inform us. And it’s not a question of whether they’ll change their mind about something we’ve finished setting up a minute before the event itself. It’s a question of how much we’ll weep in helpless frustration when the inevitable comes.”
“I don’t mind working on it. Or the meetings, even. It’ll be fun to learn what goes on here. How ponies do it.”
“No faulting a learning experience, I suppose.” Alloy saw that they were entering the gardens proper. An evening stroll around them with Tundra before retiring in peace back to his own quarters didn’t seem like the most unpleasant thing in the world.
But he’d come out here with another purpose. He had a job to do. And to his left, there was a large and conveniently-impenetrable hedgerow.
Tundra swallowed. “I was wondering if —”
“Do you mind if I nip around the back of here for just a second?” said Alloy suddenly, motioning to the hedge with his forehoof. “Keep walking, and I’ll catch up shortly.”
“Why? What are you doing behind the hedge?”
Alloy paused for a moment. “Jack stuff.”
Tundra asked no further questions, opting instead to venture ahead down the garden path with a slightly worried glance back in Alloy’s direction. The mule watched her leave for a moment before quickly making his way round the back of the hedge, out of sight from all possible onlookers.
Off came his saddlebags. Out from them came a pencil, a piece of paper, and a little twist of alchemically-treated green messenger-paper. There was still just about enough light in the sky to write by.
Alloy was an upright and dutiful servant in Equestria’s Royal Household, for which he was paid one of his two salaries. The other salary came from the intelligence offices just past Equestria’s eastern border.
Agent Alloy of the Asinial Republic wrote to his superiors in what were far more peaceful circumstances than the average for this sort of thing. There is to be a wedding, he began ...
Elsewhere, under the same evening sky.
In the middle of the arid Equestrian Badlands, half a day’s flight from the nearest settlement of note, there rose a great and mountainous formation of ridges and river-carved canyons, twisting together like a nest of serpents. Dark and low-hanging clouds which rarely shed rain hovered constantly over the black and serrated tops of the ridges, casting the deep ravines between them into constant shadow. At its heart, the ridges folded together to form looming overhangs and cavern roofs, and below them, the tangled network of rivers descended into a deepening web of twisty little passages and caves.
Willing visitors to the formation - which was varying known as the Black Defiles, the Obvious Location of Horror and Death to be Shunned by Any Ponies With the Sense the Creator Gave a Stoat (Literal Minded was generally regarded as one of the best pony explorers of the last few centuries, albeit as good with names as polio was with infants), or Home - were a rare sight. But not entirely unknown.
In the depths beneath the snarled heart of the Black Defiles, in one high-roofed cavern riddled with little streams running across the floor and down the walls, a visitor stood. They were as still and patient as if they’d been carved from stone, covered from the hooves upwards in a cowled robe. Only a little summoned sphere of light in the air before them provided any illumination.
Past the drip and murmur and distant echo of water all around them, there also came an occasional chitter. An odd wing-beat. Far-off hoof-treads and whispers in the dark.
And finally, one set of hoof-treads grew closer and closer, their source gradually taking shape as they grew closer to the cowled figure’s light. A great and chitinous frame loomed over the smaller figure, as large as any alicorn’s and as dark as a moonless night. A gnarled black horn protruded above two poison-coloured eyes, shimmering softly with bright green magic.
The eyes narrowed, and a sharp smile revealed the tips of glistening fangs.
“Queen Chrysalis, I presume.” The cowled figure spoke first, their voice dry and flat. “You wouldn’t believe how many spies and much wandering around dreary patches of the Badlands it took to finally find your hive.”
“And found it you have,” said Chrysalis, circling the figure like a pacing wolf. As she spoken, chitters and murmurs from unseen and countless sources filled the hush of the room from all around. “My drones saw you poking around the exterior rather avidly and were well-trained enough to bring you here when you asked politely. So what might you be, past that dreadfully cliched cowled robe? A particularly unflappable sort of tourist? A scholar chasing rumours? A pony with an ambitious death wish?”
“Call me a scholar for now,” said the figure, a note of amusement entering their voice. “I’ve done my research regarding your kind — at least, as much as anybeing can these days. Most history books have an annoying tendency of concluding you were never anything much beyond legends. Most history books.”
“We have no use for it to be otherwise … yet. But you admit to knowing differently.” Chrysalis came back round to the figure’s front, and her gaze bored deep into the cowl’s shadowed depths. “Spell out your purpose here in my home, then, for you clearly have one. Brave or foolish, you have my attention. I recommend making it count before I grow bored or my children grow hungry.”
“Hungry children,” said the cowled figure contemplatively. “I imagine that must be a problem for you, all the way out here.”
“We make do.” Chrysalis’s tone was cold.
“Making do on reckless travellers and the odd forager. Maybe the occasional expedition by a group of your drones to poach whoever and whatever they can from the nearest settlements. Small groups, of course. No parasite wants to risk discovery, after all. Besides, other legends have been stepping out of the shadows with wild abandon of late. It’s not been ending well for them, has it?”
“Fascinating,” purred Chrysalis after a moment, leaning in closer towards the cowl. “I’ve never met a being so intent on abrogating my good will.”
The figure was silent for a time before it spoke next. “Imagine if Equestria does find you. What will you do then?”
Chrysalis’s eyes flashed, and magic flared up the gnarled length of her horn. From the darkness all around, there came a cacophony of hisses and snarls and creaking wings. Green fire guttered to life around the outlines of dozens of horns, casting glistening light across a spreading circle of dark chitinous bodies and segmented eyes and far too many fangs.
“This one is threatening us, my children,” said Chrysalis. “And what do we do with threats?”
“You destroy them,” the figure cut in. “I’m not your main threat here, Queen Chrysalis. But I can help you destroy the one who is, to our mutual gain.”
Chrysalis paused. The chitters and hisses diminished, but the glow of the magic persisted.
“Speak,” Chrysalis said at last. “Do so carefully.”
“I have recently received some interesting news. News worthy of exploitation by those with wit and daring.” They stiffly raised a forehoof to push back the cowl. “Queen Chrysalis, ruler of the greatest changeling hive on Ungula and mightiest of Queens ... I have a proposition for you.”
Chrysalis smirked. “Why, I’m charmed. But this is quite sudden, and I’m rather married to my job. You’ll have to persuade me.”
The figure’s hoof paused mid-rise. There was the suggestion of a deep, indrawn breath from under the cowl.
“One happy, happy day,” they muttered to themselves, “I’ll have a meeting with someone who doesn’t feel the need to be undeservedly flippant.”
After all that, some weeks passed absent any publicised threat to the world at large.
Elsewhere yet, in the early hours of a brisk morning, three donkeys had their own discussion.
This time, the elsewhere was a well-appointed office overlooking a busy harbour, atop the Parliament Building in the city of Asincittà, bustling capital of the Asinial Republic. The discussion concerned what Arch-Minister Burro Delver would be wearing that day. It had been going on for a while between the two self-appointed clothiers on Burro’s either side and had passed through all the typical conversational stages of earnest debate, arguing, shouting, and exchanged bodily threats.
Burro himself fidgeted in the space before his huge desk, groaned as his aging joints protested at the motion, and glanced at a nearby longcase clock. Two hours had apparently gone by since the ordeal started, and he suspected the clock was lying.
“Can we at least agree that there are many happy changes that could be made to the existing Fleet Admiral’s dress uniform for the sake of greatly improving its aesthetic?” That was the young jack at his right-hoof side, Silhouette, Burro’s personal secretary.
“You could certainly argue that. And you know what? I’d normally agree with you,” came the equally icy tones of Damasque from the other side. The jenny was the Diplomatic Secretary for Burro’s cabinet as well as a professional stickler. “But there’s a time and a place to muck around with the regulation dress uniform for the highest naval rank, and the morning before your Arch-Minister has to head off in the bloody thing to an Equestrian state occasion isn’t it.”
“I’m not disputing that it’s regulation. I’m asserting that it’s gurglingly stupid.”
“Silhouette, I swear to the Creator, if you start this horse-apples again —”
“Whoever else is in attendance at the wedding will mock Asinia’s sartorial customs if the Arch-Minister is forced to wear this unmodified. Leaving aside the obvious suspect of the cavalier hat, the tailcoat’s navy blue, for goodness sake! Who thought to make the waistcoat under it vermillion? And the epaulettes! The stylised kraken on them’s nice enough, but when the whole thing’s got a braided design, why in the Depths would you make the attached aiguillette gold-wire? The ghost of Beau Amble would vomit.”
Burro Delver, who felt he’d been surpassingly still and patient throughout the last aeon, wondered how to bring it all to a happy end for all parties short of lethal force. “Kindly don’t have the epaulettes argument again,” he said. “Neither side in it has grown on me over the last three times you pair have had it.”
“I’m not having the epaulettes argument, Arch-Minister,” said Silhouette archly.
Damasque growled. “Don’t dare say you’re stating the epau—”
“I’m stating the epaulettes facts.”
“You’re not leaving this room alive, you smirking son of a geld—”
“Both of you have made wonderful points throughout this whole lovely process,” said Burro abruptly, donning a sharp and practised smile. “And I don’t doubt you could keep making wonderful points for many happy hours to come. However, I feel obliged to point out that I have my own wardrobe up in my bedroom. My old coat and tricorne from my privateering days are hanging in there somewhere. All patched and still burnt and slashed in places, and terribly dusty and mothbally for that matter. And if the pair of you can’t agree in the next few minutes on what permutation of the dress uniform I’m to inflict on Celestia’s eyes, then I swear to the Depths, I’m going to march upstairs, put said old coat and hat on, and delight the wedding with them.”
The effects were immediate and as desired: Silhouette gagged, while Damasque clenched her teeth. She glared daggers at Burro, who shrugged it off. The better chunk of a lifetime spent in politics had rendered the old jack glare-proof.
Damasque turned to Silhouette, and whilst keeping her teeth clenched, gritted out, “I am prepared to concede ground on the cavalier hat.”
“Thank you, Secretary,” Silhouette replied with what seemed like genuine relief. “The multicoloured plume’s the main sticking point. I recommend the commodore’s bicorne. No plumage, and the gold trim lends it adequate gravitas whilst gelling with the overall uniform.”
“Fine,” said Damasque, running one hoof down her face while Silhouette swept a monstrosity of feathers off Burro’s head. “Let’s just hope everyone there gets too drunk to know what hat should really be on.”
“If I didn’t know what hat should be on, I guarantee no other being will, Damasque,” Burro said soothingly. He felt a bicorne being rested upon his head by Silhouette, the traditional fore-and-aft placement leaving his notched ears free to spring up on either side. “Tell me more cheerful and relevant things. Any updates from our pair of eyes in the royal household? Who else is coming?”
“Some fellow statesbeings have been confirmed as attending. Others will send their representatives or regrets.” Damasque looked relieved at the change of topic and plunged right into it. “Saddle Arabia’s Viceroy will be there. Tyrant Fairy Floss of Ovarn will be there in person for the ceremony itself, as will Bullwalda Greenhorn with his consort.”
“Solid crowd so far.” Burro looked thoughtful. “I’ve yet to meet Greenhorn’s consort. From Bovish noble stock, but that’s all I’ve gathered.”
“A Capric representative should also be there, sent by the Crown. Zebrica, or rather, the two Zebrican realms will send their diplomats to show face — minor nobles favoured by either pharaoh, from what I understand. No firm word from the Pachydermians, but we think they’ll send someone as well. An invitation was sent to Lord Alpha Rex of Beryllium, and I imagine it’s gathering dust on an untouched corner of his desk at this very moment. The Fire Queen probably shan’t send anyone, she’s never really done state occasions. Complete silence from Ceratos. The Gazellen diplomat had been invited, but he claims to have come down with a nasty case of horndroop, and begs that his lack of attendance be construed as a wish that the happy day not be overshadowed by an outbreak of the condition.”
Burro nodded. Everyone with both the sense and the ability would send a trustworthy pair of eyes to the event, if they couldn’t just send their own. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza had thus been a relatively reserved figure in Equestrian political affairs. Even Asinia’s agent in the palace had rarely been able to report more than the same details: that she was all-round lovely (said loveliness somewhat frazzled of late by wedding preparations, which was to be expected), that she had some prior relationship with one of the Element-Bearers (who were all apparently in attendance as well, and would also be eminently worthwhile meeting), and that she was involved with a guard captain. Very involved, if the invitation to their wedding was anything to go by.
“I assume nobody from Corva’s even been invited?” he said.
“An invitation was sent to the Cormaer,” said Damasque, provoking a surprised snort from Burro. “You know what Celestia’s like for extending an open hoof in these matters. Hopeless optimism, I call it. Her kindness was probably used to pad out a nest, if it was lucky.”
“She makes the effort,” said Burro. He looked knowingly at his Diplomatic Secretary. “You’ve not mentioned one particular name so far, though.”
Damasque sighed. “A telegram from Chieftain Gellert came to my office early this morning on the subject. All it had on it was ‘Tell the Arch-Minister he can’t put off that night of revelry any longer, and that I bet he still holds his drink like a sieve’.”
“Old sot.” Burro grinned. “I’m not sure how civilised an affair this is meant to be, but if it goes the way of most weddings, I could very well find myself helpless to refuse him.”
“Recall that I’m hosting several captains of Zebrican industry for the Trans-Cheval Mercantile Concord tomorrow, sir,” said Damasque sweetly. “If you find yourself tempted to do anything today that seems like it might bring about a concord-jeopardizing scandal, then I’ll thank you to also recall that I know where you sleep.”
“Bah.” Burro’s creased smile acquired a certain jovial rakishness. “You know donkeys love it whenever I have a fun scandal. I get bouquets and bottles and chocolates from the press barons whenever they come up. And now I mention that, the flowers around here are starting to wilt a bit. Shall I see that they’re replaced?”
“Sir.”
“I’m teasing, Damasque. I promise that whenever impropriety arises during today, I’ll be a mere accessory rather than a root cause.”
Damasque spent a moment muttering the most heartfelt blasphemy the Asiniol tongue had to offer before grumbling, “I suppose if I can’t get a full loaf, I’ll settle for a mouldy crust.”
“Thank you, my dear. That’s the most flattering comparison I’ve heard in years.” Burro winked and turned on Silhouette, who’d been hovering around and straightening out Burro’s uniform like a neurotic and fashion-conscious bee. “Could you remind me what I’m giving the bride and groom?”
“Recall the toaster the Auspicious Guild of Boundary-Breakers gifted you last month, Arch-Minister?”
“The Auspi —? Stars above.” Burro winced with recollection. “That was the one where they ignited cartridges of corvid black powder for the heating element, wasn’t it?”
“The very same, Arch-Minister. Passing such gifts onto those who may get more use from them shouldn’t offend anyone’s sensibilities.”
“It … was an exciting variation on a combustion engine, I’ll grant it that much. Is there nothing less lethal we can give the poor couple?”
“No donkey actually died during the demonstration, Arch-Minister,” said Silhouette in what Burro thought was meant to be a soothing manner. “Besides, if our own use of it is anything to go by, it’s the sort of present to be smiled and nodded at before you let it gather dust at the bottom of a cupboard. Call its gifting symbolic. With it, we both demonstrate our hope and expectation that the happy couple enjoys domestic bliss, and we showcase our nation’s technological ingenuity. From our own hooves to their needs, as it were.”
“Showcase something about our nation, certainly.” Burro shook his head and looked away. “Send it along to the ornithopter, and hopefully I’ll be out of Equestria by the time it’s used. Attach written instructions to it, just for ethics’ sake. What ornithopter am I taking to Canterlot, by the way? Was the Mockingbird salvageable at all, or did the Discord incident do too much of a number on the old girl?”
“All the tooled parts transforming into guinea pigs and back again was too much for her in the end, I’m afraid,” said Damasque. “I broached the matter with Ms Amiatina of the Brineside Shipwrights when discussing the launch of the new ships. For the occasion, she was kind enough to lend us one of the prototypes from her new aeronautical division, on condition that it’s flown in grand style over the city on your way out. The Cloud-Kisser. Fifty leagues per hour at peak speed, so it shouldn’t take much more than three or four hours to get to Canterlot. Fitted out with the most modern galvanic rotors and a mithril-alloy fuselage and other unpronounceable things. It sometimes doesn’t explode mid-flight, even.”
“So long as I’m away from any window seat, I can endure anything modern.” Burro dared to take a step. The uniform pressed tightly in parts, but there was something curiously reassuring about being in naval dress once more. Even if it was the official sort of naval dress, it was almost enough to make him feel young again. “No sense wasting the day, then. Do you have my overnight bag, Silhouette?”
“Already aboard the Cloud-Kisser, Arch-Minister. Along with the toaster. I’ll send the written instructions along shortly.”
“Good jack. I’m sure Captain Baudet’s already got an escort or several waiting for me when I step outside. Given the security measures Celestia’s put in place for this, I’m sure I can give them the day off in Canterlot. Damasque, I’ll get some work done on the flight to torment you with when I come back tomorrow. Don’t let Asinia burn down while I’m gone, now.”
“Be careful, sir,” said Damasque as Burro turned to the door leading out and began to stiffly stride in its direction. “And remember, no scandals. I’ll be badgering our spy there and watching tomorrow’s headlines like a hawk.”
“It’s just a wedding, Damasque,” said Burro, pushing open the door. Two dark-clad jennies fell into step beside him as he trotted out into the corridor. “How uncivilised do you expect it to get?”
I can see one item of clothing he seems to have forgotten for his flight.
A parachute.
7393079
A very interesting start to everything.
Well, this promises to be magnificent, especially how many foreign dignitaries are going to see Celestia fall in battle... and how many will see Cadence succeed where she failed.
The figure who gives Chrysalis the news is also quite intriguing. My first thought is Tirek, though the mention of a forehoof makes me question that. Of course, that section seems to be at least partially from Chrysalis's perspective. We'll have to wait and see. Still, good to see that Chryssy knew why open conquest was a bad idea before she was tempted with a banquet the likes of which she'd never seen.
Also, I kind of want to see a map of the world made by Literal Minded.
Is he suffering from the effects of dementia's onset? No being of his experience from this world should ever utter those words in that particular combination.
7393099
Glad you think so! Hope the rest turns out as interesting for you.
7393102
Suitable reactions to Celestia's fall should abound, and I'm sure the exact identity of Chrysalis's guest should be revealed in all good time.
And I shan't lie, despite my ongoing lack of cartographical skills, I kind of want to draw that map as well.
7393120
Allow a jack some reckless, reckless optimism from time to time. Maybe Equestria shan't apocalyptically shit itself on this occasion. Maybe.
7393086
He'd be smart to just go out drinking
7393221
7393229
Always the smartest course of action, really, no matter the situation.
Mm.
While pig iron is a very poor material to use in a flying machine, it's almost universally agreed that guinea pig iron is even less suited to the purpose.
Quite the shame.
7393264
Terrible substance to use in construction in general, really. Very prone to cavyties.
7393264 7393274 You two are terrible. Never change.
7393274
Certainly not safe to use in any load-capybaring capacity.
7393371
It's certainly unbeaverlable in terms of ...
Scratch that. In terms of tensile strength, it's downright hareible ...
It's soft enough that it's easy to mara using ... you know what, screw it, this deserves more thought than I'm capable of dispensing at four in the morning. People think making these is easy, you know.
Oh deer
Ah, so the principle characters involved will be at the wedding as guests while it happens. I'm surprised I didn't think of that. It seems only natural now that I've seen it. Glad to see that not everybody will be there, by the way. Even if it means we'll see less of some of the more interesting personalities like the Crown or the Cormaer, it avoids that overcrowding feeling that Tempest had at times.
"Inhales deeply"
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
I don't know what it is but I always enjoy these stories on statecraft, even when I don't quite get all the terminology.
Good story thus far, good job.
7393421
I can sympathize. Sleep deprivation makes everyone a little less shrew-d.
"palace complex, and took"
"complex and"?
"senses, but otherwise"
"senses; otherwise"?
"moment, before quickly"
"moment before"?
"like a hive of serpents"
"nest"?
"Literal Minded was generally regarded as one of the best pony explorers of the last few centuries, albeit as good with names as polio was with infants"
:)
"with little running streams across"
"streams running"?
"avidly, and were"
"avidly and"?
"discovery after all"
"discovery, after"?
"abrogating"
New word!
"flashed and magic"
"flashed, and"?
"stiffly rose a forehoof"
"raised"?
"either side, and had"
"side and"?
My new favourite quote.
"Oh, the one developed in collaboration with the Alchemists' Guild? How could I not."
7393620
Hey. Hey. I'm not having this comments section devolve into a mess of random animal wordplay. I couldn't bear that.
7393723
Some judicious trimming of characters has happened, though I might also scupper myself there by throwing in yet more faces. Next chapter should give a full accounting of the folks present.
7393824
Statecraft's always good fun to watch, ideally from afar. Glad you're liking it!
7394084
Less of this, lest I get ratty with the whole thing.
7394201
All fixed, and thank you once again!
7394280
I may have giggled to myself in an obnoxiously self-congratulatory manner during the typing of the former, I shan't lie. Glad to have your interest for this one as well!
Ah yes. A name to inspire joy and delight in the hearts of all, especially Occupational Health And Safety Officers.
This looks promisingly...explosive, especially given what we know is going to happen. Poor Celestia.
7393120 It’s akin to uttering the statement “what could possibly go wrong?”
And the answer is, of course, everything.
(I sincerely apologise for the TV Tropes link)
7394313
Don't let them badger you!
7394374
7394393
Aaand half the people viewing this comments section were never heard from again. That site's too addicting for anyone's good.
7394427
Too late. I'm already feeling pretty grizzly over the whole affair.
7394450 You have my sympathies, it'd bug me as well.
*sigh* I'll duck out of this now.
Seriously. Why is this so bloody difficult to stop?
Foreshadowing a meeting with Celestia or Luna or Twilight or something?
Clothing is gonna be noticed by Rarity. Calling it.
Shipping Alloy X Tundra?
Shipping Silhouette X Damasque?
Ships depend on age differences, if any, between components...
I still wanna find out what happens when I spray a cherngelerng with RAID.
"The big, black clouds, all heavy with rain, that shadowed the ground of Kapiti Plain..."
That was... 1983... God damn, I'm so old...
7394460
There's a time and a plaice to duck out of things, and this isn't it. Pony up and make amends for your misdeeds. No weaseling out of this, now.
(7393264 See what you've instigated. Hang your head in shame.)
7394615
Clothes Horse would undoubtedly have her own somewhat better-informed critique of Burro's dress to offer.
Age-wise, I'd peg both Alloy and Tundra as in their early/mid twenties. Silhouette's in his late twenties, while Damasque's just around fifty or so. Ship accordingly and to preference.
7394690
This nets you either one dead or severely annoyed changeling. Spray with all due prudence, and bring back-up cans for when its angry brethren enter the fray.
This is a good start of a long awaited story. I wonder who the visitor of the Changeling hive is and if Burro Delver learns not to tempt fate. After NightMare Moon and Discord it's only a matter of time before another huge disaster happens.
If the Chekov's Toaster introduced in this chapter is not fired (at some attacking changeling, no doubt) before the end of the story, I shall be very disappointed.
Haha, another awesome installment to a great series. Hope to see more soon!
7394719 What about if I hang giant bug zapper around the room?
7393120 You took the words (or a variation thereof) right out of my mouth.
7394832
Glad you've been looking forward to it!
I'll be honest, the smart money's on 'Hell no' here.
7394872
I can't imagine what you could possibly be referring to or predicting. That's just the most innocent, inauspicious gunpowder-powered toaster there ever was, and it's going to do nothing but sit politely and quietly to itself for the rest of the narrative.
7395051
Happy to have you aboard for this one!
7395132
That'll give you a slightly better chance against the hive, I shan't lie.
7395133
Basic genre-savviness is such an under-appreciated and under-utilised skill by Burro and others, bless their hearts.
7394832 I'm almost certain that visitor was Tirek. The timing, appearance, and attitude seem right enough.
7395263 Very true.
7394313
You're welcome. :)
A great start, and an even greater chain of pun comments! Looking forward to this fic's updates as well.
It's great to see Tundra again. I can't say I'm sad to not see the Crown. That thing gave me the willies.
7393102
I second this motion.
7394450
The Auspicious Guild's introduction sounds awfully familiar...
I like it!
Is it weird that I find the Black Defiles' alternative name of Home more ominous than both the regular one and Literal Minded's eloquent description?
And something tells me that Gellert might not be entirely completely disappointed with a battle breaking out in the middle of the wedding. At the very least, I can definitely see him after the event regaling the griffons back home with a tale of how he skillfully fought off a hundred-- no, two hundred changelings with just one claw while holding a mug of ale in the other, before being overwhelmed in a glorious last stand.
I notice the bit about the changelings being well trained enough to bring the stranger in... Phrased as if they were dog-like in their intellect. I hope to learn more.
Here we go! Can't wait to see some of the world leaders' opinions on the mane six. I suspect Pinkie's antics will be politely ignored by those who value their sanity.
Hmm... mysterious visitor is mysterious. The 'raised forehoof to lift cowl' would seem to rule out Tirek, Ahuizoatl, any Dragons or any Corvid (as if lack of accent wasn't the biggest clue to eliminating the last). I would have suspected an agent of the Crown, but this individual gives the impression of being important in their own right. Given the Crown's love of being flippant itself, I doubt it would complain about flippancy, so it probably isn't wearing someone. Sombra is possible, though unlikely since the Crystal Empire has yet to return, and when he was seen in the show he was less than sane, growling and murmuring about crystals. Starlight is busy in her village and would have no motive yet. Sunset is on the other side of the mirror and I'm doubtful that she would have the 'spies' the figure mentions early on.
At this point I'm assuming it is a new-ish character. My money would be on the Gazellen ambassador, especially since he called off his wedding visit. The real question is whether he is a lone agent, part of a small group, or if the majority of the Gazellen congress is in support of this.
7394719
Alloy is in his twenties? Huh, for some reason I had been envisioning him as much older, late forties at least.
Reactions to Sunhorse fall? That is easy.
Obviously, it is a carefully crafted ploy on the part of Celestia to make her enemies underestimate her in preparation for a coming attempted coup against the crown, while also getting Cadance to stand on her own three hooves (The last one is currently healing after she stepped on a particularly sharp rock). I mean, come now. Tirek? Pah! That foreleg is WHITE.
Sunhorse is clearly being her usual devous self.
7396152
Thank you!
I'm both proud and not proud at the same time, which I think is the normal human reaction here.
7396181
What's that from?
7396337
7396377
Future chapters should shed a wee bit more light on changelings in this setting and their relative levels of intellect.
7397329
I do like to see some good speculation. And I do wish I could confirm any of it.
And yep, Alloy's in his twenties. I don't think I'd ever specified much about his personal appearance in previous stories, so any prior impression would have been perfectly fair.
7397404
Never underestimating Pretty Pony Princesses is generally a good set of watchwords to live by in this setting. Let's see whether it pans out here.
7397495
FoME was referring to the Izzet Guild from Magic: the Gathering. They're one of ten guilds that runs (and keeps running) the planet-city of Ravnica. Each guild represents the marriage of two of the five colors of magic (in the Izzet's case, wild, reckless red with curious, clever blue). The Izzet are technically in charge of Ravnica's public works, but they're best known for practicing !!SCIENCE!!.
Since you're clearly a fan of fantastic world-building, I would definitely recommend checking out the lore behind Ravnica and what each guild does (and how they interact). A quick way to do so would be to check out FoME's fic, The Implicit Neighs, which is pretty-much the Return to Ravnica storyline if ponies were native to Ravnica.
(Hope it isn't too gauche to recommend another's fic in one fic's comment section.)
7397495
Well, yes. It's clearly a plot, or Celestia is just horsin' around
This promises a happy combination of mystery and shenanigans. I look forward to it
7397495
Yep, I love to hear reader speculation on my own stories as well. Especially where I get to chuckle to myself with that perverse joy of already knowing the answers they are scrambling to find.
Another possibility I considered was a trick from a competing changeling hive hoping to eliminate a rival, but I suspect changelings would be able to identify each other, making that an unlikely suspect.
7397668
I can't speak for Carabas, but I don't consider it insulting unless the person is plugging their own stories.
7397668
Ah, I see. My knowledge of Magic begins and ends at 'There are colours and they do things'. That fic does look good by its description, though, and if there's grand worldbuilding on display, I'll have to give it a gander.
No worries about relevant story plugs either.
7397689
I shan't be drawn on this any longer. I need to squirrel away at least some puns for another occasion.
7397865
Mystery and shenanigans are always a fun combination. Hope I can pull it off, and glad to have you aboard.
7398134
It's one of the great joys in life when writing any sort of serial fiction with initial mystery to it. Watching speculation unfold and cackling at the knowledge you hold.