I. Luck of the Rose
(0) In the thirtieth winter of his life, Marcus Dewstone fell into a cold sleep. The peculiars of his ailment were unknown to his doctors and nurses. The unexplainable slumber of the ailing man tossed his body into a storm of worsening conditions until those beloved close to him were forced to face his possible end. Like a boat carried on the slow tide of a nightshone river, the mind of Marcus Dewstone ebbed outward into the vast plains of lands beyond the living.
(1) At first, there was naught but sound drifting through the dark. The man heard music played upon a shore, far and soft, inviting to the lost traveler. A lyre, followed in tune by a harmonious gentle voice, carried on the wind as his boat carried itself to a long-forgotten cove.
(2) At the mouth of the river the boat came to a stop. The wooden edges splintered at the touch of solid ground. The body of Marcus collapsed into the rising tide as his eyes shot open and his mouth swallowed sea foam. He fought to the surface and crawled to shore with clothes soaked in the water of some unknown place.
(3) To ease the burden of silence surrounding him, Marcus spoke aloud. His words held the weight and cadence of millennia before his own time. “What manner of place is this which steals my breath and chills my bones? Only days before I was living a life closing in on the turn of the year two thousand. Now I find myself stuck in a land where whispers call to me amidst windswept harmonies? Even some of my thoughts appear as dusted old languages swept under the rug to be discovered by the cleaner of empty homes. Who did I anger and what folly did I perform to be cast into a place so far from home? For there are the known lands of my people, the forgotten lands beyond that and where I am, in the realm of that which never was and yet is. I sense something in my spirit where the ache of long life fades into the final sunset upon the crystal shores. I feel in my heart the mark of a fallen one. But where did I fall?”
(4) Up on a hill, a voice cried out in concern. “Hello out there! I heard the lament of one who is lost amidst a stranded shore! Who are you and where might you be?”
(5) Marcus cried out in joy. “Madam, I am here! Upon the shore with a broken boat! My name is Marcus and I have become lost in this place far from home.”
(6) The voice called closer. Its sound was smaller and more comforting than the speech Marcus was used to. “I still cannot see you, but do not fret! I will find you shortly and we will make our way to others who can aid you in finding your home again. Tell me now, why were you stranded upon a shore? What do you remember?”
(7) Marcus saw the remains of his boat fall into the water and float out to the sea. He found himself cursing the ocean for having swallowed his only means of transport off the moonlit shore. “Dear lady, I remember little and wonder much. I was beset by an unknown illness and bedridden while cold sleep embraced me. It felt as though the ocean itself poured into my mind and submerged all the things I held dear, for now I cannot recall much of anything beyond the moment of my fall!” Marcus caught the word and held still for a second. “I do remember a fall of some sort, but I cannot for the life of me understand how any ailment can thrust one person from bed to beach in less than a day!”
(8) Movement in the trees caught his attention as a gasp filled the air. “Dear Marcus, do not move, for I see something shocking and alien standing upon the beach somewhere near you! I heard your voice, but I cannot see you, but this creature is clear to me, as is its foul countenance and menacing appearance.”
(9) Marcus froze with the weight of the warning and only moved his eyes to peer around the edges of the shore. The light of the moon shrouded the land in a cool glow of blue night. The beach, with glittering sand stretching from end to end, held no living being save for the man.
(10) The female voice cut the air again and nearly made Marcus jump at its first sound. “I can see a little clearer now. I will tell you what this creature looks like so you may run and run fast upon seeing it. Its head hair is matted and curled over its eyes like a spider grasping a skull. The arms are long and gangly as though the heavens themselves looked down and pushed them as far towards the earth as possible to punish them for ever grasping the sky. The hooves of the creature are black with a white strike across them, possibly scorched clean to the bone by some nefarious fire dancing. The legs are saggy with blue-black skin falling from the waist down. And the chest is the most horrific! It bears the emblem of some sort of tribal being with bulbous eyes and a head like a mushroom threatening to engulf its very own body!”
(11) Marcus heard and understood every word. As the description moved on, his brow narrowed further and further into a look of sheer annoyance. He sighed and opened his mouth to speak. “My lady…”
(12) “IT HAS STOLEN YOUR VOICE!”
(13) “MADAM!” Marcus yelled. “I am NOT a foul and menacing beast! I am a MAN! A human man, with matted hair thanks to the maw of the ocean threatening to engulf me. My arms are long because I am TALL and my shoes are black with the white check of a company logo emblazoned upon them. My jeans are NOT saggy skin! They are Levi’s Loose Fit! And this image upon my chest is not a tribal being of malevolence, but a sweet and innocent girl! Her name is Bubbles and she is a Powerpuff Girl!”
(14) There was much silence after the proclamation of Marcus.
(15) Finally, the lady spoke up. Her voice was apologetic as though she were the sun apologizing to the moon for having risen too early. “I offer my greatest and sincerest apologies, dear creatur…human! I am not familiar with your kind and have made a grave error in misjudging your splendid and magnificent form! Far be it from me to criticize one so fetching and handsome as you! The sheen of your lovely mane has blinded my reason! And from this day forward, I will speak of nothing but the truest adoration for the sweet and innocent mushroom creature known as Bubbles!”
(16) Marcus knew of no greater flattery at the moment and tried not to unveil any further bits of his rage upon the false description of his favorite Powerpuff Girl. He counted to a number in his mind and nodded as though he had just forgiven a small child who had criticized his less than athletic appearance. Despite the fact that such an act had occurred more than once before, Marcus pulled his mind out of the past and thanked the fact he actually remembered something. He would express his gratitude to the lady later after pushing the anger out of his thoughts.
(17) The madam’s voice was now quivering in fear. “I find myself stuck between two decisions. For now we both know that you and I are not the same. You walk upon two legs, like a Diamond Dog, though your personality is nothing like their own. You are mostly hairless, like a northern dragon kin, but your temper is not flame-soaked. Your hooves are instead claws as though griffon, but you do not possess wings. And though you have named yourself human, I know nothing of your kind or what lies in your heart. Be you friend or foe? Honest or liar? I cannot know which!”
(18) Marcus did not grasp the entirety of all the lady had said, but his heart was of good character and compassionate. He sought to soothe her fears and sat down upon the sand. “My lady, I am no dog, nor dragon, nor griffon of any kind. Every one of those things you have mentioned sounds more dangerous than I. And though you know not of human, and have named three tough creatures, I am still ranked lowest in anger amidst them all. I cannot guess what you might be and though most would find such an encounter strange, I can only account for so much since my bedridden time at the hospital. Perhaps I have crossed a border through my injury and only now see the difference between us. I shall sit on the sand and await your approach. Should I stand before you allow it, you may run off and leave me here. But please help me, for I am lost and in need of a guide.”
(19) “A guide?” the lady said. “You poor alien creature! Well never fear, for a citizen of Equestria am I whose task it is to guide the flora to greater growth. I know the way spoken by plants all across this land and it is I who have often been said to hold the luck of the rose!”
(20) In all his lifetime, Marcus Dewstone had never seen a speaker who approached him upon four legs. Had he seen a horse in the farmland around his hometown casually hold a conversation with him, only to trot up to him and smile, his reaction would’ve been the same. But here, the madam’s countenance bore an expressive nature all its own. Compared to his shocked visage, the equine, a small pony, had a far greater range of facial expressiveness than even he could muster. Her mane and tail were a crisp crimson like the color of a flower seen through the droplets of morning rain. Her coat coloring was a subdued peach bordering on ivory with hints of vanilla-infused light red tones. Her eye hue mirrored the lively stems of blossoming plant life. She smiled and the flowers around her bloomed.
(21) “I am known as Roseluck, but you may call me Rose.” She held out a hoof. It was dusty brown, signaling the ground of the trials she had trod upon to arrive at the shore. “I am a citizen of Equestria and resident of the town of Ponyville.”
(22) Faced with a speaking equine, Marcus did the only thing he could think of. He held out his hand and felt the iron of her horseshoe in his palm. “I am Marcus Dewstone of Austin, Texas, and it is a pleasure to meet a friend in this wondrous new place.”