One Week Before The Vanhoover Attacks
“I hear you are something of a healer?” The silver unicorn asked, feverishly bouncing the curled end of her mane in her hoof. Izetta had to admit, she was lovely for a pony and much less snobbish than most unicorns she had met in her time. Her silky smooth fur held an astounding sheen, her left side elegantly reflecting the light peering through the clearing outside and through the arched stained glass windows of Izetta’s home.
The two sat across from each other, a circular table crafted from twisted branches and vines to hold it together. In the center of the table, a gilded gold candelabrum sat, unlit and just short enough for Izetta to peer at her guest without having to move it out of the way. Despite what may have been considered grand, Izetta knew there were several things missing.
She was embarrassed that this pony had to see her home in a state of disarray. Shelves no longer held neat rows of poultices and potions, but were replaced with messy mixes of empty bottles and sealed jars. Her ingredients were scattered, some dangling from their respective drawers and others spread on her spare table, besides numerous mortars and pestles which required extensive cleaning. Books were open on the same table, turned to pages of glyphs many ponies would consider undecipherable.
“I suppose you can say that,” Izetta replied, casting a glance down at the set of folders on the treetop table. She moderated herself, telling herself not to reach out with her slender silver hooves. “Shaman may be more appropriate in your tongue. I commune with the forest and together we work to bring peace.”
“Yes,” the mare adjusted her mane as she sat, as though there actually was a flaw in the violet curls. “Forgive me, I know very little about your people’s culture. The markings on your face. Do they have any particular meaning? Sorry if I sound intrusive, I’m just curious.”
“Thicket may pride itself in its prejudice against your race,” Izetta said with a grin. “I do not. Apologies are ultimately unnecessary. As for the markings, they are in fact a sign of my position as the village shaman.”
Izetta ran a hoof along her face, feeling her slender and angular features. The ink had not vanished in the almost fourteen years they had been there. Early in her life, when the village High Priestess deemed her worthy of becoming a healer of Thicket, Izetta had been given the swirling marks, painstakingly painted in the darkest ink until they were finished hours later. They were like vines consuming the right side of her face and throat, a symbol of her innate connection with nature and The Everfree.
She wore them like a badge of honor, the deer now able to recognize her as a valuable member to their society. Perhaps they would have liked her even more if she had more disdain for the ponies of Equestria.
There was a level of comfort that rested on the inquisitive unicorn’s face. Izetta smiled moreso out of pity than anything else. It was a habit procured from years of watching the unfortunate citizens of Equestria wander into the wrong sections of the Everfree Forest and having to clean up the mess both sides would make. Most would stumble in without so much as an inkling of an idea of where they were and the next thing they knew Izetta would kindly escort them back to their civilization.
Vines coiled around the leg of the table, smoothly sliding and causing the unicorn to shift nervously. In their grasps, wooden cups were held, carved and smoothed simply, as well as a kettle of tea. The two grasping the cups placed them down on the table and were subsequently filled with Izetta’s finest blackberry tea. Once their job was done, the vines vanished, uncoiling and slithering out of the room.
“Hmm.” Izetta grunted. “Ironic. I suppose I should apologize to you. I have been a terrible host so far. Blackberry tea? It is quite a favorite of mine, madame…?”
“Rarity,” the unicorn responded. Her horn glowed a brilliant aura of blue. The cup floated slowly, but surely Rarity had taken a sip, eyes widening. “Oh! I must say, that is very good!”
“Why are you here?” Izetta asked. “I trust an important pony from Canterlot, such as yourself, would not have come all the way to the denizens of the Everfree for one shaman, although I’ll admit, I’d be quite flattered.”
“Actually,” she grasped the folder on the table. “I come from Ponyville. I’ve come on behalf of The Harmony—Oh!”
She placed a hoof over her mouth, face burning a sweet shade of crimson.
“If there is one thing I am sure to do when anyone enters my clinic,” Izetta said, before sipping from her wooden cup. The tea soothed as it slid seamlessly down her throat. “Well, let’s just say, I don’t tolerate liars. Shall I ask again Miss Rarity?”
“N-no!” She regained her composure, clearing her throat and sitting up with that regal straightness to her back. “I come from The Harmony Initiative. I have been tasked with—”
“Explain.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Explain.” Izetta ordered simply. “If you want my trust, I want to know everything. Why you are here and what I can expect?”
It was a lengthy explanation, one Rarity was not prepared to give and one Izetta was not prepared to receive. Thicket had heard rumors of the goings on of the outside world, stricken by the plagues of industry.While stuck in the seclusion of the Everfree Forest, Equestria was struck by an unknown force. Izetta stopped drinking when Rarity brought upon the idea of aliens.
Had that really been true? Izetta had almost decided to usher the unicorn to take another sip from her tea, but her special brew never failed. Had she even thought about sidetracking, the effects of the potion would kick in and she would be redirected back on track. Unless Rarity knew a spell to counteract the potion, but the chances of a pony knowing magic to counteract that of a Deer? Highly unlikely.
A single vine returned, pouring more tea into Izetta’s cup and hovering over Rarity’s before realizing she still had a few sips left before leaving and disappearing into the hole which spread open in the floor. Izetta grasped her cup with her hooves and took a long sip, swallowing slowly. She tapped her antlers against the wall as she turned her head and glanced around her home, in its state of disarray.
“I assume you are here to recruit me into the ranks?”
“I am,” Rarity said. Her horn released a soft glow. “Should you refuse, there will be no memory of this conversation and I shall take my leave. If you accept, I shall contact you shortly and you will be relocated to our base in—”
“I see.” Izetta stopped her. Rarity’s face was that of relief and she let out a deep breath.
Izetta turned her head. She looked down at the surrounding trees, watching as her people walked on and enjoyed their lives without a care in the world. They had no idea what was coming, or if anything was coming. If anything Rarity said was to be believed, which undoubtedly it was, then everyone in Thicket and beyond would be in danger. Izetta pledged her life for the greater good of Thicket over all.
“These deer would need my help should this war of yours come anywhere near here.” Izetta turned to Rarity with worry in her eyes. “You say I’ll be making a difference, but what about those who have come to rely on me here?”
The unicorn had not much of an answer. She struggled to find her voice. Izetta continued to sit in thought. I pledge my life to protect and ensure the safety of my people.
“I’ll pledge my services to your Initiative,” Izetta said after a moment of silence. “On the condition that a suitable replacement is found for me. I am no High Priestess and I can easily be replaced. I would like the chance to evaluate them myself before I am carted off to whatever part of the world awaits me.”
“Of course,” Rarity said with relief in her voice.
“Will that be all? Or was there more for us to discuss?”
“No. That is all.”
“Excellent.” Izetta raised her cup to her muzzle. “I suppose I shall be hearing from you soon.”
***
Five Days Before The Vanhoover Incident
The wagon’s door shook violently as someone knocked, causing Spice to stir in her bed. She sat up, grumbling and groaning, rubbing her head and throwing her blanket off of her body. Her dark violet coat was like a towel drenched in sweat and her short wavy gray mane was in disarray. She stepped over trinkets and tools, pricking her hooves on broken glass, which she swept under her bed with a flutter of her wing. There was no time to keep the wagon clean. She was always on the move and there were always more important matters to attend to.
Rain pelted the windows and walls, creating a steady beat of low drops every passing second. Midnight Spice shifted her way around a bucket collecting water for her in the center of her travel wagon, dripping slowly and dropping in the bucket with a soft ploop! It was a blissful sound admittedly, something Spice was used to while wandering the greeneries of Equestria’s unpopulated denizens. The surrounding nature was comforting. She found that even through the most tumultuous of thunderstorms, she could sleep like a foal.
Midnight Spice stopped behind the door, bracing herself for anything. When she opened the door, Spice was met with a cream coated earth pony, mane split in half between pink and blue curls. She carried dark hazel saddle packs over the back of her leather jacket. An umbrella poked out from a pouch sheltering her from the rain. Her face was stern, yet there was a hint of softness to it as if she were forcing her own authoritative expression.
“Uh…” Spice cleared her throat. For the brief moment the two stared at each other, she tried to imagine the best possible Central Equestrian accent she could manage. “Bonjour—erm...H-hello?”
“Agent Bon Bon of The Equestrian Bureau of Defense.” Her voice was smooth and calming to Spice’s ears. The mare reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a badge. It’s gilded gold wings and swirling frame held a picture of her, as well as her name. “Mind if I come inside? We’ve got some things to talk about.”
“I am in trouble?” Despite her late night grogginess and dry throat, Midnight Spice’s voice managed come out smooth and pleasant. She had to try hard as to not speak her native tongue, one most ponies would consider ‘fancy’ and that of high class.
“Not at all.” Bon Bon waved a forehoof.
She backed up from the doorway, expecting Bon Bon to invite herself inside. Instead she remained outside, looking up and down the empty dark road, lit only by the external lamp hanging beside the doorway.
“Come in,” Spice said. With a nod, Bon Bon entered intrepidly, as if to be sure there was no one else to eavesdrop on them. When she set her hoof down, she relaxed, but Spice could also see the cringe manifesting on her face. She did not need to speak for Spice to know why. “I...was not expecting guests this late at night.”
“Quite the home you’ve got here,” Bon Bon said walking beside the blue bucket. She moved past it, ignoring the junk littered all around.
“M-merci,” Spice gestured towards a small seat across from her bed. “You come at a rough time, I must admit. Please! Take a seat, I shall accommodate for my guest. Shall I make tea?”
“That won’t be necessary Miss Spice.” Bon Bon sat on the rickety stool, holding out her hooves to her side as she tried to keep herself stabilized.
Midnight sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes with a forehoof. “So why have you come?”
“Have you been kept up to date on the news lately Ms. Spice?”
She nodded. Tragedy seemed to be a major factor in modern society. Midnight Spice had taken note of how it struck even before the attacks encountered throughout the land. She wondered if it was the advancing technologies in the world that angered a deity of some sort and now they were facing punishment. A silly thought, but one most were starting to believe in around the undeveloped countryside surrounding Prance. It was something Spice had not believed herself until a little recently.
Advancing technology or no, tragedy struck all around Prance and her ponies.
“You probably wouldn’t be surprised if I told you there were ponies combatting the growing threat against all of us.”
Spice’s heart dropped. “You have come to recruit me into The Guard?”
“Not quite.” Bon Bon’s eyes drifted, she turned her head, adjusting herself on the stool before her eyes caught and glued onto something. She reached down, pulling out what Spice mistook as a broom. When the glint of metal caught the moonlight, her eyes widened and pupils became pinpricks. Her wings spread, but she refrained from lashing at the mare, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“I came with an offer.” Bon Bon continued to examine the rifle in her hooves. “I have friends in some pretty high places that would like to use your skills for something a little more...auspicious. I understand you’re a type of marksman?”
“I do not do that anymore,” Spice hissed. She snatched the old musket from the earth pony, clutching it to her chest. The cool wooden frame held ragged edges and plunged a splinter or two into her skin and the metal of the barrel sent shivers down her spine. “I now dedicate myself to helping ponies, not killing them.”
Bon Bon raised a hoof. “You see, it won’t be ponies on the receiving end of your friend there.”
“Ça n'a pas d'importance.” Spice placed the rifle gently down on the bed beside her. “Killing is still killing and I will not allow myself—”
“Even if it meant killing the ones who took your family and friends?”
Midnight Spice was silent. Like many things in life, the idea was enticing. A chance for vengeance? Would it even be worth it in the long run?
“That is not who I am anymore,” Spice managed. She looked down at the rifle beside her. The rusted barrel and the chipping wood was like a flaw to an ancient masterpiece. It had been a long time since she last held it with the intent to hurt something or someone. She did not know if she could do it again. Even if it meant getting back the people who she held dear.
“I understand that, but do you have any idea how many ponies you could save? I read about what you did in Horseshoe Bay. About twelve ponies would be dead if it weren’t for you. These friends of mine? They’re saving the world almost every day just by existing. The situation in the outside Vanhoover? That would have been a lot worse had they not come.”
“I…” Midnight stammered. It was what she wanted right? She wanted to help ponies. They needed help. But violence was not the answer she wanted. There was too much of it floating around in the world. She did not want to contribute to it any more than she had already done.
“The attack on Fishhook two years ago,” Bon Bon continued. She opened her folder and skimmed a hoof through the lines, stopping halfway down the second paper. “A small band of griffon brigands held a schoolhouse hostage, but an unknown assailant managed to perfectly line up three of them, bringing them down and heavily wounding a fourth one. Local authorities reported a purple pegasus with a mixing bowl cutie mark—” she shifted, glancing over at Spice’s flank, as if looking for confirmation. “—wandering the area. Since then there’s been multiple reports, some even saying the the mysterious stranger was in fact, the Mysterious Mare Do Well coming back and searching for ponies in need. Of course, those are the official stories.”
Midnight Spice looked down. Of course the Equestrian Bureau of Defense would know the real deal. Chances were, when somepony said they had eyes everywhere, they actually did.
“I know why you left Prance, Midnight,” Bon Bon said. She passed over the folder, turned to the third page of the many papers held within. “My friends and the EBD are investigating these missing ponies cases all over the world.”
Midnight stared at the photo. She was not sure what was worse; the innocence in her eyes back in those days or remembering the filly she clutched in her hooves, beaming a smile towards the camera. Midnight could remember the sweet scent of her mane and the softness of her fur from that moment. While Midnight herself had her vile rifle slung over her back, the vest she wore boasted the faded sigil of the Equestrian Coast Guard. Prance division.
“I can see you’re struggling.” Bon Bon said. “I know you want to leave that part of your life behind you. But Equestria needs you. The ponies of Prance need you. What you will be doing a great service and helping ponies everywhere.”
“Ne me tente pas! I cannot—will not—be swayed! I want no more violence! I...I…”
Midnight’s ears fell flat and she buried her face into her hooves. She felt the warmth of tears crawling slowly down her cheeks, wiping them away whenever there was too much. “There is no avoiding it. Conflict should not be the only answer, but everything I do results in it. Allez savoir pourquoi. I wish to help, but....”
She looked up at the mare, whose face was soft and worried. Spice could not read her expression properly, but she felt it was that of pity and sympathy. She sniffed and wiped her face with her hooves, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“These friends of yours. Who are they?”
“They call themselves The Harmony Initiative.”
***
Five Days Before The Vanhoover Attacks
“Y’know,” Marmalade took a glass into her orange hooves and started cleaning out the inside. “If you were going for a disguise, Your Highness, you failed.”
It was not everyday that the stunning Princess of Friendship walked into a fine establishment such as The Lucky Yak and it was not every day, Marmalade assumed, that the Princess dyed her violet coat a creamy vanilla color. And…
“Is there a convention I didn’t hear about?” Marmalade asked. Before the mare could raise her question, Sour rose a hoof and pointed at her torso. “Missing wings there babe.”
“Sour Marmalade I presume?” The mare asked, ignoring the comment. Everything, from mane to tail, was a stark recreation of the violet alicorn everypony had known, minus the violet and being an alicorn of course. Despite the missing wings, Marmalade was sure an uneducated pony, griffon or yak would have assumed the mare across the counter was indeed the princess herself. “File did mention you were a bit on the stern side.”
“That’s me.” She continued to clean the glass cup, one ear raised in the direction of the unicorn. There was a spot of grime stuck deep inside, but no matter how hard she scrubbed with her hoof, it remained. “Pretty weird to walk into a girl’s bar like that discount-Sparkle.”
In the silence that followed, Marmalade had hoped she would have gotten the spot out of the cup.
“Is there a place where we can speak more privately?” The mare asked.
Marmalade groaned. “Listen lady, whatever business you think you have—”
Her head shot up when a folder slid down the counter. It bore the Royal Seal, two alicorns swirling around a central orb. She looked up at the mare and back down at the folder. She stuck the glass cup down on the counter and opened up the folder, grimacing. There were pictures of her, donned in her leather armor and standing among a group of scrawny ponies whose names were fuzzy. She held a bright smile, wrapping a hoof around him and holding an ornate wooden totem in her free hoof.
She read her own file, chuckling and grunting every time she came across an error. She did not recall stealing from a tribe of buffalo nor did she ever serve time in jail for attempted assault on a security guard in Manehattan’s Freepony Tower. There were a few misconceptions about who actually discovered the lost fortress of Whitebeak Castle buried beneath several trillion clumps of sand and who managed to find Blackmane The White’s great treasure.
Marmalade raised her head, her full attention directed to her visitor.
“My name is Moondancer,” the unicorn spoke. “I come on behalf of The Equestrian Bureau of Defence. Do you mind if we go somewhere more private to speak?”
Sour Marmalade glanced around her bar. She did not expect there to be many ponies inside, especially at this time of the night. Besides Moondancer, there was only one other pony at the counter, although he was out. His head was slumped against the mahogany and if it were not for the steady motion of his torso rising and falling rhythmically, Marmalade would have thought him dead.
All around the rest of the bar, the most ponies around a table were three, but they were too drunk to try anything stupid. In total, there was at least eight ponies in the bar, most of which too consumed with their own business. Marmalade thought about telling Moondancer that business could be conducted out in the open, but thought against it. Chances were, magic would be used regardless and they’d end up in someplace private no matter what Marmalade actually wanted.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s head into the backroom. Follow me.”
Marmalade followed the counter to it’s end, waiting for Moondancer to meet her by the rear door. Inside was a modest office, decorated with old fading promotional posters and a thick table home to a radio and piles of papers. It was nothing special, but Marmalade spent countless nights since her last adventure here, reflecting on the good old days and trying to fight the urge to get back out there and take the world by storm.
Those were the days.
A green stallion slept, snoring heavily on the desk and drooling all over unfinished paperwork. Marmalade cursed under her breath.
“Cash, wake up.”
The stallion stirred. He lifted his head and blinked groggily. His thin hoof pawed at his eyes and he blinked even more, eyes shifting between the two mares.“What?”
“Get up, mommy has work to do.”
With a groan and a little ‘encouragement’ Marmalade shoved the stallion out of her seat and took his place. When he shut the door behind him, Moondancer sat across from her, placing the open files on the desk and pushing her glasses further up her muzzle. She cleared her throat and took a good look around the room, eyes bouncing from poster to poster and scanning the bulletin board set up behind Sour Marmalade.
“So, is there anything that isn’t on any of those files that you know about me?” Marmalade asked with a smile. She kicked her hooves up and leaned back on her chair, resting her forehooves behind her head. “I’m curious as to what the great and powerful Moondancer knows about little old me.”
“Don’t call me that.” The unicorn said crossly. She looked down at the papers. “Well, we know you were an avid fan of Daring Do, which is why you entered the archaeology field twelve years ago. Despite graduating from Fillydeplhia Community College, you rejected numerous runs and expeditions into ancient griffon ruins and ancient equestrian castles. You joined with a band of mercenaries—”
“Freelancers.” Marmalade’s voice was low, her hooves tensing up. Technically, Moondancer had been right in calling them mercenaries, but realistically that was a bit of a broad term. Marmalade preferred freelancer because there was no negative connotation to the title. Not every job they took was bad anyway. It was not like the Badlands was home to many ponies anyway.
Moondancer shifted, but her face remained steadfast. She pushed her glasses further up her muzzle. “The point is, you’re experienced. You’ve seen what we have on you on two files. I’m sure I could find more if I were in my office in Canterlot or Manehattan.”
Marmalade would not doubt that. She heard stories about ponies from the EBD. Conspiracy theories mostly, but still stories that seemed to have more credence the more she thought about it and the more she examined Moondancer, assuming that was her actual name. It really did seem like they knew everything about everyone, keeping tabs on every little thing the ponies of Equestria did like silent observers, watching the lives of mice in a science lab. Celestia knows how many notes the EBD had on the ponies and griffons Marmalade used to run with.
Celestia probably did know.
“So,” Marmalade said. “You’ve done your homework. Why? A pony from Canterlot shouldn’t be interested in a low-life Fillydelphian such as myself, dragged out a little ways from Appaloosa. Why am I so special to you?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened in Manehattan? The Zebra Savannah’s research lab?”
“Of course,” the orange earth pony answered. “It’s been on the radio for a while now.”
Moondancer’s horn glowed softly.
“I won’t sugar coat it,” she began. “As it turns out, the EBD and Princesses have been investigating the matter since ponies starting going missing a while back. It should be no surprise that the enemy we face is not native to Equestria. That would explain the advanced technology of our enemies. However, in order to combat these beings, Princess Luna has allowed the formation, or reformation, of The Harmony Initiative.”
“The what?” Of all the questions, running through her head, Sour Marmalade’s mind picked out the most simplest and possibly the most vague of all of them. Foreign beings? The Harmony Initiative? What the hell is she on about?
“The Harmony Initiative is dedicated to ensuring Equestria’s safety from alien threats. That’s the short version. Those ponies Lucy Song has been reporting about? Those are agents from the organization fighting back against the enemy and cleaning up the mess.”
“And you’re offering me a position?”
“Those were my orders.”
“A pony with no real training or experience with military tactics? You want me to join a military organization without formal training?”
“You will be trained.” Moondancer opened the folder again and read over the files inside. “From the looks of it, you’re in pretty good shape either way. The training regiment is...rigorous and harsh, but you would not have been recommended if you weren’t able to handle it.”
Oh this is ridiculous. “Now why would I want to join your little crusade?”
“Well, not only would you have access to some of the world’s most advanced technology, but you would be doing a great service to Equestria and all of her allies. We’ve studied your files carefully and we believe, with the proper training, you will become a capable soldier for our cause.”
“One last adventure,” Marmalade muttered. She shrugged and took her legs from the table, sitting up and looking down at the file. “Just one condition.”
Moondancer raised an eyebrow. “Just like that? No questions, no opposition?”
“Hold your horses,” Marmalade said with a smile. “I’m kinda getting to that. You have files on me. That means you have files on the group I used to run with. Don’t deny it. In case I reject your offer, at least one of them would be a backup plan. I’m not new to this kind of rodeo. Still, I ain’t goin’ unless Keller’s with me.“
Moondancer’s eyes shifted to the image of Marmalade’s group of friends. “And which one would that be?”
“Big guy in the back.” Sour pointed a hoof at the burley griffon in the rear of the group. A thick, craggy, face managed a weak smile through a chipped beak and unkempt feathers. “Old fart is hard to miss. You find him and convince him to join up and you got yourself a deal. I’d start looking north of Griffonstone”
With a long sigh, Moondancer nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”