There's a Changeling On My Couch, and Other "Tails" From the Far North

by Super Trampoline

Chapter 6: Exposition Parkour

Chapter 6: Exposition Parkour

Like the city that sits upon it and the province that surrounds it, the mountain is not surprisingly called… wait for iiiiittt… Sparkler. Not a particularly original name, but it does the trick. Unfortunately, its origins are somewhat obscure. The great blizzard of 447 A.D.[1] effectively wiped out the city’s historical archives as well as ponies’ disposition towards caring about such trivialities as the genesis of a name when they had bigger problems to worry about like the fact that half of their town and a third of their population was gone. But we can surmise that there are two equally likely explanations. One is that, given how Sparkler is both a fairly common surname and forename, it is not improbable that the region was simply named after one of the prominent members of the original seafaring expeditions which founded the colony. The other equally plausible theory is that perhaps those earliest founders simply found a lot of shiny gems.

Whatever the case may be, it can be confidently said that the mountain lives up to its name. Hard numbers are hard to come by, but any estimate of the wealth which has been drawn from its mantle must begin in the trillions of bits. Perhaps most impressive is that even after more than eleven hundred years of mining, production is in fact slightly increasing each year. Empires (Equestria aside) have risen and fallen, but the city of Sparkler continues to produce those ever so rare and shiny gems it is known for, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, millennium after mill… ok maybe that’s pushing it. But to say that it is firmly ingrained within its own little niche of the Equestrian economy is to speak words of truth.

Not to discount a plethora of improved mining techniques, but the main reasons for the peak’s continued fertility is simply its massive size. Standing 2045 SCs[2] high, it towers over the local landscape. The nearest peak even half that height is fifty seven miles away. The mountain stretches six and a half miles along the coast, and depending on who’s counting, perhaps three or four miles inland.

Predictably, there is a rotating restaurant and full service bar near the top. It even has a banquet room, which is hardly surprising, given that in 1336 (the most recent year for which statistics are available) a full seven percent of all weddings in the area were held there. The suspended cable cars that run from both sides of the base of the mountain to the top are one of the more impressive feats of modern engineering especially given the storms they weather, and the coal-fueled steam engines that power them are among the largest in the world. Of course, long ago diamond dog contractors dug tunnels bisecting the mountain, connecting the seaward and inland sides, but the gondolas are still a popular recreational destination. They also are a must-ride for the scant number of tourists who for some reason keep showing up.

There are few places on earth where pegasi play a more important role in controlling the weather. Perhaps controlling is not a fair term, for everyone knows who really is in charge. Being a high latitude oceanic mountain far away from any stable pony-bred meteorological systems, the weather here sucks, to state it plainly. The brave pegasi on cloud patrol don’t direct the winds and fronts as much as divert them. Most of the cloud structures surrounding the area are meant as air walls, or on bad days temporary buffers, and the only permanent cloud formations which are actually inhabited appear in limited numbers in the lower altitudes near the inland side of the mountain. Most pegasi live in more permanent abodes upon the ground.

The most prominent wind system is the Airhorn Express, affectionately named after the first meteorologist to study it in depth, Foghorn Airhorn. It is a local coastal wind, blowing in from the Marigold Ocean during the day, and flowing back out to sea at night. On the one hoof, damn if it isn’t chilly. But on the other hoof, at least it keeps the mosquitoes away. Of course, this pattern is often overwhelmed and ignored by the frequent storms which rear up from the sea, so to use a local expression, sometimes the “cool train ain’t runnin’.”

Winters, unsurprisingly, are cold. The record low, recorded in the dead of a winter storm 127 years ago at the top of the mountain, was negative 37 degrees Celsius. Fortunately, the winter temperatures tend to hover more around negative five to ten degrees at the base of the mountain. The inland side is consistently several degrees warmer, being warmed by the sun in the morning and having the mountain as a buffer against the storms. On the winter solstice, Celestia’s ball of fire is visible for only five hours, and inasmuch much of the cold season is shrouded in darkness.

Summers, unsurprisingly, are also cold. However, they are a lot less cold. Sometimes, if the local clouds and winds are cooperating, they may even flirt with the concept of being warm. The record high temperature, recorded in late August 53 years ago, was 31 degrees. Of course, usually summer highs are in the teens, and snow remains on the summit year round.

There are many alpine lakes dotting the landscape, though obviously only the bravest of ponies dare swim in their frigid waters. The western side of the mountain is rocky and fairly steep, rising up from the small strip of coastal plain in front of it. The eastern side, on the other hoof, is more gently sloping and vegetated, sheltered from the elements as it is. Here lies the marginally arable land where the farmers grow the hardiest of crops, assisted by their earthpony magic. Higher up the slope, forests cover the land in a beautiful verdant green. Higher still above the treeline lie alpine meadows, springing into a brilliant verisimilitude of a Jackson Fetlock painting during the brief summer. Near the aforementioned gondolas, there is a narrow ski slope, running the length of the mountain for residents to enjoy during the long winter months. Occasionally there is talk of holding the Winter Equestrian Games here, but the logistics would prove daunting to say the least.

Here and there on both sides of the mountain, thundering waterfalls crash down from the melting snowcap, leveling out first into rushing streams then later small, fast rivers that snake down the alluvial plains that ring the monolith. The largest, the Dolce Grande, bisects the western face of the mountain and the downtown of Sparkler City, flowing among the docks of the all-important port into the sea.

As for the city itself, perhaps a dozen thousand ponies call it home, with another half that number scattered over the surrounding province. It is a small but always bustling and hardworking city. Though storms, flooding, fires, the occasional earthquake, and other natural disasters continuously buffet the town, through sturdy construction and perhaps a touch of unicorn magic the buildings remain remarkably resilient against the elements, and in fact there remains a quaint historic district where many of the buildings are over 400 years old. Here lies among other antiquities The Crusty Rusty, a bar with the distinction of having continuously operated for over 900 years! While few griffons inhabit the cold land, those that do almost all work in the boutique fishing industry. The rich cold waters off the coast supply much of the Griffon Empire with the fresh seafood its richer inhabitants crave. On the other side of the city, many of the diamond dogs which live here have dug their homes directly into the face of the mountain, some with passages directly to the mines.

Though most evidence of pony habitation on the other side of the mountain are the many fields and commercially-grown forests, those who wish to live away from hustle and bustle of the port and the mines also make their homes on the east. These smaller communities may be called suburbs, as it were, but though there are a few small markets and a doctor’s office located there, the body and heart of the population faces the coast. As one continues outwards to the north, east, and south of the mountain, settlement slowly and seamlessly blends (or peters out, depending on your point of view) into hilly forest and the great unknown. Thus completes our examination of the remarkable geography of Sparkler.

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Of course, Flashpan knew when his midterm geography test came around in the morning, half of the material on the study guide was simply going to transfuse out of his brain and into the surrounding air. He supposed it was his own bloody fault he waited ‘til half an hour before midnight to begin studying. Oh well.

Author's Note:

[1]: After Discord
[2]: Standard Celests, a unit of measurement equal to the height of Princess Celestia to her withers. About five or six feet in human terms. Thusly, the mountain is around 2 miles high.

Hey look, exposition dump! Don't worry, I'll talk more about the actual mining later.

Comments

[totallynotabrony]

Solid worldbuilding. I get the feeling that this whole story is just you trying out different styles of writing.

[Super Trampoline]

3249081 thanks. I'm particularly fond of my Jackson Pollock reference. And the randomness of mentioning how many ponies get married at the top of the mountain. And yeah, so far I've mostly done dialogue, this one was exposition/setting/description. There will also definitely be some VERY action packed chapters too :) glad you are enjoying.

[erictheblue]

Like the city that sits upon it and the province that surrounds it, the mountain is not surprisingly called… wait for iiiiittt… Sparkler. Not a particularly original name, but it does the trick.

reminds me of a quote in a sci-fi story: almost every planet colonized from Earth has a city called "Landing" where the colonists first landed...