//------------------------------// // Chapter 23: Into the Lion's Den // Story: At the Inn of the Prancing Pony // by McPoodle //------------------------------// At the Inn of the Prancing Pony Chapter 23: Into the Lion’s Den Mary Jo Powell steeled herself before the main doors of the Hyatt early the next morning. A half-inch of shaded glass separated her from the stream of humanity massed outside the convention center. She looked down at the small piece of wheeled luggage that contained all of her Ponies & Dragons materials, to her right at her editor Luke, and to her left at her sister Ellen, who had decided to dress in pastel blue and gold today. She then inspected her ensemble: a modest navy blue dress—modest because it was devoid of shoulder pads—over which was draped a sky blue cape adorned with large white stars. She dramatically flipped the cape off of her arms and braced herself on the bar of the rotating doors. “Alright, let’s do this!” she announced, and pushed her way through to the outside world. The first and most obvious thing to see was the banner, stretching all the way across the long entrance of the convention hall: “PonyGameCon X: 1974 - 1984”. This was reinforced by the occasional con-goer wearing a commemorative tee shirt. The second thing was how few people were actually wearing tee shirts or ordinary clothing. Today was Halloween, and the majority were celebrating it big time. Most people didn’t bother to try and make themselves look like ponies, perhaps knowing how awful that tends to look without throwing a lot of money at it. Instead, people were dressed in fur-lined vests, cardboard or foil armor, pointy hats, and other fantasy outfits. Many of the pony-themed who dressed in white had tiny stamps on their badges, marking them apart from the rest. This time, there were even a few Nightmare Moons. “Thanks, like, I guess,” one of them mumbled after Ellen had stamped her badge. The teenage girl was trying really hard not to give away her excitement over getting some sort of validation. Many of these people came running for Mary Jo, shouting their approval: “I love Ponies & Dragons!” “Your stuff is the best!” “My daughter was never able to come out of her shell before I bought your game.” “Thank you!” That was the most common remark: “Thank you.” Off to the side was a sullen looking group of about sixty. Mostly adults and boys, their attire scale-themed. They held signs, with subjects like “Dragon PCs”, “Dragons Are Characters Too!” or merely cardboard cutouts of flames that they would hold to their mouths. Mary Jo put on a serene smile and sent them a princess wave. “Verily! Let the games begin!” Ellen roared in her best Royal Canterlot Voice. Once inside the double doors of the nearest convention hall entrance, Mary Jo was met by a middle-aged woman with chaotic black hair in a while blouse and blue skirt. “Katherine Lawrence,” the woman introduced herself, falling into line with Mary Jo and presenting a hand to shake. “Chief screenwriter with the P&D cartoon.” Mary Jo, who had accepted the handshake but had been largely ignoring the woman before now, suddenly looked over at her and slowed her pace enough for the other woman to keep up with her as they pushed through the crowds. “Nice to meet you,” she said. Ellen wisely distracted the fans to give her sister a moment to talk with the newcomer, waving and cheering back at the crowd eagerly. “I was wondering if I could get some help,” Ms. Lawrence said. “About the fourth season.” “Yes?” “Well, as you may...or may not know, the third season ended with the defeat of Tirek and Scorpan, the villains since the start of the series. I’m working on the opening of the fourth season, and I thought that Discord would make a good villain. However, there is very little about him in the official materials. I was wondering if you could—” “Yes, yes,” said Mary Jo quickly, as they were about to make it through the badge-checking station to reach the main floor. “I’ll type something up and have it sent to you in about a week. Is that alright?” “Oh, certainly, Mrs. Powell. Thank you.” “I’ve noted it down,” said Luke. “I’ll chip in too!” Ellen added. “Pink! Gotta have pink in there somewhere!” M.J. gave her a look. It didn’t take. Disapproving looks never worked on Ellen. They made it through the inspection point, only to have a thin man in a black trench coat slide in next to them. His hair was even thinner than he was. “Art Buckley, Los Angeles Sentinel,” he said in a rapid-fire manner, and passed a small bound report to M.J. “This is a copy of an official investigation by my paper revealing a disturbing trend of madness in—” “I am well familiar with the claims in your so-called story,” Mary Jo said swiftly. “And this is not the first time I have encountered them. Most of those cases are forgeries or pre-existing conditions, excuses for families to get rich quick on a company with a bit of controversy.” “And the others?” “The others...well the truth is, human beings are sometimes prone to go too far with things. Gambling, alcoholism, and any number of other addictions.” “But these aren’t people running through tunnels attacking each other with swords, Mrs. Powell. These are people who wake up one day believing they have aliens in their heads.” “A new wrinkle on an old problem.” “Do you have a response to these claims or not?” “I’ll have to read it over. OK?” She grabbed the binder from the reporter and pushed it behind her. Ellen reached forward and grabbed it before Luke could. After a questioning look from the editor, he shrugged the matter off and kept following his boss. She flipped it open and gave it a cursory glance before stepping up to the reporter. “I suppose next we will be blamed for the increase in UFO sightings after every single news story about aliens? Humanity finds things and latches onto them, to be part of a group. We feel emotions stronger and stronger when we are together. So what game would capture the imagination more than one that can bring together this many people?” She pointed out toward the seething crowd with the binder. The reporter gave her a disapproving look. “There are some people who would look around at this many excited people, and call it another Jonestown waiting to happen.” “We have no tenants or commandments. It’s just a very fun game. Tell me when your results are reproducible. Then I’ll listen.” Seeing that he would get no farther, Mr. Buckley finally allowed the security team that had surrounded him for not wearing a badge to remove him from the premises. “Excuse me, Mrs. Powell?” asked a voice over to the left, of an elderly woman in pink. She had been following them since the entrance, but had waited for the reporter to have his say. “Do I...know you, Ma’am?” Mary Jo asked, stopping to talk to this woman. “Your face looks familiar to me.” The woman looked bashful. “Well, I am a screenwriter. My name is Dorothy Reichart. I’ve been in the business for a decade, but I recently got some recognition for my work on Indira.” “That’s right—I saw you win the Oscar for that. Congratulations!” “Oh, uh, thank you, Miss. I was wondering if I might be able to reserve some time to talk with you, about what I hope will become my next project.” Mary Jo’s enthusiasm was instantly soured. “Me. You want to make a movie about me.” “Well, if I might be candid, I think you would make an excellent subject for—” “No,” Mary Jo said firmly. “My life is not one suited to the silver screen. Not the version of events as they actually happened. Much as I liked your movie, Ms. Reichart, I did hear afterwards that you took certain liberties, designed to make your story more interesting, and make Indira even more controversial than she already is. I can’t really support an authorized biography under those circumstances. I...I hope you’re not offended.” “No,” Ms. Reichart said with a wry smile. “And Mrs. Nehru wasn’t initially very happy, either. But my granddaughter is a big fan of your game, and she got me tickets for your showcase today. Perhaps I might learn something.” Mary Jo laughed. “The only thing you’re going to learn is how boring Ponies & Dragons actually is when you’re not playing it. I guess I’ll see you later, then.” And she was moving once more. The fans she pushed through continued offering their praises, and some of them even reached out to touch her cape as she passed. In the center of the convention space was the booth run by Mary Jo’s company, Horsewords Inc., or HWI. The featured item for sale was “The Lost Caverns of Soap Candy,” the first of three adventure scenarios that would be played out at the showcase. This one had been on sale for several months, to record sales figures. A bright blue strip of paper wrapped between the clear plastic and the adventure itself bore the words, “Do not play before Halloween 1984!” The second of the three scenarios was only released for sale as a convention exclusive yesterday, and the third would be sold starting tomorrow. Mary Jo was most proud of “Lost Caverns”, as she wrote it herself. “I’ll be doing the signings tomorrow at 11,” she told the disappointed fans who held their copies of her books and adventures out for her to sign. The woman running an especially popular booth was waiting for the party, and stepped forward to intercept it. She was a bit short, with spiky blonde hair and dark eyebrows. “Laura Curtis,” she introduced herself with a curtsy. “One of our module writers, yes? I’m certainly glad to meet you.” “And I you,” she said with a raise of one of those distinctive eyebrows. She handed over a bound packet of paper. “You can send this to the main offices you know,” M.J. said, preparing to hand it back to Luke. “Less chance of being lost.” “Oh, I think you might want to look that over,” Mrs. Curtis said. “It’s a proposal my husband Tracy and I put together, for a new campaign setting for Ponies & Dragons.” Luke looked down at the title of the document he had just received. “Dragon World,” he read aloud in a dismayed tone. “Featuring a completely redeveloped race of dragons the size of ponies, with skills and limitations balanced to make them the perfect matches for them as adventuring characters. We think it could prove very popular, so popular in fact that we propose full partnership in Horsewords Inc. if you accept.” Mary Jo looked at her, very coldly. “And if I don’t accept?” Mrs. Curtis gave her another, thicker proposal. “I remove the ponies, replace your clumsy dice system with one that uses the 10-sideds only, and tweak the rules just enough to be legally distinguishable. Your choice.” “Jojo...” Ellen spoke up. “Sit on it. Game first, this later. Okay?” “Yes,” said M.J. with a nod, “The lawyers have to have their say.” “Of course,” Mrs. Curtis said with a matching nod. “Their card is in the second packet.” “Of course.” Mary Jo walked on. The smile which had been so genuine at the entrance now resembled something like a rictus, and the words which came out of her mouth sounded as brittle as candy glass. “Well! That could have gone worse. Let’s start this—” Gary was waiting for them, at the entrance of the showcase area. He did not look happy. “What?” Mary Jo asked her husband, her tone just a bit too bright. “Your father’s restraining order expired, and he’s in the stands waiting for you,” he said sadly. “We do not call him Father,” Mary Jo said crisply. “That was his rule, not ours. The man is Marcus. He had a well-thought out argument at the time, about the tyranny of being restrained by a single relationship through titles. Ellen, let’s say hello to Marcus.” The normally trademark-chipper princess suddenly took on an expression reminiscent of the “Princess of the Night.” She scowled, giving the world a bitter look while she nearly withdrew into herself. Her hand went to her hip where years ago she once carried a knife. “Yes,” she growled. “Let’s.” # # # The showcase area was simply a raised stage with three large round tables in the center, one medium-sized rectangular table off to one side, and one small table set behind the other three. Facing the three tables was a bleacher, like you might find in a high school football stadium. Right now, the bleachers were only half full—everybody knew that the first hour was taken up developing and revising the characters everyone had been given; the wholesale slaughter generally had to wait for Hour Two or Three. A couple of large monitors were set up where the audience could see them, and a couple of cheap cameras were set up to catch appropriate or inappropriate close-up shots of the players and handlers. The rectangular table on the side was occupied by a couple of high-school age girls wearing large headphones and sharing a hand-held microphone for color commentary. They were currently stuck slaving over a Commodore 64 personal computer, trying to get it to display the convention logo on the monitors. The small round raised table in the back held a second computer, an Apple II, with a thick bundle of zip-tied cables leading over to under the rectangular table. It was a pretty good bet that at least one person on that stage would end up tripping on those cables. Marcus Powell was the most obvious person to spot in the stands, because he looked like the average person’s conception of Gandalf the Gray. Of course, he was dressing like that decades before anybody had ever heard of Gandalf the Gray. Also, unlike the majority of Gandalf cosplayers, he also smelled like Gandalf the Gray. Not that many people sat near Marcus Powell. Ellen lurked behind her sister as they approached, her expression broking no negotiation, only anger with a thin underlying current of fear. “Good morning, Marcus,” Mary Jo said curtly. “Happy Samhain, Mary Jo, Ellie Mae,” Marcus replied. He had a look like he was laughing at a joke only he understood. The literal hiss probably wasn’t what most would expect from the princess, but the “family” had long grown to expect it. Ellen didn’t step forward though. Her big sister stood ahead of her protectively. “I must admit, I am intrigued to see you here, Marcus,” Mary Jo said, successfully hiding her true feelings behind a mask of indifference. “You would have had to spend quite a few dollars to get here. I thought you didn’t believe in those ‘empty symbols’.” “Yes,” Marcus said disdainfully. “Well, the admission and ticket were courtesy of a friend—” “Follower,” muttered Ellen. “Same thing,” said Marcus. “I was interested to see how your descent into capitalistic excess had degraded you, and how many innocent children you’ve managed to drag with you.” All this said with that same maddening smile of his. “You speak of innocence as though you even know what that word means,” Ellen said, stepping boldly up to Mary Jo’s side. “I know that I am the only innocent person in this room,” Marcus declared boldly. Mary Jo reached out an arm to hold back Ellen. “This is not the place for this discussion,” she said quietly. “Can I trust you to not interrupt our proceedings?” Marcus made a mock bow. “I make it a habit never to interrupt any ritual, no matter how deluded.” Mary Jo turned, rolling her eyes. “Not going to let him ruin our tenth showcase. Sit down, Ellen, and don’t even look at him.” She gladly complied, and made a mental note to open a particular file again, once she returned to the firm. Mary Jo sat at one end of the far-left table when looking at the bleachers, and Ellen sat opposite her, both situated so that neither of them would be forced to look right at their father. Luke sat to Ellen’s right, and Gary sat to her left. There was one empty chair, between Luke and Mary Jo. Gary Powell was a roly-poly sort of man, not that far off from having a perfectly spherical torso, short bowed legs, and longish arms that he never knew what to do with. The man was never shaved properly and his hair stuck out simply everywhere. Ellen knew that he was a perfectly charming man when he wanted to be, but she had never quite figured out where the physical attraction between him and her sister had come from. Mary Jo took her time taking out each of the books from her bag and setting them up around her. In addition, she pulled out a couple of Player’s Manuals for the others to consult, as well as a Monster Manual. As she was doing this, the other groups settled down at their tables. The young women behind the computers began organizing notes and making microphone checks. Ellen looked over. The table at the far end of the space was occupied by sixth to eighth grade girls, the winners of a national tournament for most creative role-playing within the target demographic. The middle group was the one containing Brian and Edgar, the winners of the everyone-who-isn’t-the-target-demographic tournament—it had a more politically-correct name, but that’s essentially what it was. Brian waved aggressively at them. Edgar tried to pretend that he was invisible. For a brief moment, Ellen thought about apologizing, but her mood was too dour to contemplate kindness. Instead, she turned to the new players manual, cataloguing and applying new rules. Gradually, she became aware of her sister’s growing restlessness. Mary Jo was paging through her books, over and over again, and looking through several loose sheets of paper. “Does anybody see an extra character record sheet out there?” she finally asked in a low voice, embarrassed by the display of unprofessionalism. “No...um...I have another copy of Sun Star, in my room, if you need me to get it...” “No, we’re running late as it is...I’m sorry, Ellen, it looks like I lost your character. How about you play Burnished Lore until the break, and then we can see about switching Sun Star in?” “I...okay. I can do that.” Mary Jo handed over the wrinkled piece of paper like it was a holy relic. “Please try not to get him killed, or I shall be cross,” she said with a wink. “Oh hush, you could bring him back,” Ellen dismissed, grinning as she looked over his stats. “Hasn’t he died a few times already?” “Eh, what’s a resurrection between friends?” M.J. asked playfully. The two of them laughed at the joke. They laughed even harder after hearing the disapproving sound from Marcus. Just at that moment, a young woman with frizzy black hair and a set of fake armor skidded inside the arena. “Sorry I’m late, gals,” she said, sitting in the open chair at Mary Jo’s table. “No problem, Susan,” said Mary Jo, handing out the character sheets to the other players. The two announcers took this moment as their cue to begin the introductions. “Welcome to the Tenth Annual Ponies & Dragons Grand National Showcase,” said the first announcer. “Tables One and Two contain our two championship teams, while Table Three as always contains the Founders Team, play-testing the adventure module which will go on sale at this convention tomorrow morning. The modules for the championship teams were given to them six months ago, but only became available to the global public three months ago and this morning. The Young Women’s team adventure also has the added attraction of Interactivity: using a personal computer and a phone line, they will be able to interact with people playing this very adventure live around the world!” “The Young Women’s team consists of Pony Handler Alexia Reichart and players Sally Carpenter, Molly Hamilton, Brittany Sandant, Polly Hamilton, Irene Carpenter and Erica Gray,” said the second announcer. “Let’s give a hand for the Young Women’s team!” Once the raucous applause had died down—most of it from the girls’ family and friends—the second announcer added, “In play, the PH of the Young Women’s team will be referred to as ‘Calorous’, in order to encourage the players to stay in character.” “The Men’s team consists of Pony Handler Edgar Satelton and players Brian Kurtz, Robert Ludland, Samuel Wheeler and Vincent Martin,” said the first announcer with just a touch of boredom. “This makes Mr. Kurtz’ fourth appearance at these showcases. A hand for the Men’s team!” “Brian rules!” cried out a trio of burly men in the back. What little polite applause there was for the group died out at that point. “In play, the PH of the Men’s team will be referred to as ‘Foaltus’.” “In the Founders Team,” the second announcer said, “we have Gary Powell, frequent author for Ponies & Dragons and creative consultant on the Ponies & Dragons cartoon. In previous showcases, Gary has played legendary characters Big Bee and Moldy Cane. Let’s have a hand for Gary Powell!” A fair amount of applause followed. “To his right is Ellen Powell, Playtester #1, and an attorney for the law firm of Powell and Riggs. She has played the characters of Rigged Bee, Nestoria the Valiant, and Felnor the Brave. Ellen Powell!” Ellen clasped her hands together and pumped them above her head like a prize fighter as the crowd applauded, more loudly because she was playing to them. “To her right we have Luke...Gyax, Gigax?...appearing for only the second time for the Founders; in his prior appearance, he played Zig and Zag Bee. Luke is an author and editor for Ponies & Dragons and a major force behind the development of the Second Edition. Let’s hear it for Luke!” The applause this time was considerably mixed with grumbles. “It’s alright,” M.J. said, reaching across the table to take one of his hands in hers. “They’re not mad at you, they’re mad at change. And the fact that they can’t cheat quite so egregiously anymore.” “To his right we have Susan Blume, owner and founder of the Movin’ Motors franchise of used car ownerships. She’s played the characters of Hug Bee and Swirly the Magnificent. Susan Blume!” The newcomer jumped to her feet, launching a big kiss to the audience. “Thank you, thank you!” she cried out. “I know some of you have seen me on TV, and—” “They’re not here to buy a car, Susan,” Mary Jo said with a grin, dragging Susan back down into her chair. “And finally the Pony Handler for this game, the creator of Ponies & Dragons, the one, the only...Mary Jo Powell!” The small crowd did their best to cheer their hearts out at this introduction, joined in by several people outside the room who were able to hear what sound managed to leak out into the main floor. Mary Jo reacted to all of this applause by simply smiling a little and waving, nodding her head once or twice. It was a well-balanced act to keep away the panic attacks, as Ellen well knew. “In play, the PH of the Founders Team will be referred to as ‘Cutbelt’.” Finally, it was time for the other players to look over the characters they were to play. Ellen was so familiar with “Mr. Lore” that he really didn’t bear much examination. After all, he had been named for her boss, and was practically his twin in personality. What was far more interesting was watching Gary trying to look at her sheet without being caught doing so. “Ah-ah-ah, I just got to see his stats for the first time, let me gloat for a bit,” Ellen chuckled, before scooting it over so he could look at it. Gary sighed. “Yeah, I’ve always dreamed of playing Bernie, but there’s no chance you’d ever want to trade with me—this pony’s like everything you hate in characters, all rolled up into one package. I don’t really know what to do with her, to be honest with you.” “Oh? Let me see, I am pretty creative,” she said, gesturing with a hand for his sheet. With a shrug, he handed it over. Ellen immediately noticed that there was something off about the character sheet. It was printed on a much thicker paper than Burnished Tome’s, and seemed oddly stiff, like she could hold it by one corner and the rest of it wouldn’t even dip. Past that, she immediately saw the warning sign of a character that would be more trouble than she’d be worth: a retainer. Retainers meant nobility. Nobility meant family dynamics and power plays that got in the way of a good campaign. And then that retainer! Mary Jo had a passion against players who forgot to keep track of their retainers. She’d always arrange for them to get killed off in the very first battle, and then bring up all sorts of punishments afterwards—grieving widows, vengeful brothers, and what have you. The traits for this Sparkle character were clearly a mixed bag. She could be a wizard, or an alchemist, or a cleric, but not a good example of any of those classes. It would be an uphill battle to get anything interesting out of this character in the brief time of the campaign. She had just about given up on the character when she flipped the page over, and spotted the blank Patron Deity spot. She spent a lot of time looking at it. And then she looked up at Mary Jo, who was smiling at her. “Have you found something better?” M.J. asked expectantly. “I’ve found something interesting...and you know me. I always go with the interesting things.” She swiftly swapped sheets with Gary, feeling the slick waxed surface of the character sheet. She got out her pencil, and tried to make the sheet hers by writing her name in the Player Name space. But nothing appeared on the paper. She frowned, and looked back up to Jojo, before she smiled in realization. This must be part of the game. A lure, an irresistible path of struggle and hardship to a big reveal. Such a common tactic for many Pony Handlers, but damn if it didn’t work. So she decided that she would make it work. She would find out what secret Jojo was hiding, and she would make it into one hell of a show. She tried scratching at the space over the Player Name spot with her fingernail, but oddly, the wax she was feeling just couldn’t be dislodged. She tried bending the page, even creasing it, but all folds mysteriously disappeared as soon as she opened the paper back up. She flipped it over, and tried scribbling a doodle on the edge, in any of the empty spots. She stared hard at the central lure of the sheet, that empty Patron Deity. She tried to write “Celestia”, “Tia”, “Celly”, even just a capital “C”—nothing took. She made sure the pencil worked on her notepad, and on the corner of Luke’s character sheet. Her pencil only failed to work on Midnight Sparkle’s sheet, and her’s was the only sheet that had been so treated. She aimed a wrathful look in her sister’s direction, and M.J. had the nerve to look surprised. She stared at the empty box some more. And then she looked down at her stamp, and put on an evil smile. With a flourish, she inked her Celestia approval stamp, waved it three times in the air, and slammed it down hard in the appropriate spot, standing up to put her full weight on it. After waiting for ten full seconds, she cautiously removed the stamp...to see its imprint on her character sheet. “Yeesssssss!” She whisper-cheered, before looking up to see Mary Jo’s expression. M.J. looked mildly disturbed. “You didn’t do what I think you just did, did you?” “What? I couldn’t get my pencil to work, so...” Ellen sheepishly smiled, starting to wonder if she had been off her mark with this all being part of the game. “What are you talking about?” M.J. asked. She reached over and picked up the sheet. To Ellen’s surprise, the page flopped over just like a piece of unprepared paper was supposed to flop. She used her pencil to put a calligraphic rendering of a rearing earth pony in the corner. “Do you need another pencil?” With a shake of her head, Ellen took the sheet back and quietly wrote her name into the Player slot. “So, now that I’ve committed myself, mind telling me who I would have gotten?” Ellen asked. “You would have gotten Copper Plate, the younger sister of Luke’s character.” M.J. shrugged. “I may find the thing yet.” “Is that it?” asked Luke, pointing at the Player’s Manual opposite him. “Where?” asked Mary Jo, picking up the book in question and quickly flipping through the pages. “Oh,” said Luke. “Never mind. I thought I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but now that I’m looking right at it, it seemed to disappear.” Mary Jo put down the book with a huff. “Don’t you start now. This session is going to go swimmingly! I’m the PH, and since I said it, it has to be so!” “Yes Ma’am!” Ellen replied, spreading out her impressive three and a half sets of dice. The two announcers stepped down from their booth at this point with a couple of Polaroid cameras. They started taking pictures of each player holding up their character sheet so that the portrait in the corner was visible, and writing the character name at the bottom of each. These would be used to spice up the color commentary later on. “OK,” M.J. said, after glancing up to see that yes, that camera was pointed right at her. “So, we need to get all the kinks out of your new characters. Gary, do you have any questions about Burnished Lore?” Gary looked up with a smile. “Not really, considering I helped you create him.” “Oh yeah, I forgot. That was back in college! I still had my natural hair color back then! So, no questions?” “Nope.” “Ok, Ellen. You’ve got Lady Midnight Sparkle, with her retainer Hope Springs. What do you need to know?” “Okay...Lady, so royalty? How high up on the royalty? Says here that she’s trying to prove herself to her family, is her history particularly dark? I prefer to make them a bit more lighthearted with their power... Also is her retainer the needy type, or the useful type?” “The Sparkles are the marcher family for the unicorn royal house,” M.J. reeled off. Ellen was amazed at times like this how much detailed backstory her sister had memorized about the Equestrian setting. Sometimes, she was fairly sure she was watching her sister create entire kingdoms from whole cloth, and yet had never caught her contradicting herself. But Ellen didn’t have much time to ponder this mystery, because her sister was still talking. “Officially, Midnight’s father is a duke, but he’s easily the most powerful of all unicorn dukes. He has three daughters, of which Midnight is the middle one. The eldest is the captain of the guard at his fortress, and the youngest is one of the sun-and-moon-raising brigade. That’s the kind of heritage she has to live up to. “As for Hope Springs, I never go into too much background with retainers, considering the way they usually end up. Do whatever you’d like with her. Oh, and there’s an even younger Sparkle brother who’s the Captain’s toady. I always forget about him.” Ellen grinned, and looked back to her sheet. A sun raiser for a sister, and a retainer who is effectively a blank slate? It looked like the theory that Jojo was running a subtle game was back on the table. “So what class do you want to run with? Midnight is pretty open-ended.” Ellen looked up from the paper, before looking back to it. “I think I am going to play her as...a cleric.” “A...cleric.” Mary Jo made a note. She looked up at Ellen, a neutral expression on her face. “For what deity?” “With the new rules, it’s an option to be a cleric of a concept, so...a cleric of the sun. Her domains being protection, life, and knowledge.” Mary Jo was pleasantly surprised. “Alright. Cleric of the sun. That should be a bit of a challenge.” “You like a challenge, don’t you?” Ellen giggled. “Yes. Let’s get you introduced. This would be the night before your characters all meet for the first time, so it’s alright to play this one-on-one before I help the other players out. “You are in your room at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Around you, you array the holy symbols of your concept…” She looked at Ellen to continue. “You want a new religion, you’ll have to help me design it.” “I can do that...” Ellen was struck by a burst of inspiration and sat up a bit in her chair. “Light. Candles, magical lights, things that glow. A pot simmering over a small fire of whale oil, a fire roaring in the fireplace. Light brings with it all the good things in the world, and I keep it close to me. Let’s see, I have... Yes! I take out my parchment and quill, and I write a short letter to Hope Springs, I assume she’s being kept nearby?” “Yes, she’s at the stable.” M.J. frowned. “Where all the retainers stay, but I see you didn’t remember that from last time.” “Yeah...” Ellen matched her sister’s disappointed expression for a moment, before springing back to cheerfulness. “Not this time! I write a note to her, letting her know that I need to speak with her about our plans, and we will meet in the morning for breakfast. I like waking at dawn, to see the sun rising over the horizon.” “OK, good, role-playing with the retainer is good, but we’re still working on the religious stuff here. The heat of the fire soon saturates the room, and with the fumes from the whale oil, you begin to get drowsy. It seems like the light levels grow greater and greater, turning the room from brown, to tan, to yellow, to white, to a burning brightness that shines even through your eyelids. The room seems to fade away, and you feel yourself floating, out of the Material Plane, and into the Astral.” Ellen had her eyes closed, trying to imagine what her character was going through. There was an awkward pause, and Ellen was tempted to open her eyes, but she decided not to break character. “There...is a voice,” Mary Jo said. She seemed just the slightest bit uncertain of herself. “It cries out. ‘No!’ it says. ‘This...this is impossible!’” “I look around, and reach, my hooves grasping for the ground I’m used to. ‘Who is it? Who is there?’ I ask.” At the same time, Ellen opened her eyes. Mary Jo looked even less certain than she sounded. If she were a pony, Ellen idly imagined, her ears would be pivoting every which way. “‘I might ask you the same question,’ the voice replies. ‘You look familiar, and yet different.’ There is a shape emerging from the shapelessness that is the Plane. It is a pony, immense, majestic, snow white in color. ‘For what purpose have you summoned me to this place?’ she asks.” Mary Jo blinked a few times rapidly in succession. She began frantically consulting her materials. “Well, go on, what do you do?” she prompted. “I...Midnight looks up at the figure, in awe and reverence, bowing down before her. ‘I come here to seek an audience with the sun, please accept me as your acolyte, so that I may bring your light to the world! I surrender myself to you, in mind alone, for my body must continue onwards. Give me a path, my light, and I will walk it.” Ellen, almost panting from the monologue, and stunned with this much development this soon in the game, looked around at the rest of the table, wide eyed. She felt a surreal sense of awe at dropping so completely into a game, at a depth that usually took hours. There was a general hush, both around the table and in the crowd. Even Marcus had nothing sarcastic to say at this point. Gary looked nervously back and forth between his wife and sister-in-law. Mary Jo took a deep breath before continuing. “The figure emerges completely from the gloom. Winged, horned, with a mane of pastel and a cutie mark of a sun, Celestia stands before you.” She frowned a bit as she looked at Ellen. “Well, it’s what you wanted,” she said sotto voce, before going back into her narration. “‘It is good that you didn’t offer your body, considering how badly that went last time.’” Mary Jo’s eyes went wide right after saying this, but she quickly recovered. “She’s just being cryptic,” she says to the crowd. “Gods do that.” “Celestia...” Ellen’s voice was an awed whisper, before she fell back into character. “‘I...I would hope that I can help you, Celestia. I have been looking for you for a long time,’” she said honestly. “‘I just need to know what you want me to do.’” “‘And I hope that you can help me...Midnight.’” There seems to be some hint of distaste in the way she pronounced the name of Ellen’s character. “‘You are my very first follower. In a way, that means that you are the one who made me a goddess. We shall journey together, you and I. And perhaps our final destination will surprise both of us.’” Mary Jo seemed to have some difficulty making sense of the words she just said, but she then shrugged it off. “You caught her on a bad day,” she said flippantly. “No straight answers today.” “Well...I suppose that I let myself return to my body, and say a quick prayer that she...” Ellen smirked, just a bit as she tried not to laugh. “That she feels better next time. Maybe try some cough drops and olive oil. I whip up a batch and burn it in offering.” “You nearly set the room on fire with a rogue flaming cough drop. Oh, and while you’re trying to put it out, there’s a knock on your door.” “‘Come in! Come in!’ I cough and beat the flames out with a spare pot. ‘Just a minor flare up! Not a problem!’” Ellen coughs a few times exaggeratedly, hamming it up for the crowd. “The door opens, slowly. Outside is an earth pony in a tan cloak. She looks coldly into your eyes, like she’s trying to see your soul. ‘I see,’ she says finally, before dropping her eyes to the ground. ‘Do you have any orders for me, My Lady?’ She then courtesies. You recognize her as your retainer, Hope Springs. She appears to be winded, as if she ran here straight from her room. ‘I saw the bright lights, and thought that something horrible had happened to you.’” Ellen noted the dark emphasis on that word “horrible”, before replying. “I make sure there are no fires, and set down the pot, before turning to her with a sympathetic smile. ‘Well, Hope, I would enjoy a good hug, as my goddess seems to be in a dour mood today. Maybe a cuddle, if you’re feeling particularly friendly. Have you had breakfast? Is it...what time is it?’ I look out the window before going in for that hug.” Ellen actually got up and walked around the table to stand before Jojo arms wide open, to “daaaws” of appreciation from the crowd. Mary Jo looked at her for a moment like she had lost her mind, something utterly unlike her. Then she literally shook off the dark mood with a shake of her head, and got up to accept the hug. It felt...off, somehow. But it was over soon enough, and Ellen returned to her chair. “‘It’s 12:16,’ Hope informs you. ‘You’re punctual, I’ll give you that. I can try to make you something in the kitchen, if you like. If they’ll let me down there...I’m not technically supposed to even be in the Inn, remember?’” “Right! Not allowed...Forbidden love...kept apart by the bonds of social stigma! New backstory for Hope. She’s Midnight’s secret lover! ‘Oh Hope, I wouldn’t want you to be stuck out there, in the dark and cold...we will rest and wake to the sunrise, and pray for guidance then.’” Mary Jo looked genuinely panicked by this revelation, and glanced about her madly as she tried to come up with a response. Finally, she settled for the following: “You feel a very uncomfortable heat building in your head. ‘Isn’t sun worship an ascetic religion?’ you think you hear Hope saying, as you teeter on the verge of unconsciousness.” She looked around at the other members of the party. “I, uh...didn’t expect this to go on for so long. Let’s try to wrap this up, OK? No life-altering decisions before the adventure properly starts, agreed?” “Right, right. Um... ‘I have just remembered that I must remain chaste and clean of mind! Here, there is a cot for you, we will lock the door so you may remain safe, and we shall sleep on opposite sides of the room. Dear Hope, sweet dreams and bright stars to you.’” “Right, and done!” M.J. cried out, sounding quite relieved. “Luke, your character Winter Harvest—” “Carry On.” “What?” “Carry On,” said Luke. “I decided to rename her. Is that allowed?” “Oh...sure it’s allowed.” Ellen settled in, watching the other players, feeling a certain exhaustion and trying not to burst back into character. After Luke had gotten Carry On’s initiation ceremony for the Thieves’ Guild handled—another bit of roleplaying, but nowhere near as unusual as what Midnight Sparkle had just gotten through—it was the turn of Susan. Susan, it turned out, had gotten a burly stallion fighter to play, an earth pony named Torn Deck. She jumped into the character with gusto, but there really wasn’t anything to do to prepare his character for the adventure, so that was little more than empty posturing. # # # “Right, everything’s set up,” announced Mary Jo, “so this is a good time for a break. Let’s meet back here in an hour for the start of the adventure, all right?” “I need to speak with you, Jojo...” Ellen immediately declared with a wide grin, trying to appear not-crazy, as she stood up. Meanwhile, one of the players from the Young Women’s table had approached Susan. “Miss Blume?” she asked in a shy voice. “Yes, Miss…?” Susan asked, lowering herself to the girl’s level. “Sally Carpenter. I’m playing Chestnut, the thief who just initiated you.” “You are?” Susan asked with an exaggerated gasp. “Well, that’s very interesting! How would you like it if I ate lunch with your party, so we can compare notes?” She looked over at the other girls, who eagerly nodded their approval. The group then left the room together. Mary Jo waited until all of the others had left before approaching Ellen. She seemed a bit drained to her younger sister. “Follow me,” she said, walking up the bleachers. The pair pointedly ignored the stare of Marcus as they ascended. At the top, Mary Jo got out a key and unlocked the door to a little room. From the extremely stale smell, it felt like the room hadn’t been used in months. Mary Jo pulled a chain to illuminate a naked light bulb, and sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair. “Talk,” she said, as she pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “God!” she swore as she lit up. “I thought I had finally given up on these things.” Ellen engaged the door lock before turning to face her sister. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, sitting down close to Jojo, and holding out a hand to rest on her arm. “I thought this was all part of your game, I just...I let it get to me again, and now...I saw you struggle, please tell me I’m not imagining things...do you need a hug? I real one?” “I always need a hug,” Mary Jo said. “You should know that. Gary’s not really the touchy-feely type.” After the hug, M.J. leaned back. “I’m in control,” she said calmly. “I just decided that now was the right time to get this silly mess settled, once and for all. I mean, there was no way this day could have possibly gone well—you knew that didn’t you? I think I realized how deep the hole was when the world-famous screenwriter sat down next to our seriously messed-up pater familias—” “Marcus,” Ellen said firmly. “...Marcus, and started asking him to tell her about our childhood. Tell me you didn’t miss that?” “I missed it on purpose, because I had a feeling that it would happen no matter what I did.” Ellen sighed, putting her head on her hands, staring at her powder blue skirt. “If Celestia hurts you...I swear, I don’t care how powerful she is, I’ll turn her into my guard dog and sic her on that bastard. Put her to some use.” Mary Jo looked at her pitifully. “Ellen, she’s a figment of my imagination. They’re all figments of my imagination. Inmates in the Mary Jo Powell Fun House, if you will. And this time, I’m not letting go of the keys.” “How can a figment of your imagination make references that even you didn’t get?” Ellen asks, one eyebrow nearly in her bangs. “Because she was dropping them left and right, the same way you do, but I wasn’t getting any of them, and by the expression on your face, you weren’t either.” “Unconscious realizations,” M.J. said with a shrug. “Celestia is at the top of the org chart. She’s supposed to know everything, even the stuff I forgot or brushed aside. She’s supposed to be smarter than me. That isn’t easy to fake, you know.” Sighing, Ellen hugged M.J. again, sneaking a puff from her cigarette. “And Celestia doesn’t like lesbos apparently—got any repressions up there?” She joked, in typical really bad taste and timing. M.J. laughed. “No, you’ve got it all wrong—it’s not that she doesn’t approve of what Midnight is doing with her helpless servant, it’s that she wants some of that Sparkle action for herself! Don’t mess with a jealous goddess, missy!” “Did she tell you that?” Ellen asked curiously. “She doesn’t exist! I just made it up.” “Excellent! Then I’ll be sure to offer all sorts of borderline inappropriate things to her each day. Go Powell Sisters!” The two women engaged in a high-five. “It will sure make the audience squirm!” Mary Jo said with enthusiasm. “Never make it easy for the paying customer, that’s what I always say.” “No you don’t.” “Shut up.” “Plus, Celestia’s like the perfect color for blushing, so you’ve got that going as well. Hope Springs is so dark, I don’t think you’d be able to see anything going across that face. Better watch out that she doesn’t stick a knife in your back in the dark.” “The hot ones always get homicidal,” Ellen sighs wistfully. “I sure hope I can keep her alive. I really hate the string of accidents that have taken every traveling companion I’ve had.” Mary Jo shook her head ruefully. “‘Accidents’. Sure, let’s call it that. Look, you’ve gotten off to a much better start this time than I’ve ever seen before. I think this retainer stands a good chance of surviving. Just don’t forget about her while you’re rubbing yourself all over your Celestia figurines, OK?” Ellen laughed hard enough to where she was holding her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’ll try. You know, I’ve had extensive discussions about horns with—” “Now you see, that’s why I made pony unicorn horns so blunt, just to cut this sort of thing off in the bud.” “But Celestia—” “Not another word!”