Chapter 2 – Dark Age
~ Ioannes I “Twilight Sparkle” Tzimiskes ~
As the loading screen came into view, Twilight’s methodical mind painstakingly revisited the fundamental principles that had made her such a successful Roman leader – successful enough by her own assuredly unbiased metrics, at least.
One: Optimize play for maximum efficiency. That meant creating a comprehensive list of in-game actions the alicorn needed to do in order to get the most resources in the fastest time. A shameful thing to admit, but the Princess had even slacked off on a few of her royal duties – no Court hearings today, *cough cough* – in order to make time for the necessary calculations; and in typical Twilight fashion, she converted said calculations into a schedule, which was then proofread, memorized, recalculated, reproofread, and finally eaten so as to deny the fruits of her labor to her friends. When it came to gaming, Twilight was going to be mercilessly selfish.
Two: Economy first. If Rainbow Dash as an arch-swarmer par excellence had not yet completely turned her off the tactic, Twilight’s own calculations certainly did. To pour one’s entire stockpile of resources into one grand attack, leaving nothing behind – that was too risky for the cautious Princess; moreover, the Taktika of Leo VI “the Wise” cautioned against it, so it was also good roleplay. No – the purple alicorn would bide her time patiently, building up a strong economic base through which her game-winning war machine could run itself on, then use said war machine to crush her opponents.
Three: One enemy at a time. Resources were limited on the game map; the best use what little she had (and there was never enough), the bookish mare needed to commit her forces where optimal gains could be obtained. And this, as implied by the Strategikon, meant applying maximum pressure on a single enemy – no purpose of hers would be served by following the wild tactics of Rainbow Dash, careening dangerously through all corners of the map, no further idea as to what the overarching goal was. Of course the pegasus had always emerged victorious in these challenges, but then again-
Twilight’s train of thought was cut short with the familiar opening scene: a yellow, canvas-laid Town Center, a lone Scout, and three so-called “people” – what strange figures they are! – under the occupational name of “villager”.
The alicorn’s brain instinctively switched over to autopilot. The magical aura gestating around her horn leapt forth eagerly, enveloping the keyboard and mousepad and began executing her mental commands.
And as if possessed by some demonic force, Her Highness’ mouth opened and began chanting to the steady beat of clicking buttons, a voice in her brain loudly checking off each item on her meticulously calculated to-do list:
“Queue four villagers. Build two houses. Chop wood. Build lumber camp. Get sheep. Move two sheep to TC, rest stay outside. New villagers to sheep. Move lumberjack to sheep. Get more sheep. Research- “
“Would you cut it, Twi’?” The sound of Applejack’s voice suddenly inserted itself into the rhythm. “Some ponies are tryin’ to concentrate here- ”
“No!” Rainbow Dash hurriedly interrupted. “Keep on talking, Twilight; keep on talking! Don’t listen to Applejack!”
"Create more villagers... " Twilight looked up, wondering what all the fuss was about.
“I’m sorry?!” The orange mare turned on her nominal ally. “Just what do you think you’re doin’?”
Rainbow Dash pulled the country mare close and whispered into her ear, the farm pony’s eyes widening in comprehension. “Ohh… forget what I just said, Twi’.”
“Take one villager who isn’t chopping wood, and build a Mill… what?” The magical pony peeked over the screen once more.
“Nothing, nothing!” The weathermare gestured dismissively with a hoof. “You just keep on doing what you were doing.”
Twilight frowned and turned back to her list... wait. What was I supposed to be doing after the Mill?
…
...
...
“Grr!” Twilight groaned, smacking her brow repeatedly. Of all the times to forget… think, Twilight, think!-
Just then, an unwelcome noise, a sudden red notification at the bottom of the screen: You need more houses to continue unit production.
“Argh!”
*
~ Rainbow Dash ~
Rainbow Dash, like Twilight, had entered the game with a set of fundamental principles guiding her play. But unlike her royal friend, said principles were short and simple for the pegasus – soldiers, and anything that created more soldiers.
She still wasn’t too cool about the idea of Applejack being on her team – she really wanted to flood the farmpony’s settlement with a hundred Huskarls, darn it! – but it wasn’t all bad. After all, Applejack was always an economic player: perhaps Rainbow Dash could provide protection for the cowpony, and have remuneration come in the form of resources to fuel the Hunnic army.
But such resource exchanges were only going to be possible once the farming mare advanced up an age. For now, the same-old-same-old – villagers, wood, sheep, hou- wait, Huns don’t need to build houses? Sweeet! – barracks, more villagers, militia, gold, more sheep, boar, farms, more militia-
A small conversation line popped up on the screen. SAA_IS_BETTER: stop building militia!
The pegasus, surprised at Applejack’s apparent ability to see what she was doing, wheeled around and nearly smacked into the disapproving face of the orange mare, the latter’s hooves still working the laptop keyboard as she silently chastised Rainbow Dash for such an excessive focus on the military.
It was time to respond. WONDRBOLTS_RULE: its to save ur sry flank when TS attack u
A slap on her real-life fetlocks confirmed that the pegasus had achieved the reaction she was trying for. Applejack glared at her on-paper ally, eyes like daggers.
“You told us to simply follow what Twilight’s doing. She ain’t building no militia,” the orange pony hissed, Twilight’s low ramblings prominent in the background.
“Yeah well, I got bored,” the pegasus answered as she began queuing up more militia at the barracks. “I can’t be bothered with just villagers all day.”
“Don’t count on me to bail you out with that attitude,” Applejack muttered, sending more villagers to – what else? Farm – as she struggled to build up her economic supply chain. “You always ruin the game for everypony, Dash.”
Dash faked a yawn. “Let me guess. Another lecture. It’s a game, AJ… ”
The cowpony quickly smacked the pegasus’ right foreleg, sending green militia haywire as Rainbow’s hoof involuntarily pressed down on the keyboard.
Rainbow Dash quickly retaliated, using her own hoof to smack the orange pony’s keyboard. “We’re supposed to be a team, Applejack!”
Applejack gasped as her own units flew out of control, hastily deleting the six-or-so palisades that were now being erected around the blue Town Center. “Quit it, Rainbow!” she hissed, glancing briefly at Twilight to see if she had noticed the incessant bickering. Her Highness was still in her game-induced trance.
“You stop!” the pegasus retorted, making threatening moves towards the country mare’s keyboard once again.
“OK, OK!” Applejack beat a hasty retreat, unwilling to have Rainbow Dash spoil any more of her plans. “Just… just try and use your resources more wisely, alright? I can only provide help when I get up to the Feudal Age. So try not to die before then.”
The victor in this minor scuffle huffed, yet again lining up a few more units of militia in the barracks queue. “You should be the one who’s worried, Applejack.”
*
~ Pinkie Pie ~
Asmund – not important enough in the grand scheme of things to possess a last name – gazed at the cloudy sky, gray and dark in typical medieval fashion. He sighed unhappily, the wispy breath curling and fading into a background of foreboding pine trees.
These were evil days.
The Viking was old enough to remember the glorious legends concerning the Old Gods – Ask and Embla stirring, divine breath seeping into their wooden form; thunderous Thor wrestling with the terrible World-Serpent, the hammer Mjolnir grasped in his right hand; and of course, the prophecy of Ragnarok, the End of Time, the cataclysm through which the world would be burnt and then raised anew.
But the legends lied. Ragnarok happened, without fire sweeping through the Earth, without the dread shade of a Fenrir or Loki coming for bloodthirsty revenge – the gods simply slipped away, disappeared like a thief in the dead of night. No Tyr or Odin remained to watch over the salt of the Earth. No gods left in the halls of Asgard to listen to the Norsemen's prayers.
Well, almost nobody.
“Asmuuuund!” A shrill VOICE suddenly erupted forth from the heavens.
The bearded villager sighed. At least this new god was much more communicative with Her charges.
“I am listening, O Great ‘HI, I’M PINKIE’.”
“Asmund, I’ve already told you like a squillion times: call me PINKIE!” the VOICE groaned, the faint sound of a Godhead hitting something hard. “P-I-N-K-I-E! Simple!”
“Forgive me, O PINKIE. We dare not offend you in the future.”
To be honest, this new god did not stir up feelings of awe within Asmund.
“Hmph! Anyway, I see you are idle, Asmund!” the VOICE informed. “Your fellow Vikings are chopping wood, farming and hunting deer. Explain yourself!”
“I was a sailor, O PINKIE.” The Viking shrugged as respectfully as he could. “There is no water within this great forest for me to sail my longship on.”
“Typical,” PINKIE muttered off-handedly. “Giving me a naval civilization on a map that has no water!”
“… what was that, O PINKIE?” the villager asked, confused.
“Never you mind. Asmund!” the VOICE proclaimed. “I’ve suddenly thought up a super-duper-extra-special-brilliant plan!”
Great. “We shall do your bidding, O PINKIE.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to make a god angry all right! Anyway, Asmund: gather up the Norsemen, and seek out the famed boar of Hallormsstaðaskógur… however you pronounce that.”
The Viking frowned. “And where is Hallormsstaðaskógur, O PINKIE?” He wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce the word himself. Was it even Norse?
“Oh, right,” the VOICE giggled apologetically. “They don’t name things in this game. Anyway, travel east to the lands of Greece, and hunt the southernmost boar before the third house to the right of the Greek Town Center.”
To say that this bearded Norseman, clothed in a rather fetching pair of red pants, was unimpressed would have been an understatement. “O PINKIE, should we not reconsider?” Asmund protested. “Won’t the Emperor John of Greece be enraged if we steal his boar?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re allied with the Greeks,” PINKIE replied. “After all, I put the Byzantines and the Vikings on the same team and I’m pretty sure I also ticked ‘Lock Teams’.”
“Right.” Asmund wasn’t sure what he just heard, but who was he to argue with the supernatural wisdom of PINKIE?
That didn’t mean no questions, though. “But O PINKIE, why hunt boar so far away? I mean, I saw three fine specimens near the gold patch while I was walking over to the tree stump; I wager they are as- “
“Do not doubt the word of PINKIE,” the VOICE cautioned.
“Fine. But one last thing. I’m a sea-dog. I do not know how to hunt- “
“O ye of little faith!” PINKIE thundered as a ray of light shone down from a nearby cloud. “Sorry – I’ve just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to say that! But anyway. Did you really think I’d send you to do tasks you were totally unequipped for?”
Asmund wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. “Well… ”
But lo! The Spirit came down onto the villager, lighting a flame on his right hand: the flame became a light, the light became a shape, and the shape became a bow. And then the Spirit entered the Viking, and he was thus suddenly and immediately enlightened in the ways of the hunt.
“You are a doubtful little villager, aren’t you?” PINKIE questioned when all the fuss ended. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”
And at that moment, Asmund believed. “Hail to the Lord of Lords, King of Kings!” he exclaimed, prostrating himself into the ground. “I shall hunt the boar of boar of Hallormsstaðaskógur with the blessing of PINKIE!”
“Awww, thank you!” purred the wholly un-Godlike response.