• Published 13th Feb 2012
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The Ballad of Echo the Diamond Dog - Rust



A human finds himself in Equestria... He decides to forsake Ponyville and see the world instead.

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(17) The Big Stick

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

THE BIG STICK

The River Styx glimmered in the light of the gems, a velvet stream of shadow and blackness. It beckoned me forward, filling me with the burning desire of a sultry-eyed bed mate, and the desperate need of a weeping child. I was helpless to resist, staggering step by step to the rocky shelf. A familiar figure walked alongside on four legs, as if never injured.

Ginger's form flickered for an instant, becoming as white as snow, her eyes the color of glacier ice. Then she was back, in all her fiery glory. I felt myself inexplicably shift as well. Long, shaggy fur shortened into a thick, but dense coat of black and mottled brown. My paws adopted a greenish, oily tinge. I felt something around my neck, a collar, studded with gems.

The feeling was gone almost as soon as it came.

As one, we approached the dread river, solemnly pausing at the edge before dipping our heads down to almost within an inch of the frothing shadows.

"We risk much by this," I felt myself say, an undamaged throat rumbling thickly with coarse words.

"But we can gain so much more." Ginger flickered ghostly white once again when she said this, also in a different voice - one with pride, nobility, and conviction. "You heard what she said. We can usher in a golden age of peace, brother! This is a small price to pay for that."

"Different value for things, we have," I reminded her.

"But peace is still up there. We can do this. I know we can. Just look at what we've accomplished alone! An alpha, tried and tested, and a mage, a wielder of the elements themselves. Let's see what we can do as brothers."

"The burden - too great, it might be."

Ginger shook her head. "For what we've been shown? Nothing is too great for that. For the greater good of all."

I closed my eyes. The scent of corruption and the Styx flooded all my senses. I could even see it, if I focused hard enough. But the promise of what she offered us was too great to ignore. This would be the easy part, anyway. We'd done much to come here. After Old Yellowfang had been bested, things had really picked up. We'd moved fast, and swooped into the power vacuum like a pair of vultures. Now there was only one last thing to do, and it would all work out...

I spoke the words she had taught me. Ginger and I alternated verses, as was required. The words cut through the silence the accursed prison like a molten blade of iron.

"On to the light, we march."

"From the blackness, we strive."

"Unto our last breath-"

"-The dark shall survive."

"Break down the wall, 'twixt wrong and right."

"We cast our ways aside, in this sacred, eternal night."

The visage of our tutor, our guide, who promised us so much, who had guided us to power, appeared in the reflection of the water, standing tall between Ginger and I, as dark and ethereal as the River Styx. She smiled, revealing sharp, serrated teeth. The next verse, the final one, was spoken with three voices, although only two bodies stood by the edge.

"For without shadow, there can be no light."

As one, we dipped our heads and drank deeply.

Then the pain started all over again.


My eyes flew open in a panic, taking in the sunlit room in an instant. Something was stabbing into my side, hot, sharp and blinding. I quickly rolled to the right - straight into the wall.

WHUMP!

Ow. Good thing I stopped myself with my face. This thing has been intercepting dodgeballs, slaps of angry women, and the wrath of Grandma's kissy-face for years. Glad to see it hasn't lost its touch...

But what was causing me so much pain? I rolled over, to find the spearhead. It must have fallen out of my toga when I wrapped it around myself like a blanket. I absently picked it up between two fingers. I hadn't had much time to examine it before, and the darkness and frenzied atmosphere of the caves didn't help, either.

The head was shaped like a very long, narrow leaf - thick and wide near the bottom, leading to a thin and elegant spire that looked sharp enough to split atoms. It was made of a pale material, and looked to be some strange fusion of metal and crystal. A new element, found only in Equestria, perhaps? Delicate, swirling designs running along a double blood channel along the blade's spine gave it an aesthetically appealing appearance. But for all it was, it was still just a spear head.

I distastefully flicked the thing to the side, and it embedded itself into the floor. Funny, how the nature of killing things hasn't really differed, even in Equestria. When you think about it, it all comes down to poking holes in something until it dies. Be it from claws, or teeth, or arrows, or spears...or bullets...

I shook myself out of my thoughts, for the first time taking in my room. I was lying half-on, half-off my cot. The few thin blankets I had were shredded to pieces, the mattress had been savaged, and the single pillow I'd been allotted was nothing more than a scattering of feathers. I breathed deeply, trying to regain my cool. Sitting up and placing my head between my paws, I slowly rocked back and forth on the ruins of my bedding. The dream came back to me in waves, in surges of memory. What had I just witnessed?

A loud knocking on the door shattered the stillness of the morning. "Echo!" barked a gruff, familiar voice. "Are you all right in there? I heard some strange noises."

I whistled twice in reply, my usual response to indicate that all was well. Brushing away some of the debris, I tried to put on an air of calmness, although I was still shaking inside from having to drink from the Styx again. Even if it was just a dream.

The door opened, revealing Captain Tythus' golden form. He surveyed the room in stoic silence. Then he spoke, "What in Equestria happened here?"

"A nightmare?" I offered him, sheepishly trying to swipe drifting feathers out of the air. "I'm not entirely sure."

Tythus just sighed, appraising my destroyed sleeping comforts with a dark look. He wasn't wearing his battered silver armor today. Instead, a single blue sash was wrapped around one shoulder and across his chest, decorated with a plethora of medals and ribbons. His steely, experienced eyes flicked to the spearhead sticking out of the floor.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

Oh, crackerjacks! That stupid law the mayor passed! I wasn't supposed to have any weapons... A spearhead counts as a weapon. You can still stab people with it. It's more or less the equivalent of an Equestrian prison shank.

The captain's golden telekinetic aura surrounded the weapon piece, then flickered out. He frowned, and simply bent down to tear it out of the ground with his mouth. He spat it out to his hoof, and moved it close to his face, curiously observing it with the practiced gaze of a veteran. His face never changed from that neutral, stony expression worn by the Royal Guard. Finally, he lowered the spearhead.

"See me in my office after breakfast. You're on meal duty, by the way. I suggest you step on it - we've got a lot more mouths to feed, in case you haven't noticed." With that, he turned on the spot and swiftly trotted away, tucking the item into his sash.

I let out the lungful of air I realized I'd been holding.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck....

~ Meanwhile... ~

When Ginger awoke, it took her a moment to realize that she was in the infirmary. She struggled to sit up, finding that her forelimb was immobilized. It was stuck in one of those tubes she'd seen the newcoming medics unpacking the night before, attached to the small railing on the side of her bed. The tube was filled with some kind of magic restorative liquid, apparently. With a sigh, the mare flopped back down. She savored the sensation of the soft mattress. The infirmary always had the best places to sleep.

She'd had a dream, but it was fading away already. Something about Tartarus? Yes. And the Styx. And that awful burning in her gut when she'd drank it. Not something I'd ever like to do again, she shuddered at the thought.

The sunlight from the windows warmed her eyelids. Stupid sun. Why couldn't it come up five minutes later, for once? She rolled over, and was abruptly seared in the face by something hot and bright. Ginger hissed and raised her free hoof to cover her eyes, wincing away from the glare. Once she was sure whatever it was had stopped shining, she peeked her eyes open a crack. They slammed wide open in shock, her heart suddenly thumping into her rib cage, almost painfully. Now this was something she'd never thought to see again...

Resting on the bedside table were her mother's goggles.

The sun was reflecting off the black lenses. That must have been what flashed her so brightly. Frowning, Ginger dug within the recesses of her mind, prying open the familiar mental barrier sealing off her power. The goggles were surrounded by her soft green aura, and gently levitated over to hang in space in front of her. It'd been a long time since she'd seen these. She bit back a wave of sadness and nostalgia. But even then, she couldn't resist a small smile.

They were welding goggles, of all things. Her mother had been an artist. Not just any artist, but one who made beautiful sculptures of metal and gems. Her creations had been fantastical pieces - some had even found there way into the palaces of a few of the Royal Family. The material she'd worked with had required that she had to use powerful fires to melt the stuff down until she could shape it, coyly teasing it into the most wondrous of shapes. The goggles let her see the metals better, often no more than shining globs of molten slag. She was some kind of mare, all right.

Ginger remembered wanting to be like her, once. Shaping beauty from the ugliest pieces of the earth. That was before her own magic had come in, before she'd taken after her father's line; the Snaps. The very forces of nature bent to their will. Both parents had been particularly skilled in magic, indeed. But with her mother's line came prestige, as well as the gift of unicorn magic. Her relatives even had some distant claim to the Royal House, apparently.

But where had they come from? Ginger examined the eyewear from every angle. Last they'd seen them, they'd been gathering dust in her mother's abandoned studio at home...

A sudden rumbling breath to her left told her the answer. Her father lay sprawled on a nearby sofa. He looked exhausted, and judging by the red in his eyes as he slowly opened them, probably still wasn't sleeping at night. The nightmares must be coming back.

Her father immediately sprang to his hooves once he realized she was awake. Ginger's breath hitched in her throat as he approached the bedside.

Frost looked at her leg for a few seconds, then right into her eyes. Ginger swallowed.

"I knew this would happen," he stated.

Ginger said nothing.

"I told you this would happen. You ignored me. And now look! Trapped in a hospital like some elderly cripple!" he spat.

"I got hurt. This happens to everypony," Ginger weakly stated.

"Not to you." He fired back, rounding on her. "You can't get hurt. Too important. Yes. That's it." Frost was pacing now. "I'll file a petition to that weak excuse for a captain. You're too valuable to serve. You need to be safe, with the real citizens. The ones who'll stay by us; who won't run off to the first overblown fop from Canterlot who says he's here to help."

"No!" Ginger protested instinctively, without thinking. How could he do this to her? She was helping the town! They needed her for the plan to work!

He stopped his pacing, staring directly ahead. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"N-no..." her courage was being smothered.

"Come again?"

"..."

"That's what I thought you said. I know what's good for you, Ginger. The town guard is no place for you. You could be seriously hurt! Or worse! I can't stay by you all day. I have too much work ahead of me."

"...You don't have to do that. I'm fine on my own..."

"Obviously, considering that blasted idot sends you on one mission, and you come back with a hobble worse than a paraplegic." That shut her up again. "When the town takes residence in the airship tonight, I want you in there with them. It's going to be far too dangerous for you." Frost paused, as if thinking deeply about something. "As your parent, I have a right to ensure your safety. I want you away from those traitors in the guard, and away from the dammed hydras."

Something flickered in Ginger, that rebellious spirit she'd always carried. Before she could stop herself, it ignited into a small flame. "And him?" she asked.

Frost winced, as if physically struck. His anger rebounded with a surge. "Don't you dare even mention that thing's presence around me! It's an affront to everything I've worked for, everything I've done for you and this town!"

"Why?" Ginger responded quietly. The fire would not go out without a fight, it seemed.

"Why? WHY? Look at what you've got in front of you. That's why. Look at where you are, and why your leg needs to be in that contraption in the first place!"

"It's here because I saved the lives of some twenty ponies who were outside of the wall when a hydra was sighted." Ginger struggled upwards. The fire grew. "A hydra that was sighted by me, and if it hadn't, we'd have twenty more bodies for the graveyard. And if it wasn't for him, there would have been twenty-one bodies, as well."

Frost's eyes blazed. He opened his mouth, but Ginger cut him off. She raised herself even higher. The metal container binding her leg to the bed creaked in protest. The scent of smoke tinged the air. "Actually, in a way, there would be twenty-two bodies, because he saved my life twice in the same day. We followed your tunnel, father! The one you and Mosspaw dug?"

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT NAME IN FRONT OF ME!" he shouted furiously.

"HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ANYONE THAT YOU BROKE INTO TARTARUS, FOR LUNA'S SAKE!" she roared right back. Her leg was now awkwardly twisted, the liquid inside the container was actually boiling, and as she raised herself up yet again, the attachments to the bedpost began to warp. "HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME, YOUR OWN DAUGHTER?" She exhaled sharply, emitting a small cloud of steam from her nostrils. "I went through hell for this town. Literally! And so did he! So did you! And so did Mosspaw!"

"That was d-different!" her father managed to choke out. "We had another pur-"

"-NO! IT! WAS! NOT!" Ginger screeched, magic amplifying her voice to painful levels. The mattress underneath her abruptly caught fire. The mare winced and grunted, finally tearing free of the bedpost. She twisted off the bed and broke the container with a burst of magic, extinguishing the blaze in an instant. She shakily stood up and rounded on her father, finally reigning in her temper.

"Why did you come here," she said flatly.

Frost levitated the goggles over to her from the smoking mattress. "To remind you." His voice had become cold and emotionless again, as usual. "To remind you of what we lost. I...can't go through that again."

"What you lost?" Ginger spat. "I'm beginning to think I lost two parents in those caves."

Her father bowed his head, eyes closed. "And I think I've lost a daughter as well as a wife."

Ginger recoiled. What right did he have to say that? She'd looked after him for eight years. In the beginning, he'd been to depressed to even use the bathroom correctly. She'd raised him back from the brink. More or less, she'd been the mayor of Wethoof while while her father fought his demons. He'd conquered them. Or so she thought.

"Whatever you're after, what you're planning. I want no part of it. Keep me out of your dammed scheming."

Without another word, Ginger slipped her mother's goggles around her neck and stormed past him, only limping a little. He didn't move an inch. For a split second, his form flickered, filling out and straightening up. Then it was gone. She gave one backwards glance, then burst through the infirmary door into the main hall of the barracks.

Buck the consequences. She had a town to save. And once the danger was passed, she was leaving.

This time, for good.

~ Meanwhile... ~

"Comin' in high!" Coconut called.

I stretched my arm up as I leaned back over the counter, catching the flapjack neatly on the tray. I grunted in satisfaction, setting the tray down on the second cart of the morning. As I set to work on filling a bin with sliced fruit, I had a few seconds to spare, and glanced around the madhouse surrounding us.

To put it bluntly, the kitchen was getting more action than a prostitute in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. And business was booming, baby!

...In the sense of activity, I mean. Not from getting plowed by a bunch of drunk guys.

The reinforcements had some cooks of their own - big, swarthy ponies like Coconut, who cursed and joked and laughed uproariously. One of them was the burliest mare I'd ever seen. They were holding their own against our two man tag-team, but just barely.

See, when I'd first come into the kitchen, they'd been astonished that a diamond dog would have any interest in the culinary arts. When Coconut had tried to vouch for me, they hadn't bought it. And so, a good natured competition had erupted. "Forcies," as the new guy were being called, versus the "Hayseeds." Whoever made the most grub before the breakfast bell rang won.

The prize hadn't exactly been worked out. But still. We were pumping out food like nobody's business. World hunger a problem? Bitch please! Screw the Ghostbusters, give us a call!

I tossed the entire cutting board full of fruit into the air, and did a quick double swipe with my claws. The fruit fell back down to the board, perfectly sliced, oozing juices. I slammed the counter, and it all gracefully arced through the air to fall into a nearby bin. I swatted the thing off the counter with a neat backhand. It landed directly on the edge of the cart, taking up the least amount of space possible, as the rest of it was already covered in other mounds of food.

"Cart number two, forcies! What'chu gonna do?" Coconut sang, as he cackled and flipped the shit out of some more pancakes. The fact that he was doing this all without the use of thumbs made it even more impressive. The brown stallion was a whirlwind of activity, completely in his element in the chaos of a full kitchen.

However, the other cooks were blistering along as well, cooking-related cutie marks (sorry, I mean emblems) of their own on their flanks. It was going to be close.

"We'll fill another one up! Number two's good to go! Hup!" the mare called, sliding a rival platter of sliced fruit onto their own tray. It even had one of those little umbrellas on it! These guys meant business.

"Hup-hup!"

"Hup-hoooooo!" The other two answered.

"Echo, get on those buckin' rolls! Move that furry flank!" Coconut barked. This guy was almost as bad as Tythus in the kitchen, I swear.

I skidded over to the oven and popped it open. Every single rack was loaded with a tray of fresh cinnamon rolls. I extended my claws and gingerly gripped two at a time - the oven mitts the ponies used simply wouldn't fit me, so I had to be careful. Sliding all the trays onto the now-cleared counter, I hastily whirled around.

Where was it? Ah!

The frosting was balanced on the end of Coconut's tail, held out for me. "Forgettin' somethin'?" he said, not even bothering to take his eyes off the flapjacks, which he was still furiously flipping at a demon's pace. I snagged the container and spun back around.

The forcies' third cart was filling up fast. We were falling behind! Thinking quickly, I lumped all the rolls together on one big tray. Looming over the innocent food, I raised the container of frosting up high, smiling evilly.

Time...to get...sticky!

One of the other chefs glanced around, spotting me with the upraised frosting. His eyes widened.

"Everypony get down! She's gonna blow!" He ducked down. The others whirled about, saw me, and did the exact same thing.

Coconut's voice broke through the din of the kitchen. "Echo, wait-!"

I slammed my paws together as hard as I could, crushing the container flatter than a coin in between my furry mitts.

KA-BLOOSH!

It exploded.


"So, please elaborate to me how the entire kitchen ended up covered in..." Tythus, the only clean one present, paused and wiped a hoof on Coconut's nose, before licking off a bit of the substance that covered it and frowning for a moment. "...In frosting?"

Four hooves, equally coated in the same sweet, sticky goop, pointed at me.

I, meanwhile, was busy giving myself a bath.

With my tongue.

Because I was fucking delicious.

I looked up from trying to lick the underside of my arm. "I can explain, I swear."

Tythus cocked an eyebrow.

"Nevermind, maybe I can't explain."

Five hooves met five faces. All five faces were then promptly covered in five coats of frosting. Tythus, who had formerly been clean, stared at his hoof in shock. He'd clearly done that on reflex. Uh-oh...

"Bwa-hahahahahahahahaaa!" he roared with laughter. We nervously joined in, until we were actually rolling on the ground in hysterics.

After the fit had passed, Tythus wiped off the frosting off, giving the kitchen a ruined glance. "Well. At least you got the food out to everypony. Feeding an army is no small task." He sighed and shook his head. "Get yourselves cleaned up. I'll have some of the other forcies come by and mop up the mess. Echo, see me in my office when you're done."

We gratefully headed off to the communal showers.

You'd think one would get weirded out by showering with a bunch of talkative guys and one burly chick at the same time. Surprisingly, I felt no shame. There was really no reason to have separate shower rooms anyway - we were pretty much always naked as it was. "Letting it all hang out" is how the phrase goes, or so I believe.

I turned the water on as hot as it would go. I alternately switched from washing the frosting out with the scorching jet to my tongue. That frosting was just too damn good to waste.

"So, mate. Whaddaya think cap wants with ya?" Coconut asked me, from the nozzle next to me.

"Don't know." I paused to rub my face, clearing out some water that had fallen in my eyes. "You know how we came back to town through the caves, right?"

"Yeah."

"When we were down there, I found a spear. Brought it back with me, but the haft broke. He found the head this morning in my room."

"Really? I'm sure it won't be anythin' bad, then. If you're worrying about that law that Frosty put out a while back, don't. You noticed that gryphon swaggerin' around the forcie camp?"

"The one with the sword that's bigger than you? We broke some of his stuff last night by accident."

He nodded, lathering some soap through his mohawk. "That's him. See, from what I've been hearin', he's the head a of a mercenary group - a group that Frosty hired himself. If he tries to take your weapon away, he has to disarm his own mercs."

"Why would the mayor hire mercenaries when we were supposed to get an entire army at our backs?"

Coconut shrugged. "Dunno, mate. Maybe he thought the forcies wouldn't be enough? Glad they're on our side, though."

I had to agree with that. A few more minutes passed. By this time, I was clean enough, but I was enjoying the water too much to get out. A question suddenly popped into my head.

"So, what's with that big airship floating above the barracks?" The massive vehicle was impossible to miss. Even from inside the barracks, you could tell it was there. It cast a shadow large enough to cover the entire building, and then some.

Coconut looked at me quizzically for am moment. "How do ya not know about the airships, mate?"

It was my turn to shrug. "Not from around here, remember?"

One of the other chefs in the shower, the burly mare, answered my question. "We use them for transport and weapons when the terrain is too rough or the distance too great for a pegasi caravan. Usually, the fliers will pull us around Equestria to wherever we're needed, but we use carriers like the Benevolent Mercy to go to far off places like Wethoof. It's a long way from here to Canterlot, dog."

I digested that information for a while. It made a lot of sense to have an Equestrian version of an aircraft carrier. They could go far away and bring a lot of troops. And these floated! How cool is that! I was incredibly intrigued by the technological implications of this. What fuel did they use? How did they float? What were they built like? Something she said stuck out, though.

"You said something about weapons?"

She grinned. "You got it. She's packing heavy cannon, the good stuff. She'll be part of tonight's battle, actually. The Benevolent is gonna be up with your hayseed catapults, raining all sorts of pain down on the hydras."

Seriously? They called it the Benevolent Mercy, and outfitted the thing with guns? I smell the black humor of Princess Celestia afoot.

Coconut spoke up. "Hold up - I thought the townfolk were gonna be up there? If the hydras break through, they'll be trapped inside the walls."

"Nope. We've got two more support airships coming in for that. Every carrier has at least a few following them around. They should be here any minute, actually. We'll be keeping the big guns where they're needed, though. The front lines could use them."

While Coconut continued discussing tactics with the mare, I made my departure, politely saying goodbye to the rest of the chefs, who sent me off cheerily enough.


In what seemed like no time at all, I found myself standing outside Tythus' door, freshly cleaned and wearing my toga, along with my armor, which I figured I'd have to keep wearing to get used to it. The plating still bothered me, though. Its weight was uncomfortable and it only served to remind me that I wore it because I was risking terrible injury.

All in a day's work, right?

Christ, I hate my job...

I knocked on the door as softly as I could. Maybe if I pretended he wasn't home, I could just leave! The Fed-Ex guys did it all the time. Stealthy bastards.

"I can hear you out there. Come in."

Ay, carumba. Forgot that ponies have better hearing than humans.

I opened the door and stepped inside, lowering my hood as a sign of respect. The office hadn't changed very much since the last time I'd been there. The desk, cot, and mannequin were in the same places as last time, although the mannequin was currently wearing Tythus' beat up regalia.

The captain himself was sitting behind his desk at his chair. The bottoms of all furniture pieces made for sitting were larger than those you would find on Earth. It allowed the ponies a place to sit as they would on the ground, but higher.

Tythus was idly spinning the spearhead around by its point with his hooves. It had burrowed a small pinprick into his desk, but he didn't seem to care. As I walked in, he glanced up and stopped, setting the fragment down flat. As there was nowhere else to sit in the room aside from the cot, I simply stood before the desk. It looked kind of ridiculous from my height, like a child's plaything.

Tythus began to speak. "Never in all my years did I think I'd have to see anything like this." He held up the spearhead. It glittered weirdly in the sunlight streaming in from the single window. "Do you know what this is made of, Echo?"

I shook my head. I had honestly no idea. It looked to be metal, but it seemed to be embedded with crystals. It was as if someone had taken a chromed steel and fused it with a bunch of crushed up mica.

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I thought not. This is known as arcanite. It is a very, very rare type of material. Once, long ago, the techniques for forging it were as widespread as its many uses."

"Uses? Like what?"

"Arcanite is incredibly strong. I doubt even you would be able to even scratch it. Once it has completely cooled off from its forging, it will retain shape indefinitely. It will never break, it will never dull. But that isn't what sets it apart...no. This is the only known material in Equestria that is resistant to magic."

Resistant to magic...that explained why he wasn't able to pick it up earlier with his telekinesis.

"This is a very, very dangerous artifact you've stumbled across. Do you realize the things one could do with this?"

I shook my head again. As far as I was concerned, it was just a weapon. Weapons are only made for one thing.

Tythus sighed, and leaned back into his chair. "That is a surprising relief, Echo."

"I'm not one for getting creative with items of warfare."

"You didn't seem to have a problem 'getting creative' on my gate," he dryly remarked.

"I used my claws. They are different - they are made for tunneling through rock. They're like your horn. I'm sure you have fewer reservations about using it than things specifically made for destruction."

He paused, before nodding slowly. "That's true." We lapsed into silence for a few moments. Tythus was focusing intently on the blade. I became fixated on a particularly blank area of wall behind his head.

"Where did you find this, exactly?" he finally said.

"In the Greenclaw den. It was the spear of the old alpha, or so I'm told. The haft rotted away, though."

Tythus said nothing in reply. Instead, he spun his chair around and hopped off. The captain strode over to his cot, and reached under it. He pulled a long, large trunk out from beneath, and magically lifted it onto the desk, facing him. The latches flicked open simultaneously. The lid opened. From my view, I couldn't see what was inside, but it was obviously of some sentimental value to him.

The captain rummaged around in the locker for a few moments. I heard the sound of clinks and clanks of small metal objects, the jingling of coins, and the rustling of papers. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for. With a flick of his head, a long, dark staff floated out from the bottom. Once this was out, he quickly put away the trunk back under his cot, before turning and levitating the staff above the desk.

"Are you familiar with zebra culture by any chance?" he asked me.

I hesitated for a moment, before drawing on my knowledge from the show. I knew very little about zebras as a whole. Judging an entire race off of few examples was an error I wasn't about to make, seeing as it'd been done to me several times now.

"Not much."

"They're fascinating, really. Instead of controlling nature, as we ponies do, they live with its given conditions. One might say that zebras are more at harmony with nature than Equestrians." He chuckled. "When I was still a young guard, I was sent on a mission to their lands, as an escort to a diplomat - some Canterlot uppercrust by the name of Lord Fancypants. I learned a lot, there. Experiencing a new culture...it's eye opening."

Dude, you're preaching to the choir.

"I befriended a particular zebra mare while I was there. She was a shaman, a practitioner of mystical arts and such. Oftentimes she would spend long hours meditating, perched upside-down atop this staff, of all things. When I left to return home, she gave me this to remember her by. That was almost twenty years ago, and it hasn't faded, or worn, or even cracked. Zebra magic is strange, indeed..." he faded away, getting a faraway look in his eye.

"Were you and her...you know." I made fists and bumped them together.

He cocked an eyebrow. "That's none of your business."

The slightest of smirks on his face told me everything I needed to know.

He raised the staff up higher, pointing one end toward me. I took hold of it, and he released his grip. It was warm to the touch, made of dark, dried wood. Faint symbols covered the entire length, which was straight as an arrow. A strip of faded cloth was tied to one end, like a ragged pennant.

"What does this have to do with the spearhead?"

"You said the haft was broken. Here's a new one."

I looked down at the medicine staff. It would be wrong to convert such a thing into a weapon of war. I looked back up at him and shook my head. "I'd rather not. Why are you giving something like this to me, anyway?"

Tythus snorted in amusement. "If there was any lesson I learned out in the savannah, it was that one always should have a choice. The spearhead will only permit one thing - that what it was made for. The staff is capable of many other things, perhaps greater, but it cannot take a life. Zebra magic prevents it from doing so. But...when you combine the two..."

I smiled. "You have the ability to choose. I like that."

"Exactly. You're going to need more than your claws tonight. Lives will be lost because of that. But this is what must happen."

"Okay, I don't like that."

"I know - which is why I'm not asking you to accept this. I'm ordering you."

With that, the captain picked up the spearhead with both hooves, and stuck the back end onto the tip of the stave. His horn lit up with a harsh golden light, and the staff...warped. The end of the arcanite was sucked into the wood, and the wood around the burrowing material tightly bound itself around it.

Tythus exhaled and pulled back. In my hands was the completed weapon, about my height. The leaf blade looked surprisingly natural alongside the tattooed pole. It glinted in the sunlight again. I frowned at this.

"It looks good with you," said the captain. "Appreciate this gift, Echo. Sometimes we have to do unpleasant things to ensure the safety of others."

"You can give gifts back," I moodily replied.

Tythus shook his head at this, and made the motions to dismiss me. As I turned to go, however, I paused at the doorway.

"Sir, that zebra you knew. What was her name? What happened to her?"

"Her name...was Zecora." He said it like he was sipping a fine wine, rolling it off his tongue with utmost reverence. "I don't know what happened to her. We parted ways long ago."

"If you wish to see her again, she lives near Ponyville, on the outskirts of the Everfree Forest."

His eyes went wide, the first significant expression of emotion he'd made this entire time. "How do you know that?"

"Internet." With that, I left him open-mouthed and blinking in shock. I gave an evil smirk to nopony in particular, slipping the spear into the straps that ran across my back, holding it in place over my left shoulder. With nothing left keeping me, I decided to head outside.

There were precious few hours left until the battle, and I intended to enjoy them.