The End is in Sight · 6:45pm Dec 6th, 2015
After considerable contemplation, it is clear that my interest in writing ponies, and ponies in general, has dwindled to the point of irrelevance. I have one last thing I'm considering before I move on for good, since it is something I've wanted to do since early on.
In the meantime, those so inclined to read it may find the introductory scene I wrote for Taking Flight to be interesting.
Be warned, there's no post-draft editing on this.
Be excellent to each other,
-M
Taking Flight: The Long Way Home
Ponies left alone too long tend to go a bit strange, but ponies that feel alone in a crowd go the strangest, and there were few crowds like the ones in the bazaar of Q’Desh.
It was the centre of trade across the eastern deserts, tucked in the shadow of a sheer bluff that looked as if the earth had been raised up by forces long since forgotten by any living being. Six great roads, which seemed to gleam in the heat, bloomed from the bazaar like the first rays of the morning sun, bringing trade from every direction towards the city’s broiling heart. As morning gave way to afternoon, the bluff’s shadow started its inexorable march across the city, and the assembled crowds surged towards the first offing of shade: the area known to the locals and the shadow’s caress.
Here, among the throng of local creatures, Oubliette watched a single pony lost in the sea of quadrupeds compressing into the creeping shadow. She stood in the meagre shade offered by a rug merchant’s, avoiding the bustle before her and adjusting her silk headdress to keep the sun out of her eyes. She watched the mechanical way he went about his work. His eyes did not shine; she knew the look of a pony whose mind could not stand to be in the here and now – not so long ago that was her. Now his face haunted her, drawing her back to this place despite her preference to be elsewhere and indoors.
The pony’s stall was the centrepiece of the bazaar, in the middle of seven such stalls set against the base of the bluff – a premium plot. The others bristled with colourful wares and shiny trinkets or every type, and though Oubliette rarely noticed the smell of so many ponies and gazelle in one place, the dull roar of trade still flooded her senses as enthusiastic barter leads to theatrical outrage and eventually coins changing hooves. A half dozen mixed ponies and gazelle staffed each one, with a single fox, antelope and ox among them, yet the one pony worked alone.
He was an engraver, of sorts, possibly a sculptor. His hooves danced between the many tools and contraptions filled the barely-utilised space with artisanal grace; though his mind seemed elsewhere, the work he performed was trivial to him – utterly instinctual. Half-finished works littered the surrounding worktops, while a few stands showcased completed works: small sculptures, engraved items of all kinds, and a few bases with spaces for clock faces, pictures, and other decorations. At the back, two linen sheets cloaked the discernible shapes of large tombstones.
To Oubliette, the scene went beyond odd: the way that this hive of activity seemed to ignore the aberration oozed wrongness. She had tried to keep a low profile on her journey, but she wasn’t a pony for sitting idly by – she was a doer, and right now she needed to do something about the merchant frowning at her for taking up his valuable space.
“Ah.” She swept her gaze across the stall, reminding herself of her immediate environment. The merchant, large for a gazelle but still slightly shorter than a pony, had equally large and well-defined horns protruding from a grey headscarf that ran around his head halfway down one foreleg. What he lacked in handsomeness, he gained in stature.
Stepping towards a mare and stallion perusing a selection of tasters on the front table, Oubliette slipped on the well-worn cloak of charm that came so easily to her.
“No, no, no, no. That won’t do at all,” she said, slipping one of the high-up rugs off its rung. She rolled it out with her magic and ran a hoof down its surface, soaking in the feel of its very fine threads. The merchant raised an eyebrow, but the two ponies gave the levitating rug their full attention. “I can see the spark of affection between the two of you, but for heaven’s sake, you really must take better care of your mare, sir. Why, I can see from here that her coat is quite short and delicate; one of those rugs is sure to chafe after a time, but I passed through Kioch-Tuur on my way to Q’Desh and I must say these Tuurish weaves are of both exquisite quality and durability. It’s expensive, but a little platinum now can save you a lot of gold later, if you take my meaning?”
She drew back her headdress and gently brushed the white of her own cheek against the rug, then beckoned for the buyers to do the same. At the first touch, the pale yellow earth pony mare purred like a cat.
“See?” Oubliette said with a sly grin. “What did I tell you? And this sun-bleached yellow is just light enough to accentuate your own natural glow. It’s perfect for you.”
The stallion’s hard gaze flipped back and forth between the merchant and Oubliette.
“Are you working for him, or what?”
“Oh heavens, no,” she replied, raising a hoof to her chest. “I expect he’s going to charge you at least five platinum crowns, but that sort of price is reserved for the weavers of Tuur-sala. This is an acolyte’s work – not of the great house itself. Sixteen voltines.” Oubliette angled her nose towards the rug and sniffed at it for show. “Make it three crowns if he has it washed professionally, first. This one hasn’t been aired much since its journey here.”
“Very good,” the merchant said, rolling his ‘r’ like most gazelle did. “I had no idea a summer pony could know so much about the Tuur-Sala. But—” he turned towards his customers “—such a price would be agrrreeable.”
The stallion hummed and pursed his lips.
“Oh come on, Patchwork,” the mare said, hooking one leg around his. “I was fine with you wanting your own study, but I think something comfortable to lie on while you work isn’t too much to ask. Pretty please?”
“Well, all right. Have it delivered to the third watchtower after shadowfall, tomorrow.” The stallion produced three platinum coins from his gilet pocket and dropped them onto the table. “Tell your runner there’s an extra voltine in it if he delivers it right to the top of the tower.”
The merchant smiled and quickly swept the coins off the table and into a box.
“Yes, yes!” he cried. “Sala-Leho! Come here, girl!”
He grabbed the rug after Oubliette rolled it back up and leaned it against the back of the stall just as a calf poked her head under the long drape next to it.
“Yes, father?” she asked in a youthful squeak.
“Have this taken to Cacan to be washed again tonight. Tell him no excuses; I need it for tomorrow.”
“Yes, father!”
Oubliette drew back the cowl of her cloak as the little gazelle disappeared from sight. She flicked her head, drawing out the long, aquamarine curls of her mane, then wriggled her shoulders and hips to let her cassock settle – the simple attire was highly efficient at keeping her cool, but the lining did bunch up now and then.
“My apologies for loitering, sir; my mind was quite somewhere else.”
The gazelle chuckled and gave her a lopsided grin.
“I did not expect to make three crowns on that. I should be thanking you – or offering you a job. But my luck is not such that a beautiful summer pony unicorn would grrrace my humble stall with her silvered tongue.”
“Well, I won’t complain about the flattery, but goodness me, where are my manners? I’m Oubliette.” She bowed by dipping her head and shifting her weight backwards, rather than bending her knees, as was the local custom. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Sala-Qoja,” he replied, returning a shallower bow. “And I am very serious. If you have need of work, you would be welcomed among the Sala. That is… assuming you are with the guild?”
Oubliette winced. The collection of new terms, customs, and taboos seemed to grow with every step away from her homeland, but only a few of them were more than learning opportunities. At first, ‘summer pony’ had frustrated her no end. It referred to ponies from the Summer Kingdom, Equestria, but it came with baggage that life there was so perfect and easy there that nopony ever had to do any actual work. After several days of trying to argue that life in Equestria was no picnic, she gave up, and over time she came to realise that the label afforded her an exotic, almost mythical, status that could be bent to her advantage. The guild, however, was a very different story.
In Q’Desh, she was told, unicorns use magic only for the guild or for themselves, and any creature employing a non-guild unicorn would earn their ire. She didn’t know exactly what that ire meant, but she knew enough not to want a demonstration.
“I’m afraid not, Sala-Qoja. I wasn’t thinking; I hope my little demonstration doesn’t get you in any trouble.”
Qoja huffed and waved her off with a hoof.
“The guild would no sooner anger the Sala than the Sala would anger the guild. But this is a shame; even if you were to withhold your majiks, the guild would not approve.” He hauled a rug out from under a side table, balanced it on the back of his neck with his horns, and deftly threw it up onto the empty display rail. “Still, today will be a day I not soon forrrget. Perhaps you would allow the Q’Desh-Sala to extend you their hospitality? I am sure my brother would be honoured to make your stay a pleasant one.”
“I’m awfully sorry, but I really don’t know what my plans are yet.” Oubliette turned her attention back towards the lone stallion in the shadow. “And this city is proving rather complicated.”
She watched the stallion speaking to several customers that approached him, and behind her, she heard Qoja begin another sales pitch. On one hoof, it seemed she would be quite safe and welcome where she was, but on the other, staring from afar wasn’t doing anypony any favours.
“Sala-Qoja?” she asked when the merchant finally gave up on his spiel. “Who is that stallion over there?”
“The Great Master Cornelian. He crafted the statue of His Excellency, Sagacious Rex, in the Palace of Light itself. He is very famous, but for months he has barely spoken to anyone. There are many rumours, but I would not wish to stain my tongue with them. What I know is that he is very stubborn and will not surrender his lot despite some very generous offers.”
“Cornelian, Cornelian…” Oubliette repeated a few times under her breath. “Oh! You mean like carnelian, the colour of his coat?”
“Yes, yes! Here we call it cornelian, and Cornelian has made many stamps and seals from it for the traders and caravans here. He will never be out of work, I think.”
Oubliette cast her gaze towards the Palace of Light; nowhere had reminded her of home as much as that building. White walls, soaring towers, and golden spires: it could have been Canterlot Castle save for its reserved and symmetrical outline. The huge statue in the grand hallway was said to be magnificent. Even at her most audacious, getting to see inside seemed like an impossible dream, yet, such dreams came easily to her. They had always come easily.
More customers came and went. The shadow engulfed the main square of the bazaar, and soon it would reach the centrum – a plaza where the six roads converged. The crowds would thin, then.
“I should go and talk to him,” she said. “He looks like he needs a friend.”
Something inside told her this was true – something that had grown stronger every day, and every step, away from what had once been home. Maybe it was just arrogance.
“I would think many pretty faces have offered, Oubliette. I mean no disrespect, but I hear he is stubborn as an ostrich.”
“Well…” Oubliette drew her mane into a tight bunch with her magic, then raised her hood back into place. “I suppose I’m lucky I have a secret weapon.”
Qoja remained silent, but she could feel his expectant gaze upon her.
“This ‘summer pony’ is rather stubborn too.”
For those that didn't get it, Oubliette is alicorn-Rarity on the run from Equestria. The story was about coming to terms with semi-accidentally taking Twilight's alicornhood and that her tendency towards anger was her greatest strength, rather than a character flaw.
Unacceptable. I demand you write a prologue and chapter 1 of an adventure with an epic description then feel bad for not completing it.
Sorry to see that such a piece must be a spark from a dying ember.
Yeah, I remember pre-reading this part. I loved the potential it had for some wonderful world building.
It's a shame you'll be departing. Was good to have you here.
Hopefully you haven't lost interest in writing all together. I know I would be interested in hearing about anything else you put out, so even if it's not pony related stuff I hope you let us know about it every now and then.
It's okay. You're not morally obligated to write pony.
I know the feeling. Every time I look at the front page, my interest in fandom goes down a notch. I hope this is the result of other things becoming more interesting.
Pony-fatigue is a thing, and considering we should be here to have fun, it's understandable to leave for other stuff. Whatever will catch your fancy now, I can only wish you fun and satisfaction for your future project.
Considering I found your pieces and your opinions quite interesting, I hope you'll want to let us hear about your not-pony related stuff. I can promise to be totally non-stalkery
Sooner or later it happens to us all. There's a lot to be said for getting out before it becomes so much of a chore as to be an intolerable burden. As others have said, it would be good to hear about any other writing-related stuff you do, regardless of setting. Whatever you choose to do, you have my good wishes.
You've consistently provided an interesting and unique perspective, and some very enjoyable stories to boot. I hope that you find more satisfaction in whatever you'll be engaged with instead, and echo the hope that if you end up releasing any non-pony work, you'll let us know.