//------------------------------//
// Pax, Pro Tempore 
// Story: Zecora's Redemption 
// by The Mountaineer Brony 
//------------------------------//

The next day Zecora found herself in the marketplace with the rest of the Equestrian delegation. Pinkie Pie was bouncing around between the stalls with food, trying to locate various sweet scents in order to sample local desserts. Rarity, meanwhile, wandered bright-eyed through tapestries and garments, trying to gather inspiration for the new fashion line she would surely make once she arrived back in Ponyville; she laughed upon noticing a small zebra filly playing amongst her delicately coiffed tail, herself having a cheerful time. While the other Elements looked about the shops for souvenirs and Spike took pictures for his scrapbook (all the while confusing the locals, who were unfamiliar with cameras,) Twilight stood with Zecora poring over a book she levitated between them: Introduction to Zebrish. 

"I think you are ready; just speak clear and steady." Zecora told her purple friend. 

Twilight nodded. "Here I go." she replied, trotting over to a nearby vendor. As the zebra approached the counter, Twilight took one last glimpse at her book before slipping it into her saddlebag. She then attempted to do business in very broken Zebrish. 

"<Do bananas... are real?>"

The shopzebra donned a confused look, raising an eyebrow and pointing a hoof to a bunch of bananas hanging above him. 

Twilight nodded and smiled. "<Good much. Cost be?>"

The zebra's confusion lessened, though only slightly. He slowly reached for the bananas and set them on the counter, his eyes not moving from Twilight. She nodded again happily. "<Cost?>"

"<Five.>" He replied. At least Twilight knew how to count. She magically brought forth the Zanzebrari coins from her saddlebag before giddily trotting back over to Zecora, smiling broadly. She shrugged and smiled awkwardly as if to say, "Well, good effort."

Twilight peeled one banana and began to munch on it. She offered one to Zecora, who politely waved it away. She told Twilight that she wished to wander the city alone for a while, to which the alicorn nodded with a mouthful of fruit. Pulling her hood tight, Zecora walked off amongst the crowds.





After years of bathing in rivers or indoor tubs, it felt unspeakably relaxing for Zecora to visit the bathhouse once again. Bereft of her jewelry and cloak, she had undone the braid in her tail, though her mane, for the moment, still stood upright. She walked into the spacious, quiet room, her hooves making soft clopping sounds along the brick floor. Amidst the steam, she wasn't alone. At the opposite end of the massive pool, she could make out two other mares, one a mother with her children. Not exactly enough to trigger Zecora's modesty; besides, she'd used the public baths for most of her life. 

A few stone steps downward and Zecora felt her body slipping into the comfortably warm water. Gentle ripples lapped at her velvety hide, and she sighed in relaxation. For a moment she sat on the stone steps, water up to her breast, closing her eyes and focusing her mind amidst the calm and quiet. Not long after, though, she heard some disturbance from the other end of the pool; upon opening her eyes, she saw the mother mare pulling her foals close as both she and her companion scooted further away, eyeing Zecora worriedly. 

Zecora sighed and sank into the water up to her chin.





Queen Marwe sat in her study that evening, her table covered in papers, the largest of which was a map with small wooden figurines laid out atop it. The young monarch sat regally atop a low stool as her generals told her of the March of Soumaoro, a cruel sorcerer-king and her nation's great enemy. 

"<And you're sure there is no way to rout him?>"

"<The kingdoms of Mareputo and Mareitania have already tried, Your Majesty, and were utterly defeated. The King and Queen of Neighrobi are amassing an army at their borders to intercept his forces, but they are doubtful they can stop them either. Soumaoro's armies are simply too great and too skilled.>"

The queen turned to her elder general, her face changing from serious to confident. "<Then it's a good thing our armies are just as great and even more skilled.>" The general shared a smile with her, setting the helmet in his crooked foreleg upon the table. 

"<My zebras will be ready, Your Majesty.>" he said, stroking his beard. 

"<Good.>" She nodded, turning her attention to the map again. "<How long until he reaches this city?>"

"<At his current pace, one week at least, perhaps a little longer.>" A younger general piped up. 

"<With luck, that will give us enough time to prepare. I'll make the announcement tomorrow afternoon.>" Marwe shifted into a standing position, the black silk of her gown billowing with every move. "<May the gods be with you all.>"

Her three generals saluted and bowed, a gesture she returned, before donning their helmets and leaving the room, closing the door behind them. Marwe sighed loudly; she collapsed onto her stomach atop a luxurious chaise longue, throwing one hoof over the edge. Reaching over to a nearby end table, she cupped a glass of red wine and brought it to her mouth for a sip. Talking about the fate of one's kingdom and people for a whole hour often drove one to drink.

She stared across the room to a painting on the wall, one of her mother, Queen Jaha, sitting with Marwe as a filly. 

"<Oh Mother...> Marwe spoke under her breath. "<You warned me this day would come... but now that it's here...>

She set her wine on the table and rolled onto her back, toying with her single large French braid.

"<...I'm scared.>"

Marwe was glad she'd set her public emergency declaration for tomorrow afternoon; by then, she would've worked off the massive hangover she was about to give herself to drown out her screaming anxiety. 





"<You fool! Don't you realize what lies within here?! You seek to destroy us all! You can't just--- ack!>"

The zebra guard couldn't finish his plea before having his throat slashed by one of Soumaoro's elite. As his form crumpled to the ground, his blood trickling down the ancient stonework, a dark figure strode into the long-concealed rainforest temple. Other dead guards lay around the columns; he strode past their waning lives and smirked in pleasure.

The sorcerer-king, though elderly, was an imposing figure. He was tall, a good head higher than most other zebras. He had little in the way of a mane due to age; what wispy strands were left were slicked back into a point against his neck. His beard was long and grey; the face upon which it rested bore wrinkled, sunken eyes and a cruel smile. He walked with a staff of gnarled wood, serving both as a cane and a mage's focus for powerful incantations. His black, ratty cloak trailed behind him like a jagged, malignant shadow, a reflection of his very soul. Beneath it, sprawled across his breast, was an ancient necklace of gold and beads, one of his few indulgences. He wore it in lieu of a crown to remind everyzebra that despite his plain appearance, he was, in fact, a king: a title that, like many things, he had taken by force. If he wasn't your king already, he would be soon enough.

His masked, elite assassins stood in rank and file as he walked past them. Of the many things of which Soumaoro was proud was the fact that his troops obeyed him, either through loyalty, like these and a few others, or out of fear, like the armed masses outside the temple. The bulk of his army he'd assembled from the brave warriors of Neightal, to the south. The kingdom had grown mighty in the past under the leadership of brave zebras like Shaka, but even their dauntless impi proved no match for his vile sorcery. Since then, he'd used most of the treasury to import superior weapons and armor, effectively modernizing Neightal's army; the soldiers themselves were not quite happy about having to abandon their traditional dress and practices, but Soumaoro's threatening presence quickly quelled any thoughts of dissent.

But even with an army--no, a nation--at his command, Soumaoro wanted more. He didn't merely want to exact revenge upon Zanzebrar, he wanted to raze it... and for that, he would need greater power yet. 

Such power was what brought him here.

Shoving aside the remains of one last guard with his staff, Soumaoro stood in front of a pair of massive stone doors, held shut by titanic chains and a single, great lock. 

"<Sir, if I may,>" posited Hondo, the old warlock's general "<why are we here?>"

"<This is one of the few doors to the world below.>" the aged stallion replied. "<There lives here a creature who will swear fealty to me if I set it free...>"

Stepping forward and raising his staff, Soumaoro began the dark incantation; ancient words of a long-dead language flowed from his lips and the cracks and creases in the twisted branch began to glow. The enchanter's eyes lit up soon after, and dark, greenish-black smoke flowed forth like brackish water to tear the lock asunder. The heavy chains fell from the door with a noise like thunder, and with a slam of his staff, the entry slowly creaked open.

From within, several pairs of large red eyes flashed open to inspect the sorcerer and his general, who was now cowering behind him. A deep, earthshaking growl-hiss echoed from the darkness. 

"<I have need of you, great old one... after 500 years, do you still thirst for blood?>"