Not Going Home
Tholumom Lathonudlerned has been content recently. He has mourned for the loss of loved ones recently. He has eaten a decent omelet recently. He has had an excellent drink recently. He has had the satisfaction of learning what an animal trap does. He has felt guilt for his part in ending life recently. He has received pay recently. He has felt left out of the loop recently. He has had the pleasure of talking to a nice pony recently and obtained a flagon for his troubles.
He is slow to anger, but often feels depressed. He is not particularly sociable. He cannot find happiness in his work
He has a wonderful kinesthetic sense. He is very strong. He possesses an incredible endurance. He recovers quickly from sickness and injury.
His eyes are brown, his hair is brown, his skin is pale.
“Please refrain from killing the local wildlife, regardless of how imposing or misguided it might seem.” Princess Celestia’s tone became a little bit less cheerful.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Tholumom’s pulse slowed a bit. The tea must be working then. “I was worried it was something serious.”
“It is actually quite serious. We do not allow the natural world to take its course, and while the Everfree is the only place where this would not have you arrested as a miscreant; I’m afraid that you can’t even do it there, seeing as the actions you have already taken might be enough to cause the Everfree to expand.”
“Princess, I understand your concern, but that isn’t how nature works. You see-“The princess interrupted him.
“It’s been nice seeing you two, but I’m afraid that I have some rather important business to attend to.” Celestia finally walked out of the room, leaving the two rather confused guests to fend for themselves as they attempt to make their way through the probably booby-trapped castle.
Twilight lead the bewildered, tipsy dwarf out of the castle to a new Pegasus carriage that was waiting for them. The carriage ride back was uneventful, completely void of any sort of vomiting or retching. Tholumom stared out the window, oblivious to the fact that he should be discomforted by the combination of air travel, shifting horizon, and the fact that the sun is in the sky, producing a rather lovely sunset of at least twelve different hues of orange.
The two arrived at the library. The dwarf found himself thinking about the similarity between his daughter and Twilight. All I see are similarities, but where are the differences? Is it possible that I’ve forgotten them? Day turned to night.
Sleep is an uneasy process for the dwarf. Dreams came and went, leaving odd mixes of his memories and imagination. But then, there was persistence.
Forests are not places where dwarves thrive. Tholumom found himself enjoying one. Babbling brooks carried water across rocks, a small symphony. Insects flew gracefully from plant to plant, another chorus. And the dwarf feared. And the dwarf rubbed his hands together and the dwarf found hooves. And there was peace for the dwarf and the dwarf failed to notice.
(Enough parataxis already)
The movements he made were fluid and simple. His trot was measured and careful, just as agile and natural as any other movement he had made. His mind rationalized something along the lines of “Must be a pony overdose” but he knew that such a symptom would be unlikely to be noticed along with the various organ failures that would occur with a pony overdose.
It didn’t matter. He knew that he would find a family again. His painful memories of gathering the corpses scattered outside the fortress seemed like a nightmare or a fantasy; it couldn’t be real, could it? It doesn’t matter, voices call out to him from the outside, promising him peace for a sacrifice of something that he can’t remember. It won’t matter, he gallops out into a field, and his princess awaits his presence. It will not have mattered; she is a matron, concerned for him, why would she demand slade cups? They are rather heavy after all. It had not mattered, his family would be found alive if he simply accepted the corruption of his being. Even his flagon agreed, his family would exist again after the change.
But was it right, myths of Planepacked circled his mind, the history of the world engraved into a microscopic level, recursively recording its own image, and the image of every other thing upon the world. He recoiled at his dream. The matron dissolved into the tea. And it spoke to him.
“There is truth in what I offer you. I might not be like anything that you know, but that is what makes me existentially more innocent than your people's. I appreciate you receiving me so well, often the offer to replace this would be met with violent resistance from the mind."
The dwarf/pony shrugged. "Whatever. Are you actually serious about your offer?"
"There are many strings of destiny involved, but I can see that if you follow mine, you will find yourself having another daughter much like your last one, which you so dearly loved, a wife whose presence will force you to recall what you once had and smile, as you realize that the similarities make up for the lack of legitimate detail. Can you really say that my offer doesn't make up for what you've lost?"
The tea simmered slightly, working itself up for no legitimate reason.
"No, I cannot say that. But will it be a mere illusion, as your dream has been?"
"The dream was your own, in order to penetrate it; I needed to use Planepacked as a focus for your mind. I do not make it a habit to follow those unsavory habits of the Bureau."
"What?"
"Nothing you should worry yourself with. Anyway, I've refrained from changing your mind state in any way, other than bringing you to a conscious level suitable for making decisions that can change your life for the better."
The ground beneath the Dwarf/pony grew lighter and the dwarf found himself considering it.
"You should know that the time grows short, soon your dream will break, and then you will be without my guidance until the next time."
"Whatever. Sure. Please help me!" The pony/dwarf clasped his hooves together and went on his belly to plead the spirit guide. There could be no task of importance greater than this. His life had a chance to resume its normal course. Could anyone at home ever fault him for this? The only ones who could are dead.
"You will have life that will be reclaimed; you have tasks to complete and time to fill." The tea paused. "There will be much tea drinking."
"That sounds positively terrifying." The dwarf/pony shuddered at the thought, much tea drinking.
"Doesn't it though? It really isn't so bad."
The ground began to shine upwards, becoming painful to look at directly.
“See you soon Tholumom.”
His vision was filled with the filtered red of the inside of the eyelid. The dwarf rubbed his eyes, and then opened them. His hands were still there. Just as normal. There was little to suggest anything important had happened the night before. Perhaps it was nothing, the kind of dream that only the intoxicating Tea could induce. Of course, his beverages typically failed to talk to him in his dreams.
The room was filled with the morning light; which a few months ago, would have been symbolic of a cave-in rather than a new day to go about. And all this tranquility could be shattered so easily.
“TWILIGHT! Stop trying to use the transformation magic. If you continue, you might get stuck as something silly like a cloud or a full grown dragon, both of which you would probably want to avoid.” The purple dragon yelled. It was early in the morning, but considering the conversation, Tholumom thought that it would probably be a terrible waste of time and energy to ignore the possibilities.
“Spike, come on, I’ve come a long way since the cloud incident. Besides, I never intended to use it on you.” It occurred to the dwarf that they were yelling at each other, arguing over irrelevant points about something that probably contained sentiments related to magical safety or something.
Magical safety is nonsense, magic is unpredictable by its nature, and while Twilight seems to have an unusually firm grasp on it, it can very easily go the wrong way. Preparing magic safely involves more learning what is actually needed to accomplish than the natural talent or power, or wards, or faraday cages, but that does not necessarily guarantee any safe performance. That was what it said in one of Twilight’s books, probably one that she never got around to, which would be good fortune for the dwarf’s plan.
Acting without thinking, Tholumom attempted to run before he removed himself from the bed, accidentally learning how to use a bicycle in the process.
After a few moments of that, he finally decided to swing his legs out of the bed; he doubted that there would be any new inventions in getting out of bed today. After a few moments dealing with a few confounded sheets, probably a new invention designed in order to keep him attached to the bed; an incredible invention. It would also be unfair to forget this mattress, which left these pleasant kinks to work out of his spine; a wonderful chorus of pops would end up issuing from him as the day progressed, sort of like having a musician follow him around and hit him with a flute.
The dwarf did manage to escape from the myriad bondage which affixed him to the bed against his will. The day was new and the smell of breakfast pressed itself upon the nose. Which in itself did not seem to be all that unusual, considering that breakfast always has an emphasis on oats and cereal, generally derived products thereof.
The breakfast was, for once, not the object of the dwarf’s pursuits. No, that was a new way of life; the reclamation of what he lost a mere nine years ago. Oddly enough, this also goal is to be pursued through experimentation with unusual, difficult, and all around dangerous magical techniques which Twilight is probably itching to use.
The purple unicorn was hunched over a book, reading something with her eyes a few inches from the page while she scribbled on a page held in mid-air by magic. A problem then, she could go at this for days before she would finally relent and find time to do something else. Or not, she could just end up finding what she was looking for within the next hour. The solution was simple enough, just interrupt her.
Then she noticed him.
“Hi Tholumom, what’s up?” She put away the book and her notes; it couldn’t be Twilight, she never cleaned up after anything.
“I heard something about transformation magic.” The dwarf paused, “You know? When I was woken by the sound of you two arguing about something regarding safety?”
“Yes you did.” Twilight continued to smile at him. Her smile seemed a bit off. But then again, how can that kind of smile not be off?
“Do you know any?”
“Yes, but I was looking for a subject to practice on.”
“Is that safe in any way?”
"Not in particular, but where's the fun if there’s no risk?"
It still sounded wrong to Tholumom. "Are you sure that you are feeling alright, Twilight?"
"Of course, so what was it that you wanted to do with transformation magic?" Twilight smiled. Tholumom felt a sudden headache. That was uncommon for the dwarf, his mental resistance to annoying people, things, and ponies tended to be strong enough for that not to happen.
"I was wondering if I could potentially; try out being something a bit more native to this world, perhaps the common race?" The dwarf uttered; almost half-hearted in his speech. To him the question sounded like a defeat, that his life as a dwarf wasn't enough, and that pain could get to him.
"That might be possible, let me see." Her horn glowed then sputtered out. "I guess not."
"That simple then?" There had to be something off with her. She would normally have gone into a detailed explanation of why the spell failed, not to mention that her magic was green instead of red. The dwarf clenched his hands; her failure, compounded with his now splitting headache was starting to get to him.
"What? I have my limits; my magic isn't good for everything you know." The Twilight-like object's tone grew more irritated.
"Do you know my name?" The dwarf asked coolly. It was possible that this is still Twilight, but that possibility dwindles.
"I'm sorry honored guest, but it seems to have slipped my mind." The definitely not Twilight said sarcastically, her voice dripping with a venom uncharacteristic of the purple unicorn.
"You obviously aren't Twilight, but before we have this conversation, let me get my pickaxe.” Before the not-Twilight could respond, he ran upstairs and obtained his pickaxe. He dashed downstairs and resumed his confrontation. "You were going to say?"
"Fool. You've fed me enough for today. Your fatherly affection did not go unnoticed, and we have taken the love you have given to Twilight. And now I am strong enough to oppose you." The not Twilight dissolved into a green flame, giving way to the black carapace of the typical changeling.
"I doubt that." The dwarf laughed. “But you flatter yourself too much insect, you are quite strong enough to be difficult for me to slay, but you are alone, without your hive to back you, you are virtually powerless.”
"You doubt the power of the hive?"
"No, I doubt the power of an individual thief in comparison to an enraged dwarven warrior."
"Fool! You cannot oppose the hive!" The changeling snarled at the dwarf, narrowing its eyes towards the strange biped.
"The hive is all well and good, I don't care about the sanctity of love across Equestria, I just care about the pony you have taken and replaced." The dwarf’s rolled his eyes. The possibility of a fight, while interesting and fairly normal in the daily life of a dwarf in a fortress as large as the Ideas of Mourning; it did not appeal to Tholumom at the time; it simply wouldn’t do to splatter Twilight’s books with the congealed green ichor that would no doubt ooze from the changeling’s corpse.
"The element of magic must not be released, if she is, then we will surely fail ourselves." The changeling bristled at his own speech.
"Stop using 'we' you are an individual. You want to survive. You cannot survive if you go against me, and all of the warriors you can bring upon me are nothing compared to the focused mind of a dwarf surrounded. I cannot allow you to take away the closest thing I have to my Daughter.” Okay, so a purple unicorn could not be very much like a pale female dwarf who weighed about five stones, but their personalities were similar enough.
"Individuals are weak the hive is -"
"Strong, I get it, but surely you have an individual drive, perhaps a white picket fence and a pleasant house. A loving changeling wife and accepting neighbors."
"We are like insects and we do not aspire to that kind of life"
"Of course you do, I've seen hundreds of beings like you make wise choices. I'll let you live if you tell me where she is." A lie, but a comforting one, assuring the changeling that it has goals outside of the mutual desires that it shares with the hive.
"You... have me right. I do want a white picket fence and a wife and accepting neighbors. But can I hope for that without the hive's health?" The dwarf's brain almost froze at such a strange desire for an insect horse to have; fortunately it had frozen once before and learned that such action was typically followed by a large space of amnesia.
"You're even worse than the goblins. At least they guarantee equal rights to their slaves. They never ask for white picket fences either, you damned changeling." The truth was that they guaranteed three meals a day and offered free baths with soap, but they did work the average slave to death within the first five days, but those five days tended to be filled with clean armpits and a distinct lack of vomit.
"Doesn't slave imply that they are forced to work?" The dwarf smiled, the insect horse had managed to fall into the most obvious trap in the dwarven Rhetorical arsenal; the bullshit call.
"Does being a member of a hive imply that you are part of it?" How could this question fail to confuse an insect?
Apparently it could fail to confuse an insect very easily. "Yes." And the most obvious rhetorical device of the dwarves fails once again.
"And does that mean that you will tell me where Twilight is?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Really?"
"She's out getting groceries with Spike you clot." Tholumom inhaled, lowering his pickaxe.
"Did you really have to give that whole super villain speech? I would have been satisfied with slightly less bullshit than that. I knew that you freaks weren't as brutal as you like to pretend you are." It wasn't even very original. Most goblin leaders could make a better super villain speech than this insect, but then again; they probably had at least a few hundred thousand more neurons than the insect.
"So you want to be friends?" The dwarf smiled.
"Sure, just keep your mouth closed and we have a deal."
"We can't have a deal for friendship you foal; it has to be understood implicitly by both parties." The insect looked at the dwarf hesitantly. It considered the possibilities, a friend, something that could build a house, the possibility of more love coming out of it.
"Sure friend, just keep your mouth closed, I'd like to avoid throwing up the love you accidentally gave me." It decided to go after the anonymity which this dwarf could offer.
"Fair enough, one can't expect a tick to return stolen blood." The changeling gave the dwarf an icy glare. They both laughed.
"At least one doesn't expect a tick to vomit the blood on its host because it's put into the light." The dwarf gave a false pout, and they laughed again. The dwarf had made friends with the changeling. Eventually they both ended up recounting stories with each other over a pot of tea.
The tea whispered softly, “Your first task is complete.”
He has made a friend recently.
Meanwhile at Blueblood’s castle…
The castle green was graced by a single tree. On this tree was a dubious construction of glue, nails, and boards that were sharper than the nails on average. In this construction a dubious noble looked down upon his estate approvingly; the view was, in his mind, spectacular.
A slightly worried, but less dubious servant, entrusted to care for this particular noble, attempted to get him down, another rainstorm was on its way, not that the tree house needed that to fail, it creaked enough already.
“Sir, I think that it is time for you to come down from there; you might catch a cold.” Preppy Heights was once again stunned by his employer’s incredible ignorance.
“Come on Preppy, I know what I’m doing. This is my tree house after all.” Blueblood dashed the servant’s hope to get him down peacefully.
“Sir, the last time you said that, you ended up suffering from tetanus for three weeks.” The servant attempted to appeal to the noble’s desire to maintain a fairly decent standard of health.
“And that’s what the inoculation was for, Prep. Surely you know that my immune system can handle virtually everything that is thrown at it.”
The servant sighed and whispered, “I hope its methods are overridden.”
“Come on now, Preppy, you aren’t even a character in that story any more. Stop making references to it.” Blueblood grasped a hammer weakly in his magic, swinging at the wall.
“Sir, you aren’t qualified to even break that wall, now get down.” And the servant sighed again. “At least He isn’t Pinkie Pie.”
“Surely you can’t mean that Heights; Pinkie Pie is the finest mare in the entire land of Equestria. When I finally finish building our house we will move in together and have many foals. And then six years later I’ll forget to shave and trip into a moving carriage.” Blueblood gave a sincere smile, believing every word of what he had said. Preppy Height’s mouth just hung open.
“Anyway, you’re supposedly competent at household tasks, would you mind helping me?” It was too polite of a question. Blueblood probably knew that Celestia had asked the servant to help prevent his untimely death, be it falling debris from a dubious tree house or a certain white mare whose presence at the gala had been nothing short of a disaster. Fortunately, the latter threat had failed to materialize as Princess Celestia had believed it would.
“Sir, I would be honored to lend my help to a master carpenter such as myself.” One who’s most amazing accomplishment is the liberal application of foaming glue.
“Wipe your hooves on the way in.” Blueblood said. Another ridiculous demand from the world’s worst employer.
“Absolutely sir, I would never dream of dirtying your latest masterpiece with the filth which only my disgusting hooves could track in.” Though it does look like it could use a good mud floor; seeing as all of the nails point upwards.
The supposed prince cast down a rope ladder, which the servant began to climb reluctantly. “Come on now, we don’t have all day.” It almost seems as though the prince has failed to realize that nopony has given him a task in the last four months out of spite.
The servant entered the unusually clean and well put together hatch on the bottom of the treehouse. Pushing it open with his head, he opened his eyes, expecting a horrific show of carpentry sufficient to make the most hardened contractor cry out in desperation. His eyes opened, ready for the horrors that were no doubt going to be presented to them, instead he found a well-constructed room with understated elegance, with a slightly out of place dance floor in the middle.
Once again, Preppy Heights found himself in a dubious box that was larger on the inside than the outside. And this time I won’t have a three month vacation from this moron. The servant pulled himself inside completely “Sir, I think this is rather unrealistic for a stately nobleman such as you to have built.”
“My cutie mark is a crown, not only because I am a prince, but because I am also the king of carpentry.” Blueblood explained, examining his hooves, attempting to look disinterested.
“Sir, I must certainly say, you have outdone yourself. How can I be of service to you when you have already taken care of so much?” Preppy actually found himself in awe of what he was seeing here, nothing could quite explain it.
“Could you fix up the outside, my housing mortar was set on ‘dubious exterior’ and there isn’t much I can do to fix that, other than setting it to ‘obliterate’.” Blueblood patted what seemed to be a miniature artillery piece which he had probably found somewhere in a landfill or something.
“Sir, I’ll have it done as soon as possible.” Preppy opened the hatch and started climbing down, “Also, if I may say, you and Miss Pie should be suitable together.”
“Of course we will Prep, I have a mortar, and she has a canon cannon, what could possibly go wrong?”
Preppy Heights has recently experienced a terrible joke.
“More than you could imagine, Sir.” The servant closed the hatch behind him.
Blueblood looked around the room cautiously. “I wonder if he realizes that I am aware of his attitude towards me.” Blueblood could not even fire this servant; Celestia had sent him here to protect him from “His own constant follies” or something of the sort. It really did bother him that his own great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great aunt could find him to be so irresponsible. That one particularly lustful unicorn at the gala two years ago was perfectly justified in finding his behavior horrible, but it was a calculated risk. She really did fail to catch the subtle message (in this case that he had no desire to date her, let alone fulfill her fairytale fantasies when his dream mare was within sight).
Her spontaneity; her friendly personality; the fact that marriage to her would be fairly politically precocious, not to mention fun; Blueblood loved her for all of these things.
“And that’s how I learned that Chrysalis was never even going to use the love from Equestria to benefit her hive.” The changeling’s voice carried the frantic confessional tone which indicated that caffeine is a stimulant, a strange fact because the dwarf felt slower after drinking it.
“That’s fascinating.” The words came out slurred, the caffeine disrupting the alcohol tolerant gates in his neurons.
“Anyway, I think I’ve stayed too long, I need to get back to the hive, you know, someling might find my absence strange or something.”
“That’s probably a good idea, see you later buddy.” The insect that had spoken and thought quickly left the dwarf whose thoughts had plodded along at a glacial rate.
The door closed, leaving the dwarf to nod off on his own caffeine induced slumber.
The flagon was in front of the dwarf/pony. “You did well with that task, though your reaction to me is unusual, opposite of most living creatures of this world, in fact.”
“I’m not really from this world, am I?” The dwarf/pony suggested, taking his musings seriously.
The flagon managed a shrug. “You know that better than I do. You were on the right path; Twilight would be a good first step, but not even the caffeine fueled computational power of my Brownian motion can look that far into the future.” The dwarf deadpanned.
The dwarf has been confused by a suspicious flagon of tea recently.
“I don’t follow.”
“Neither does anyone else. Your mind is in better shape than I had expected, considering the state of your body in general.” The flagon opened and a wisp of steam entered the dwarf’s nose.
“Ugh. Chai tea. Disgusting.” The dwarf/pony muttered.
The flagon nodded. “Made to enhance the senses using an unsavory mix of spices. I hope you enjoy your newly healed nose.”
“What’s the next step?” The pony/dwarf rubbed his healed nose.
“Ask the real Twilight, she does have a spell that will allow you to achieve the life I’ve promised. But she will be reticent, tell her that it is not like the Bureau, it should be persuasive enough to work on her.”
The light emanated from the ground again, accompanied by a loud squeak.
“Good bye Tholumom.”
“Spike, I told you that I could transmute Tomatoes into gold.” The voice of the real Twilight entered the dwarf’s ears, bringing him to open his eyes. The sun had set, tea kettles were strewn about the library floor; giving the unusual impression that there had been some kind of cave-in underneath the teapot stockpile.
Either way, it brought back memories of the mug stockpile; it had taken days to pick them out of the fields. The thought was interrupted by the recognition of Twilight’s potential meltdown; after all, the entire library’s floor was covered by teapots; certainly not a suitable state for a fairly well maintained public building to keep its floors in.
So it would have to be put off as something else. Tholumom struggled to think of what.
Twilight entered, her eyes locked onto Tholumom. “Hi Thol, how was your day?”
“I had tea with a changeling and found it pleasant.” The dwarf croaked out through parched lips.
“That sounds… Unusual…” Twilight examined the teapots strewn throughout the room. “Either way, it’s probably dead considering the amount of tea you probably shared with it. You should probably drink some water, you look, dehydrated…”
It was at that point the dragon entered the room in order to point out the extent of the problem in a somewhat less polite manner. “What the hay is going on here? Teapots everywhere; a nearly desiccated dwarf carcass; a pickaxe lying in a sexual position? Twilight, what did I tell you about transformation magic?”
A look of such pure disgust appeared on her face that it accomplished a few very unusual things; it convinced the Jedi order that their bathrooms required cleaning; it caused a few false positive across the various avatar temples (shooting down a few pigeons with their emitted beams of light and heat); and it caused a revolt in seventeenth century France, and instigated a monolith to uplift monkeys in order to prevent this kind of disgust from happening in the future, however the dragon was apparently immune to such expressions.
“That dragon is annoying.” The words that dribbled from the dwarf left with such a rasp that Spike’s scales looked a bit less polished than before.
“I think it might be a good idea for you to get him some water Spike.” After Spike left, Twilight stared at the dwarf. “You look really sick Tholumom.”
Tholumom Lathonudlerned is severely dehydrated.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” The dwarf smiled inwardly.
Spike left the room. Of the infinite number of ways to put it: it was a mess; Twilight would be convinced that there would be long lasting tea stains in the floor for weeks; whether or not there are actually stains in the wood floor: this dwarf has already left Spike with more work than most dragons accomplish within the first hundred years of their existence (not to say that a hundred years are long for a dragon). But, seeing as fetching water is a fairly simple task, he was able to do so while considering his situation.
Meanwhile at Blueblood’s unusually sketchy tree house…
“Preppy, seriously? You can’t use bricks to build a tree house.” Blueblood hung halfway out a window, insulting the stodgy construction technique that his servant had attempted to use. Too bad it was a tree house; the house actually looked quite nice in brick.
“Sir, you gave me thirty bits; you told me to go to a Masonry store and buy some materials. They did not sell any wood, as you had ensured me that they would. Unfortunately, you also told me not to come back empty handed.”
“Hmm. I must have forgotten to make it a possessive. I meant Masonry’s shop, he’s a carpenter.”
“His name doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, you don’t exactly have anything to do with your name either. He is built like a brick wall, though, so the name does fit, kind of.” The Prince hung out the window, holding a cup of Chai Tea in his hooves. “Why are you using a rope system to hold yourself up anyway? You only need to load the housing mortar with the material and set it to ‘Redecorate’.”
“Sir-no buck that! You idiot! I quit.” The servant let himself down to the ground.
“Finally!” The noblepony withdrew back into the tree house.
“I wonder what I should do next.” The servant pondered as he trotted out of the estate.
Preppy Heights has enjoyed cursing at his former employer today.
“Spike, it’s been half an hour, where’s that water?” Twilight’s words took on a strange dual edged nature, full of concern and annoyance.
After a second or two, a reply hurtled back. “I’m getting it Twilight; it’s not exactly easy to deal with thinking out my life while getting this overdue houseguest water.”
Twilight’s eyes angled upwards before initiating a slow, turn, occurring in discreet steps, indicating that the ocular muscles were struggling with the whole concept of rolling. “Spike, I’ll get you some turquoise if you hurry up.”
“But Twilight, turquoise is barely even a semiprecious gem!” The dragon walked in quickly with an eager smile on his face, making his attempt to sound unimpressed rather unimpressive. Even that stopped when he looked at the dwarf; the body had become even more desiccated, leading the dwarf’s ragged breaths to drag on all of the various types of rock dust which he had managed to inhale of the course of his life.
“You dragon, you should be content eating granite, not the finery which should be gracing the splendor of the fortress.” The dwarf’s voice wavered, the shriveled flesh moving until his index finger pointed squarely at the dragon.
“It’s okay Spike, just give him the water before he actually dies.”
“Sure. I expected to see a zombie pony, not a zombie dwarf.”
The dragon handed the dwarf a pitcher of water, which the dwarf examined studiously before deciding to drink over the handle. The water fell upon the dwarf’s face and splashed off it for the most part, only allowing the dwarf a single gulp of the water. To the unicorn and the dragon, something inexplicable occurred: the dwarf’s flesh regained suppleness, filling with water.
“I feel better already.” The dwarf said simply.
“What just happened?” The dragon asked. It was not every day that an unusually desiccated dwarf was healed instantaneously by imbibing a small amount of water.
“I drank some water. That’s all, dragon.” The dwarf set about picking up the teapots that lay around the room. Twilight pulled Spike onto her back and walked into the kitchen.
“Spike, we might have a problem.” Twilight whispered to the dragon.
“What do you mean Twilight?”
“He knows about the Bureaus.”
“What could possibly make you think that he knows about those failures? Why does it matter anyway?”
“He wants to be a pony. He told me so; whatever reason he came here, he has come into contact with the Bureau before, because he assured me that if I performed the spell, it would not turn out like the Bureaus.” Twilight’s voice was heavy with a frantic energy. “Do you know what that means?”
“Twilight, he doesn’t seem to know what happened at that time; I can’t honestly believe that those creatures could become so misanthropic to each other over that little choice which you ponies gave them.” Twilight’s eyes watered slightly. “Come on, it wasn’t your fault Twilight; who could know that the choice would lead them to their ruin? We tried to help them, and even though none of them survived, in any form, you did what you could for them.”
“No Spike! It probably means banishment to the moon, again.” A whisper followed. “But I didn’t stop it when I saw the signs. I could have stopped it. I know I could have.”
“No, Twilight, you didn’t stop it because you were assured by most of them that they would be able to resolve it internally; they expected it to work out better than it did, and that’s not your fault, they were wrong.”
“Can someone be held accountable for something they did with incorrect information? No, they can’t. Can they know with all the certainty that it was not, in fact, their fault? No, they can’t.” The dwarf leaned on the door frame. “Twilight, I have no idea what a conversarium or whatever these things were, but I know that if you were part of them; you managed whatever part you held with due diligence, taking in whatever information that you had been able to gather, and you acted on it with only that knowledge.”
“How are you supposed to feel, when an entire world dies on your mistake? What solace can I take, when I’ve failed, not only a few friends, but every single living thing that exists upon a world, whose land, while spoilt, harbored a life that loved it?”
“You accept it. I did. If I had simply tried a bit harder, my fortress could have, at least, walled hell off from the outside world.” The dwarf shrugged. “I fell after three hours of combat with demons. If I had held out a few minutes longer, the wall could have been built. Even then, I know, that the fortress above never saw the danger coming until it was simply too late to stop it.”
“But did you watch the world die before you; knowing that it was your mistake that caused the destruction?”
“No, I did not. But you have to be strong enough to overcome your mistake. I can’t ask you to do the spell or whatever that I just asked for. I can see that you need some more time; I have time; I can wait for you.” The dwarf stroked his beard. “Though I would like to hear the story, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ve been waiting for someone to tell for a while, you know, so my autobiography won’t be too stupid or academic sounding.”
This might not be my best writing, if you see any issues, I'd prefer that they be reported. Anyway, thanks for reading.
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This made me think of the conversion bureau.
Please don't mention the conversion bureau.
1640491
It isn't going that way, also, it is going to become a painfully self-aware story that makes fun of it.
For all I know about that next chapter right now, it could end up being about how humanity annihilates itself over a bunch of cabinets.
Or I might just skim over it entirely, that's more likely at this point.
Holy s*** blueblood made a dick joke. And a funny one at that.You made his character likeable well done.