Sand Won't Save You This Time, Twilight Sparkle
Chapter Twelve
“Sand Won't Save You This Time, Twilight Sparkle”
Whom's traveling panniers were, perhaps somewhat unsurprisingly, the same lurid and deadly shade of pink that she was. They were covered in little good luck charms and wayfarer's icons, which dangled from hessian cords affixed to whatever mounting points were free in the thick-bound hemp construction. They jangled and rattled together as she and Twilight navigated the illogical and counter-intuitive pathway back to the entrance of Baroque 82, as fast as their mounting fear would let them. There now came an awful, buzzing drone, like a hundred million sawmills trapped at the end of a steel tube, cutting down an infinite forest. Twilight had done her best to reinforce the spell that contained the strange creature, but this seemed to have only made it more angry, if such a thing were possible.
The source of the disturbance became terribly apparent when they broke into the odd glow that passed for daylight in the Selenite Principality. Over the gardens and the walled spaces, a howling swarm of glittering scarlet insects was wreaking havoc. They smashed their bodies into crenellations and stonework, shattering clay planters and taking great chunks out of what they did not crush into dust outright. Besides the foot-long red ones, many other sorts were present. Tiny varieties, no bigger than a sparrow, and decked in imperial purple, formed clusters, teaming up to make cannonball-sized holes in things. They seemed to be coated in a thin, slimy layer of something, and they hissed viciously wherever they touched the furniture of the castle, flashing red and blue like fireworks. Huge ones sedately glided around on ripples of filament-like wings, gleaming green and wrapped in heat shimmers, appearing to survey the action instead of taking part in it directly.
“You've never seen them do this before?!” Twilight bellowed, as they stopped in the doorway, struck by the immensity of it.
“No!” Whom said, eyes wide, wings flapping as they half-formed the required thrust for emergency escape, stopping short each time. “They must be really mad at something!”
“Oh, you think?” Twilight said, the sarcasm lost in the noise of it all.
The Princess leapt up into the air, taking flight. She was still somewhat shaky, aerially speaking, but the adrenaline spike helped focus her mind. Whom finally followed her, with a more practised but weaker degree of skill. As they took off, their coat colour schemes contributing in no way whatsoever to the idea of camouflage, the insects noticed them. They were fast, wickedly so, and quickly rallied their numbers into spears, which lanced up from roughly ground level to Twilight and Whom's flight level. Combat magic somewhat inexpertly flaring with misspent energy, she threw invisible beams of heat at them, which sparked and sizzled as they interacted with the leading edge of the first spear. Insects that were killed, or destroyed, were quickly replaced by fresh copies that swelled up through their ranks. Twilight quickly found that she could not concentrate sufficiently on fleeing and fighting at the same time, as well as trying to protect Whom.
She therefore did not notice that the large, green insects were not following with the rest, and were, in fact, drifting gently along above the ground. She did not notice as they moved higher, pores opening on their smooth underbellies to release a thin, clear liquid. She did not even notice when they began to hum and hiss simultaneously. She only noticed what was going on when the landscape beneath them began to explode with a furious, ear-splitting sound, flashing brighter than magnesium flares, sending waves of heat rolling over her. Great clouds of some white gas went forward of the blasts, which was quickly ignited, adding more force to the growing conflagration.
Trees, those seemingly-immutable stalwarts of the Principality, exploded in vivid scarlet and actinic blue. The monolithic colour scheme was bathed in blinding light, the reaction spreading down their boughs and into the ground, tearing at it with the inevitable fangs of chemistry. Spaces beneath them subsided, filling with superheated gas and briefly imploding before vanishing beneath the rolling insanity of it all. The iconoclasm of colour was as though a painter was transitioning between artistic periods, engaged in the ecstatic frenzy of destroying his old work with the immensity of the new, energy and vibrancy replacing, however briefly, that which came before.
Lakes boiled in seconds, steam hammer effects punching into the air from below as heat transferred through underground caverns, flashing the lower levels first. Geysers formed for a moment, then the gas the insects were spitting came over them and they too exploded, burning the very water itself. Those animals of the Principality that were not currently engaged in trying to destroy everything attempted to flee, but could not match the wicked speed of the reactions and the flying monsters. They died in merciful fractions of a second, obliterated entirely and leaving no trace nor worldly impression that they were ever there in the first place.
The tip of the spear reached them. Twilight was pelted in the chest and the flanks with hundreds of the horrid creatures, whose bodies were as sharp and hard as they looked. They tore away her skin in seconds, and she had only a moment to think about screaming in agony before her alicorn body repaired itself. Her fragile bones splintered to tiny fragments before reassembling themselves. She experienced aching moments of deafness and blindness as those structures were ruined and then miraculously restored.
Enough!
Magic surged. The blue and purple glow of radiation filled the sky, painting everything in ultraviolet. Simultaneously concussive blasts took the head and shaft off the spear of insects, blasting it away to a thin skein of rapidly expanding vapour. Twilight glanced behind her, looking for Whom, and had a moment of terror when she could not find her. But then the mock alicorn appeared from behind the displaced band of the spear's rear guard, flapping for dear life. No time! Twilight reached out with her mind and grabbed Whom around the chest, slipping streamers of telekinetic energy around what she hoped were the mare's sturdiest parts, then pulled. Whom shrieked, then the wind was knocked out of her and she went silent.
Although they had been temporarily put off, further spears of red insects, along with crossbow bolts of the smaller purple ones, gathered to attack them again. They appeared to have learned from their error, and began to break away onto numerous vectors, splitting up their avenues of attack to make themselves harder to defend against. Twilight wondered if there was, in fact, a limit to the repair capacities of the alicorn body. Images of being stuck on the moon, alive but in a hopelessly ruined form, for what might be a considerable portion of eternity, did nothing for her morale.
Below, the explosions intensified. Riding the shockwaves of their own detonations, the green insects were being flung further and faster, expelling more of the strange foaming liquid that immediately destroyed all it touched, setting fire to it and causing it to blast itself apart in the most vicious way. The black grass and trees, the weird black and purple multicolour bricks of Baroque 82, all were kindling for it, and all decomposed in a different but equally terrifying way. Some things flashed all the colours of the rainbow as the different compositional elements burned. Others were purer, in single flares of green or orange. At Twilight's height, she saw the destructive insects arcing out in nine different directions, forming a star of red and white blooms. Her ears popped, but it was not from the change in height. Something that Whom had said, at a time which now seemed long ago, turned up unannounced on the threshold of her harried mind. The Selenite Principality was, technically speaking, an enclosed space, one which was now being pressurised; this was now happening at an exponential rate. There were a few, possibly only one, permanent exits through the Gap. Twilight's mind put it together almost casually. Pinkie Pie would love this, she thought.
Acting in the last few seconds that she had available to her, Twilight gathered all her available powers and enclosed both herself and Whom in a dense shell, telekinetic strands holding together sheets of magical pseudo materials, compressing them and making them opaque. She filled the sphere with what she could of the atmosphere, which was mostly for Whom's benefit. The sound of the explosions and of the killer swarm abruptly cut off, and both the mares slammed into the curved interior shell wall. An aching moment of ragged panting and hooves scrabbling against the foamy surface later, and the shock of acceleration took over.
Before she could really think anymore, a dread feeling of tiredness washed over her. All the magic she had been throwing out was too much, especially coupled with the effort of the flight. Her head rolled back, and she passed out, not so much asleep but comatose.
*
Dionysus watched the distant holographic horizon of the universe grow steadily larger in the dream of his divine perception with what could only be described as malevolent interest. Two-dimensional shapes which represented clusters of mass and energy threaded lazily along it, spanning outward to the left and right of his unbounded form. Eventually the holographic horizon met with the mirrored edges of other universes, their points close but never quite touching, instead exchanging bursts of virtual particles like electricity passing between neurons in a synapse.
There was nothing special about this universe. It had very much in common with the ten to the fifty-second power other universes with which it shared space, and was almost exactly identical to the ten to the ninth power universes which incorporated a wholly-penetrating standing magical field. This particular universe, however, was of great interest to Dionysus, and indeed all Gods, Higher Beings and Deities both major and minor, because of a certain agreement.
Something in the horizon clicked and turned over. Streamers of energy, which had previously been flowing along quite happily of their own accord, were now flowing in opposing directions. Space-time began to complain murderously in a profane, wordless language as it was contorted to fit new shapes. Dionysus heard the universe shriek as its torture entered a new phase, one which it was almost powerless to prevent.
Dionysus stilled himself, then began to slow down his thoughts. It was time to prepare for entry, and the whole mind of a thing such as he could not possibly be condensed into a form that would be appropriate for what was to come next. The procedure was never pleasant, as it was much like a lobotomy. Loops of thinking that would have been larger than galaxies, had there been a dimension with which to measure them, wound down into nothingness and were stowed away.
The God felt the thin skein of possibilities grow suddenly thicker and more intense as his divinity diminished. Quantum anomalies, each the seeds of potential universes, swirled around him like the torrents of water through the holes in a burst dam. The unceasing, constantly devouring and creating void of raw existence was now the largest possible thing of which his new mind could conceive. It is a sort of mauve, with a texture to it like foam in espresso. How strange! I am, I am, but can I... ?
“इंद्रजाल – αδνος---!” Dionysus exclaimed, and then began coughing rather loudly, which was unexpected, as moments before he hadn't had any lungs, a mouth, or even neurological structures with which to control them.
Photons vibrating a particular frequencies began to interact with oblate biological structures rather close to the space in which the God's new thoughts were occurring. Form and dimension to which he was entirely unaccustomed to experiencing attacked his mind.
“Please, have the common decency to speak modern Equuish, you're already late; you may as well not be rude, too.”
Strange new instincts moved the muscles in Dionysus' neck toward the source of the noise. Sitting on the pebble beach next to him was a pony, which was bright red and looking back at him with a sort of casual disdain. Dionysus gurgled.
“Yes, yes, it's very disconcerting, isn't it?” the horse said, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “You'll come back to us in a moment, have no fear, no fear at all.”
A long moment of silence passed. Presently, Dionysus became aware of other sensations. Pebbles pressed into his rear end rather uncomfortably, and the sound of a languid body of water lapping at the shoreline could be heard. Curiously, he only noticed they were there the moment some subconscious impulse thought that they should be, as though the very world around him was being filled in and padded out as they went along.
“I think I'm a male this time round, which should be worth a few laughs. Let's see, what are you?” the red pony said, edging closer with a crash of stones. “Ah, Dio, you're in for some fun, I think you're a female. Or, as I recall the proper term being, a mare.”
Dionysus didn't yet know how to process this properly, but memories and thoughts were unravelling in his mind already. This ontology had been used once before and, now awakened from timeless sleep, was eagerly welcoming its divine master. After another moment or two, in which Dionysus rolled over and experimented with breathing and digestion, he sat up on his haunches, then stood, hooves balancing him perfectly in the upright, sinking into the pebbles.
Above him, occupying the entire sky, was the same holographic horizon he had previously been observing with some interest. It now seemed far, far closer, however, and individual strings of galaxies could be made out. Some of the more ferocious active galactic nuclei were visible too, flickering like candles on an open windowsill.
“Indra,” Dionysus said, turning to look at the startlingly red pony. “So glad that you could make it.”
“Likewise, old chap, likewise,” Indra said, placing a foreleg over Dionysus' shoulder. “How's the wife?”
“Obsessed with knitting, as always. She's mellowed out a bit since back in the day. How's yours?”
As the Gods commenced with their pleasantries, all along the beach, which was very long but definitely not infinite, other equine shapes began to condense, slowly but surely increasing in number.
*
“Darling, is it just me, or does Canterlot appear to be on fire?”
Cadence broke the conversational silence of about an hour, which Shining Armour had mostly spent attempting to deplete the Imperial Train's seemingly infinite stock of mint tea and ruminating on matters of state. She was staring out of the window from the other large bench, having recently woken up from a restful nap.
“What on Equestria do you mean?”
“Just look!” She tapped on the crystal glass, shuffling up so her snout was right against it.
Armour carefully set down his seventy-eighth cup of tea on its exquisite bone china saucer, frowning at the interruption, but quietly alarmed. His wife was level-headed, as would be expected from an Empress, and not one for idle flights of fancy. He climbed down from his bench and went around to her side of the table, folding his body around hers to match her field of view. The train was currently engaged in a long, slow curve through a wide river valley, lined with a thick mat of grass, some stands of ponyoak trees in clusters of five or six, and not very much else. It gave anyone aboard a good look across the thirty or so miles yet to go to the capital of Mount Avalon itself, as well as the environs it was located in. Surely enough, a great pillar of oddly nacreous black smoke, frozen by its size and the distance, hovered over the gleaming capital. The little dots of what must have been very large fires indeed glowed around the base, spread out through the caldera of the ancient, dead volcano that was the Mount, and which housed the city like a fruit bowl housed apples.
“Hmm,” Shining Armour said, placing a hoof on the gold-inlaid mahogany of the table. “So it is.”
*
“I really think it's important that we don't forget what we're celebrating here,” Dionysus said, as he and Indra trotted along the meandering shore. “It's not all about wild debauchery and bodily fluids and wine, as fun as all those things are.”
“I can't think what else it would concern,” Indra said, an expression of immense serenity on his face. “Besides, that's all your lot ever thought you were good for. I, for one, am very much looking forward to some wild debauchery.”
“I'm not saying there aren't a great many virtues to wine and women, or mares, but this is about more than you or I; this is about boundaries coming down, whole planes of existence and being and form that never usually co-exist, all coming together and merging, and...” Dionysus trailed off as he tried to form a gesture with his hooves that seemed as though it would have worked far better with some other arrangement of appendages. “You know what I mean.”
“I certainly do know what you mean, you rascal, you and that, oh fie, what was her name again? That one whose weakness we've to thank for even having this whole cosmic shindig.”
“Celestia, as though your memory isn't perfect!” Dionysus said, shaking his head. “And it is hardly appropriate to speak of weakness in merged things like her. They cannot help being what they are, no matter what we think of the poor decisions of their progenitors.”
“I simply cannot imagine wanting to be anything less than sat at the God-head. It has to be a form of illness, some kind of serious moral failing. They don't even aspire.”
“It is merely a different sort of life, Indra. There are many, many examples indeed of it throughout existence. Whole universes of it, in fact.”
“But it is so singular, so linear,” he said, pointing a hoof upward at the holographic horizon, which was now beginning to take on shades of purple, red and blue. “All four of them are completely mad, they're mad now and they were probably going mad before it all happened in the first place.”
“You don't feel guilty, do you?” Dionysus said, grinning in surprise.
“I just wish sometimes that there was something more we could have done.”
“Honestly, I think this is the best possible outcome, given the starting variables. Celestia got her tools, they managed to restore a measure of sense and order, and we get to meet up and really let loose once in a while,” Dionysus said, adjusting the garland of orange and pink flowers that were now hanging from around his neck. “It really could have gone a lot worse, considering the energies involved. We've all imagined what an aberrant, hyperbolic Divine function within the space-time of a sufficiently compromised universe might end up doing.”
“Best possible outcome?” Indra grunted unhappily. “Their cycles have uncomfortable parallels with visions of Hell. To do so much, to strive as their biologies demand, only to have it all washed away. It could not be worse, could it? Even a hybrid like Celestia must see that she has been shackled, she and all her charges, to guard our rumpus room until the end of time?” The bright red pony shook his head, and the jet black bangs of his thick, silken mane trembled. “That is all their civilization will ever manage. No matter how far they go, how far they advance, how powerful their science, how bright their endeavours, that is their totality. They are an equation, of which the sole output is the Nectar and all that brings.”
“You're seeing it through divine eyes, chap,” Dionysus said. “Except for the generations immediately before and after the Thiasus, which might only be one or two million total life forms, most will never know us. They will be born, live, come to the table of their achievements, eat heartily, then die. Such is the fate of their kind.”
“So, because it is only a small proportion of the total, all that was and all that will ever be, it's right? It's okay?” Indra sighed deeply. “I apologise for the hand-wringing--”
“Hoof-wringing.”
“Right. Well, I apologise.”
“Think nothing of it. It's only natural to feel some empathy with the little lost lambs of our venerable flock.”
“Don't start with the Abrahamic metaphors, you know how He gets.”
“Hah! You know He didn't even reply to my invite this time around?”
“What, not even a Dear Deity, terribly sorry, can't possibly make it?”
“Nothing at all.”
“How incredibly rude.”
“Quite.”
*
Iron Filings had done a remarkable job with the carronade, considering the short notice. They had been cast in steel, inlaid with little flourishes of serpentine and natural manganese. The fact that they had been painted the most lurid shade of pink, and were formed in the shape of male genitalia, detracted from this very little. Ode ran a hoof along the length of one of them, stuck admiring the craftsmanship, only to spot the anatomically correct business end and suddenly feel dirty. The attention to detail has to be admired, though, he thought, trotting between the arrayed weaponry. I don't think I've ever seen one up close like this. I wonder if he used a model? Or a mirror?
The cannons had been delivered that morning, tightly wrapped in two layers of black tarpaulin and hidden inside non-descript boxes. They bore no makers mark, and the shipping manifests had borne only the phrase metalwork – other to identify the load. Ode hadn't had a chance to look at them before now, and suddenly the plan that had seemed so reasonable only a few minutes past seemed less sensible.
These are weapons of war, he thought, coming across a stack of metal boxes bearing the hallmarks of the Crown. A dozen warning symbols fought for space on their tops and sides. Ye anointed foals, black powder too!
Ode unclasped one of the boxes. The smell of the gunpowder hit him, stinging his nose. The urge to sneeze became overwhelming. The earth pony had not been lucky when it came to the genetic lottery. Unlike many of his peers, he had not been gifted with increased strength, stamina, or an affinity for growing plants. Instead, he had inherited a lesser known earth pony trait, an enhanced sense of smell. His mother had always said that it was special, that some of the greatest chefs equinity had ever seen were earth ponies. Ode had tried cooking once. The resulting fire had almost burned down his house, and his mother never spoke of it again.
I was only going to scare them, maybe light a fuse. Act all menacing... Ode trailed the edge of his hoof through the fine granular mixture, leaving a little furrow. No. They have to be stopped.
The stallion examined the rest of the stored material. The 32nd had a rather spectacular finale. At the end of the last cantus, after the orchestral trapeze act had performed the third mandatory encore, the forty carronade would spring up on special hydraulic rams, where they would be touched off by members of the chorus. The cannonballs were made of a thin, brittle metal, just strong enough to survive being fired, and were mostly empty space. They were inscribed with the runes of a basic enchantment that ensured they wouldn't dangerously fragment when they did eventually explode, which they would when they reached the peak of their short ballistic arcs directly above the audience.
In the end, Ode was drawn back to the weapons themselves. He selected one, though it was the only one he could have realistically taken, as it was the only one which had been mounted onto its sturdy wooden base which, in a move of inevitable thematic propriety, was shaped like a very large pair of testicles, which concealed wheels. Someone had even been half-way through painting them, though they had obviously been interrupted by something, as the lines of veins and hair they were carefully picking out with oil paints were only half-done. Ode accidentally knocked over the pots and brushes as he bustled around, figuring out the exact loading procedures for the gun.
The concept was very simple. The powder exploded, ignited by the burning of the fat fuse which was laid out on top of the barrel, ready to be inserted just prior to use. The resulting expansion of hot gas propelled whatever was in the barrel out of the end at high velocity. Ode read this several times in the neatly written note, which he found tucked into the powder case, trying to extract more specific instructions. They were not forthcoming. Whom was about to give up, beginning the ponder a backup plan, which was just starting to involve using the gunpowder directly as some sort of improvised explosive, when a decidedly pink pony popped her head over the top of the carronade and smiled so hard it might have melted ice at fifty paces.
“Hiya!” she said, ears flicking excitedly back and forth. “Whatcha doing? Ooh, can I help?”
“Get away!” Ode said, taken very thoroughly aback by her sudden appearance. “I'm warning you, I'm trained in Rock-Whack! I’m a sixth-granite level master, don’t make me bassault you!”
“Don't worry new friend, I'm not totally crazy like those other ponies!”
“That's exactly what one of them would say!” Ode pulled some strange, rather awkward moves, which he imagined made him look fierce and dangerous, but it actually appeared as though he was having a stroke. “This is your last warning!”
“Are you trying to load this funny cannon?” she said, seeming to notice it for the first time. “Hee hee! It's shaped like a thingy!”
“It's a carronade!”
“It's a thingy!”
“Do you have any idea how to load it?”
“Of course I do, silly, I'm Equestria's number one owner of cannons.”
“Oh, thank the skies,” Ode said, sighing with relief. “I'm Black Ode, and I need to get this loaded, otherwise the nutters upstairs are going to make a bad day much worse.”
“I'm Pinkie Pie, nice to meet you!” She giggled, then snorted. “It's shaped like a thingy!” She rolled around on top of the carronade, hooves kicking at the air.
“We haven't got time to screw around! They could be through the doors at any moment!” Ode’s muzzle wrinkled up in confusion. “The Pinkie Pie? As in, Elements of Harmony?”
The pink pony kept on laughing.
*
“And you are absolutely positive about this?” Luna said, examining the curiously unaffected pegasus stallion that stood before her, wearing a numinous look on his soot-black face, ears folded back against his skull, eyes wide and fixed on her.
“Y-yes, your Majesty, she was galloping like Cerberus himself was behind her, looked wild she did.”
“Which direction was she traveling in?”
“That's the odd thing, your Majesty. She went out over the wall and landed in the courtyard and, when I got there myself, she was headed down Sciamachy Avenue, just vaulting stuff, and see, the only thing left down that way is the Theatre, what with the Avenue of Unmarked Flanks being blocked up with angry sofas and the herd of pink bison in Gastropod Street--”
“What was last reported in the Theatre?” Luna said, materializing a cotton washcloth and a little floating basin of warm, soapy water, maternal instincts kicking in.
“Haven't had much from there, I think it's been reasonably quiet, but one of my lieutenants, Greenie watch over his soul—” the pony said, standing still as the Princess began to clean his face and neck with the cloth, wiping away a day's worth of smoke and grime. “--said that he heard tell of a big protest of some sort heading that way--”
“A protest?” Luna said, cocking her head as she squeezed the cloth dry, before immersing it in the water and carrying on the grooming. “Of what sort? T'would seem to me that it was not a good time.”
“They're putting on some sort of play, the ponies in the Theatre I mean, not the protesters,” he said, closing his eyes and grimacing a little as Luna went over an unseen cut just above his eyebrow. “They're going there to stop them, I think.”
“What was the name of this protest group?”
“Outrages Against Public Decency?” he said. “I don't properly recall, sorry. It was awhile ago, and then the lieutenant fell off a roof and, well, I've been busy with that.”
“I'm very sorry about your friend,” Luna said, apparently satisfied with her work, because she dematerialized the bowl and the cloth. “He gave his life in service to the state, therefore he shall have a state funeral, with all the benefits that affords, once this is all over.”
“Some of the...” he bit his lip as he searched for the right word. “Loonies, did away with his body. Don't know what they did with it. Might just have left it somewhere after they got bored.” He tugged at the gold-hued plate of his armour and dipped his head, sighing. “Bugger this for a game of soldiers, if you'll pardon my gryphic, your Majesty.”
Luna's mind was elsewhere, putting together a plan of action, but she still drew the stallion close, hugging him gently. It might have been thought somewhat unbecoming of a royal, even one who was the spirit of the nation, but this was, after all, an exceptional situation. His body was stiff and unresponsive under her neck, and the armour cold and unyielding.
“Do you know where my court is?” Luna said, breaking the hug.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Go there now, and avail yourself of a futon, oats, cold water and satinal,” she said, smiling. “You will be safe below ground. Rest awhile, and come back to the front when you are ready.”
The Day Guard simply nodded his thanks and melted away down the disarrayed Welcome Hall, too exhausted to do much else. Luna knew the look well. He was a pony at the limit of endurance, both physical and psychological, the latter of which being oftentimes the more important. She had seen many times ponies who, despite being brutally injured and having fought for three days without sleep or food and little drink, roar defiance and carry on with some bloody charge. Equally, she had seen hale and hearty, well fed and recently watered, soldiers have their spirits broken and refuse to fight at all, fleeing the battlefield, routed in mind.
Infra Base passed the guardspony as he left, coming the other way. She peered blearily out at the world from behind bloodshot eyes, but seemed in fighting form, and drawn magnetically toward the shape of her Princess. Luna laid a wing over her and drew her close as she joined her at the end of the Welcome Hall, where it rolled out into the courtyard.
“How many nottlygna can we quickly muster?” Luna said, grooming her mane gently, putting it back into place.
“None, Mother, we are combat ineffective as of about a minute ago,” she said, squirming slightly under Luna's insistent tongue and teeth. “We could probably manage a defensive action if pushed, but that's it,
“How long do we need to recover?”
“About six months, preferably at full pay,” she said, gloomily, then shrugged. “Thirty minutes to an hour, possibly more.”
“Not quick enough,” Luna said, distantly.
“I'm sorry, Mother, but that blast--”
Luna took off. The speed and suddenness of the leap into the air staggered Base, who recovered just in time to see a blue and black shape streaking up and over in a fierce arc, clearing the distant palace walls in a few seconds, before letting off a sharp crack as she broke the sound barrier. Then, Luna was gone, vanishing off down toward the Theatre of the Two Sisters.
Stats
Page generated in 0.035 seconds
Total duration
709 users online
694,990 hits today, 1,996,409 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
That bassault joke was pretty bad, even for you.
Hey, what happened to the old chapter title?
4864668
The old chapter title? Oh! Shit, I forgot. What was the suggestion you had?
4864768
Sand won't save you this time, Twilight Sparkle
(pretty sure that was a team effort!)
4864818
Yeah, that was it. Amended!
Interesting that Indra says 'all four of them are completely mad'. Celestia and Luna are obviously included in that number; Cadance might be, but unless I missed some storycanon-contra-evidence (entirely possible when juggling dozens of fanfics in my head), she's only a few years older than Twilight, and certainly hasn't seen any Thiasi (Thiasuses? Thiases?) before...
(side note: after Indra's crack about Dionysus being a mare this time, a bit more use of feminine pronouns is in order, I think)
At least Pinkie Pie's up and moving again. That just leaves four horribly traumatized Element Bearers for Luna to find.
I just can't shake the feeling that Twilight's going to do something anti-climactic that will disappoint all the gods in attendance, like keep all the booze to herself, or even not make the booze at all. ("If everypony's going to be drunk and disorderly before even drinking anything, then fine! Make it yourself! I quit! I'm going home to read!")
This needs more than 100 likes.
I kept trying to read the chapter title as an Ultra-Fast Pony reference, so it took me far longer than it should have to remember the famous article and realize that the insects were spewing ClF3.
4866334
It certainly is interesting - It's a reference to Celestia, Luna, Discord and the entity that later became the Autumn/August Crown, the four extant things they still count as relevant to that part of the discussion. Cadence is a deliberate forgery, though is herself innocent of (much) wrongdoing, and Twilight is so new and of a 'fourth generation' of Divine entities that they don't count her for much either, at least, not within the stable of Gods.
Dio is physically a mare, but it makes more sense for them to refer to each other by their mythologically appropriate pronouns - gender with Gods was usually very important to some aspect of their responsibilities. For simplicity, it's best to imagine that Dio is just crossdressing for fun, and hasn't actually changed gender as such.
Pinkie is irascible, and never really got that traumatized. One has to wonder how she managed to turn up in just the right spot to help Ode. Perhaps she ought to be counted as a God, too.
The Thiasus is the only way to bring them directly to the world. I think that Twilight will want to have a stern word with them, and so balance Equestria's suffering against the curtailment of a future incident of even greater horror, and decide to push on regardless, but this time for better and less selfish reasons.
There is also the matter of Whom and Luna getting back together. That should be an interesting moment.
4868450
Oh, whoops. Irascible doesn't mean what I thought it did. It's not a synonym for unshakeable.
4868305
Ultra-Fast pony? Who, Rainbow Dash?
4871017
Olisbos' mechanism is psychomimetic to at least some extent, and links with the mind of whoever activates it to establish a limited biofeedback loop. The limited interactivity then helps to refine the user's preferences, utilizing certain images and ideas that emerge into the more easily accessible parts of the user's mind. He's your average sex bot, in enchanted mechanical form. Just a pity nobody thought of prising it out of the headboard before the swarm descended and set fire to everything. Twilight could have made a lot of money.
Raptors may not have a good sense of smell, but felines do. These particular gryphons use a lot of scent based signalling, dependant on the particular subspecies. Their evolutionary background demands it, given the often poor weather conditions. Lots of high winds to carry scent long distances. Why would they reject a good meal if they were in need of it? That makes no sense. Socially, it'd probably be starvation food. Allowed on occasions of extreme need, like dogs or rats, but usually rejected when fresh prey was plentiful. Those doing it on purpose would likely be thought mad savages, until the appropriate cultural paradigm shifts toward liberal openmindedness. Of course, they think that of the herbivore subspecies, and they do just fine in Equestria.
I can just imagine a little culture of scavengers, lurking in the bushes at extreme sports events and in retirement pastures, licking their beaks hopefully.
4871070
Ah, but it's not the cat half that has the head, is it?
Anyway, I now have a picture of the gryphon ambassador forcing him/herself to eat lovingly prepared fresh meat at an Equestrian state dinner, for fear of ruining the picture everypony has of his race. Headcanon installed.
That leads to another point -- given the way raptors eat (everything is swallowed; they cannot chew), I think chef is an occupation that won't exist within their culture. Ponies, on the other claw/paw/hoof, do a lot of chewing, and will rely on taste to discriminate between good/bad food plants. A pony chef will be at least as good as a human one, probably better, give their sense of smell advantage. I also think that horse tongues are fantastic, but that's just me.
4873596
There's enough in the way of vaguenesses available that parts may be mixed around at will - maybe they are neither feline nor raptor, and actually just happen to look like both of them due to certain convergent evolutionary happenstances. Maybe they're more closely related to mountain goats, and use that beak to scrape lichens and mosses from moist hillsides. All this carnivore stuff is just a big misunderstanding.
I wonder if they might have a whipround in the ambassadorial office for meaty contributions. "Alright, lads. I know this is tough, but we've got to make sure the gryphon ambassador enjoys himself, or he may tell his King to start a war. Take a swig of whiskey, and Doctor Sawbones here will do the rest. Close your eyes and think of Celestia." Fresh sashimi. Mmm!
Raptors are visual hunters, yes? Then a gryphon chef would be more like a graphic designer, not really concerned about the taste or the smell, but the particular visual look of the dish. How it behaved on the plate. Heh heh. Lots of scrabbling and desperate squeals for mercy would probably be high on the list. Can you imagine their version of Masterchef?
4873635
You can always tell a diplomat; they are the ones with the artifical legs.
Fancy food, yes. The kind of stuff that looks like a work of art -- and contains about the same amount of food!
Not to burst your blood-thirsty bubble, but I think the live prey thing is unlikely, due to the risk of injury during eating. Adds a little extra grimmness, though!
4873635
...also adds a new meaning to the term 'food fight'.
4874265
There are all sorts of ways to deal with prey that is too fighty. Why do you think the nottlya five their rabbits and mice wine and beer? Or blow satinal smoke on them? They won't give up a blood meal willingly. Not the first few hundred times, anyway. You have to have ethics.
4878027
"My beloved student, I am Joyeuse, forged of the same steel and temperament as Durandal and Curtana. With greatest love, God out of the Sun."
It's a reference from Charlemagne, Joyeuse was his sword, and Durandal and Curtana were other legendary swords. It's actually more of a half-baked transliteration from Old French into Latin, masquerading as Old Equuish. I don't think some of the tenses are right, as such, but that's because I speak Latin about as well as a toaster.
Oops. Surfeit meant the opposite of what I thought it did. I shall have the writers marched outside and shot immediately.
It's been about 13 months since I started writing Nectars. Time flies. I've actually spent a lot of that time not writing, for various dreadfully boring reasons I won't bother you with. Suffice it to say though that these reasons have subsided, and I've finally been able to translate what's been brewing in my head for the last six months to paper, as it were. I know what happens - I know how it all ends. There is already another chapter 'in the wood', being edited and so on, and another one after that about a third written. The plot is taking off at speed. I hope to release weekly now, instead of the erratic non-schedule of former times.
Many of the former chapters have just been padding, filler material where not much related to the plot happens, but where there is a worldbuilding sidetrack, or something like that. I am doing fewer of these and much more in the way of plot, and you will hopefully see the effects of this soon.
4869683
To answer your questions in order, it's yet another abridged series, and indeed it is.
Woah, don't piss off a civilization of insects, they'll go all MAD.
Dionysus just incorporated himself and entered Equestria? Should make for a good time for all involved.
And he's not the only one. The phrase that comes to mind is "uh oh".
Ahh, Cadance and Shining, there you are. Hopefully they won't be affected by the madness, though I can't think of a reason that Shining would be immune. Maybe his affiliation with a different country?
And Canterlot is in an ancient, extinct caldera? That's a bit of world building I can remember seeing in precisely one other story among the thousands I've read on this site, and it's one I rather like. Hopefully this Nectars business doesn't remove the "extinct" part of that description.
Hmn, those are some interesting details regarding Celestia (and Luna too, I would assume).
So, assuming these Gods are telling the truth and not leaving out any important details, the Nectars are the fundamental reason for the existence of the Equestrian pocket universe? Huh.
"Whom was about to give up, beginning the ponder a backup plan" <- I suspect that Whom should be Ode.
Pinkie Pie and canons, clearly nothing but good can come from this team up.
*Blink*
You know, I swear that tag said comedy. At what point did mass riots and lynchings become comedy? I'm still reading this because it is, in fact, an interesting story - but I wouldn't call it a comedy.
The story is fine, but equestria being overly female, I don't think the penis would be the genital organ of preference for innuendo or comedy. Then again, the readers are humans and need to relate.