//------------------------------// // XVI - Blizzards, Traitors, and Bears! Oh My! // Story: A Beginner's Guide to Heroism // by LoyalLiar //------------------------------// XVI Blizzards, Traitors, and Bears! Oh My! Neighvgorod was a city built into a natural harbor surrounded by mountains.  It would have been a beautiful place for a summer vacation.  Unfortunately, Clover’s helpfully-provided eternal winter hadn’t been kind to the trading port.  Huge chunks of ice bobbed in the harbor, forcing the Little Conqueror’s crew to break out a set of hooked poles and try to push the bigger blocks out of the way.  As they worked, Gale, Graargh, Angel, and I all watched the city ahead.  It certainly wasn’t Lübuck; where the lumber port had been lively, with coin and ponies flowing through the streets in equal measures, Neighvgorod was a kind of ghost town.  I saw the occasional sailor or fishermare (barbarians) on the docks, but for the wealth of houses and structures, few ponies seemed to be interested in going outside. When the gangplank was down, a few minutes later, a pegasus stallion in a heavy brown cloak boarded the vessel, carrying a scroll and a quill.  After briefly speaking with the captain, he approached my little group.  “I understand you young ponies are not merely delivering lumber.  What is your business in Neighvgorod?” “Who’s asking?” Gale snapped back at him, before I could respond with a slightly more diplomatic tone. He frowned, and glanced back over his shoulder nervously before answering.  “I represent Archmage-Governor Forthright, under the legion of Cyclone Haysar.” I scratched my chin.  “Who’s that?” “Forthright rules Neighvgorod.”  The stallion waved a hoof toward the city.  “His lordship graciously elected to remain after the exodus to Equestria with the townsfolk who weren’t in good enough health to make the trip.  He—” I held up a hoof to interrupt what was sure to be a long and ingratiating speech.  “Not what I meant.  Who is ‘Cyclone Haysar’?” Both Gale and the stallion with the scroll stared at me in awe.  Almost thirty seconds passed in stunned silence. “Cyclone the Betrayer?” the stallion—who clearly didn’t have a great deal of respect for his indirect employer—asked. “You’ve never heard of Cyclone?” Gale prompted.  “Honestly?” I shrugged.  “Crystal Union, remember?  Wintershimmer never thought it was important for me to learn pegasus politics, and since ‘Cyclone’ is a weather name, I assume we’re talking about a pegasus.  Now can I get a straight answer?  Who’s Cyclone?  And what’s a Haysar?” Gale rolled her eyes, and then leaned forward and whispered something in the stallion’s ear.  His eyes widened—not just ‘your wife gave birth to triplets’ wide, but ‘your wife gave birth to triplet dragons’ wide—and he scurried away.  Before I could ask what she’d said, Gale turned to me.  “Haysar’s just a dumb title from the Cirran Pegasi.  It’s what they called their emperors, until…” she shook her head, pausing mid phrase.  “Until Commander Hurricane decided not to be called ‘Emperor’.  After he lost the Red Cloud War.  I think it’s pretty fucking sarcastic with Cyclone, since he failed so badly trying to become Emperor.” “So he was a would-be usurper?” I pressed.  “And Hurricane didn’t just kill him?” Gale shook her head.  “He’s Hurricane’s eldest.  He used to be one of Cirra’s top commanders, before Equestria was founded.  Kind of young, but some kind of military genius, and a badass with fire magic.  They say he could actually melt the crystals on the outside of a crystal pony.  Cyclone was young, and ambitious, and I really want to get the fuck off of this cramped, smelly ship before I hurl.”  Midway through her story, Gale darted down the gangplank and up the dock toward Neighvgorod.  I had to rush to catch up to her, but thankfully, she picked up her story.  “I guess you wouldn’t really know much about this, so let me take a step back.  You know what the Red Cloud War was?” “Vaguely.  The pegasi had a big war with… some kind of monsters on some other continent out east?” Gale slapped a hoof to her head.  “Griffons aren’t a monster race, Morty.  At least, not how something like a cragodile is.  They can talk, and they build cities and shit.  Just, instead of ponies, they’re giant birds with giant cat asses.” Though strictly true, the phrasing Gale employed made her description sound somewhat less than credible. Oblivious to my doubt, she continued.  “Cirra—the old pegasus empire—got in a huge war with the griffons.  The old emperor died, and Commander Hurricane took over.  And, well, the war was pretty much already fucked at that point; they’d lost like half their cities.  So he just flew away with all the pegasi he could save.  But what matters is that he was terrified of going back.  Some ponies say it’s cause of this giant griffon who has powers like Celestia and Luna; others—” “Wait, what?”  I distinctly remember grabbing Gale on the shoulder, putting a hoof to her cheek, and turning her head to look me square in the eyes.  “There are other gods?” “How the fuck should I know?  Do I look like an eighty-year-old pegasus?  Does it even matter anyway?  Hurricane thought they'd lose again if they went back to Dioda—that's the continent old Cirra was on—and that's all that you need to know for Cyclone to make sense.  Hurricane thought that they'd all die, but Cyclone didn't.  Cyclone wanted to take a bunch of unicorns with his pegasi and get back all of Cirra’s old cities.  I guess he wanted to prove he was better than his dad or something. He was basically in line to take over when Hurricane died, and he was mostly willing to wait.  But when the whole shit show with the windigoes went down, Hurricane flew off himself instead of delegating to a scout team or something.  When he didn't come back for a few weeks, Cyclone assumed the old stallion was dead and made his move.  That wouldn’t have been a problem, except he needed unicorns to help with his attack on Dioda.  The unicorns weren’t really into the idea.  Cyclone knocked off Queen Platinum's dad, King Lapis, and he probably would have won, if it weren't for Typhoon.” “Hurricane’s daughter?” She nodded.  “Cyclone's little sister.  Tempest’s mom.  And a huge bitch too, though I sometimes hear she wasn't like that before she fought Cyclone.  They went at it.  Her ice, his fire.  They fucked each other up.  Typhoon almost lost an eye, and she's got this huge scar on her face.  I've heard Cyclone can't fly anymore.  Of course, Hurricane showed up right at the very end, just in time to watch both his foals bleeding out.” I winced.  “But Cyclone survived?” “Yeah.  And Hurricane spared him.  Instead of execution, he's banished; he can't ever come to Equestria, or the legions will kill him.  So he stayed here, ruling a bunch of traitors, and all the elderly ponies and stubborn dipshits who didn't want to move to Equestria.  That's why they call him ‘Haysar’—it's making fun of him because he wanted to remake Cirra, and if he hadn’t fucked it up, that would have been his title..” “Ouch.” I chuckled.  “I guess he deserved it though.” “We’ll see.”  I must have shown some sort of blatantly obvious confusion or surprise at the comment; she grinned.  “He rules from River Rock.  One way or another, we both need to meet him.” “How far is River Rock?” Gale genuinely smiled as she delivered the following words: “The sailors said five hundred or so Cirran miles.  First we’ve got to get over these mountains,” she indicated to the sheer cliffs surrounding the natural harbor.  “Then it’s Sibearia until we hit the Volgallop.  If we’re lucky, we catch a barge or something.  If not, we walk on the shore; either way, that’s why they call it ‘River Rock’.  It’s a long hike, so I figure we spend two, maybe three days here getting all the crap we need.” “You’ve got this plan all figured out.” Gale shrugged.  “When I left Everfree, I was hoping to catch a boat straight to River Rock.  But ‘plans don’t survive’ and all that shit.  Let’s find somewhere to sleep.  I can’t wait to lay down in a bed that isn’t moving.”  She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and scowled.  “Alone.” “I didn’t say anything,” I protested in the direction of her back. With that decision, we wandered into Neighvgorod proper, with its flagstones buried under an ankle’s worth of snow and its roofs sloped steep enough to make a canyon jealous.  We passed a few ponies who watched us out of the corner of their eyes—actually, they mostly watched Angel, given that a flying rock is a lot more surprising than three normal ponies. It didn’t take long for us to spot an inn, as indicated by a two-dimensional wooden bed hanging loosely on one chain from a pole near the door; something was scrawled under the image, but I couldn’t read it.  We were halfway up the street when Graargh bit me squarely on the leg. “Ow!” I yelped, quite justifiably.  “What, Graargh?” He gestured across the street, toward a squat little house with a massive front door and a lean-to workshop set against its side.  At first, I didn’t recognize anything of note; it wasn’t until I followed Graargh’s little hoof that I realized what he was indicating to: a bear. A full-grown, brown-furred bear, wearing a scarlet leather vest covered in pockets, alternately working a drawknife and a carpenter’s plane along a half-shaven log. “Do you know him?” I asked. Graargh shook his head.  “Bears not all same.  But he bear.  I talk.” “Is that quite wise?” Angel helpfully asked.  “He might be dangerous.” Graargh and I both turned toward my rock.  “Angel…” I told him.  “He’s a carpenter.  Look.  He’s got all the tools.” “A carpenter bear,” Angel emphasized. Graargh growled. “Colts.”  Gale rolled her eyes.  “I’m going to get us two bedrooms.  Morty, make sure your rock and Graargh don’t start a fight.”  She started walking, and then glanced over her shoulder.  “And I’m not coming to save you if you get in a fight with another bitchy ex-marefriend.” “I’ll offer you the same support for the brawl you start at the inn, then.” “Smartass.” “‘You’re the one who gave me a donkey nickname.” Gale slapped me across the face.  “Goodnight, dipshit,” she told me, walking away. Having charmed my way even deeper into Gale’s heart, and feeling the sting of her hoof pale against the omnipresent sting of Neighvgorod’s biting cold, I gestured to Graargh.  “Alright.  Let’s talk to your friend.” As we approached, the grizzled grizzly offered only a glance out of the corner of his eye.  “What’s your deal, colts?  Never seen a bear before?” Graargh roared. The carpenter bear blinked twice.  Then, he set down his tools and stood up. I demonstrated an unusual amount of foresight when I covered my ears.  To exactly no one’s surprise, when the adult grizzly roared, it was loud.  Several echoes later, I removed my hooves from my ears and listened to snow tumble off some of the steeply sloped rooftops nearby.  A sizeable clod slid under the collar of my jacket, making me shiver and jump. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve gotten to do that,” the carpenter announced.  Then he turned to look at me.  “I’m guessing you’re not the kind to give a roar, colt.  What do I call you?” “Morty,” I told him.  “And that’s Angel.” “The rock?” The carpenter let his brow rise into the distinct shape of a tilde.  For some reason I can’t quite put my hoof on, I disliked the expression. “Technically speaking, sir, I’m what is called a golem.  Master Coil created a soul for me, and bound it to this physical form.” “Right… Well, like I said, I’m” and then, rather predictably, he roared directly into my face. Just as loud. He stopped after just a second, but it took three or four for my hearing to return. I coughed into my hoof, just to make sure I could hear that noise in the ensuing silence.  “Alright… Roar.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Before I continue, I just want to make sure I’m speaking at an audible volume for an individual of your substantial magnitude.” “You and your rock are throwing around big words.  Are you some kind of prince?” At that, I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Wizard, traveling hero, necromancer…” “Bad cook,” Graaargh helpfully added.  “And good at fight with fish.” The carpenter blinked twice.  “I see.  Then I assume this little one isn’t actually your colt?  How did he learn to roar like that?” “Not colt!” Graargh interrupted.  “Am bear!” “Ahem,” I cut in, before I could listen to that particular debate yet a third time. “Well, at this point, I guess there’s no point keeping that particular open secret.  Graargh is a shapeshifter of some kind; for want of any better explanation, I have to assume it’s some kind of bear magic.”  The carpenter absorbed these words without comment, and after a few seconds of total silence, I decided to continue.  “I’ve seen him turn into a bear slightly smaller than you on at least two occasions.  However, he really is a child.  I found him… rather, he found me, not far from Crystal Union City.  I brought him here because I’m headed to River Rock, and we were hoping to find his parents in Sibearia along the way.” “Hmm…” The carpenter’s eyes moved to Graargh.  “I’ve never heard of any magic like that.  But I was never an herb-master, and I cannot read the skies.  I only work with wood.” “You’re fine, Roar.  I’ll take care of Graargh.” He broke into a smile, turning to Graargh.  “You let him call you that?” “Morty bad roar,” Graargh answered, rather pleasantly. He also stuck his tongue at me, which must have been really funny until my magic grabbed onto it. “You’re unusually eloquent today, Graargh.” Angel hovered down to my shoulder.  “Well quipped, sir.” Roar, as I was calling him, gestured with a forepaw, and I released Graargh’s tongue.  “I’m sure you’re very capable, Mr. Wizard.  But how much do you know about bears?” “Well, I can’t even pronounce any of your names, so I’d say I’m off to a fantastic start.” “The roar is more of a title; we bears don’t have permanent names the way ponies do.  They change based on the achievements of our lives.  For example, my roar says I am what you might call a ‘pony speaker’; it took me near to twenty years to force my tongue to speak your way.” “So instead of ‘Roar’, I should call you ‘Whinny’?” I asked the red-vested bear.  “Fair enough.” “That wouldn’t be a very good idea,” Whinny pooh-poohed.  “The bears who live out in the tundra—particularly the guardians, who you’ll know by their white fur—are distrustful of outsiders.  There are many monsters in the wastes.  If your little friend can actually shapeshift, I would be cautious as to where he exercises that ability.” “Pff.  I’m not afraid of some guard bears.” “If you can beat them in battle, that’s impressive.  But beating them in battle won’t make them accept him as one of their own.  Keep that in mind.”  With that, Whinny rolled his shoulders. “I should be back to work.  Best of travels, ‘Morty’.” “You too, Whinny.”  I turned to Graargh, and a chill ran down my back.  His green eyes, staring back at me, were worried.  Perhaps even terrified. I only had one chance, and I knew I couldn’t fail him.