//------------------------------// // Avenging // Story: The Beginning of Witches // by crash826 //------------------------------// *These recordings are evidence of a recent event in Trottingham, Equestria.* **They concern a researcher's assistant working on the recent phenomenon of Thaumic Rebellions among humans.** ***The playback spell begins; as it is a cheaper model, the runes only allow for audio.*** ****The voice is of the researcher's assistant in question.**** As you know, I am an employee of a small affiliate group involved with psychology and study of abnormal phenomena. And, like anyone else, I've heard of those strange, quiet people who one day burst with spite, except that somehow Equestria has brought all these crazies out of the woodwork. And, similarly, via some inscrutable method, it's bestowed them with unnatural power. God, it sounds so strange and formal when I say it out loud. In fact, anything I say to this recording spell sounds odd. I don't really see why I can't use a tape recorder, or something; just because it's human tech doesn't mean it doesn't work in Equestria, although I guess that might just be habit talking. I mean, Equestrians have spells, we have tape recorders, so do as the Romans do, I guess? Maybe that's even the difference between humans and Equestrians. They weave ethereal energies into a mass too great to comprehend and speak into the void, that it might be filled with their echoes; we punch words into some thick tapey stuff and later play it back at each other. She laughs. Yeah, as you guys know, there's the recent slowly expanding group of crazy Equestrian-opposing humans out there, and I'm not talking any of the groups who call them abominations or say they're just fattening us up to eat us or some strange hunch-fueled conspiracy theories. These guys call themselves the Witches, after some old Equestrian legend or something, and they don't wear warts, pointy black hats or carry broomsticks. They're jerks, mostly, like high school bullies, but that's not uniform. They look, well, however they want to look, except that no matter how smartly they dress they still seem a little discomforted by their surroundings, or have some weird tic like there's a bug in their eye, and I guess there is. Only it's in the soul. A soul bug. What would that even look like? Would it have, I dunno, ankh-shaped mandibles or something, for getting a better purchase on the spirit world? I'm rambling again. Sorry, case study spell. I know you're not sentient, but I still feel like I'm wasting your time. I guess I can just delete that part about spiritual insects. I should finish: They look normal until they do something- anything, really, randomized powers apparently, I don't know, but they can use powers on par with fairly high-level unicorns. Obviously, I should fear for the life of my nonexistent children. She laughs again. Anyway, today apparently I'm sitting with Dr. Blaze Bright (foremost Equestrian expert on the phenomenon) and her group while we interview the witch who recently came into our custody (and somehow isn't destroying all that surrounds in a tornado of ice and annihilation, or whatever it is that witches do). I have no idea how we're keeping this guy (girl?) restrained, but I might as well see one firsthand for the first time and get some actual information for the blog here, until I update and return to the specific part of civilization that has Wi-Fi. I hope the spell will keep functioning back on Earth. Goodnight, journal. *There is a short pause between entry times; about three hours. The next recording was an officially court-sanctioned spell.* **As such, it had full video and audio.** *There is a vague hiss as playback begins.* "-for the record." ends Dr. Bright, who apparently took a moment to speak to the witch before she began her conversation. "We have all day, but if you're uncooperative we can go home and spend time with our families, while you can triumphantly stay exactly where you are." She stomps the ground for emphasis. "'M a witch, carrot-shover. I don't need to take your lip." The witch spits on the floor. "If you weren't such a coward, you'd fight me with those chunky hooves'a yours, maybe take me out of this lousy bleeding cage and magic-duel me like a real woman, instead'a the fake horse you are." A few seconds pass, and she looks up. The amusement in her voice is obvious. "Oh, you're onna them mud ponies, eh? How'dja get a job here, mud pony? Ain't this supposeta be a place for the snooty horn heads 'r somethin'? The ones who think instead'a farmin'?" "You're a couple of inches away from being sent back to anti-magic detention, witch. We built this cell just for you, and if you're uncooperative you're going to stay in there a little bit longer than you expect." Dr. Bright stares hard at the woman in the large, hooked cage, which has been inscribed with runes to keep the bars from breaking under mystic duress. "We'd like to get some information from you, and should you be cooperative, we can reduce your sentence- the reduction has been approved by the Princess herself, as long as you keep on your best behavior." "Hell to tha'! I'm a witch, you lousy arsecrumbler, and I dun need annyavyer shi-!" The witch pauses, and then appears to settle down. "Right, then. 'L do it. But I don't trust your bleedin' horsedocs. They don't gotta reason not to cold-cock me." She then points at the young lab assistant of Dr. Bright, a human, who startles back. "Whatsyername, missy?" "I don't, um, have to tell you." says the assistant, with a vague tremble to her voice. She is obviously a bit ruffled at being singled out, and continues to cringe even after the initial shock of being chosen. Unperturbed, the witch continues: "What, think yer too good fer the likes'a me, ya plot-kissin' pansy?" She leers disquietingly, then spits on the ground. "Feh. Onna these lousy no-mojo screwheads ain't even fit ta polish a grinspell's candy-covered boot. Get me a better human." The assistant, who has been glancing into corners as the witch speaks, looks up as Dr. Bright begins to shape another sentence and speaks, surprisingly loudly based on her earlier tone. "I'm Alicia Warner, if that makes you feel any better, ma'am." She then blinks, seemingly startled by something, and her suddenly improved posture recedes slightly, returning to a state of minor hunch. "Hey, look who grewwa backbone! Howzat feel, kitten? And now that you tried onna spine, I think you'll be interviewin' me." The witch cackles loudly, clearly amused at this small defiance from the assistant. "Getter over here and shut the door, mud pony. Either Miss Bliss talks ta me alone or you don't get yer precious info. Howabout that?" "That, witch, is an unallowable-" *The recording cuts here, an unfortunate result of recent leyline pressure.* **The cut is approximately four minutes.** "-then I suppose we have no choice," Dr. Bright says, a bit deflated from the original indignation she possessed, "But to send in the intern to do the work of a full associate and to talk with a dangerous and treasonous enemy of the state." She smacks her own face lightly with a hoof. "If I had known I would be doing this today, I'd have had two cups of coffee." Warner, the intern in question, is fidgeting uncomfortably and offering protest, but it is clear from her expression that she does not expect any of said to have effect; this is a done deal, and she knows it. In the end, the argument is over, and Dr. Bright slowly walks out of the room, reminding the girl to inscribe a certain rune into the wall poster to summon security should she encounter any problems. She sits, fidgeting, in a swiveling chair designed for ponies, obviously a bit uncomfortable. "Alright, m-ma'am. If you just please divulge some information, about you, the Witches I mean, um. Then we can end your sentence. I mean not end, um, reduce. Not end. If you behave. So-" "So why're ya siding with the horsies, kid?" The Witch smiles widely, teeth decayed and dirty, and pulls her hands together in a vaguely sexual motion. "I'd assume it's caussa how they're hung, but yer only hangin' around with the girly horsies, unless the Doc has somethin' to tell me." Warner blinks and then blushes hotly, scooting backwards on her chair. "That's not conducive to the case, ma'am. Also I don't want, um, to talk about things like that." "Well you can still answer, can'tcha?" "Well, I, um-" *The recording cuts again, and once again lapses into nothing for five minutes.* "-what's the harm in Equestria? It's never been a perfect place, true, but it's as close as makes no difference!" Warner is louder than before, and her pale face has become a pink, shading into red. "I mean, they have universal health care, a Princess that loves them unconditionally, a utopian society-" "They've gotta fuckin' tyranny is what's the bloomin' harm!" The witch is similarly strident and scarlet, and has clearly been engaged in a shouting match with the intern. "I mean they got no law, no ordah, no goddamned courts! I was a fuckin' policewoman and I know what some kinds'a "perfect societies" get upta! They just got those goddamn fancy prancy spangly dancy princess horses who do whatever the hell they wanna do t'their faithful fuckin' horse citizens, and I say what's gonna keep us from bein' next 'cept the witches?!" "The Equestrians are not monsters! Neither are the Princesses! They sculpted Equestrian-kind in their image, and look what they have: civil authorities who care about their charges, the cities have crime rates that can only be expressed in decimals and they don't even seem to pollute! I haven't seen a single one of them starve or even express non-trivial issues in their daily lives!" "Well, whaddaya expect when yer in the place where either yer a paragon or yer dead?! I mean, that poor Discord bastard! He's trapped in a rock fer a thousand years! Ya don't get a thousand years fer embezzlin' an entire economy, and all he did was mess with their stupid horsey heads fer a few hours before they turned him int a a lawn ornament!" "Shut up! The Equestrians aren't monsters! They're- they're beautiful! They've got no problems, no worries, no-" Warner is standing at this point, at a tone that could charitably be called emphatic, and uncharitably be called cacophonous. However, the witch's expression has changed, and she is staring at Warner with equal shades of realization and genuine disgust. "…G'damn. I was jokin' earlier, but… yer onna them pony-kins, aren'tcha. Those people who say they'd rather be horses." Her tone has downshifted, and she is speaking with a vague quivering voice that has apparently stopped Warner in her tracks- the red of her cheeks, passionate, has become the pale of suddenly rising fog. She speaks, stuttering. "I… I'm, n-not-" "People like you f'king disgust me. Yer a goddamn species traitor. When someone with a big ol' island fulla grass and sun came along ya decided you were better off one'a them. Left behind yer entire race for a chance at a big ol' mystic princess-god to hold yer head and tell ya you're a special little butterfly." The witch maintains a high, lifeless tone, something that could be called a shudder in voice form- though she maintains posture, she is obviously disturbed, no mean feat for the cruel magicians. "I thought you were just a, a mouse, but yer really some kinda goddamn sicko-" Warner, who has been returning the unblinking stare of the witch, her shoulder blades digging into the door behind her, muttering under her breath, staggers forward with odd speed and reaches a long, lazy punch through the bars of the cage. Though it seems limp-wristed, there is some sort of power behind the arm despite its delivery; the almost-slap of a blow nevertheless sends the witch back as if it were a wrecking ball, throwing her violently against the bars of the cage, rocking it on its chains and releasing a harsh gasp from the witch as the iron and protective runes bite into her. Warner looks at the thrown malevolent Thaumic Rebel with dulled surprise, which seems incapable of any rising; she walks stiffly to the wall, writes a simple rune on the parchment hung there and summons security. As she then walks out the door and the witch manages to breathe a "What?", Warner- as an afterthought- tosses a small ornament at the globe of the recording spell, which is switched off, ending the recording. ***** *Playback resumes from the journal spell.* (*sound of pacing*) What did I do? What did I do? Why did I do that? I'm not a bad person. I've never done anything that seemed wrong to me, not even when it was so tempting that I could taste it like copper in my mouth. I never drank, though I wanted to. I wasn't prideful even though I was a smart girl, and I wasn't violent even when I got pushed, and I wasn't ever spiteful. Spite was reserved for me, really. I'm not even strong. I can't lift fifty pounds. For Celestia's sake, I want to be an Equestrian! I want to become a member of utopia! There is a thump. What in there is wrong? Where does the girl in the turtleneck get a hook that can lift a woman off the floor, that can throw a bully into the walls like tissue paper? I kicked my door earlier, I was just so frustrated and I couldn't get that high piping voice out of my head with that damn stupid accent, and it's dented. I hope I don't have to pay the landlord for that. I hope I don't lose my job for assaulting a patient. I just realized that I didn't even get any information. Dr. Bright wanted to ask me something but I just sort of walked by her, and she tried to get my attention but I don't even remember what I said. I just sort of turned to her and murmured something and she took a step back and blinked and she couldn't even speak. What a change. She never stopped "shaping the rhetoric" in moments of calm, why should she stop now in the crisis- What am I talking about? What am I saying? Shut up shut up! Celestia. I think I need a walk. I think I need to go somewhere else. I can still hear her now, calling me a sicko- I just got so, so cold, everything was so simple, so clean, I just… couldn't stop- god, nothing changes, I'm still that little girl, agh agh shut up- I'm leaving, I'm leaving- *Playback ends. No more entries were made, and Warner has vanished from the small research institution.* **There have been no clues to her location. Should she or a clue be found, please contact the Bureau of Missing Ponies.** Twilight Sparkle looked down at the now-inert globe of light, a clue to a missing human girl who had fallen through some kind of crack, down and out of the world. She had heard of the incident and been intrigued, requesting the recording spell for personal study, but now there was only something to be solved. An issue, she felt, that would be suited for the Elements, and- should it come to a darker turn- the princess. "Spike, take a letter." ***** And far away where there was no recorder, no story-machine, no device to read words and discover lies, there lurked something else. Something that told her that she had gotten what she deserved. At last, yes, she had achieved the goal her life was set to create. Here was her perfect exodus from her old world- the condescension of ponies and men alike, those who wore their rank like fine dark overcoats and called her Intern, or Warner, or Sicko- those, said that thing, were the voices that had held her back like so many delicate chains, chains that she could have snapped with a finger and had indeed that had finally been reduced to old memories, greying links. Now, said the thing in the forest, was a time for action. Not yet, of course- but she had an in. She could come back to the Institute, claim sick leave, act with cheer and grace and always be there when those dangerous avatars of something beyond came into the building. A way to show them, favored children of God, the football players and cheerleaders, who could hold them down and send stars careening into their chests, who could mix and stopper their own violent ends in Chemistry class, who was the new dominant, the alpha. She who would free the outcasts, lead them, plunge them like iron into the hearts of the oppressors. Now was a time to bide, to await. To free the Witches. To destroy. And soon, said that thing in the dark, as she spoke with it, they would all see her, incandescent. And her beauty would burn the unrighteous to atoms, man and Equestrian alike, and it would expose the true dark hearts of all the cruel children before they too burnt away. She would be the lost radiance. Justice, in her blindfold. The arbiter of the cruel ones. She liked that deal.