//------------------------------// // Canto II // Story: The Blue Rose // by Chicago Ted //------------------------------// The ground was dry-earthen, hard as stone, And a pale color– beige– like that of sand– As though Thorn trotted on Equestria’s bone, A compound-fracture, poking through the land. After Thorn had gone through such a cyclone, O’er the Dragon-Lands he then did stand. This first task of an unknown many was here, As presented by this bloom’d seer. His task seemed simple: ’twas to descend Down to where the Dragons did lay. Through territory hot and molten to wend, Through a dry sandstone ravine on the way. Then the olive branch Thorn was to extend Towards these natives, where they stay. But the caution, warned the flower, alas, Was to be worthy, a trial Thorn had to pass. The nature of this trial varied between cases, For these dragons were indeed quite arbitrary. Even Thorn’s mentor knew not of the basis, Which made the young colt all the more chary. Whether he’d be beaten in several places, Or something worse– aye, reason to be wary! But if he did pass, then there was no doubt That forthwith a valuable alliance would sprout. His mind was set, his soul was prepared, And young Thorn did set off to his fate– Down these rocky slopes the foal fared. The path was rocky, uneven, never straight. “O! for the sake of Celestia,” the colt declared, “Why doth my task here be so great? What purpose doth serve to gain a partnership– And will they truly remember our friendship?” His question remained unanswered, therefore Thorn assumed the inquiry was dismissed. Which gave the foal no sense of fear nor A sense of relief– a floral remiss. Whatever the Dragons for him had in store, Only one way to know: simply remain amiss. If the blue Rose knew of any possible danger, Would it not have selected one who was abler? Towards a magma pool the two traveled by– Rock red, orange, yellow, and white molten, Indicating the peril, the danger being so high, As was the heat, urging any normal soul to run. But Thorn? Nay! For the pool he was too spry, Navigating around the hazard like a gryphon. One less obstacle, between them and the object, So this leg of the journey may soon be resect. As the duo progressed, the ground darkened– Not a shadow, but the heart of Dragon-Lands! Here they were, ever-closer to the trail’s end. Deep within lay a temple of the dragon bands! Thorn entered the building through the pend, And peeked in, crossing a floor of sands. Here the dragons were gathered at site, Discussing their topics– it seemed rather trite. He listened intently, then changed his mind– They were discussing an impending fate so ill! Dragon-Lands was hot, as one would find; So the dragons were liable to a heavy chill. Thus they found themselves in quite a bind, The arguments were so heated, the air so still. Cloudsdale, apparently, was drawing close. The solution? This suggestion seemed àpropos: “If Cloudsdale will not halt by our command, Then its sole fate is a permanent destruction! They are Equestrian, with no right to our land. Let us now send them a final instruction: ‘Turn back now, hasten, you Equestrian band, Or else we will be forced to call to action!’ Aggression we meet, and must return in like, What time have we to lose? We have to strike!” “They come,” said another, “but sincerely– Is that the only answer, to mount a defense? I can propose another idea, perhaps three, To try to dissuade them from their offense. My first is negotiation, a compact simply, To persuade their leave– yea, that makes sense. If peacefully we convince them to withdraw, You can pull your idea back into your maw.” “What!” thundered the first. “Are you daft? They cannot listen to any sort of reason! Any compromise through their ears will waft, While they force upon us their foreign season. Nay, I say we fight– come now, grab your haft, And send the invaders toward the rising sun. By Lord Gurun’s will, I will not be remiss– We shall defend our honor– wait, who is this?” Now Thorn was graced with their sight. Unexpected, yes, but this was his chance! He came forth and spoke with a voice so light: “Forgive me, please, withdraw your askance– I am called Thorn, and I can aid in your fight; My being Equestrian is mere happenstance. I fight not with any sort of material reward, Instead, I intend your freedom to safeguard.” The other attendees looked to one another, Then back at him. –Then burst out laughing; This was Thorn, a colt without his mother! Trotting in like he were some sort of king! Surely this was a spy who had made an error, Given away his allegiance, merely by speaking! Why believe him, who sides with Cloudsdale, When war was to happen? He ought to bail! “Pay no mind,” the flower uttered in an aside, “Their idea of kin is what appears externally. Take another look at what lays inside, Now tell me, describe what is there carefully.” “A mere foal, nothing more. –Well, I tried.” “Tried, perhaps, but you’ven’t tried fully. As I had said, a trial will be presented. Pass it, and an audience will be granted.” The eldest of the dragons stepped forward, And announced, in the fiercest voice: “Young foal, if you have for us a word, Then we have for you a simple choice: Either prove your standing with the herd Or else trot away, and silence your voice! The trial is of our choosing, thus be patient. This we do routinely to every entrant.” They all turned around, their backs facing him, And spoke in careful whispers to one another. Thorn tried to listen, but the gaps were too slim. This session reminded him of his mother, The way they confer when she punished him. Why him, too? Why involve his father? Unsure of his fate, he again turned to it, To seek an answer, or if he instead should quit. Before it could answer, they again turned. Their decision was made, his fate was sealed! The possibilities– Thorn’s stomach churned, But, all the same, before them he kneeled. His trial in order to prove himself, he learned, Was one so unexpected that back he reeled– This was a trial that would leave him intact, Yet there was no way he could do the act. Outside the temple was a cooled lava-pool, One that the dragons deemed to be hallowed. And the reason, he learned, that it was cool Was because it Lord Gurun himself hollowed. The dragons had it amongst them as a rule, Whoëver re-melted it is a part of their abode. Why it stays frozen over is because of a spell, It refreezes not long after re-melting. –Well! In further detail, the spell is described thus: Within the pool lies a secret of lore’s origin, Protected there also by the magma’s hotness. ’Tis an object once in the king’s possession. Rumors spread of its nature– was it a chalice? Or a spear? His crown? Guesses are a million. To keep it safe forever, Gurun placed it there, Then added the spell, if anyone should dare. The Councilors went outside to said place. Thorn drew a breath, and followed behind. A look of fear played ’round the foal’s face. There surely was no way for him to find Another solution, another saving-grace– Such a question tugged at the rear of his mind. Before long, he was standing at the site, With the Councilors, to witness their might. The first Councilor breathed forth an inferno. It hit the surface, melting it in an instant. In the puddle, the lava did ebb and flow, But did it stay such for long? Nay, it didn’t; The rock reclaimed the magma, ever so slow, Until of the melt there was not a hint. This proved the spell’s presence within, And also proved that the Councilor was kin. The second dragon imitated the first’s action, Followed by, to punctuate intent, the third. All these times were followed by vitrification. It acted quickly, silently, without their word. Then it was Thorn’s turn, else face eviction. He leaned over the edge, seeming awkward. He then turned to his guardian for advice, If anything he could do would suffice. “Is there another way I can make it simmer? Clearly there is no way that I can breathe fire.” “But of course!” it said, with a sort of glimmer; “One wise word can burn hotter than any pyre.” He again turned, now with a sense of ardor. He opened his mouth, to unleash his hellfire– But, before he could breathe life into the pool, Thorn spoke words unimaginable to a fool: “Reasons do not match up to first thought– Sometimes, a second look is obligatory. Many warring cities are, but Cloudsdale is not One of them– at least, not since days a priori; Their intentions of invasion amount to naught, Nay, I know that it is not at all predatory– Something else has control of the cloud-city Thus, Cloudsdale deserves not war, but pity!” Then something completely alien occurred– The whole pool melted, and stayed as such! Amidst the Councilors, a rumor stirred– The pool was melted, but never insomuch, Or this long, forever– one dragon stammered: “Those simple words have done so much! Truly he is worthy of inclusion with us all, If he can render Gurun’s spell within thrall!” The Councilors led Thorn back to their ring. What solution had he? What secrets to tell? Already Thorn was thinking of something Whatever puppeteer had control to dispel. Inside the room, a dragon had many a thing To aid the young foal in his mission to quell. He pulled out from the pool the first prize. He explained the object before his very eyes: “This is our greatest weapon, named Tânadain, Forged by the claws of our great Lord Gurun From iron dug out from his expansive domain, From fires hotter than even the mighty Sun. When drawn, those same fires it dœs retain, Blossoms forth, for when war has begun. None can stand in your way when it is used, If, when it is drawn, fighting is not refused. “We also have a seal, vermillion as my scale. If ever, in your fight, you need us to assist, Break this seal, and down fire will hail From our finest warriors– a wall of mist Will shadow your existence– fear not to fail; We brothers stand together as claws in a fist. These two items are for any fœ too great. Now conquer, great Thorn! –Why the wait?” “I’ll tell you,” said another of the dragons. “It’s the culprit of Cloudsdale’s incursion! We know now who is turning its engines! Our old fœ, Quivett, is behind the intrusion! I see it in the sky; I judge it by its actions– They attack not now; this is my conclusion: Quivett has returned today to wreak havoc! Now comes the end of our peaceful epoch!” “How can that be?” Those present recoiled. “Lord Gurun has long ago defeated Quivett! His plan of conquest, it has been foiled! What? Was that nothing more than a nit? Lord Gurun, with his sword Tânadain, toiled To send him to Tartarus– and that was it!” All faces went stricken, white as a ghost, Even the morn-red face of the Council-host. Here, Thorn peeked inside of his pack, To seek the advice of someone more daring. “Please when I ask you this, respond back– Should I, or should I not, be so caring?” Before it replied, it was pulled from the sack By the host, who marveled at this thing. “Forsooth! A blue Rose! This is the key!” Aye, his face was dancing mad with glee. “Ah, a quest I see you are on, my dear foal– To gain wisdom, not glory, nor anything more; But I must ask you, despite the contrary goal, Will you help us in beating Quivett once more? Quivett is our villain, borne of stone from a hole That is now Tartarus. A creature but of lore! His merely being involved fills us with affright! Therefore, Thorn– will you help us fight?” “Allow me to answer on Thorn’s account,” Said the flower, leaping from the host’s hand. “’Twould be difficult this Quivett to surmount. We the duo have a different problem at stand. If, however, defeating Quivett is so paramount, Perhaps we may answer to such a demand–” Then it lowered itself into Thorn’s saddlebag, Flipped the flap closed, firmly inside its knag. Thus spoke Thorn, “Well, then, it shall be– In this fight against Quivett, you I shall aid! You are sovereign, and deserve to be free, Without anyone your trust to be betrayed; The whole of the world I am prepared to see, From here to Yakyakistan for the ultimate raid. Quivett should not torment you ever again– I shall bring his conclusive defeat. Amen!” The one who warned felt a need to point out: “Quivett, you see, is still trapped underground, In Tartarus– blocked, therefore, is that route. To circumvent, a few items need to be found: First is the Tartarus Gatekey– though I doubt, They say it is part of Grizzle’s treasure-mound. Captain Grizzle pillages the skies over the sea– This is how he obtained the Tartarus Gatekey. “Once you have it, more still should be sought. The Gatekey requires pieces of the Janus Stone. I believe that is still mined within Canterlot, Deep within the hollow of Equestria’s bone. You only need six of them, not a whole lot– Five blue, and center, one red, as the capstone. (These represent Harmony, if I rightly recall.) But that, Thorn, is not the only wherewithal. “The Gatekey requires some sort of power– Something strong, or else it would fail. Lightning should provide that kind of power. Surely, some can be found in Cloudsdale. Then a spell should ignite it at that hour– Saddle Arabia’s library should not fail To have a copy of that spell we need. That is the entirety of the catalog, indeed! “This is a long and perilous trip, young one. Are you certain you wish to undertake this?” “Of course!” said Thorn. “It’ll be done– Should I have refused, I would be remiss! Nay, my new friends I should not shun– To do so would be incredibly amiss. Hail me off to Cloudsdale for the battle, Else all is naught but strengthless prattle!” “It is decided,” deemed the dragon Councilors. Thorn prepared, sheathing Tânadain by his side. Armor was donned, dragons becoming battlers, Thick, heavy iron sliding over many a hide. All, from proud nobles to humble toilers, Were taking this glorious battle in stride. Then it came time to soar to the sky-city, Upwards to great heights, showing no pity. One said, “Thorn, climb onto my back! We leave for Cloudsdale at once! Seeing wings on your body you lack, I offer my own wingpower, in reverence. Is your mentor tucked away in your sack? Keep it there, it can provide assistance In walking on its foundation of cloud.” “Thank you, I shall!” Thorn vowed. Once Thorn was aboard, he felt a mighty push Upwards– heavensward– towards the sky! The air whistled by his ears– a sharp whoosh, As further towards war the dragons did fly. Even this close, little sign of an ambush. Were they really unprepared? If so, why? ’Tis better to know what to expect, when Wandering ignorantly, than acting right then. The first puffs of white fluff wisped past, Indicating closer proximity to the warfield. Thorn reached out to one that swiftly passed, Too late for the wisps to his hoof to yield. How long the battle was going to last No one was to say– They were all steeled To go the whole year long, until the walls Crumpled down, exposing their halls! At this height, it became too dangerous to fall Off this dragon’s back– indeed much too far! Instead Thorn gripped tightly, with all His strength-- watching the city from afar. A cloud cover was immediately above– a pall For the ground below– perfect for a war. The wisps grew so close it became cold. This of Cloudsdale’s barriers was age-old. And then the dragons broke through the barrier, Soaring high above, intent on a grand standoff! In Thorn’s head, the height was causing a stir– Though by then the destination wasn’t far-off; He couldn’t turn back, not as Tânadain’s bearer. Nay, with Gurun’s sword he was no castoff. There they were, within sight of the rainbows Falling off the sides– as it falls and flows! This journey of literally high peril was soon Over– finally!– they were there at last! For an earth-pony like Thorn this was a boon; He hoped to land on Cloudsdale, and fast. The Weather Factory was making a monsoon Of snow– already their clouds were overcast. This won’t be the case for long, however– The dragons would destroy these in great anger. The party split apart, some heading to the left, Others to the right, some above and below. Their strategy was, even then, quite deft, Never mind that they carried with them a hero! This ridden dragon landed towards the left Side of the city – a place thick with snow. Thorn and the blue Rose were on a cloud Within Cloudsdale– a city most proud!