//------------------------------// // Act 1- Chapter 3: The Difference // Story: Icon: Remnants of the North // by Vixavior //------------------------------// The Difference Proofread by TehSporkBandit Water washes over soft leather with a throaty slosh, spilling the liquefied sand around goatskin boots before finally settling. The scent of sea salt permeates the air while the thin tendrils of the east winds set loose cloth snapping. Slowly, faint traces of the breeze were starting to clear the thick banks of fog that rolled over the countryside, obscuring the distant banks across the tame waters. A single glassy stretch of wet sand no more than five paces wide stretched along the milky void. “The mists will lift.” “They are here... I can smell them.” the guttural voice replied. “We should go to meet them, my lord, the carrion birds fly and so should we. You have nearly two thousand warriors at your call. Just give the word.” the gravelly tone all but hissed in anticipation. “Not yet.” the first voice commanded, curbing the predatory snarl that echoed from between clenched teeth. There was no further word from that granite tone beyond the faint rasping of breath through mail hanging from an iron helm. That initial voice, calm and collected, continued unabated, “The waters will recede and Bright-Courage will be waiting on the far shore. He can scarcely afford not to be. Ten thousand pounds or a single token. What choice do the Angles have?” it solicited nothing more than a grunt and a few wayward clacks of spear shafts on metal rimmed shields. Figures began to form as wraiths on the far shore, clad thickly in long cloaks of blue and green. Another voice, far more reasoned than being affected by the enthusiasm of youth, issued out from beneath a helm of iron gilded in brass, “What is Bright-Courage playing at? What trickery is this?” The regal tone issued forth again from the chest of a tall statuesque man in purest polar white, “He knows. He can't risk having us sail downstream around him to his King's lands. He allows us to beach here because he can't afford not too, Ulf. And we will oblige him.” Blond locks spilled down from beneath the tall helm adorned with a plume of fiery horse hair. Slowly, the man raised a mailed fist. A host of men waited for such a simple gesture from their lord; whether it would be the Great Bear whose every breath sounded like a tempestuous snort, to the silent thane bearing his lord's shield, or the curious red cloaked warrior clutching a long spear with its furled banner. Their leader's hand dropped. A clarion call echoed across the early morning air, stirring it as a great and mighty warhost waded into the shallow waters, making for unseen shores. The winds did as they were bid, and soon great clouds lifted from the waters. Unveiled were the glittering mail and colourful heraldry of the congregation who opposed them. The banner at the fore of their host unfurled as if by magic. Its sun-disc shape was emblazoned with a single black bird. ♣ The phantom call of a blaring horn was enough to send you bolting upright. Chest tightening and breath leaving in panting huffs, there were no banners, no horns, no mob seeking blood. What the hell was that? If it was a dream then it didn't even have the good sense to disappear like a dream should. Instead, every detail was slowly solidifying with a faint hum in the sides of your head like they were being etched inside. Whatever that was, it latched on to your mind and tore away at the boundaries between wakefulness and sleep. A languid groan of misery passes your lips as you rest your head against the unyielding wooden headboard. Looking towards the window, sunlight scorches your eyes, which sting and water long after you hold an arm to your face. A thin hiss on your lips was the only reply as you twist and awkwardly turn to face back down amongst the pillows and tussled sheets. Groping blindly for a bedside table, your hands trace over a square faceted goblet, the smooth glass of what had to be a lamp, and then your glasses. Awkwardly unfolding them and snapping them on, a second uncovering of your eyes sent even more uncomfortable lances of pain bolting through your sockets. Flopping down with a huff, you keep your eyes closed and sink into the sheets of your bed. Hmm, not your bed, it was too soft. A rather grotesque feeling formed in your throat as a worming series of questions gnawed their way through your incohesive mind. If it's not my bed, whose is it? Another question nipped at its heels: Oh God, why am I in someone else’s bed? Why was something as ephemeral as a dream lingering longer in your mind than the events of only a few hours ago? Something else seemed out-of-place. There was no sound of cars, no wail of sirens, not even the distant thrum of a highway; silence reigned supreme in this room. Warily, you open your eyes again, hoping to settle at least the immediate question of where am I? It wasn't a basement like you had thought, rather, it looked like a theme room at a resort hotel. You roll your head over with a groan while gazing languidly out the window. Thankfully, this time you could see the bloom of white light that filtered through the glass panes without feeling like you had salt tossed in your face. Light continued to pour in, illuminating dust motes that floated around the room like lazy sparks of silver. Outside was a brass rail of some balcony, and remarkably clear powder blue skies. Rolling over in bed, the various sheets wrapped around you as you bury your face in soft downy pillows again. Letting a single arm drape off the side, it was a sudden drop that jarred your elbow more than it should have. It was basically a mattress on a floor with stone right beneath you. Covered in ivory silk sheets and a white down duvet, there was no less than half a dozen rounded pillows to spread around in whatever fashion you wanted. Silken sheets slipped off your shoulders as you slowly pulled yourself half upright against a pillow and now uncomfortably familiar headboard. It was a massive bed fit for a king.... Oh, that would make sense. The events of the night before, as confused as they were, came back in a few radiating waves of clarity. You weren't supposed to leave until certain 'issues' had been resolved, and no one had been forthright with you on what those were. That wasn't to say you were being treated poorly, you were just being neglected. It had to be the afternoon, but with no clocks it was a little hard to be any more precise than that. Wearily, you reach over to the foot of the bed, where you'd last hung your pants, and quickly rifled through the pockets. A wallet, cell phone, keys, and that parchment note were all heaped into a small pile. Checking the phone, it had no signal, and insisted the time was 1:15 AM. You had apparently arrived in the middle of the night, it was mid day, but your internal clock still said it was night-time, too. Great, it was basically jet-lag and that was uncomfortable. Not only did you not have your charger, but there hadn't been many outlets around either. You turn the phone off, it would be best to save the battery for later. Your wallet and its contents probably wouldn't help you much either. You'd remembered pacing around your quarters the night before, and while it was strange how different day and night looked, you recalled the layout well enough. Swinging your legs out, you sit on the edge of the bed and push yourself to help stand up. While that goal was achieved, it was coupled with a slow, almost lurching, motion towards the narrow arched door leading to the in-suite bathroom. Awkwardly staggering for a few steps, the sun-warmed stone turned cooler in the shade, snapping you out of that tired stupor. Socks may have been a good idea but it was keeping you awake. Shutting the door behind you, the bathroom's sterile white-gold finish seemed to make every surface glint. A small shower stall with latticed crystal doors loomed up in front of you, a small vanity and mirror lay on your right that looked about the right size for a hobbit. Opposite that was a very clean and very awkward looking squat toilet. Regardless of the gold fixtures, free-standing water basin, or any of the embossed towels, the bizarre toilet made the room feel distinctly alien. Everything else seemed familiar to typical hotel chic. Using the toilet was somewhat perplexing, but the shower, aside from having very large hot and cold knobs, was relatively simple. Stripping completely and stepping in, the warm water was one sure way to actually make you feel awake and alive enough to actually face the day. There was a visitor coming in to help you, too, so looking proper for them was doubtlessly important in making a positive first impression. After the initial surprise, both Princesses appeared to be comfortable with your presence. Hopefully, everyone else, no matter who the inhabitants of the realm might be, would treat you the same way. Smearing some of the liquid soap in your palm, its floral scent was distinct but not overpowering. It took the span of maybe three minutes before there was an indistinct chime from the main room. Hopping out of the shower and ripping a towel off a brass towel rack, the fabric snapped once before coiling tightly around you like a Roman toga. Your glasses were quickly snatched up from the low seat-height vanity. The shower remained on as you padded towards the door, leaving a small trail of water droplets in your wake. Poking your head out from the bathroom, sopping hair leaving rivulets streaking down your face and nearly blinding you, there wasn't anybody around. Quickly scanning the room for the source of the musical chime that had interrupted you, you hoped it wasn't your promised help who had come and gone. It was a comfort that something else caught your eye in the corner of the room. An elegant silver tray laden with three white china plates rested on a small table in the corner of the room. Light danced across the polished finish and and gold piping on the fancy plate lids. That said, there was no soap left in your hair, so it was probably time to get out of the shower anyway. Leaving the door crooked open you started towelling off completely and shut the shower off before returning to your room. Refreshed, returned, dressed, but generally still slightly tired, you were finally able to take stock of what someone had brought. Lid after lid was opened in sequence. Thin tendrils of steam wafted from one shallow bowl, and bobbing bits of vegetables formed at the surface of a thick broth. A half loaf of bread, flaked with oats and glazed to a honey brown color took up most of the space with a dollop of butter on a second plate. The final plate was laden with what looked like some sort of slightly less common fare. It was somewhat like rice but smaller and rounder, mixed with chopped apples, slivers of nuts, cranberries, and onions. You loft a brow for a moment, not being entirely sure but you could guess: Is that couscous? Retrieving the tray and heading back to your bed, it was better than sitting on the floor. Bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed, you look at the silverware wrapped in a red silk napkin previously hidden by the bowl. You tear off a chunk of the bread to dip in your soup. It actually smells pretty good as you pop it in your mouth. The doors of your room were flung open as you inhale the chunk of sopping bread with a cough. The intruder trotted right in without a care in the world, oblivious to your hacking attempts to breathe. It took a second or two with a few spluttering notes to clear your airways. “I'm sorry if I made you wait, the Express was a little bit late.” the feminine voice informed with a hurried and slightly stilted tone. “Good morning, my name is Twi-uh.” she stumbled over her own name, “Princess Twilight Sparkle.” She was a royal, and like the other royals, she had feathery wings folded against her body and a coloured horn spiralling from behind violet streaked bangs. This princess hadn't even looked at you, instead, she breezed right in and took off her saddle bags that looked filled to bursting. Removing a rolled scroll of parchment, it unfurled to an intimidating length before your eyes. “Morning, Princess, ma'am....” the rasping, wheezing gargle was barely audible to your ears, let alone hers. "Actually, Twilight will do." she had to have tremendous hearing, "I am responsible for you while you're here, after all." she is your ward? The officious looking mare was pleasant enough, and at the very least hadn't hissed at you like Luna's guards, but she still seemed even younger than you... What was supposed to be proper etiquette? What were you supposed to say and do? This was like Duchess Middleton breezing into your school lunch room out of the blue and apologizing for the tardiness due to traffic. You'd expected some warden, a parole officer, even some social services stereotype, not another royal. How many were there anyway? The light crumple of parchment was enough to signal that something had changed. The aged looking list was rolled up and stuffed back into the saddle bag. “Well, I imagine you must have a lot of questions. I'll be happy to answer each and every single one, but first of all, Princess Celestia asked me to help create a convincing cover story for you and I've taken the liberty of preparing a few.” The scrolls sprang from the book bag in a purple haze as the books spilled out on the bed. She seemed content to make herself comfortable, simply pulling over a small cushion and plopping herself down in front of you. With a bright grin plastered across her muzzle and books spread around her like a card dealer in Vegas, she finally looked up at you for the first time since entering the room. “Oh, sorry, didn't see you were eating.” a sheepish grin crossed her muzzle as she took a seat at the table, watching with a smile. “Don't mind me. I'll just fill out some of the preliminary documents. Oh-" a small ink pot of burnished brass and long grey feathered quill slipped from the saddle bags, "What was your name?” ♣♣ “No, that's not going to work. I mean, it will work, just not here. Gah, let me start again.” Twilight had tried to say your full name three times already, apparently most 'human' names were tongue twisters to equines. It felt weird that she just lumped all human names together though. She seemed frustrated and shook her head again in resignation. Having dragged the corner table over, she used as a perch for her current tome. Massaging her forehead around the horn, she mumbled, “We're going to need a name that fits.” her musings were likely self addressed. Twilight was difficult to really judge. She'd been a touch blunt at times and certainly oblivious, but the times she caught herself she had apologized for it. You had eaten some of your breakfast, but despite her claim that you were to 'not mind her', she talked constantly. Five minutes were devoted to her flipping through books, ten more for reading over her prepared list of 'scenarios', and now she was returning to the perpetual question of names. “So what kind of names do fit?” Getting a grasp on them hadn't been easy as you'd heard only about a half-dozen examples. It was hard to tell if they were descriptors, puns, or something caste-based. “Well, you know, names-” Twilight held a hoof out as if taking it as self-evident, “they're structured.” “Princess Twilight-” “Just Twilight is fine.” she smiled, but some but the lingering hints of frustration remained. “Twilight. All names are structured.” That's what made them names. “Not all of them, but many.” “Alright, so what counts? Give me an example of a boy's name.” you listen for some sort of example. “I don't understand.” the slow confused words matched her blank expression. Something might have turned in her mind, but it didn't seem to catch. Admittedly, you couldn't tell what part of the request she was missing. “Well-” you waved a hand to gesture her to continue, “what's a common boy's name?” “Common name? As in family name?” she was trying to understand, and you were trying to understand her confusion. It really reduced your response to a pensive 'hmm'. “So, what did you want?” She asked again, craning her neck out and looking over the parchment. “Look, I don't know, Twilight, I don't fu-” rethinking the adverb in your sentence, you swapped it out for something less likely to be offensive to a royal, “uh, rightly know.” She thought for a second and smiled, “That could work.” “Hmm? What could?” she seemed pleased with herself and you weren't sure why. “Rightly, Rightly could work well. Okay, Rightly, you aren't from Equestria and don't really understand it, so blending in won't be easy. So we don't hide it, we disguise it!” she cracked open one of her books and was swiftly flipping through pages, scanning them as quickly as possible in a flurry of fluttering papers. “How about this? ” She slid a book across the table for you to read the 'title' of, which was full of spirals and swirls. “This what?” you dumbly say while getting used to the fact that you've been effectively renamed. That wasn't easy to accept as you give the weird lettering a cursory glance, “Is that the Voynich-” you halt. Twilight's mouth hung ajar, eyes wide open, and legs trembling as they barely seemed to keep her upright. "Wait... wait. So, you didn't skim it? Or you couldn't?" her voice crackled for a moment before growing, louder and higher. Fetching another canvas clad tome she flipped it open and literally shoved it in your face. "And this?" her voice rattled as you had to push it away from your upturned nose. It was a series of elaborate carvings on a woodcut or the like. You shake your head and look at her as she took deeper and quicker breaths. “And you don't read from the Royal Cipher. Okay... heh, okay, Twilight, that's fine. Not everypony can read the cipher.” she continued and pushed another book with a fairly elaborate set of more angular runes on it. You shake your head again. “These?” she points to a particular page and gazed at you with pursed lips and an expectant glimmer of hope. It was a number of 'letters' or perhaps alphabets with what looked like swirls indicating some sort of diagram on linguistics. Pouring over the half-dozen samples, each time she asks you the same question, “are you sure? Absolutely positive?" Each time you confirm what you already suspected, “Aaaah, yes.” A nervous sweat trickles down the back of your neck as a far more hollow sensation started to build up in your chest. You realized the importance of that response before Twilight vocalized it. “No-no-no. I-I, uh..." she seemed stunned, and trailed off with a squeak of dismay. The protective sheath of violet light surrounding the book faltered and then dissipated, leaving it to noisily collapse to the floor. It served as adequate punctuation to Twilight's blank stare before she covered her muzzle with a hoof. "I’m sorry to say, I really am. I don't know how I could have missed that... As far as most ponies are concerned, you're illiterate.” Twilight's defeated sigh betrayed her, “I thought you might understand Saddle Arabian or Griffonic. They're very similar in some respects to what I saw in your world.” She shook her head, obviously on the cusp of frustration. “Well they resemble a few types of writing I know of but I couldn't say I understand them.” you still felt a sudden surge of shock, knowing what some of the implications would mean. Wrinkling your brow you ask again, “Wait, what was that last part? What you saw?” She blinked for a second and beamed, “Oh, yes, well, I've been to your world almost a year ago and was there for a few days.” “Hang on-” you tried to get something right. Aside from the notion that a talking purple unicorn was on earth and no one noticed, something else seemed strange, “and you say you were in my world but you didn't notice the differences in names? Or the writing?” She looked offended, which was certainly bad in retrospect, “I'm good at cryptography! Linguistics aren't hard, it's the same phonology, and syntax wasn't all that different," her defensive snorted had her squinting and lowering her chin to her chest in what might have been a defensive display. "A lot of pon-eh-people, had names that made sense. Lily, Page, Brook, Shepherd, Herald, Mat-” you sigh then hold up a hand, conceding the point and really wanting to calm her. She continued mulling over her own thoughts despite you having conceded the issue, “I hadn't considered that you weren't affected by equipormophization either, so that might have something to do with it. Hmm." She had gone from defensive, to frustrated, to perplexed in a single breath. "Well, the stars were misaligned last night, so that must have had something to do with getting you here, like it did freeing her.” “Freeing her?” You loft a brow as that last tidbit sounded something like a prison break. her muse.Besides, Twilight seemed like she was talking to herself more than you, so it might be best to let “Oh, it's... a long story. Anyway, Mirror theory seems to be a way to reconcile the universal non-constants by undergoing some physical metamorphosis to render you and your perceptions comparable and computable to the differences in the world around you. For example, seeing in a different spectrum still registers in your mind even if it’s not entirely accurate. It avoids sensory clashes which are disorienting so your brain adapts and threads the various signals together to fill in the gaps. Sort of like the physiological blind spot. So, because I got to use the mirror itself, and you didn't, that might mean the translation did or didn't occur. That might cause the discrepancy." "So what does that really, you know, mean?" She took a steadying breath and seemed to calm herself before continuing, "In a lot of ways, what we're seeing might not even be the same thing...” trailing off with a few blinks she winced, “Oh, dear. That might mean that you could be suffering from displacement sickness. It compliments Star Swirl's Compass Theory quite well if I do say so my...self...” she had to have caught some measure of your blank expression, but not before the damage was done. "Could that cause weird dreams?" You hope that was the limit of it. "I guess it could." she hunched her withers in a very close approximation of a shrug. "Why?" You wave it off, one problem solved. “So, then, what's actually wrong with my name?” you try to trace your steps back to where you began. “Oh, it's just going to draw a lot of attention to you. But I do have an idea. Now, bear with me, this can still work. I have a parchment pal in Saddle Arabia at their royal archives in Gallopoli. It's a metropolitan city, so not being a pony won't be a problem. They deal with a lot of ancient linguistics so it's only just a matter of getting you somewhat knowledgeable about one place in particular.” She seemed quite proud of the idea. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but is that the only option?" The pensive unicorn tapped a hoof to her chin for a moment, “Well, the only two that can pull strings for are the royal archives in Gallopoli or Whinnypeg's museum for Universal Rights in the Crystal Empi-” “Gallopoli will do just fine.” She smiled happily, “Alright, then I know exactly what we'll say! Hah, this'll be fantastic!” A book was held open to a particular page with a hovering glow of personal satisfaction. “I was going to show you a list of the most dangerous local wildlife, who knew it would come in so handy! Here,” the weighty taxonomy tome was crooked open to one page halfway through as your eyes widen, “they're insular, live in the hills of the Neighjd region of Saddle Arabia, and are known for strong feelings towards preservation of their unique culture!” You take a look at the odd creature for a second as your eyes walk up the page and towards the princess's self-satisfied expression, “You know I can't read it, right?” “Oh, sorry, sorry. I forgot that you were, you know…” she didn’t need to say ‘illiterate’, all she needed to do was match your glare with her bright grin of scholastic bliss “I heard about these things back when I was in your world so I'm sure you'll be somewhat familiar with them, too! Isn't that great?"