//------------------------------// // Act 1- Chapter 4: The Test Audience // Story: Icon: Remnants of the North // by Vixavior //------------------------------// The Test Audience Proofread by TehSporkBandit My name is Rightly, I am a hill troll, and I'm from Gallopoli in Saddle Arabia. I don't read your hieroglyphs because I specialize in other non-equine languages. Did you know hill trolls control a great deal of textile production? We are also only distantly related to cave trolls. You've recited the highlights of your little cover story quite a few times despite how appallingly simple it was, not to mention that it felt like a miserable existence to live with that particular unflattering title floating over you. Out the window, the countryside unrolled like a sheet in a myriad of rich autumnal colours. Except, those were mostly ignored as your thoughts strayed into all the horrible scenarios that might play out when you got to your destination. This wasn't Canterlot, you couldn't just breeze past a pony in the hallway of the Royal Palace and be sure that you would never see them again. This was going to count. Over the past three days you had learned a lot of disconnected facts about Saddle Arabia, its consul, and even more facts about Equestria. You learned of its people, cities, economy, and values, then you proved it through Twilight's endless stream of quizzes and tests. History had been bad, English worse, but Equestrian social sciences under headmistress Sparkle had been both vicious and thorough. Between late evening recitations and recurring nightmares, your eyes showed the bags and you were genuinely worrying about Twilight's forewarned displacement sickness. Aside from a bit of anxiety and indigestion from the vegetarian diet, the feared displacement sickness hadn't amounted to much. While the rhythmic clap of railway ties had nearly lulled you to sleep, the sudden metallic screech and sharp halt of the train jolts you from that stupor. Glancing out the window, the distinct shape of thatch rooves and plaster walls greeted you. It was a homely looking cluster of Tudor style buildings, if a little tall and with some fantastical protrusions, but it wasn't too different from historic parts of the Netherlands or Germany. Compared to the towering turrets, fantastic façades, and often enigmatic edifices of Canterlot, Ponyville was quaint. But, it did mean that there were still ponies there. You were left with one steadfast question: is this ruse going to work? It was time to find out. Rocking yourself upright and collecting a set of saddlebags, it looked like your guardian was still curled up and sleeping in the seat opposite you. Picking up a pair of scroll-stuffed bags connected by a leather strap and buckle was easy, waking the Alicorn was a touch harder. “Twilight, hey-hey, listen.” One of her eyes popped open, closed, then the other opened and finally she yawned and made a small mew of discontentment. Curled up in a ball with her wings and a blanket wrapped tightly around her, she sheepishly started to wake up as the locomotive ground to a squealing halt. “Ready?” she intoned before quickly trying to stifle a yawn. Ears folding back, mouth wide open, she failed and you found it was contagious. Almost mechanically, the blanket was pulled up, folded, and unceremoniously stuffed in another set of bags that she carried with her. A swift nod was all that was left to be said before she made her way to the exit. “Didn't get enough sleep?” You ask, idly trying to make conversation. “Hmm? Oh, it's probably just all the extra research and getting your tests ready. Hmm, how are you feeling?” she was relatively bright and cheery which helped lift your spirits before she stretched laboriously and hopped off the train seat. “Nervous.” but that ease didn't alleviate all your doubts. “And tired.” “Come on, one step at a time, Rightly.” Her bright smile helped dispel some of that miasma. A waving hoof beckoned you to join her as the first few fragrant twists of the warm autumn breeze tussled her mane about. Stepping out onto the platform, sunlight broke through small patches of clouds that dappled the land while noxious fumes from burning coal were swept away by the western winds, carrying the scent of orchards and fresh forest copses from across the land. The train station seemed to exist in a warm life of its own. Gone was the haughty airs of Canterlot, giving way to a bloom of life and exuberance. Ponies talked and chatted in loose groups on the wooden platform, a grand old station house's overhang provided shade for dozing elders seated on benches, as fillies and colts laughed and capered away from the tracks. Even the luggage sat unattended in a show of trust as the jocular aura of the small town presented itself. By comparison, Twilight's pleasant greeting seemed stiff and awkward. A wheezing hiss and billowing cloud of pent up steam from the engine washed over you like a fog bank. It elicited a few choking coughs but little else as you wave your hand in front of your face to clear the mist. It was only then that you realize you'd fallen a few steps behind again. While Twilight's hoofsteps could be heard with painful clarity, vague amorphous shapes and other clatters of hooves on wood seemed to reverberate around you. It might have even been uncomfortable or scary had you not actually glimpsed the ponies, and they you. The latter of which led to that awkward silence in the first place. Those faces of enjoyment and mirth switched to dumb fascination or various degrees of abject confusion far and wide across the rapidly quieting platform. Ponies stared at you, young and old, just seeming to gawk at the sight of what stepped off the train from Canterlot. A balloon escaped from its owner, taking off as a single green blob that floated by you, yet nopony complained. Eleven in the morning, mid-autumn, in what was supposed to be comfy small-town Equestria. Slow meandering fools and foals made their way towards you in blurry eyed fascination. “What is it?” “I don't know, I've never seen something like it before!” “Oh Celestia, it doesn't have mange does it? How horrid.” Those voices crowded around you as Twilight cantered back towards you, “Morning, everypony! Roseluck, Caramel,” she greeted one pony after another by name, seeming to know them all, which was thankfully deflecting some of the attention. She did her best to try and haul you along, but you were separated again for a few seconds while she spoke to small clique. It seemed Twilight was chit-chatting with a few ponies here and there, her usual grasp of schedules partially forgotten or, more likely, it was just factored in to her time-table. The call of a conductor, hiss of the steam engine, and shunting clack got you to twitch at the sudden din. It seemed that the importance of the platform as a hub of commerce and transportation was obscured by the colourful exterior. It wasn't a mere vestigial social hall. A tug on your sleeve interrupted those few sparse seconds of reflection, “M-morning?” A warbled tone took you by surprise. Spinning quickly she seemed to recoil at the swift movement. Cursing at your own sudden movements, perhaps she was timid and the 'new monster' on the platform wasn't the greatest thing to assuage that. Cream coated with a blue and pink mane, of all the colours you've come across amongst Equestria's population of pastel painted ponies, she was slightly strange even by those standards. “Morning. Quite the, umm…” you quickly look her over, hoping that ponies had conversation pieces like humans did. All she had was two saddlebags and what looked like a number of glossy magazines left to partially hang out. Your mind races, it was too thick for magazines. Settling on that explanation, you hide the hesitation and buy yourself a respite by clearing your throat, “So it’s catalogue day huh? Seems like a fairly good selection there.” She blinked as if a sudden realization came across her and then smiled more brightly. Holding out a hand you realize the guess had been either right on or close, “I'm Rightly.” It's working, it's working! A purple flash stopped between you as you were about to shake her hoof, “Morning, Bonbon, I see you've met my friend, Rightly. He's one of the hill trolls from Saddle Arabia.” You blink, not only taken aback by the abrupt interception, but also that insincere grin plastered across Twilight's muzzle. Nice Princess… but why are you making excuses for that? The other mare just politely half smiled back. “Good Morning Princess Twilight. I just wanted to… say hello. Yes.” She looks up at you again, blue eyes staring as if in partial disbelief. She was gawking and you knew it, but neither mare seemed like an exceptionally gifted liar or particularly good at diverting attention. “He's here for a placement program, we'll be speaking to Mayor Mare and making an announcement about it later on in the day.” Bonbon stared at Twilight, then you, and then back to Twilight. She was speaking for you now, it seemed. A curt nod and parting wave that mingled with a muddled farewell saw the earth-pony off. “What was all that about?” you ask your hostess quietly when Bonbon was out of earshot. Twilight's mouth barely moved, “She lives with our resident cryptozoologist, It's best tell her who you are early on. You do know what a cryptozoologist is, right?” She never broke her strained smile and kept waving at the retreating mare. “Yes.” you adopted the same mask, “They're usually looking for unicorns. And trolls. And sometimes bat-boy.” “It's near lunch, so we'll put my bags away for study, pick up a bite to eat, and I'll introduce you to a few ponies from around town so you can settle in. We'll just take a slightly more scenic route, away from Sugarcube corner.” It seemed reasonable, and though you still had dozens of questions, maybe they'd be answered in time. ♣ “He does look like the illustration in my book, I just didn't expect to see one in Equestria. It's so, so exciting.” It was hard to really tell if that tone could vocally support something worthy of an exclamation mark. Was she happy? Was she excited? Was the butter-yellow mare so incredibly thrilled as she said she was? All you know is that her pink hair folded down to the ground with a single spiralling curl, and she had the brightest grin you'd seen in days. “And his name is Rightly?” “And he's from Saddle Arabia!” Yes, that's been established… Princess Twilight Sparkle… Ma'am… She didn't act like nobility, sure, but she was still royalty and she'd also been the one to help you out of your current conundrum. Beyond that, if she was to be believed, she knew how awkward it was getting used to the differences between worlds. The outdoor table on the street in the 'downtown core' of Ponyville was spartan in a sense, but that didn't make it unpleasant. The two or two-and-a-half story café had a warmth of an artisan’s shop melded with the rural patina of agrarian bliss. There was an attached barn with a winch for setting out the outdoor seating during the day. The seats being bales of hay… which suited you fine as they came in blocks high enough to make a fairly good facsimile of an actual chair. Worming into the prickly material which crackled at every shift, you found yourself being waited on by a uniformed stallion and presented with freshly picked flowers in a vase. You sit beneath the wooden sign, etched and painted with the image of a clover, and sniff the freshly cut hay. It seemed new rather than mouldy, and smells like what a café should instead of the side-of-the-road dust traps for victims to spend their hard-earned money on cheap pre-mixed dough pastries and lukewarm beverages. “Your daffodil and daisy sandwich and side of hayfries, madam.” it's a pleasant and charming luncheon spot with an odd assortment of menu choices. At least Twilight’s order was put together quickly thanks to the uniformed waiter who had since retreated indoors. It left you floundering as the last undecided diner at the table. You close the menu that you had been hopelessly trying to read, having made neither head nor hooves of it. “So how long are you staying here in Ponyville, mister Rightly?” The soft-spoken Pegasi enquires with a smile that could have melted a glacier. Her cyan eyes shimmered, as if hoping for you to finish struggling with the question and give her the answer she wanted. “I'll be studying under Princess Twilight and staying in town for the next year or so.” you partially break up your own cover story which is mostly forgotten and involves some grand archival learning program and occasional Canterlot academic summit. “So you're here for a whole year?” That was the loudest you've heard her voice go. Twilight partially stepped in, though her eyes were firmly fixed on the sandwich, “yes, Fluttershy, he'll be here for the next year, so you can get to know plenty of things about him. Hmm, hayfries… You know, they're just one of those things that when you see somepony else having some, you want some too.” Your head bobs up and down, “Should be fine… hayfries?” you weren't quite sure how that sounded or how that worked. “Here, have a taste!” The Princess offered you some from her plate. Gone are the days of the royal taste testers? Or did I just inadvertently volunteer? Picking up one, you nod your head in gratitude and hesitantly try what seemed to be a common comfort food. The crunch was expected, the flecked off husks that disintegrated in your teeth and mashed up with the oil it was fried in, was not. It held together remarkably well, and had texture rather than taste as you chew. “It's kinda like deep-fried toast.” You muse aloud and rub your greasy fingers together. “Not bad…” As the waiter pokes his head out from the doorway you wave him over, finally making your decision. “Toasted tomato sandwich, please.” It got you a weird look for a moment before he nodded, then you noticed Fluttershy was still staring at you. The Pegasi was wide-eyed, happy, cheerful, but utterly silent. You still hadn't quite gotten used to the various 'ponies' in Equestria, but after seeing so many, and noting the menagerie of colours, you were getting more comfortable with the idea. Still, it wasn't advancing any conversations, and you were still too new to really to make any good attempt. So, once again, the royal picked up the slack, “So…” the Alicorn started, “the girls should be here soon.” There was a scrape against your leg and the sound of a crumple as Twilight lifted the sandwich to her mouth with her magic. She'd covertly passed you a note like a grade-schooler in the middle of class. Your fingers enfold it, finding a small square scrap of parchment. Though, with Fluttershy staring so intently at you, it wouldn't be the greatest idea to read so openly. “Yoo-hoo, Twi...light?” a voice calls out from down the street to your left. Fluttershy looks as well, and in that moment you peek at the note, unfolding it in your lap. Fluttershy is a creature encyclopedia. Be careful or she will figure it out. You'd forgotten how nice it was to be able to actually read something here. Looking to where the voice was coming from with everypony else gave you a moment to shove that note in your pocket. There was a mare approaching your little group: purple bouncing mane and tail, coat gleaming like freshly fallen snow, there wasn't a single strand askew. She’s even wearing a soft velvety green scarf loosely draped around her swanlike neck. Is she wearing mascara? You don’t think that would work for a second, and the idea of a horse with mascara almost makes you crackle into unrestrained laughter. Almost certainly glimpsing you, she looks rather taken aback before taking a seat at the far side of the table. “Dear… don't think me crass, but-” she pauses a breath, “why are you sitting with a cave troll?” Her voice was quick, jumpy, upbeat, as if not wanting a dog to understand what you were saying by the tone. That wasn't lost on you. “Oh, I'm ever so sorry, but we couldn't find a kennel. So it appears as though neither of us can choose our company. Spot o' bad luck there.” you didn't have to fake your indignity. Every word was pulled from the likes of Downton Abby, Nicholas Nickleby, and the most conceited sorts of stereotypes you could conjure up, just to match the air put on by that mare. Curling your lip then biting it, Twilight didn't look particularly impressed but neither was she chiding you. The white mare visibly blushed, “I-I'm terribly sorry. Truly, I am. The only one of your frightf-uh-delightful compatriots that we came across was not exactly dinner company quality I'm afraid.” She uncomfortably wormed in her seat between Fluttershy and Twilight, likely to avoid the awkwardness, though it also meant she was almost perfectly across from you and that didn't help. Eyes downcast, the fur on her face prickled up to let the built up heat of embarrassment seep out from cherry red skin. You shrug a bit, “I suppose I should get used to it, right?” the sigh of frustration led to the same muted feeling that you didn't really belong. “Well, C'est la vie.” the later part slipped out from listening to Frank too much as you look over, “Can I get something warm to drink?" you ask the waiter that slipped past on his way to other customers. “V-vous... Parlez-vous Prançais?” The snow-scape coated mare placed her forelegs on the table, leaning closer in disbelief. “Oui?” It was conditioned, one or two words picked up through osmosis, but you weren't quite sure if she was asking you or telling you. Something tells you that you were going to be in trouble. “Where are my manners. Mon cher, I am Rarity or Miss Rarity si vous plaît.” Her whole attitude seems to have turned right around. Suspicious, odd, but tolerable. “Rightly.” A single word, a single still unfamiliar name, but a courteous bob of your head took some of the edge off of the terse reply. “Rightly, marvellous. Oh, it's such a relief. Why, sometimes I feel like I'm entirely alone when talking about such simple refinements as language. It's like an oasis in the vastest expanses of a great dry desert. When I can finally talk to somepony that appreciates it as much, it's like those sensuous evenings in the last dying rays of sun on a balcony overlooking swaying palms and dates, a fan on me, servants in gleaming silks-” “He's from Saddle Arabia, Rarity.” Fluttershy says with that beaming grin. The same one you didn't want to see at that moment. The incomprehensible stammering sound from the overly theatrical mare lifted a foreleg up to her brow and appeared to swoon. A gentle click of a plate in front of you said your food was ready. “Bon appétit, monsieur.” he replies as you nod then stare at the unappetizing fare heaped in front of you. Soggy bread, toasted tomato, no pepper, no lettuce, and no mayonnaise. It was still less awkward than looking at the faint 'Miss Rarity' as she all but collapsed against Fluttershy in her imaginative fugue. “I wonder where Applejack is.” Twilight looked around. So Rarity's condition isn't abnormal either, it wasn't just you feeling uncomfortable. “If she said she would be here, she will be, darling.” Rarity said snapping out of her daze. “Is there any particular rush?” “Hmm?” Twilight seemed to think as the uniformed waiter set out a platter of drinks that you could tell were mostly juices, though there was a lemon tea for you. Huh, the handles are pretty big. You detach yourself from the mares' conversation. “Oh well I figured Sweet Apple acres could always use a little extra help even if not a single Apple would say as much.” A stubborn farmer, never heard of that before. Hmm, tea's good, little sweet. You had stopped paying attention and now caught about one word in three as the Alicorn Princess continues, “So I was going to ask Applejack to do me a favour and let him work as indentured help at the farm.” Indentured?! Finally picking up on what she was saying you choked and coughed, spitting some of your drink before taking a proffered purple kerchief from Rarity. That wasn't part of any plan! “Twilight, you simply can't be serious!” You tell her 'whitey.' Coiceless as you were, Rarity is your unexpected defence. “There's finally somepony in town that can speak properly, and knows how to use a kerchief, and enjoys wearing clothing, and you want to send him to work on a farm?!” a few barely caught breaths left Twilight looking a little perplexed. “Well, Applejack has the room to keep him-” Keep him!? Alarm bells whirled in your mind as you try to interject while clearing your lungs. Twilight took a breath, as if steeling herself up, then began while looking around the table and every pony present in turn. “Applejack has the room at Sweet Apple acres for accommodations; Fluttershy, you have your woodland friends and a busy schedule getting ready for hibernation; Pinkie Pie's room is clearly not enough space for two ponies; I don't think walking on clouds is going to work, so Rainbow Dash is out; I don't have extra room aside from the downstairs laboratory; and unless you're willing to give up your change room, store-room, or work room, you don't have space either.” It was a practical take on the situation and one that seemed to leave you with few options. Are there any hotels? Fortunately, Rarity once more interceded, “I'm sure I can find a task that would better suit him. He could...” she paused for a moment. A small glimmer in her eyes said she found one solution, “he could help make my deliveries, wash and dry new garments, even help me hemming and making alterations. Then there’s hooficures,then recording orders and filling out forms. He exudes a sophisticated exotic flare like that of the faaar south seas with the swaying palms and warm sunny sands. He belongs in the spotlight, not, ugh, muck-raking in the sun.” You weren't quite sure what to say but the repeated chorus of No-no-no had been repeating almost from the moment she opened her mouth. It was too bad they the thought never reached your lips. You didn’t want to be a . You had no real wish to be a side-show, and it was probably not what the Royal Sisters had in mind either. Plus, without being able to read and write, that limited your use to about the same as a mule. Something is wrong, something was always wrong; that horrible silence, that awkward pause that dropped over the table like a wet blanket, “Oh, so you'd rather starve than eat somethin’ growin' in the muck? 'S that it?” You look just over your left shoulder and nearly topple into the table away from a pair of baleful emerald eyes that bored straight past you and into the purple maned mare. “Applejack, dear, you know that's not what I meant. I was merely saying-” her exasperated backpedalling said enough: they'd been through this a hundred times before. The newcomer sat down right next to you, partially collapsing the hay bale so you were leaned in her direction. This was going to be a long day, not to mention a long lunch. You upend your cup. The tea's gone, too. Fantastic. You were too tired for this, and with a sideways glance, it looks like Twilight was too tired for it, too. Her wings draped low, levitating her tea-cup to her lips, before starting on her food oblivious to everypony else. That frown doesn't budge from her muzzle as the world started to feel like it's dissolving into a bickering match broken up by small town hustle and bustle. Despite that, the world drifted by as if born aloft on a steady breeze, leaving you weakly staring into an empty cup. ♣♣ A solitary figure strode forward to issue the demands, "I am Kolbjorn of the North Shores. In the name of my Lord, Son of Tryggve, liege of my kin, I come before you. Give us the icon of Theophilus, or failing that, ten thousand pounds of silver, and peace will remain between us!" The thane narrowed his eyes, watching an immense armoured figure stride forward. Thick iron mail fringed in brass rings jangled at each step, a flowing green cloak matching the shield-thane's own hung over broad shoulders while a brazen helm covered the man's face completely. The thickly etched brow, inlaid detail of a carved moustache, and pursed mouth, each feature of its bearer was rendered on the helm. Lifting his mailed glove the reply was immediate. A ragged volley of thrown spears streaked out as the thane swung his shield up and crouched low. There was a few hissing wisps around him as metal points met wet sand, and then two nearly concurrent thuds as the thane's shield slumped to the side, impaled by spears. The ensuing clash of shields and roar of pressing bodies went from a glorious charge into a bitter stalemate. Hissing growls issued from between clenched teeth as men pressed forward in a colossal shoving match on the narrow strip of sandy ground near the muddy banks of the estuary. Amidst the resounding thump of blows reflecting from wood and hide, there was the faint crackle and splintering snap of shields from prying strokes, and the familiar cries of agony cut short amongst the stamp of feet and thrust of blades. The band of warriors blocking the estuary had first slowed, then stopped the advance completely. The same brazen helmed figure swept out with a massive two-handed axe, hewing down warriors left and right. When a shield was raised to block the murderous arcs of the great-axe, the shield was bit into deeply. It was enough to bring a man to his knees, from where the mighty warrior slammed his iron-shod foot down on his neck. “I am Wolf-Stone, Free-man of these lands. If you think you can take what you will, try to take it sea scum!” the words were muffled by the thick helm, but his booming voice carried it to the warhost who streamed across the narrow sandbank in their hundreds. The great Lion of the North, from his spot in the midst of his host, saw as much as heard the challenge. “Kolbjorn?” he asked as the shield-thane limped back, still facing the enemy that held the narrow strip of land. “I'm fine, my lord.” his voice tinged with pain, hand flexing to be sure his arm wasn't broken. “All-father knows he's a big one.” the thane hissed while clenching his teeth and sweeping back a few errant locks of pallid hair that spilled in front of his eyes. “Not as big as the Jarl.” Looking up, he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, “Jarl Sigvald!” Catching the Bear's attention wasn't difficult, seeing the thick chain mask in front of the man's face, beard sticking out at every angle. He shouldered a murderous axe and bulled his way forward. With him was another two hundred warriors, all in thick mail and full faced helms fringed in chain. The banner of the carrion bird fluttered overhead. “You and your Jom kindred-” the warlord's eyes peered over the small knot of enemy warriors stymieing the advance, “dislodge them.” Sigvald the Bear's warriors shouldered through the tightly pressed throng with a gruff chortle like the rumble of rockslide in high mountain crags, “You can always count on me, Olaf.” Soon enough, the lines parted enough to allow the Jom kindred full passage. There was no more than fifteen paces between them, and within that gap was dozens of bodies, blood running in criss-cross streams mingled with churned up sand. Two or three crawling figures tried to right themselves but did little more than inch back towards their respective lines. Trampled armour, sodden cloth, and splintered spears littered the ground between the hosts. A steady line of shields on one side, like rocks ready to withstand the tide. On the other was the hefted great-axes in abundance behind their barrier of mail. A growl emanated from Sigvald the Bear's chest like a hollow tomb, “Juodaaaaan!” the rest of his brotherhood picked up the cry at one and closed that miniscule gap. Their terrible axes stretched high overhead, they led the rest of the Lion's host forward with an earth shattering clamour as they crashed against their foe. Biting blades chewed off limbs with contemptuous ease, splitting mail, and shattering spear shafts at every stroke. Shields flared up to protect the host, but the thin-bladed war axes slammed fast into them, letting them to be yanked from numbed hands. Protection gone, the great sea-folk warriors barrelled into the midst of the shattering formation as, for the first time, the Angles wavered.