16 - Of Fraud and Fortune
As delighted as my past-self was about his renewed vitality, it did cause some... issues. He sent out the word that he would be 'indisposed' for the next week, claiming that the dragon-attack had taken its toll on his aging body, it he wasn't completely lying. Even though he had cast off his infirmities like a shabby old cloak, he knew it would take some time to adjust to his new physiology. It was only by pure luck that he hadn't incinerated something important before he learned to take greater care with telekinesis. For unicorns, telekinesis and levitation are natural, instinctive uses of magic; for dragons, it is their fire-breath. Having both of those conflicting instincts had naturally caused a few accidental conflagrations. Even so, an hour or two spent practicing basic telekinesis, humiliating though it was, had neatly solved the issue. More problematic, however, was his new diet.
The extra protein he craved was easily satisfied with eggs and the occasional fish – odd dietary choices, but not unheard of for stallions. That didn't satisfy him for long, however; as the days passed, even the largest meals left him with a lingering cravings. Soon, no matter what strange demands he made of his increasingly baffled culinary staff, they could do nothing to quench his ever-growing hunger; he felt like he was eating sawdust, and nothing would drive away the gnawing in the pit of his belly. He began to fear that something had gone wrong with the ritual, that some critical flaw had doomed him to starve as his new body craved something it could never find... That is, until he found himself nervously chewing on a drinking glass – one carved from a solid chunk of lapiz lazuli – and his fierce hunger abated. “Sweet ambrosia,” he muttered, cramming the rest of the chipped cup into his maw without another thought, and before he realized what he was doing he had finished off the rest of the set with a zeal. Once satisfied and a good deal more calm, he'd realized how foolish he'd been. He was part dragon; dragons ate gems and precious stones; therefore, he had to eat gems and precious stones. He wondered how he could miss something so obvious, but put it down to stress.
I snickered, familiar with his problem. “You should ask Mary about her quartz globe some time,” I muttered with a wry grin, amused by the memories for once – I'd done almost exactly the same thing only a short while ago, from my perspective. “You can see the bite-”
Then I remembered; I was alone. Luna wasn't there any more, for the good or for the bad. I fell silent, my spirits sinking further. I turned my attention back to the memory, trying not to dwell on the bitter lonesomeness of my own mind.
My past-self quickly got to work sampling and documenting every sort of mineral and crystal in his quarters, noting the relative flavor and satisfaction for future orders. He was just beginning to write out a list of more exotic minerals for future investigation when there was a knock on the door.
He quickly spat out an old marble mortar and pestle and probed at whoever was on the other side, then relaxed; whoever it was, they were under his control. “Enter,” he said curtly, telekinetically opening the door only to close it the moment the pony stepped inside.
It was a courier – a pegasus, naturally – and worry was written on every line of his face. “Sir, I have urgent news – the Princesses are visiting.”
“Tell them I'm indisposed, they can do their little tour without my presence,” he growled, annoyed that he'd been interrupted for something so frivolous.
“Th-they're coming to visit you especially, sir,” the courier gulped nervously.
Sombra froze. “...Did they say why?” he asked, carefully keeping his voice calm even as worry gripped his heart. If they saw him now...
“No, sir,” the courier mumbled, stepping back.
“And... are they here now?” he asked with growing impatience, wondering why he always had to pull teeth for such vital information.
The pegasus gulped, nearly backing into the wall as he cowered. “Yes, sir...”
Sombra rubbed his temple with a forehoof, groaning at the additional complication. “...Right. You, out, now. And go find my physician!”
***
He quickly shut his eyes as his bedchamber doors opened. A moment later the two Sisters cautiously passed the threshold into his darkened chambers, the fire behind him casting his silhouette in sharp relief while leaving his features in deep shadow. Besides obscuring his more unnatural features, the darkness would dilate his slitted pupils to look more natural and round, like an ordinary pony's. He laid in his bed as if deathly ill, his horn wrapped in gauze and pungent ointment – a common treatment for horn-char, meant to help heal the damage from a unicorn using too much magic for too long. The rest of his body was covered in a thick comforter, masking his altered physique. He could do nothing about his teeth, however, but if he was careful they would not be noticed in the dimness. All in all, not bad for five minutes of frantic work.
The voice of his nattering physician proceeded the alicorns. “I really must protest,” the unicorn whispered urgently, his hoofsteps quick and agitated. “He is still recovering from the ordeal-”
“We will not overtax him, but we must speak with Sombra,” Celestia's voice said softly but firmly, unchanged by the years.
My past self gave a weak cough, opening his eyes to slits. “Physician?” he mumbled, his voice quavering as if from enfeeblement. “Who...?”
The physician sighed theatrically. “He gets so little real rest, and now you've woken him up. Very well, have it your way; but I can't be held responsible if he takes a turn for the worse,” he said testily, already walking out of the room.
“I understand,” Celestia said, unrelentingly calm. She turned to face my past-self, her voice unchanged as she said, “Sombra, we must speak with you. Recent events have left us... Confused.”
“And, quite frankly, indignant,” came Luna's voice, the lunar diarch approaching his bedside with a frown. “If our suspicions are correct, it would seem that you have violated our decree.”
He slowly opened my eyes fully, pretending to wake up. “Huh? Wha-” He feigned surprise his eyes shifting between the two Princesses. “Celestia! Why... And Luna? What's all this about?” He hadn't spoken to either of them in years; hopefully they'd attribute his gravely voice to aging and infirmity.
Luna spoke before Celestia could get a word in. “We would like to know more about this weapon you have constructed, and why you felt the need to build such a devastating device.” Celestia frowned at her, apparently annoyed that she had taken charge, but did not rebuke her.
While Luna displayed none of Celestia's kindness, she also did not exhibit any outright hostility. She just wanted the facts, it seemed. My past-self grudgingly respected that. Perhaps, he thought, he would spare her life – he only needed one alicorn, after all, and he could definitely see the benefits of a puppet-princess to sooth the populace. 'Or,' he thought, fighting the urge to grin, 'I could use her as a scapegoat for Celestia's murder, and then defeat the 'traitor' to win the hearts of all of Equestria...' He let none of those thoughts show on his face, however; he simply nodded and sighed, closing his eyes and collecting himself.
“It wasn't a weapon, exactly – not when I designed and built it,” he explained laboriously, as if fatigued by the short conversation. “It was purely a defensive measure.”
“How does something that isn't a weapon manage to completely annihilate an army of dragons?” Celestia asked, giving him the benefit of the doubt and allowing him to explain. 'How can she be so trusting?' he wondered, disgusted. 'Fool. Equestria deserves better.' He managed not to sneer, but it was a near thing.
“It... exceeded the boundaries of its design,” he explained, trying his best to look reticent about it – as if a naughty pet had dug a hole in the garden after he'd promised it would behave itself. “We drained the Construct dry on the first shot, but on that many dragons... Well, surely you heard the reports. It didn't even slow them down, let alone stop them in their tracks as it was supposed to.”
He took a deep, wheezing breath, and continued. He didn't even have to lie about the next part. “When the Construct began to recharge, and at an alarming rate I might add, I...” He let his voice trail off, as if distracted or deep in thought, or perhaps experiencing the early stages of senility. He shook his head, looking confused. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked meekly, letting worry creep into his voice.
Luna rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but stopped at a look from her sister. Celestia turned back to my past-self, wincing, but shook her head. “No, old friend,” she said kindly, “you just lost your train of thought. You were just saying that the Construct was recharging,” she said softly, absentmindedly smooth his covers with a flicker of her horn. “Please, continue as you are able.”
He fought the urge to snort at that, knowing he'd already won her over – he just had to keep it up. 'How many have you seen die?' he wondered briefly. 'How many infinitely more worthy ponies did you outlive, you sanctimonious bleeding-heart?' As much as he hated her, however, the charade had to continue. “Where was I?” he wondered aloud, allowing his voice to wander. After a carefully calculated awkward silence, he pretended to catch his train of thought. “Ah, yes... The Construct. It draws ambient energy from the environment and the excess from the citizens of this city, did you know? Mostly Order, usually... But... But there was no order on that terrible day. They were terrified. Everypony was terrified. The guards, the citizens... Even me. And, well... The Construct charged itself with that.”
“Did you know this at the time?” Memory-Luna asked, frowning.
He began to deny it, but stopped himself. Every unicorn in the castle had surely felt the build-up of that potent Fear magic. She knew he felt it; she was testing him to see if he'd be truthful. He sighed. “Yes... Yes, I did,” he mumbled.
“And you decided to fire anyway?” she continued relentlessly, as if Sombra was a defendant on trial and she was the plaintiff.
Celestia, ever the soft-hearted fool, apparently thought her sister was being too harsh. “Luna, please, there's no need for-” she began, but whatever she was about to say was cut off as her impatient sister broke in.
“My dear Sister, your gentle spirit has served you well in times past,” she said with the same calmness, though with an undeniable edge that was absent in Celestia's voice, “but now is not the time for gentleness, and it strains our credulity to think that this stallion, already known for a ruthless and merciless nature, is an innocent in this.”
The solar diarch paused, uncertain... then reluctantly nodded and fell silent. Luna nodded in grim satisfaction and turned back to my past-self, waiting for an answer.
My past-self sighed, his mind racing as he looked for a way out. He was uncomfortable telling too much of the truth to the Princesses, but couldn't see a way around it – any outright fabrication wouldn't stand up to scrutiny, anyway. “The Projector – the weapon, as you call it – was rapidly overloading from the excess of energy. If I didn't remove the energy from the system, a large portion of the castle and the surrounding area could have been destroyed. Besides... The dragons were nearly upon us. If I hadn't fired, the city would be lost.”
The Lunar Princess stared at him for a long moment, trying to find a hint of malicious intent. He kept his face carefully impassive while she did this, like an old stallion just wanting to get back to some much-needed rest. She finally spoke. “Very well. We shall check on these things ourselves to confirm your truthfulness. I must ask, however... If you had known what it would do, how many it would have killed... would you have done what you did?”
'In a heartbeat,' he thought, but he knew she wouldn't like that answer. He also knew she wouldn't be satisfied with a vehement denial – she would correctly think it a lie. He thought very, very carefully, before answering. He spoke each word carefully, as if pondering them himself. “If Canterlot was attacked by a deadly enemy, and your only hope of saving the ponies of your city was to utterly destroy that enemy... Would you?”
She frowned, finally uncertain. He kept his face carefully curious even as he tried not to smirk. 'Not often does one tongue-tie a Princess,' he thought, watching as she struggled to come up with an answer.
In the end, however, she could think of no answer to that. “Sister, is there anything else you would like to add?” she asked brusquely, gracelessly avoiding the question.
Celestia shook her head, already satisfied with my past-self's innocence. “No. We apologize for this unnecessary and doubtless taxing intrusion, Sombra – we'll leave you to your rest.”
My past self forced a congenial chuckle. “Fear not, my Princess – the needs of Equestria are far more important than an old unicorn's sleep schedule.”
Just as quickly as they came, they were gone. My past-self had his guards discretely monitor the two alicorns, but the Sisters hadn't even bothered to check if he told the truth; after a short disagreement in the main antechamber, they'd simply left without any further investigation. He snorted, once again unimpressed with either of them – his grudging respect for Luna was gone once more. “You're really far too trusting,” he muttered softly to himself, more convinced than ever that Equestria deserved better rulers than those.
I glowered as my past-self hopped out of his bed like a stallion in the prime of his life, already sending out orders. He still had so much to do...
***
With the Princesses thrown off the trail, he had been freer to move about the castle. So many things were coming together for him, he could hardly believe his good fortune. He hadn't forgotten the effectiveness of the Fear powered Construct, especially compared its relative uselessness in its natural state. He was all but certain that the purifying wave of Order – its primary defensive operation – would do almost nothing to the Sisters, while he himself would be critically debilitated. Even though a Fear-powered Construct was dangerous to him as well as the Sisters, a double-edged sword was better than one that could only hurt him. Sadly, the only means of weaponizing the power was by use of the Projector, and that would be a complete waste; as satisfying as it would be to annihilate the Princesses, he needed them alive. No, he thought, going down a checklist with a fresh quill, marking a check next to each completed item in turn. He'd need to turn it to a more creative use... But before he could do anything with that fount of energy, he first needed to ensure that the source was stable.
Thus, he needed a steady supply of fear – that is, he needed to keep the majority of the population in fear, at all times. That had been tricky to implement; while the Sisters were at least temporarily mollified, they might come back and investigate if tales of rampant terror in the City reached their ears. No, he had to tread a careful line. He needed the ponies of the City to be in a near-constant state of carefully controlled terror, but not in an immediately obvious way. He needed to control their fear. Fortunately, he had already implemented several solutions to that little problem, and they were operating beautifully.
First and foremost, he had changed his public perception. Gone was the carefully constructed persona of a kindly old advisor to the Duchess; the entire City had seen him destroy a horde of dragons with a single blast of magic. It mattered little that he hadn't cast it himself; it was enough that they knew such a thing was within his power, and that their safety was entirely dependent on his desires. He had capitalized on that. He rummaged through his wardrobe, carelessly tossing aside the soft, comfortable, nonthreatening robes he had favored as he had grown older; he needed something with a distinctly militaristic air, with perhaps a hint of regality. He cocked his head as he pulled out an old formal dress robe, one of bright crimson trimmed with wild snow-cat fur. 'Perhaps more than a hint of regality,' he thought, nodding with satisfaction as he found that it still fit. Even so, it wasn't enough... So, he had hit the books for inspiration.
It had taken little time and a few history books to find what he was after – designs for old unicorn armor from wars that had been ancient even in his time, and even a few diagrams detailing their construction. He immediately saw the benefit of such armor; if fashioned correctly, it would camouflage his more distinctly draconian features and render them merely disquieting. The design in the books included a 'horn sheath', a specially enchanted metal covering that served to both protect the relatively fragile bone as well as help dissipate the energy buildup – mostly in the form of heat – from continuous magic usage. That feature, in his design, would be absent; his horn would masquerade as its own horn-sheath, camouflaging its altered state even as it ensured he always appeared combat-ready. His somewhat elongated and sharpened features would likewise be muted by the armor, appearing as the shape of the armor rather than an aspect of his own body. The heavy plating would likewise hide his increased musculature and bulk – his body, no longer ravaged by old age, had quickly regrown to what it had been in his prime. By the time he'd finished drafting the designs he was satisfied with the balance he'd struck between concealment and intimidation.
There was one other thing his suit would hide, the only real fly in the ointment with the whole dragon affair. When had examined his new form in the mirror, looking himself over and trying on old outfits to see how they might work on him, he noticed that he'd lost his sigil. It came as a nasty shock, seeing his flank as bare as the day he was born, but there was no helping it; he knew of no magic that could take a pony's mark, let alone restore it. Nothing in his memory or in the journals even hinted that such magic existed. He could only assume it was a side effect of the ritual he'd performed, that there was too much dragon in him to manifest his mark. He could have accepted it, but the change was not to his benefit; it was wholly to his detriment. The rest of his altered physique he took in stride; if a pony noticed his serpentine eyes, or his sharp teeth, or even the true shape of his horn, he could ensure that the whispers and rumors only bolstered his malignant mystique. A lost mark, however... That wasn't terrifying, that was only sad. Strange, certainly, but sad. He could not benefit from it; he could only do his best to hide it and let his intimidating new public persona deflect any suspicion about any changes to his body.
He moved to the next item on the checklist, satisfied – while his new appearance and persona would doubtless inspire fear in the heart of the City, he had known wouldn't be enough; he needed to keep them constantly on the edge of terror. He would be the focus of it, certainly – but he needed to make some City- and Construct-wide reforms, physically and politically. The first political step was to immediately put a stop to any and all dissenting speech – in the name of the Duchess, of course, though he made sure to be the one who made the public pronouncements. The populace had to know that complainers and rabble-rousers would not be tolerated – they were in a state of emergency, after all. Mandatory curfews, censorship of all media, and a few ponies being 'disappeared' in the dead of night... It was all a carefully crafted recipe to play on his subjects' fears and paranoias. He shifted the City to a more militaristic state nearly overnight; his own soldiers increased in number and diminished in mercy every day, and even began to march through the streets as if they were an occupying force. He laughed mirthlessly as he considered that – perhaps that wasn't far off the mark, he thought, and put a satisfying check next to the political subsection of the 'Fear Generation' heading.
Even so, he needed a more certain way to generate fear, something not subject to public whimsies – those were too unpredictable to rely upon, especially in an emergency. He needed something under his direct control, something that could be measured and regulated. He had evaluated several different scenarios and devices, and eventually settled on a cheap and effective modification – the city-wide installation of modified “Empathic Resonators”.
Relatively simple in form and function, Empathic Resonators normally did little more than gently alter the moods of nearby ponies – for the better, in their usual mode of operation. Hospitals often had one or two of them installed in the entire building, and they were enough to bolster the spirits of those recuperating. In that application, they essentially encouraged healing with good humor. All they did was absorb the ambient emotional energy and focus it back on the ponies nearby – and with a filter to ensure only pleasant emotions were allowed in, they would encourage the good while allowing the bad to harmlessly dissipate. They required little magical energy to operate, and their effects were often so subtle that even most unicorns couldn't tell when one was near – though clinical testing showed a very real difference in the moods and recuperation rates of those involved. But what, he mused, if they were attuned to fear instead of joy? What if, instead of urging peace and calm on nearby ponies, they urged dread and fear? If a smile was infectious, he reasoned, fear was even more so. A single happy pony might make a few others smile; a pony that jumped at shadows, however, could spread the same fear to others, undiminished. Not through magic, of course, or at least not directly – that was the beauty of it. He had turned their own social instincts as herd creatures against them. One agitated pony in a crowd would cause ripples of similar restlessness and unease, and most wouldn't even realize the source or even try to fight it. If several at once were induced to fearfulness, they would reinforce each others' paranoia and anxiety in an endless loop. Indeed, a single Resonator could coax an entire crowd to a near panic with almost no magical energy at all, just by taking advantage of their race's natural herd instincts. It was a system he could control, boosting or diminishing the signal as needed, and with a bit of testing he could even get a rough idea of what input would produce what output. He was most satisfied with that little innovation; he could effectively turn every pony in the city into a living, scalable, controllable Fear generator. He moved on to the next item on the checklist, and smiled. It was almost time.
He had already amassed the Fear power he desired, but what good was it if he could not put it to use? For that, Starswirl had once again proved useful; the clever old unicorn had detailed the process by which one could bind one's mind, body and soul to a sufficiently powerful magical artifact. That artifact, of course, would be the Crystal Heart. Doing so would grant him direct access to all of the power of the Construct, or at least what passed through the Heart – which, practically speaking, was essentially all of it. Most unicorns were limited by what magical energy they had available within their own bodies; a talented few could draw from their immediate surroundings, or from the magic of other willing unicorns. Such skilled ponies would not hold a candle to him; the only limit to his power would be however much his physical body could channel without burning out. Prior to his change, such a technique would have made him an extremely powerful unicorn – certainly equaling or surpassing Starswirl himself. But now that he had a body tolerant of high temperatures and naturally resistant to magic... It was almost scary to consider how much raw magical power he could draw upon and manipulate directly. He would at least be on equal footing with the Princesses, if it came to direct combat.
Even so, the ritual was not without its drawbacks. As it was described in the journal, Soul Binding was one of Starswirl's first forays into solving the issue of mortality. It was also one he had quickly dismissed; if the subject's body was destroyed, they would be trapped within the magical artifact and would have difficulty interacting with the world around them. Such a state would be little better than death unless one had a way to find a new body. Sombra heartily agreed with that sentiment, and had thus dismissed it at first in favor of transformation. Since he had found a good use for it, however, he lost his reservations and immediately set out to implement his designs.
The soul-binding ritual, though not dark magic, was still inherently risky. He did not know what would happen if the Heart was destroyed while he had yet to find a new physical vessel, and wasn't certain how to transfer his consciousness to that new vessel even if he could find something suitable. Even so, he felt that the benefits greatly outweighed the risks, as being on equal standing with the Princesses was a priority. He smirked with satisfaction as his eyes roamed over the freshly inked tic-marks next to each completed item, then set the checklist aside and made his way to the staging area for the Soul Binding ritual.
The preparation for the soul-binding was far less involved than the dragon's sacrifice; indeed, he had everything he needed in the research center, with most of the reagents available on the open market without any special licensing requirements. Setting it up had taken only a few hours; the ritual itself, less than a minute. It was almost disappointing that such a great change in his fortunes was done with such little ceremony or formality; it almost cheapened the experience of attaining god-like power. Indeed, besides the involvement of the Crystal Heart, there was nothing truly special or unique about the ritual – any other unicorn with the right know-how could do it, if they wished. True, they would lack access to that same sort of power that he did, but the thought of the common pony even approaching immortality...
He shook his head, smirking to himself. They wouldn't be gods; he would. He was the one with the power, not them, and he fully intended to keep it that way. Even if another pony performed the ritual, so what? They would be no threat to him or his reign; at best, they would trap their mind and soul in whatever magical MacGuffin they'd laid their hooves on and be stuck there until the end of time. Satisfied that no one would threaten his rule, he put away all thoughts of usurpers and focused inward.
It was time to check the results, to make sure the ritual worked as it was designed. He closed his eyes and tried to block out all senses from his body, and focused solely on the flow of magic. He searched his innermost magical being, probing where he 'felt' his magic come from, consciously analyzing what was normally as automatic as breathing. 'There!' he thought, sensing something that hadn't been there before. He'd found it – a new 'node', something from which he could draw energy, something that was not his own body. 'Good,' he thought smugly, 'it's not difficult to access. It will be little different from using my own magical reserves.' With that, he gently started to draw power from the new source...
And promptly landed flat on his plot, undergoing full sensory-overload.
For all his planning and plotting, he always seemed to miss something critical, I mused – a traitor in his midst when he tried to bind Discord, an interfering Duchess when he tried to design the Construct, the horde of dragons his rumors would attract, the loss of his sigil in the sacrifice, etc. In this case, he had connected himself to a massive pipeline of power, power connected to a multitude of distinct individual wills and minds – and they were pressing in on his mind, much like the memories had pressed in on mine. Sure, he could handle a few hundred ponies with varying degrees of free will, taken in one by one with plenty of time to adjust between them, but all at once... He didn't stand a chance. Unlike my own misadventures in mind magic, he hadn't had a Princess to get things in order and make things manageable; he was alone. Worse, he was quickly losing the fight.
He strained to push away the multitude of cacophonous thoughts and feeling, his vision doubling with the effort. A mare cradling her foal, a stallion fixing a sign post, a colt bored in class, a convict in jail, a filly chasing a butterfly, an old mare baking... he was plugged in to every mundane aspect of every moment of every pony's life in his city, and was forced to see and experience it all. All of those separate thoughts, all those dissonant minds clamoring against his own... He couldn't take it. His eyes rolled back into his head as he was overcome by the swarm. Before his mind was completely and permanently erased, however, a hard-earned instinct finally kicked in – an instinct earned by years of subverting other minds and wills to his own. That instinct compelled him to one simple directive; that which he could not contend with, he dominated and subverted.
He stopped pushing back against the minds that pressed in on his own, and instead used their own power against them to wrap them in his own will and mind. Without any conscious thought, he automatically snuffed out the spark of free will in each and every one of them, one by one. Slowly, slowly, the legion diminished to a multitude, and the multitude to an army, the army to a group, and the group dwindled and dwindled until... Until his will was the only free will in all of the City. All other minds aligned with his own, no longer straining against his but running below it, dependent upon it. Slowly, gradually, he recovered and came back to himself.
He opened his eyes, feeling... strange. Stretched out, almost, like he wasn't entirely within his own body. He could feel them – each and every one of the ponies in the city. They were almost an extension of his own senses. Confusion reigned in his mind as he struggled to piece everything together – not helped by the kind of headache he'd come to associate with ill-conceived nights spent alone with a bottle of hard cider. It took him a full minute to realize that, no, he wasn't hung over – hangovers don't hurt that much, and he didn't reek of alcohol. Hazy memories of what he'd been doing before the complete blackout gradually filtered into his mind, and he eventually pieced things together. And that was when he started to panic.
Rushing to the window to confirm it, he was unable to decide if the side-effect was a boon or a curse. On one hoof, he had an entire city of unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies under his direct control. On the other, he could have just revealed himself to... Well, to everyone. The Princesses could be bearing down on the City that very moment, and he was completely unprepared. He peered out the window and nearly panicked when he found every face staring in his direction, devoid of any emotion, awaiting his instructions. He forced himself to stay calm, however, swallowing his fear as he felt out the multitude of links. “As you were,” he managed to mumble, sending out the command to all who could sense it... and sighed with relief when they all went about their work as if nothing had happened. They would at least maintain the charade for the rest of the day, giving him time to work out a more permanent solution.
He thought long and hard about the power that had been thrust into his lap, unprepared for such an unexpected opportunity, and eventually came to the simple, inevitable conclusion; there was simply no way he could control them all at once. He could send out a general command, yes, but that was limited to how each one understood the commands. Without the free will to act intelligently, they would be little more than mindless automatons; if he told them to dig, they would dig and dig and keep trying to dig even after the tunnel collapsed and crushed them. Giving them enough free will to act intelligently was of course out of the question; the press of minds against his own notwithstanding, the clever ones might find a way to subvert the commands by technicalities, and all would be undone. He quickly realized he would have to carefully delegate power if he was to use the newfound control effectively. He spent the rest of the day and much of the night designing a hierarchical system of control, mapping out the highest tiers and designing instructions on how to distribute power for the lower.
When he finished in the early hours of the morning, he had plotted the basic structure. The system was designed from the ground up, designating the vast majority of the ponies in the city as 'tier-zero'. Their activities on a day to day basis would remain relatively unchanged, until or unless he needed to specifically command them to do anything. The only overarching command that they received was to remain utterly and completely loyal to his cause, even unto their deaths. The level above them – roughly five percent of the population – consisted of unit controllers, who would each be tied their own group of Tier Zeros directly. They were the micro-managers, continuously monitoring and, if necessary, completely overriding Tier Zero's free will. Members of Tier One were selected for their higher than average mental capacity, allowing them to bear the brunt of the multitude and leave Sombra free for other tasks. Ironically, they had less free will than Tier Zero due to their more complex set of instructions, which they rigidly followed.
Tier Two consisted of only a fraction of a percent of the population, and were selected for their creativity as well as their keen intellects. Those ponies were given enough free will to act adaptably and intelligently, and were given goal rather than activity oriented instructions to execute; when they received a command from above, they would interpret it and send activity-specific commands to all the Tier Ones below them. Finally, the last tiny fraction of a percent of the population consisted of those who were not only intelligent and creative, but showed a propensity for leadership. He immediately commanded those unfortunate souls to the castle for briefing. They were the keystones of the entire system, and would be responsible for interpreting his commands and passing them down the line, as well as reporting back general and specific status information as needed.
When he had finished partitioning the population into discrete groups, defining rules for power allocation as the groups became smaller and more granular, he examined the system in its entirety. It was crude, yes – he had been pressed for time when he designed it, after all – but it would serve his purposes. With a cautious flick of his horn, he started from the top Tiers and worked his way to the bottom, granting them back their appointed measure of free will. He sighed with relief – the press of other wills on his mind had not returned, even as he felt the network of minds buzz with renewed activity.
The inner-circle seemed to wake from a doze, looking about in mild consternation, but were unsurprised to see him. Indeed, some even looked displeased – an unfortunate consequence of allowing them so much free will, but the highest tiers needed that freedom to operate.
“Was this necessary, sir?” one of them asked, frowning at him. Sombra recognized that stallion – he was one of the few ponies left in high command that he had never seen fit to turn into a mind-slave. My past-self had never expected the pony to have such a bright and flexible mind, but in retrospect he shouldn't have been surprised; the earth pony had quickly risen through the ranks, displaying both a cool head and quick thinking in combat and training. Moreover, he was one of the few who willingly supported nearly everything Sombra proposed, and followed orders with a zeal. It was almost a pity to rein in such a mind, Sombra thought... But in the end, he needed that pony in his inner circle.
“Yes,” he replied calmly, simply, examining each one of the newly appointed members of his 'inner circle' as if they were particularly fine jewels. He found several familiar faces there, as well as a few that were completely unknown to him. A business pony here, a major politician there – all natural leaders, all creative and intelligent, and, most recently, all bent to serving his interests and obeying his will to their deaths.
He regarded each of them with a predatory grin that would have made Smaug give pause. “As I'm sure you're all aware by now,” he began, totting around the group of ponies with a smirk, “your wills are mine. It is now your primary function to ensure that my network of mind-slaves is kept obedient and docile, and loyal only to me. Your regular business will continue as usual, of course – we must keep up appearances, at least until all of Equestria is mine – but you will always, always be my central control nexus, and that function will always take priority over all others. Is this understood?” he asked, the last more for his benefit than theirs; of course they understood, his thoughts and his will were theirs.
They nodded with varying degrees of shock and horror, but they couldn't help but obey; there was nothing in them to go against Sombra. He sent them back to their day-to-day tasks, nodding with satisfaction as they continued to relay commands and status reports in the backgrounds of their minds. Satisfied that he'd turned what could have been a disaster into a blessing, he turned in for the night.
The next day went surprisingly smoothly; indeed, it passed much like the days prior. He wouldn't have noticed anything amiss if he hadn't been linked to the mental network himself. There was no panic, no wailing in the streets, nothing to disrupt the careful order he had established in the city. In short, the trains were still running on time. At least, that was the appearance from afar; when he went in among them, he was greeted with fearful gazes, hushed tones, and more than a few hasty retreats. He smirked at that; he expected and desired no less. Still... He had to run some tests on the system. He turned his attention to a mare frozen before him, and sent a command to his Inner Circle. 'Make her bow', he thought.
He tracked the surge of thought as it passed through the network, from the inner circle to each one of their subordinates, and to each one of their subordinates, and to each one of their subordinates, searching for the correct pony... and they found her. By the time she started to bow, he received confirmation in his mind that the command had been sent successfully. It all took less than a second from command to execution.
“Excellent,” he growled softly. Communication was established; time to test its limits. But how? How to test their wills to see if he truly controlled them?
Just then, a small voice came from behind him. “M-mom? Are you okay?” the voice asked, uncertain and oblivious to the danger.
My heart sank as Sombra turned to see a young colt, doubtless the mare's foal, trot nervously towards his mother. I came out of my stupor, pulling away from the experiences and memories of my past-self, feeling sick as I knew what he intended to do. “No,” I whispered, cringing as I was forced to watch. “Don't you fucking dare...” But it was too late; I could already see what was going through his mind, and he had no intention of stopping.
“A test of loyalty, then,” he growled, smirking as he commanded the colt to walk to his mother and sit down. The young pony yelped as he found his body no longer under his control. “Wh-what's happening mom?!” he whimpered, confusion and terror marring a face that was far, far too young for such things.
“It's okay sweetie, it'll be okay,” the mare mumbled, trying to comfort her foal even as she choked back terrified tears.
Sombra waited for mare to wrap her forelegs protectively around her colt before giving the command.
“Hold his mouth and nostrils shut. Do not allow him to breathe.” He instructed her calmly, coldly, almost clinically. It was an experiment for him. A sick, twisted experiment.
I groaned, watching him, my jaw trembling as I fought back nausea. I pounded the ground with a hoof, stamping in agitation, wanting to do something, anything, but knowing I could do nothing. 'An innocent foal... How could I have been... No... No no no please no...' But there was no stopping it.
The colt's eyes widen in terror as his mother moved to obey, unable to stop herself. Her child, still not comprehending, sat docily while she moved her forelegs and hooves into position. “What are you doing? Mom, I-mrph?!” His confused babbling was cut short, replaced by panicked struggles as his unbelieving mother found herself suffocating her own colt. His frantic squeals were easily heard in the horrified silence. Not a single pony moved as they watched in helpless horror, my past self calmly monitor his twisted little experiment. They couldn't do anything; he did not let them. He only looked on with cold detachment as the mare suffocated her own foal.
I shuddered in anguish and found my hooves slipping out from under me, watching in agonized despair. The cries of the mare and her foal pierced me like no other memory had. 'That's not me,' I thought in a daze, my mind fighting against itself. 'I wouldn't... I would never... No. No. NO!'
Something in me finally snapped, some part of my already fragile psyche finally gave way. I stopped caring that I was in a memory and couldn't actually stop whatever was about to happen, or that destroying a memory-avatar of myself could have disastrous consequences if I succeeded; that wasn't ME. I couldn't... I had to stop him. I couldn't be guilty of that, I couldn't...
“Get the BUCK away from them!” I roared, my horn flaring on instinct as I lashed out with magic and fire, intent only on destroying the terrible deed, stop what I had done, unmake it. I sustained it for as long as I could, as if I could burn the stain away, cleanse myself, rid myself of what I'd done...
“Sombra... James? Please, calm down,” came a soft voice somewhere behind me.
It was getting harder to sustain. Strength ebbed from my limbs as I poured myself into the purifying fire, trying to burn away my past. If I tried hard enough, surely I could do it... Just a bit more...
“James, stop. You'll only hurt yourself.” The voice was firmer this time, and it was harder and harder to ignore... My legs shook with the effort, straining to hold me up as I poured all my strength into the spell... Until I couldn't keep it up any longer. I collapsed, unceremoniously landing on my barrel. The flames died down only moments later, and I could only pant in exhaustion and groan... He was still there. I hadn't killed him, I couldn't destroy that awful, terrible creature.
No matter what I did, the stain was there. My past still stood as a testament against me. I couldn't change it, I couldn't make it better... I couldn't do it. I could only curl up against the guilt and the pain and try to ignore what had happened, to put it out of my mind...
...But, I couldn't. I couldn't ignore it. I wasn't allowed to, my own traitorous mind wouldn't let me. I had to continue.
The memory still came, relentless, merciless, and I had to watch. My past-self just stood there, ignoring the mare's ever-more frantic pleading and crying as she was forced to keep suffocating her flesh and blood. Only when the colt's struggles started to weaken, when his eyes grew glassy and confused as the lack of oxygen took its toll, did he finally relent. “Release him,” he commanded; it didn't make sense to kill a perfectly good slave, he thought. Curiosity satisfied, he no longer cared what happened to either of them; he turned to walk away from the mare and her foal. Though I could no longer see what was happening, however, I could still hear it.
The mare sobbed, still terrified as she shook her young colt. “My baby... My baby I'm so sorry, please be okay,” she begged to no one.
There was a gasp, then a cough, and finally the unsteady voice of the colt responded. “M-Mom...?” he asked blearily, uncertain.
“I'm here, sweetie!” the mother said, relief washing over her. “Oh, my baby, you're okay! my baby-”
“S-STAY AWAY FROM ME!” the voice suddenly shrieked, and a moment later the sound of a scuffle reaching my ears.
The mare's stunned reply was filled with such terrible shock and sadness, I couldn't bear it. “What? N-no... No, I didn't...” she mumbled weakly, even as the colt's sobbing cries moved farther and farther away. “That wasn't me... Please come back” Her voice dwindled into a feeble whisper as the sound of small, frantic hooves grew quieter, fading into the distance. Of course, I realized a moment later, the foal was too young to understand that it was me who did it, that his mother had no choice in the matter...
I don't think I've ever wished to die as much as I did then.
When the memory faded to blessed grayness, I remained on the floor and kept my eyes squeezed shut, doing my best to not think about anything at all, let alone... that. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only witness to it... It seemed Luna had decided to come back. I opened my tear-blurred eyes and looked up at her, but I found no comfort there. Anger and disgust were etched into every line of her face, but mingled with it was also a measure of pity. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled up, not wanting to see any of it, but she was relentless.
“And now you're finally starting to see,” she said in a low, hollow voice. She had seen it too, I realized, and it must have been almost as hard on her as it had on me...
But I didn't care about that; I could only sit there and wallow in my own guilt, unresponsive; I was beyond words. I simply laid there, the scene replaying itself endlessly in my mind's eye, and found no respite from myself. What had I been? How had I fallen that low, how had I become such a fiend?
Luna watched me for several long moments, then sighed and settled down at a discrete distance, waiting. She didn't say anything – she was just... waiting. She was just there.
I don't know why she came back; I thought I'd burned that bridge, and was only more keenly aware of how lonesome I'd been in my own mind. I looked back on how I'd treated her, and cringed – I'd been a complete and total ass. That didn't hurt so much as it might have before, though; that bit of wrongdoing was like hardly worth mentioning compared to the multitude of other sins.
It took me a long time to compose myself, or at least calm enough to be coherent. As I looked up at her with reddened eyes, at a loss for words, it came to me that she had seen all of it too... And I snapped my mouth shut and looked away, eyes burning with shame. For her part, at least, she didn't rub salt in the wound with any 'I told you so's'. Neither did she offer any comfort, but, I wondered – would I have even accepted it? It wasn't something a hug could help, nor would any empty words; what comfort was there? Even if she wanted to make me feel better – and I couldn't blame her if she didn't – there was no simple solution, no easy answer. Even so... There was some small comfort in her being there, and...
...Well, I was grateful.
I saw her start to strain, and realized it must have been taking a toll on her to hold back the memories. She wouldn't be able to hold them at bay forever. Soon enough, much sooner than I'd like, she would have to let loose the tide, and once more I'd have to witness the depravities of my past. And, once again, I couldn't help myself. I had to ask a question I didn't want to know the answer to.
“Luna?” I mumbled, my voice hoarse and ragged. I didn't want to know, but I couldn't help myself.
She raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Yes?” Her tone was guarded, but I could scarcely blame her for that.
I cleared my throat, wondering how to phrase it to spare myself as much pain as I could, but... There was nothing for it. “Do I get worse?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
She stared at me for a long moment, silent... Then looked away.
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Oy...
4865492
That's how I felt writing that >.>
While this story is well written and the backstory to Sombra is really good, and I liked it, what I didn't like is how you dealt with his and the others (Reincarnations?). I mean they were alive for "five and twenty years", so twenty five years. Most twenty five year olds have very distinct
personalities, and so just because they change form and start remembering their past live doesn't make them the same people/ponies they were. They may have very similar personalities, but they are not the same people. The only exceptions I personally allow are; people like Luna, Celestia, or even Sombra who have centuries of life that simply crush the new mind under their weight, but so long as they can keep themselves...themselves. For example, if i'm Hitler reincarnated, even if i have his memories, does not make me Hitler or responsible for his actions. Hitler was Hitler, and I am me. Also his sudden devotion to God seems very forced to me, not to say that is was a bad decision on your's or Sombra's/Jake's part it just feels forced.
How you handled Mary/Cadence and Luke/Soarin's shift also feels wrong mostly because of my views on reincarnation as stated above, partly because it makes it seem ponies more important than humans.
"Oh it looks like I used to be a pony, and now my body is a pony now too. I better compeletly abandon my human life. Nevermind I just spent twenty five years knowing I was human, being born human, growing up human, believing in human beliefs, having human family and friends."
I also didnt like the whole friendship really is magic thing, but thats just me.
In conclusion: this is a good story and you are a good writer, this story just doesnt appeal to me anymore.
4884517
4884517
I'm going to do a major re-write of all the previous chapters, don't you worry - it's on my 'to-do' list. However, consider:
Cadance was probably more concerned about what her friends were going through than what she was going through herself, so her own discomfort probably took a backseat to helping them. She's the alicorn of love, and she loves her friends (not romantically, mind).
Soarin was a natural flier, and... Well, let's be honest, once you can fly that does take the edge off of the transformations. Also, he always seemed pretty upbeat in the show, so it's pretty natural that he'd try to look on the bright side of things.
Sombra was a bastard throughout the entire thing, but even then - he was returning to the way he should have been (or closer to it), and that made the transition easier.
The soul does not forget, I should think. The cutie mark (or 'stallion sigil', for those who wish to maintain their masculinity =p ) is not just a mark on the flesh, it is an expression of their very innermost being. Even if the memories are stripped away, who they are inside does not change. Soarin was made to fly; Cadance was made to love; Sombra was made to bring order. These are their natural states, the states in which they are most happy, and when they move away from those states (of their own free will or not), this causes discord in their hearts. Sombra corrupted his purpose, strayed from it and turned it to evil; as a result, he found no peace or solitude, only a desire for more and more power. This was tempered somewhat during his years as a human being, but more out of an inability to exercise it than any major change in his character; the seeds of his discontent were still there, and he often nurtured those. Soarin, I expect, found some solace in gymnastic and acrobatics and generally being out in the wilderness. Cadance likely found peace and comfort by loving and caring for others.
To put it simply; they were born as ponies and they have the souls of ponies, and their hearts will be for what they love to do -- no matter what their memories may say.
Now, Soarin and Cadance haven't remembered their time in Equestria, and I'm not sure where you got that. Did I slip up somewhere? In any case, they are still the same people - their bodies were changed and their memories were wiped, but the soul is still there. They may have changed, but the core is the same. They have not, in short, reincarnated; they were very much alive throughout the transition.
As for why they'd up and leave, they really can't stay there; it's just not safe. They are fleeing, and they don't really know where. In any case, they haven't abandoned their beliefs; they believe much the same that they did before.
As for Sombra turning Christian - he'd always been a nominal 'Christian', fat lot of good that did him. He was, to put it simply, a modern-day pharisee, and was more concerned with the Law of God rather than His mercy and love.
As for friendship being magic; it is through love that God sacrificed His Son for our sins; it is for love that human beings move mountains and churn the oceans. It is through love that Cadance and Shining Armor struck down the Changeling Queen. A unicorn's special talent often manifests as application of magic for those things which they love to do. Even pegasi and earth ponies can manifest these things to an extent, with earth ponies naturally growing the fruits they love, Maud Pie having preturnatural power over the stones of the earth, and pegasi being able to turn the weather to their desires. It is through love that the magic in Equestria works. Anyway, that's just headcanon, and canon for this story
Again, I'm going to be going back through the past chapters and re-writing stuff. *scribbles some notes down* So far:
1. Make James more unbearable as a human being, pre-transformation. Make it more believable that he was once Sombra. Make it more apparent that he's a rule stickler, and when it comes to Christianity he is "like a whitewashed tomb, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean". That is, he gives all the appearances of being a Christian but his heart is far from God. Bear in mind, though - he KNOWS all of this stuff, and in an abstract way he knows its true, but he's never put his heart in it because he's always been so very proud of himself. Think a more logical and science inclined "Minister Frollo" - personality-wise, anyway - and you won't be far from the mark. His sudden change came about as a natural result of realizing that he had made some absolutely terrible, evil choices, and that he was not as good a person as he thought he was. He was, in short, fed a big helping of crow; everything he'd been proud about had been a lie. Again, I need to flesh this out more in previous chapters.
2. Flesh out Cadance and Soarin more, and perhaps give them a bit more internal conflict regarding their transformations. I fully admit, I've woefully neglected those two, and part of that is that this story is so damn busy. I've been so concerned with making plot-point in history lead to plot-point in present and future that I've neglected some of their characterization.
3. Perhaps better explain why they feel the urge to leave. I'm sure I gave a reason, but I can't remember it - and if I can't, I can't expect you guys to.
5037791
"If he falls down the darker path, he's pretty much fucked, he's taken his second chance, and the big guy upstairs only gives ONE second chance. This is a sign that he's on the right path, but it's far from a guarantee of success."
I've gotta ask, what's your Biblical support for this doctrine - the idea that there's only 'one chance'?
5037791 Can't say I agree with you there. As per Christian doctrine, all sin is forgiven through Jesus Christ, as paid for by his death. Through him and belief in him, your sins are forgiven. I'd be interested to see where you got that "one chance" idea.
5483355
Naw - though that may be a happy side-effect =3
5042102 The entire thing is belief. He just believes that's how it all works. Sounds silly, actually it's down right absurd, but it really is how most people treat it. It's just something to form your own ideas around.
5724645 Sauron, the thing Sombra was based off of, was a being who loved order and all that... And then decided that everyone was dumb and should whatever he says. He also worshipped the great evil that is Melkor. If you see any resemblance here with the story I wouldn't be surprised.
5731192 In Tolkiens works the elves and such worship the Valar but not Illuvatar, the creator. Sauron worshipped Melkor and he did create all those shrines AFTER Melkor was imprisoned for the last time. I'd say you were right in the satanist thing but all things were made through Illuvatar's will. Melkor sung a different song to the song that created the world because Illuvatar wanted him to and so on and so on.
5732562 I get your point now thank you.
buck this is getting dark. can't wait for more chapters! ^^.
5821792
5821815
I'm in the process of some rather heavy editing - some of it's not going to make sense yet. From chapter 14 onwards, there's going to be a major disconnect. Sorry!
Also, bear in mind that there's a big difference between believing that something's true and having real faith that it's true. To illustrate, you can believe that a doctor is competent, that he can remove your tumor, and that after you've recovered from the surgery you'll be fine. When you have to go through with it, though, you'll be confronted by all sorts of irrational and illogical fears that would make you behave as if it weren't true. This is *faith*, as most Christians talk about, and it's a virtue even if you're an atheist. Indeed, without faith you can neither be a good atheist nor a good Christian; you will simply be a creature subject to your moods.
Bear in mind, faith does not come into play when you've received new information or reasoned things out contrary to what you believe; faith is being able to 'stick to it' when a mood or circumstance arises that would make not believing (or not acting like you believe) much easier.
If not for being patient, I might not have read the conversation between Maulkin and Tristar Paramount. But in all honesty, It's kept me here, reading it all, for about an hour or two. I have to admit, if the entire "Science vs Religion" thing didn't scare me off, nothing will.
It seems that the two of you bounce conflicting scientific proof off of one another more than I thought possible in a single sitting. Made me feel slightly inferior, but, none the less I was intrigued, the two of you should sit down one day and just go ham at this entire thing. Record it or write it down in some way shape or form, and post it, either here or some where else....
But, I digress, Is this consistent back and forth between two very intelligent minds actually leading this anywhere other than the age old argument "What I said is Right!" "Nuh Uh, What I said is Right!"........Still, go at it, I'm getting entertainment out of it. Feel as if I need popcorn and a soda to watch this unfurl in the blazes of religious vs scientific fury. Or chocolate milk, that'd be great right now.
5831332
You seem to have missed the point, there, so I'll try to illustrate it as best I can;
You believe that a competent surgeon can, say, remove your appendix safely. That is, you have a mental notion that this is true. That is *belief*. Now, you go into the doctor's office, put on the hospital gown, and as you get ready to go under you start to feel all kinds of queasiness and unease - you realize that surgeon is going to *cut you open* and *tear out a chunk of you* - and it would be a lot more comfortable for your nerves if you didn't actually go through with the surgery, and backed out.
Someone who is faithful at that point will tell those feelings and notions to stuff it, and will do their best to go through with the surgery despite their fear. Someone who has no faith in what they ostensibly believe, however, may panic and try to back out of the surgery.
Does that help to clear up the distinction, as many Christians understand it? How intellectual assent is not the same thing as faith, the virtue we hold in esteem? What I'm trying to get through is that Sombra has an intellectual belief in God, and that *belief* is basically worthless as he has no *faith*. He claims to believe in Christ, yet he does not follow anything Christ said.
Now, you assert that there is no intellectual basis to believe that religion is true. I disagree, but that is not the point of my post, nor is it even necessary to make the distinction between belief and faith. If you believe something is true based on the evidence you have, fine - that's all good and dandy, but that is merely intellectual assent. Faith comes into play when external forces or internal moods come against you, and suddenly it would be much, much easier to behave as if it wasn't really true. Again; this kind of faith, the virtue of sticking to your guns, applies to atheism as well as Christianity, and without faith one can be neither a good atheist nor a good Christian.
Does that help?
5837557
Let me be blunt;
I'm not here to argue the facts of Christianity, and nor is this story. You may not think that Christianity can be believed on an evidence-basis - alright. I disagree. It is not worth either of our time to argue over it, however, as neither of our positions are likely to change; the standard of evidence I've seen for God being real and the accounts of Christ being true is almost certainly too high for someone over the internet to argue me out of, and I'm sure you feel the same way about your evidence for God not existing.
If, however, you can take it as a given in the context of a fictional story about magical ponies from another universe that a logical and orderly-minded person can have an intellectual, evidence-based* belief in God, THEN we can get on with things. If not... Well, perhaps this story isn't for you.
*Evidenced-based is not necessarily scientific evidence, if that's what's stuck in your craw.
5841625
tl;dr (blunter) edit:
1) Circular discussion expired long before it's abruptly accused of being a time-waster by someone who sneaks pseudo-Christian dogma into their television fanfiction and willingly argues about it for days. There is situational humor there that probably has several names.
2) I don't feel alone in thinking that there is an awkward shoehorning of a Christian sales pitch. For me, it is because I will not reconcile absolute faith with absolute logic, and as a result the character depicted as being strongly influenced by his former life as a pure scientist suddenly having a warm cockles epiphany about what to an ancient research amounts to an alien religion leaves an undesired taste in my mouth, even in spite of his twenty-plus years of exposure to it as a "Sombra-esque" human. I may harp on it a lot, but that's because unrealistic behavior really bothers me. People are still people, even in a world of sci-fi or fantasy.
So I'm not sorry for that, but it doesn't mean that I didn't like the story otherwise. Unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable reading on with the sensation of disapproving exasperation from the author on the back of my neck. Never was able to get through chapter 16 as a result.
5846156
I feel that I should apologize. I just, I thought if I, what I did was wrong, I understand that, I really shouldn't have butted into your conversation. It's just, Your both quite intelligent and I couldn't see why the two of you couldn't get along and I thought, key emphasis on that word, thought, I could try and get you both to stop arguing and at least give you two some one else to target instead of each other, that might help...
I was wrong, and I apologize, To you Tristar Paramount, as well as to you Maulkin. I'll just, go crawl into a dark corner now..