//------------------------------// // ~Recollection (Prologue) // Story: Hexagons: Part l // by Wand3r3r3 //------------------------------// ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Crystal Ponies~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *** ** * Existent by day, expired by night. The power of the celestial sun's light, filtered through the ancient relic—the Crystal Heart—gives life to these Crystal beings. They are all deceased and are truly an extinct race, as past tragedies and massacres have left them ever so. However, with the power and privilege of the Crystal Heart, the ponies are able to experience life after death. A sheet of parchment laid blank on a dark desk inside an even darker building, locked up behind its sturdy, wooden front door. From the outside, a concealed and hooded figure approached the only window at the base of the exterior, scanning the inside for any activity. A massive rainstorm had been pummeling the ground below for quite some time, and it had beaten the dirt and grassy terrain into little more than mere malleability. The coat that the quadrupedal silhouette wore was drenched in rainwater, with all four hooves covered in mud. The figure lightly sighed: "I'm actually doing it," it spoke, deep underneath its breath. After examining the interior one final time, it carefully opened the window, loosening it from its locking mechanism. But instead of lifting the window, a gentle aura of magic accomplished the goal with no sound at all. The evident Unicorn figure then climbed through the frame in the wall, closing the window back silently after entering the building. The light coat that was worn had been afflicted by the filth that spewed up from the very ground. The violent gales outside were unlike anything this town would normally see. After entering, the first place the intruder headed was the desk at the far end of the wall directly ahead of it, where the parchment laid. The many books that lined the shelves gave the impression that this was a library; a public place of access. The ambient light that emanated from the Unicorn's horn was what led the way, not waiting for his or her hesitance to brighten up the room. A nearby quill was magically snatched upon arrival, its tip quick to be dipped into an intricately designed well of ink. Then, the cloaked criminal started to deface the parchment with its own additional literature, spaced directly below its introductory: Their genealogy provides them with this ability, correlating to the concept—and the raw, unevolved virgin theory—of reincarnation. In their deceased state, they are all alive, but in the form of ultra-transparent spheres of light that roam free in all the spacial matter of our world, freely. They cannot be birthed into physical forms, and the bodies from their first life are carried onto their second; though they are non-corporeal. However, they can be seen, often wandering the land—their bodies in an ultra-translucent, ethereal form. Almost anyone can spot them if they concentrate almost every bit of their will towards it. It also helps if they really believe that there is a life after death. Still, no sign of detection allowed for further writing. Crystal Ponies are able to be seen by members of their own kind and . . . relation to family, with a very minor setback. Also note that, while their previous life's blood isn't necessarily a strict factor for their communication, as a whole; it is merely a similarity that does indeed help keep them gathered together but in an unconditional, forceful way. Such is the case for those that have been in close proximity to one another for quite some time. But it doesn't always measure up to that result: some of them willingly choose to leave what little they had behind. The fact that they're able to do so proves that they are able to feel an emotional attachment since they know they would be completely alone if they do. Of course, since they no longer possess physical bodies, and how they are almost completely invisible to anyone else but their own kind, the entire science and logic behind the afterlives of these wise ancestors of ours—of all of us—is slaved over and over. The belief is so misunderstood to the point, even, where the thought of any literal possibility pertaining to an afterlife of any figurative kind is treated as mere rubbish; be it 'an old mare's tale' or not. Any, and possibly every other race of ponykind, cannot seem to fathom any sincere thought of theirs leaning toward the logic, even simple, raw fantasies. Perhaps, though, the latter could have been construed in an entirely different way; to use as 'old mare's tale' the use of fairy tales and the like. And with the rise of conflicts between and within religions all over the globe, every effort has been made to debate since the topic's popularity has risen. Far too much strife had been present to pay any due attention to imagination and wonder. There is, however, but only one place where the Crystal Ponies need not hide from the cruelty and insolence of the world of today, regardless of their inability to feel fear. There is but one place where ponies' belief will be put to shame, and but one place where Crystal Ponies thrive and frolic and call their home. The only reason why the author stopped writing was due to the prolonged use of his or her mind. But after seconds of cautiously listening and observing, enough energy had been regained in order to resume writing. Underneath the wet, grey cloak that this entity wore, minuscule traces of tears started to well up inside the writer's eyes. There wasn't enough to have been dropped onto the cold hardwood floor, or down the thin grey coat that was worn, but hesitance was more than surely present. The weak, hazy, conditionally-hued aura that emanated from the writer's horn was perhaps the only bodily feature that would come close to defining an identity, if anyone were to bear witness at all. The writer also wasn't very tall, at a recognized glace: standing just only a few inches shorter than most equine residents of the world. If he or she had been crouched down while writing, reducing the use of his or her energy, the shape of this character could give the impression that this was the doing of a mere filly. However, it was highly doubtful that the writer was indeed the age of a filly, given the boundless intelligence of the topic it was writing about. Unless it had studied the Crystal Ponies with the insane intent to rewrite their history, it was amazing. "Alright . . . Here we go." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Crystal Empire~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ---The Birthright--- *** ** * This popular tourist location, tucked well into the mountains, furthest northwest of Equestria, is also the named land of origin for the Crystal Ponies. Or at least, that's the general consensus that history leans toward, in society's striving need to be correct. While the Crystal Empire is home to many Crystal Ponies, and always open as a home to all, not all of them choose to take residence there. For a multitude of reasons, some of them are unable to experience frail cowardice, and decide to leave what very little they have behind and search the world for a place they feel is their rightly home. It is a fortunate thing that they can, at the very least, find correlations to living family members and whatnot, but it is also an unfortunate thing that they simply could not feel the warm embrace upon finding them; or upon finding anyone at all, really. . . The Crystal Ponies are able to roam freely during the daytime, at any time, but only while taking residence in the Crystal Empire; where the heart of an immaculate ore is forever elevated above the region. The sun's light touches and enters the magnificent stone sculpture known as the Crystal Heart, and it is then refracted, radiating from the relic along with iridescent gleams of all colors, however vague. The hues shine over every inch of the region, providing the one and only foundation for the Ponies' lives. The Crystal Ponies' fresh new lives are consistent with day and night, just like the lives you and I both live. When the sun begins to drop, the city starts to sleep, and portions of the city can stay alive until the light from the Heart vanishes from whence they stand. And thus, moving onto the very next day, the same routine is to be repeated. However, those that are not present in the Crystal Empire at the time of sunset are able to remain outside the city limits for as long as they have stored some of the brilliant, sun-like warmth within their fragmented souls. But they must return to the sacred grounds of the Empire before their light—the only thing that makes up their transparent appearance—depletes and fades. Expiring the privilege of free-roaming the Earth without the light in their entities will result in the second, final death of that individual, whoever they were. in which they will never have another opportunity to exist as more than just a memory. They are gone forever, no returning. The crystallized iridescence is what gives the Ponies life, and it is infinite. They need not be any worries regarding scarcity, selfishness, or greed. The ponies also, really, have somewhat physical bodies, but it is too vague to classify them as actually possessing them. The most they could do upon trying to interact with the world is talk, which has always been vocalized as whispers — even if they scream — and wear a few articles of light clothing, proving that their ethereal bodies are also capable of touching. Sadly, though, they still wouldn't be able to feel the touch of anything, or anypony else. Crystal Ponies have no way of remembering their tragic history, for the devastating event had resulted in the segregation of both organic thinking and biologic emotion, to put simply. This is the reason Crystal Ponies are unable to feel little to any stimulants toward fear, excitement, love, hate, loss... Not even a sense of fulfillment through achieving something in their second lives. But again, those who are able to can seek out a new life for themselves, however doubtful they are afflicted. The Crystal Ponies cannot feel and experience anything-literally-on their own. They live their second lives accursed, as the popular belief of reward in their second life emulates from their suffering in their first. They appear to all have been wrong though, considering the way their history had to take the unexpected turn that it did. The author, its quill enveloped inside a slowly strengthening aura, was beginning to run out of ink. The Unicorn, identity only minimally deducible from its use of magic, quickly dipped the quill's tip into the small cup of the dark liquid and traced it immediately back to the parchment it used to write upon, the pen dripping not one bit. The complete story of the Crystal Ponies and their depressing history has yet to all be claimed and confirmed; such is the sad truth. There are so many fissures within the basic logistics regarding their very existence. One can only believe the salvaged history that lives today for so long... The writer ceased its actions. It laid the quill it had been using on the desk that supported the stained parchment. Its tip had glided over it so much that it had broken, and ink leaked profusely. But a little evidence wasn't going to stop the hooded Unicorn from rewriting history. The intruder, namely, wasn't supposed to be where it was, in an area surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books upon books. They lined the entire wall in front of the figure, with the exception of the small space it used to write, being directly between two bookshelves. This was the only hint as to what this building really was. "I've got what I came for," the Unicorn thought to itself. With no intent on staying any longer than it did, it silently trotted with a decent across the enormous rug in the room, making no sound with how thick the decor was beneath its feet. The rainwater dripped off of the coat both to and from the desk, and the floor was fairly afflicted by it. The cloaked intruder then magically unlocked the small circular window at the wall opposite to the massive bookshelves and climbed out as soon as it opened. The storm outside proved to be a nuisance, as the sound of marching raindrops and rushing wind made their way through the open window and into the building. The character, however cautious it was to this point, had closed the window again, but not completely. If anypony did happen to catch a glimpse of the mysterious character, their eyes would most likely be deceived. With the once lush trees around rushed low enough to the ground and the haze in the air so thick, no one could ever correctly assume that the figure was really there. "Sorry, Rarity," the hooded figure muttered under its breath once more, but he or she was able to hear themselves in that instance. Then, less than a split-second later, the silhouetted figure vanished, and in its brief evanescence, only the clothing it wore was left to fly along in the violent gales that ravaged the area. Whoever this was, he or she had some sort of hesitation to intrude upon the residence that which had been targeted. "Sorry, Rarity..." Those words; this regret, would most likely ring inside the character's head for the duration of the goal it had set out to accomplish.