74 - Sands of Fire
Extended Holiday
Ch 74: Sands of Fire
Act 9
A lone cloaked figure slipped through the castle halls, a light blue glow beneath the hood being the only indication of species. A wooden staff lay easily on its back while a light blue aura surrounded its hooves, muting the steps. Eventually the figure reached the main castle doors and eased them open, creeping out onto the main compound. The moon shone brightly, glinting off the large pearl that had been mounted at the top of the staff. A spiraling cage of sorts enclosed it as silvery steel wove like veins through the body in intricate spirals. As the moon’s light cast itself upon the casing, three words shone brightly in the metal and wood, carefully chosen to represent its creator’s past, albeit in a language no Equestrian could ever hope to read. Charity never faileth.
As the figure reached the gates of the compound, it pulled off the hood, revealing a blonde mane and white fur with his horn. Vital Spark smiled. “Well, I guess that perception spell really does work after all.”
“Not exactly,” Camo said from right next to him.
Vital leaped a good foot into the air and hovered there for three seconds before landing back down on the floor. “Camo!” he hissed. “You scared me.”
“Not only are you terrible at quietly attempting your escape, but you failed to spot me standing here this whole time.”
“But Camo, you’re Camo. Of course I wouldn’t see you. That’s your special talent, for crying out loud.”
“I’m wearing a not so subtle suit.”
“You could wear a bright white mask with someone else’s face on it and I’d think you were that person.”
“...I may have to test that out,” Camo said contemplatively.
Vital sighed. “Was I really that obvious?”
“My friend, an Ursa Major has more tact than you,” Camo admitted honestly.
Vital nearly face faulted. “So, I’m guessing you’re supposed to be my guard for the night?”
“You were aware about the guard?” Cameo asked him.
Vital chuckled. “I’m not as tactless as you might’ve thought.”
“So it would seem,” he said.
“So you’re going to follow me anywhere I go?”
“Pretty much,” Camo responded. “I could become invisible if you would prefer.”
“No offense, Camo, but what I’d prefer is if you’d let me leave the castle alone. There’s something I need to check out, and a promise I made makes it impossible for me to go there accompanied.”
“I will follow you for the first while, then,” Camo said.
“And you’re okay with staying on the path while I go take care of my business?”
“If that is what I must do, then fine, but if I stay here with nothing to report, I imagine it would not go well.”
“I can live with that as long as you tell Hammer Strike to ask me about it instead of asking you. I don’t want you in trouble for something I need to do.”
“Lead the way.”
Nodding, Vital walked resolutely out the main gate with his companion, his expression troubled as they wound a little ways up the path until the castle was nearly out of sight. “This is where I need to leave you, Camo. And if Espionage is here, could you ask him to show himself? I know Shawn wants to protect me, but the person I’m going to meet can’t let anyone else see her. She’ll be expecting me, so I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t be bothered,” Camo promised.
“Thank you,” Vital said as he nodded his head and slowly made his way into the woods. Reaching out tentatively with his magic, a dim glow emanated from his focus’ pearl as he made his way into the woods, then backtracked as he turned toward the chasm and the staircase he knew laid in wait. Finally, he arrived at the stairs and soon found himself back at the familiar cave, staring up at the great crystalline tree that had saved all of their lives just a little over two months ago. As he had feared, the tree looked far less luminous. Its crystal chimes tinkled hollowly. “Harmony?”
“What are you doing here, child?” the voice of Harmony whispered in his mind. She sounded tired.
“You’re sick,” he said bluntly.
“... That is my burden to bear, just as you have your own to take in time.”
“You didn’t say anything about my new form.”
“I knew you would take it. Your heart was already that of a Unicorn’s, and I could feel the warp and weave of this world changing you, bonding to you … calling to you.”
“Why?”
“For reasons you will learn in time, young one.”
“You can’t tell me?”
“I am forbidden.”
“By who?”
“A power far greater than I, even at my full strength.” A cracking sounded through the tree as one of its roots lost its luster entirely and became grey and lifeless. The voice groaned.
“Harmony, what’s happening to you?” The light of the tree flared briefly, pushing the deadness back only slightly before it faltered and died, pulsing weakly.
“This, too, I cannot say,” the voice gasped. “For the sake of our world, I must bear it.” A single crystal dropped from the tree’s branches, tinkling as it struck each part of the tree before shattering on the cold stone floor of the cave.
“Then let me help you,” Vital said, his expression grim as he stepped forward, taking hold of his focus from his back.
Harmony’s voice cried in pain. “You cannot.”
“I’m not asking, Harmony. You’re in pain, and I can help. You said this world called to me, but you can’t tell me why. I feel like this might be a reason. I’ve worked with healing before on my world; I can do it again here.” Vital’s horn began to glow as he stood on his hind legs, holding to the focus with both hooves.
“Do not-”
“Harmony, you know full well what happens if you mess up someone’s spell mid-cast. Let me do my work.” His gaze was determined as the pearl began to glow once more with a pale white light. “From my heart to your heart. From my soul to yours. By the bond forged from the sacred gift, let my strength join to yours. I offer this gift freely. I give you everything.” The white light flared from the pearl, shining like a beacon. The moon’s light shone through the cavern entrance, falling on the Unicorn’s mane and tinging it silver as he channeled the magic directly from his horn into the pearl. The light flowed through the metal, pulsing like a heartbeat as the power continued to build. Then a beam of light slowly descended from the pearl’s chamber to the tree’s roots. He almost could have sworn he heard something squealing, even as the dead crystal slowly began to glow again. The stone shimmered and Vital couldn’t help but smile as the light from his focus dimmed, then finally died. Trembling, he dropped to all fours again and smiled as he placed a hoof against the ancient tree’s trunk. “Equestria can’t bear to lose you yet,” he said as he lay down within the hollow of the crystal tree’s roots. “And neither can I.”
“Vital Spark …”
“We’ll face this together, Harmony. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“... Thank you.”
“Why in the world would you surrender?” The Doctor demanded as the clang of their closing cell echoed against the stones.
“I’d prefer not to add to the kill count in a different country that could use it against us,” Hammer Strike replied.
“Pull the other one!” The Doctor said. “Any other situation and you’d have a body count rivaling a Minotaur civil war.”
“It depends on the country and situation. I want to figure out what’s going on first.”
“The sultan seems to favor locking away anypony questioning his ways,” a voice said from behind them. Upon turning around, the duo found themselves facing a stallion wearing a full set of steel armor, and by full set, it covered every section of him. The rest of the gaps had been filled in with heavy chainmail. Due to the coverage of the armor, they were unable to determine anything else about said stallion.
“Took you a moment to speak,” Hammer Strike noted.
“And what are you in for?” The Doctor asked.
“Of all things, Jaywalking,” he replied. “My name is-” the sound of a cell door slamming cut him off. “Just call me the Storyteller.”
“That armor is ridiculously advanced for this time period.” The Doctor scanned him with his screwdriver.
“It’s actually an old design from a friend. In fact, he’s standing right next to you.” He turned towards Hammer. “It’s good to see you’re still around, Strike. How fares your travels?”
“They go, to and from.”
“As do my own. So who is this with you?”
“I’m The Doctor,” The Doctor said.
“If you’re The Doctor, then where’s that box of legends you’re always with?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly park it on top of the palace, could I? She’s outside the city in safe mode.”
“Considering I heard ‘she’ could fly without wings, I think you could land it anywhere.”
“It’s not exactly that simple” The Doctor said.
“Perhaps one day I’ll see how complex it is, but that, will have to be a story for another day.”
“... Well that's foreboding,” The Doctor noted.
“It’s not as bad as you would think,” Hammer Strike commented. “So, shall we break out of here?”
“I was wondering when you were going to say that,” Storyteller commented.
“Let's just finish up here,” The Doctor said. “I feel like I’ve got sand everywhere.”
“Alright,” Hammer Strike replied, his hooves glowing in blue fire as the bars of the cell dissipated, shifting its form until it was shaped like two greatswords. “Here you go,” he said, handing one off to Teller.
“Just like old times,” Storyteller commented as he hefted the sword onto his back. For some reason the blade stuck in place.
“Ooh, magnet enhancement.”
“Just like it was meant to be.”
Pensword lay upon a cloud looking up to the stars above him. Moon River perched on his belly and looking back and forth between father and the sky. Matthew was still amazed by the different constellations and nebulae, while Pensword easily navigated the sky like a map, casually pinpointing his exact location without a care or worry. He even knew how to navigate in Gryphonia. Yet, here, in this place, he could just relax on a cloud with his life mate at his side, his daughter on his chest, and all of them just having a wonderful time stargazing. Pensword sighed happily as he casually laid a foreleg around Lunar Fang’s shoulders.
“It’s good to finally do this.” Lunar Fang smiled.
“I know,” Pensword responded with a laugh as he moved a wing to touch her side. “With all that has happened, I have to say that it is good to just have time to myself. I hope you do not mind that I called the Changeling, well I do not know why, but I am calling him Preston.”
“I trust Me-Me knows what she’s doing,” Lunar Fang replied.
“I agree. I am seeing how he does with the paperwork for the evening.” Pensword turned to look at Lunar Fang, smiling. “So… what do you want to do this evening? No attacks, no monsters,” he moved a hoof to knock on a piece of wood he carried at his side. “Just the three of us.”
“It feels like forever since we just enjoyed ourselves,” Lunar Fang said.
“I agree with that.” Pensword sighed. “This reminds me of the time before the Third Gryphon War.” He chuckled at the memory. “You remember how crazy I got when you removed my uniform?” He shook his head. “Dang, I really have gone native.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“To be honest, no, it is not a bad thing, as I have the love of my life,” he whispered amorously. “I have to say, my dear, that you have become so much a part of my life my heart aches when you are not nearby.”
“I feel the same way,” she told him, moving in to nuzzle him.
He laughed as Lunar Fang’s muzzle brushed against his neck. Moon River joined in with a childish scree and hugged both of them, turning it into a family cuddle pile. He looked up at the stars and suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, which lasted a solid three minutes. “Jules Verne,” he wheezed out. “I am Doc Brown in the old west.” Though she didn’t understand what her father was talking about, Moon River joined in.
“These were great people from your home?” Lunar Fang asked.
This caused more laughter from Pensword. “Jules Verne was a great writer. He dreamt of things before they happened. Hundreds of years before they happened, from submarines to rockets to the moon.” He shook his head. “As for Doc Brown, he is a fictitious movie character that-” he began to chuckle again “-that dealt with time travel, saved a school teacher from death, and fell in love with the school teacher.” His laughter slowly tapered off to the occasional chuckle, then to just grinning mirthfully. “If, or when we return to earth, I need to show you the Back to the Future Trilogy, some of the movies made from Jules Verne's books, and what the real world counterparts became.”
“”I look forward to that. You know, I think this is the first time I’ve been able to have a normal night-day cycle in a while,” she said, enjoying the cool night air.
“Yeah, I hope to get back into a night-day cycle as well, but I keep switching between the two.” He let out a brief guffaw. “I hope you do not mind a crazy mate that cannot get his sleep pattern right.”
“You are half day half night.” Lunar laughed. “I’m surprised you can sleep at all.”
“I am mortal. I sleep when I can, which usually is when my friends knock me out because I wear myself out.” He laughed again, startling Moon River briefly before she giggled and chittered in pleasure at the bouncing sensation. “Like the time Grif knocked me out while I was besieging Fort Triumph.” He sighed. “That happened only once or twice, but I will always remember it.”
“Your friends care about you. Honestly, the three of you care more for each other's health than yourselves.”
“That is the truth,” Pensword answered. “I care for my friends. I care for you more than my own breath, as well as our daughter. I would lay my life down and pass to the other side if it meant our daughter would live to be an adult.”
Lunar Fang shuddered. “I hope that never comes to pass.”
“Agreed, for I do not know what I would do if you were ever killed. I have a poor track record when people kill loved ones.”
“Well then, let's hope that never comes to pass.” she nuzzled him again. “So, how long before something happens do you think?”
“I hope not for another couple nights. I want time to de-stress, and get Fizzy to watch Moon River while you and I find a nice secluded cloud,” he said meaningfully as he kissed the side of her neck.
“River, why don’t we go find Fizzpot?” Lunar Fang said quite suddenly.
Fizzpot!” Moon River cheered happily. A moment later the Changeling in question buzzed up to the cloud, blinking in confusion.
“Strange. I have realized now the emotion she creates when she wants me.” He was baffled. “As a master infiltrator, it is strange having your own emotions and those of another.” He looked to Pensword and Lunar Fang. “What do you wish for me to do?”
“Can you look after her for a few hours?” Lunar Fang asked him.
“Of course. I will make sure she is taken care of. Shall I put her to bed in the morning if you are not back by then?”
“I think we should be back before dawn,” Pensword answered, giving Lunar Fang a look.
“We may be back by dawn.” Lunar Fang’s smile was almost predatory. “You’ve been gone far too long, Pensword.”
Pensword just grinned as he returned the predatory smile. “Ah…” he answered.
Fizzpot left as quickly as possible, a green glow emanating over his black cheeks. He could already feel the emotions of the incredibly amorous ponies, and he did not feel comfortable exposing little Moon River to such things just yet. Leaving the sky behind, the cloud Pensword and Lunar Fang had been resting on slowly turned to more of a cloud cave. Lunar Fang’s giggles carried on the wind as Fizzpot did his best to buzz his wings harder.
“Thanks for bringing these, Lily, Rose, Daisy,” Grif said to the three mares as Bladefeathers unloaded the cartload of flowers. He handed them each a bag of bits. “I really appreciate it.”
The three mares accepted the bits, but said very little as the Gryphons finished unloading the flowers. Today was the day for Kel'leam’s mourning ceremony, and Grif was working hard to make sure the preparations were ready by sunset, the traditional time Gryphons mourned warriors whose bodies had not been sent to them to rest.
A large area had been set aside outside the half finished Bladefeather compound, where several bonfires had been prepared to be lit when the light started to fade. A small pulpit had been placed near a large willow tree that had been transplanted during the construction process. A table lay beside it with Kel'leams shield leaning against it. Grif had polished it to a high finish so it glowed in the sunlight.
Grif nodded towards several of his clan as they worked arranging the white roses, carnations and gladioli. The entire clan had put effort into this ceremony. Fresh meat was hunted and decorations were put up.
Sylvio nudged at Grif’s side. When Grif looked to the timberwolf it seemed to gesture with its muzzle to the gate. Grif looked in the direction with a confused stare until he caught the slight trace of pink near the wall. He made his way over silently. As he exited the gate he found Fluttershy looking nervously inside the grounds. “Did you need something, Fluttershy?” Grif asked.
Fluttershy jumped into the air, her wings promptly locking as she dropped directly onto her back while making a bleating sound very similar to that of a goat.
“Fluttershy? It’s Grif. Are you okay?” He said carefully in a slow tone, hoping to ease her nerves.
It took a sticky lick from Sylvio to snap her out of her surprise, but Fluttershy eventually found her way back onto her hooves. She brushed her mane back into position as best she could before addressing the warrior. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I was just… well, I noticed you were preparing the right of Kel’daran, and… well, I heard about Kel'leam and I… I…” Though she clearly was doing her best to put on a brave face, the tears still pooled in her eyes.
Grif silently moved closer and pulled her into a hug. “I think Kel'leam would appreciate if you showed up to help us see him off. Thank you.”
Fluttershy sobbed. “Why do some Gryphons have to be such meanies?”
“Why do some bears kill other bears? Why do some lions go after another lion’s cubs? We’re predators, Fluttershy, and, unfortunately, it brings out the worst in some of us.”
Fluttershy sniffled, then wiped her tears, looking with determination into Grif’s eyes. “What can I do to help?”
“Some Gryphons are attempting to arrange the flowers. We’re… not really good at that sort of thing. Perhaps you could help them out?” he asked her.
“Anything for him, Grif. He was a true friend.”
“Thank you, Fluttershy,” he said, separating from her. “You’re a good friend, too.” Fluttershy blushed at the compliment and tentatively hovered to the large pile of flowers and bouquets, greeting the other Gryphons with a bow of respect before carefully beginning the arrangements.
“Come on now, exit’s right here,” Hammer Strike called out to the group, off to his right the Greatsword he’d forged lay discarded, having swapped to his own hooves instead.
The Doctor was following behind him, mumbling to himself and scanning things with his sonic screwdriver.
Storyteller followed behind, surprisingly, quiet for a change.
The passage led down a narrow corridor and a large stone spiral staircase. The impromptu adventurers encountered more Horse guards on the way who were easily dealt with by Hammer Strike’s hooves or Storyteller’s blade until they finally came to a large metal door separating them from the outside.
“I can pick the lock with the sonic,” The Doctor said as he started attempting to disable the lock.
“Doctor ...” Hammer Strike commented.
“This will only take a moment.”
“...Doctor…”
“It’ll be done momentarily.”
The door suddenly burst open as Hammer Strike punched it with enough force to rip it off its hinges.
“Well sure, if you want to cheat your way out,” The Doctor growled.
“Doc, we’re on a time limit.”
“You know, this reminds me of a door that I couldn’t pick through. Had to break through it using the sheer weight of this armor,” Storyteller commented, following them through the now open door.
“Storyteller, could you please save these stories for when we can listen to them?” Hammer asked.
“Sure, I’ll try to keep the stories to a limit.”
“Hammer Strike, you know how you were saying we were brought here for a reason?” The Doctor asked.
“What seems to be the… problem? ... Wonderful,” Hammer Strike finished, as he looked out to their little problem. “Full on battle. Got it.” Standing not far off, several Horses were being menaced by a group of large figures imposing on them, only these figures seemed to be horses made of sifting and reforming sands.
Hammer Strike gave a charge, colliding with said sand Horses to scatter them for a moment. The actual Saddle Arabian Horses took off quickly in the distraction, leaving the trio with the now reformed sand Horses.
“That didn’t work!” The Doctor shouted.
Hammer Strike hit each of them again, scattering them once more with the same results as before.
“I don’t think hitting them is working,” The Storyteller said in an unusually calm tone.
Hammer Strike’s hooves burst into blue fire as he heated the sand horses in front into solid glass, then proceeded to punch them, shattering them. “Try reforming from that!” He called out, turning back to the other two. “There, problem solved. Let’s go now.”
“Thank you, oh great Djinn,” one of the Horses said as the others followed out from behind a corner before bowing to him, shaking in terrified awe.
“I think you just gained some followers,” Storyteller commented. “But you already have us for companions. I don’t think we should have a bigger group.”
“What are you talking about?” The Doctor asked, staring at the Storyteller. “The sonic’s making a beeping noise in that direction!” The Doctor pointed to the palace.
“Let’s go, then,” Hammer Strike said, heading off in said direction.
The three charged into the throne room of the palace after making their way through a series of twisting corridors, breaking several sand stallions, nine doors, and six walls that happened to get in their way.
“So, you’re finally here,” an elderly stallion with a salt and pepper coat and mane and a giant turban said as he rose from his throne of cushions. He casually grabbed a cane that had been resting on one of the pillows as he rested his forehooves on top of it. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I doubt you have the foresight of a seer,” Storyteller called out. “I would know, I’ve met my fair share of them in my journeys.”
“I address the leader of the Sand People in accordance with article fifteen of the Shadow Proclamation. I command you to leave this world with all the authority of the Slithereen government of Raxacoricofallapatorius and the Gleth Confederacy as sanctioned by the mighty Jagrafess and the Daleks. Now leave this planet in peace,” The Doctor demanded in a very stern voice.
“The leader of the Sand People … hmmm, and what makes you say people? Are they not mighty Horses? And what is this you speak of? Aliens? These are merely sand elementals bound to the service of their master. They are mindless, formless, shapeless. And they serve me.” The old stallion chuckled dryly as the sand Horses drew closer. “So long as I control their prison, I control them. They are mine, and we shall rule this pathetic kingdom, spreading across the desert and beyond!”
It was at that moment that the sand Horses burst into flame, leaving a nice crystal statue behind. “Yeah, about your sand army,” Hammer Strike commented, his hooves glowing in blue fire. “Very intimidating. The wind really cuts them down to size, though, and heat, well, you can see the results.”
“Now where is it?” The Doctor glared at the Sultan. “Don’t lie to me. There is no magic on Equis that could replicate this. Someone must have found something to give you this power, didn’t they?”
“And what if somehorse did? It is of no matter to us,” the old Horse rasped. “The sands are patient, just as water is patient. All they needed was a living being to guide them, to mold them. Are they not glorious to behold?” he asked as a sudden whirlwind of sand blew into the room, composing itself into a score of stallions. “And limitless in number. Tell me, how long can you last against an army as vast as the deserts themselves?” He laughed and broke off into a coughing fit as bits of sand tumbled out of his mane. When he opened his eyes, they were bloodshot, even as he smiled. “Even a desert must feed.”
“You really think you're the one in control?” The Doctor asked. “You honestly believe you are controlling them?”
“Naturally. They wouldn’t do a thing without me. They need me. Yes,” he hissed, his voice sifting like sand through an hourglass. “They need us.”
“Us? Sound to me like a hivemind problem, and those aren’t the easiest to get rid of,” Storyteller commented.
“Silence!” the Sultan commanded. “First that foolish old man and his daughter, then his pathetic soldiers. Now you three… things. We will grind your bones to dust and scatter you amongst the sands!” A great wind suddenly blew through the chamber as sand blasted and crept through every crack and crevice in a slowly mounting wave.
“You know how many others have threatened me in the same way? I’ve faced down numerous enemies, stronger and much much more dangerous than you. I’ve seen the end of the universe and…”
The Doctor was cut off by flashes of light and the sound of glass shattering, one after another. “Doctor, they’re advancing, and I know you aren’t going to do much fighting, but could you not yell in our ears?” Hammer Strike commented as he burst another glass figure.
“I agree with Strike on this,” Storyteller added, waiting for Hammer Strike to turn the ones in front of him to glass to continue his own work.
“... Fine,” The Doctor grumbled as the sand ponies advanced.
Despite the best of their efforts, said efforts mainly being Hammer Strike’s as The Doctor and Storyteller found themselves without any means to injure these sand horses, the group found themselves backed against a wall surrounded by sand and the sultan stood, grinning malevolently as he watched, sand swirling around him even as it streamed into him, turning his coat and mane a sandy gold. His eyes now had the appearance of carefully sculpted wet sand as they darted left and right while his mane and tail began to shift in the sudden sandstorm, becoming living sand that billowed in the wind. “Die…” he hissed, his voice practically emotionless as it echoed around the chamber.
“Okay, that is enough!” Hammer Strike yelled out in frustration, his eyes and hooves bursting with magic as a fiery dome surrounded the trio. “I have had enough of this nonsense,” he finished as the dome began to expand outward, burning through the sand stallions and any fragments of sand that attempted to form new ones. “I swear, after I’m through with you, you’d be lucky to count yourself as ash amongst all your sand.”
“We are the sand. We are one. We do not fear thee.” The false sultan laughed hollowly as cracks began to run across his form. “We are limitless.” He laughed as his body slowly began to fall apart layer by layer. “The host has been incorporated. We shall spread. We shall grow. The storm is coming. The storm is coming!” His ghostly laughter carried on the wind as he finished collapsing and the sand seeped away through the cracks.
“He went through the cracks. We’re going deeper into this place, let’s go,” Hammer Strike said firmly, the dome of fire still surrounding them as he moved on.
The Doctor scanned around with his sonic. “There. A strange radiation coming from that direction.” He pointed to the sealed chambers behind the sultan’s throne.
Hammer Strike simply walked up to the doorway and hit it with enough force to break the bar locking it from the inside. The doors burst open with the force of a sudden sandstorm as it blew into Hammer Strike, glancing harmlessly off the dome. He stood resolutely before it and pressed on into the darkness, Doctor and Storyteller in tow. As they clopped along down a set of stairs, The Doctor took his time to examine the stone walls.
“This is fascinating,” The Doctor said. “It looks like the sand’s been breaking this down for years.”
“Somehow, I doubt he’s had the whole sand thing going that long,” The Storyteller said as he looked around.
As the trio continued to descend, they eventually reached a landing which led down a long corridor. A series of iron barred cells stood to either side. In the light of Hammer’s flame shield, they could just make out the horrified, deformed faces of leather garbed statues. Hooves and muzzles had broken off and cracks spread across their forms.
“They’ve been converting Horses for years,” The Doctor said, agast as he examined the cells.
“Then let’s put an end to this,” Hammer Strike said as the bars to the cells melted around them.
Deeper within the corridor, a dim roar echoed the closer they drew as a feminine voice carried faintly on the wind. “Please, just let my father go. He’s old and frail. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Hammer Strike pushed on, quicker than before towards the voice. The roaring shifted in pitch and tone as the winds whistled through the cracks.
“Run, Jasmine,” an elderly voice said. As the party raced into the adjoining chamber, a great glowing red light illuminated the room, surrounding a great glass sphere filled with a cloud of black sand. Multiple rings orbited around it frantically as more sand blew from it like a whirlwind, bombarding the metal dais where the dim remnants of runes sparked feebly against the onslaught. Trapped in a circle of calm, a great grey stallion lay on the floor, his royal robes in tatters. Through the holes, a great number of pale white scars dotted his hide, dyed pink by blood. His frame bespoke war and health even in the midst of his old age. In his prime, this stallion would have been a force to be reckoned with. Sitting next to him, a black mare with grey eyes and a sapphire-blue mane and tail stroked his mane. Blood stained her hooves from the tiny cuts that had clotted with dirt and blood on the older stallion’s body.
“The orb. It’s the center of the control!” The Doctor said. “It’s been feeding on greed and hunger for power, trying to break free, but all that power must have been too much. All the subconscious desires must have corrupted its mind, twisted it into this.” The Doctor hesitated, even as the tears ran down his cheeks. “It’s all rage and hate now. It’ll destroy this world if it gets the chance… You’re going to have to kill it. Oh sweet Celestia, we have to kill it.”
Hammer Strike turned his attention towards the orb, and then back to the real sultan and his daughter. He pushed his power further as he surrounded the two in a second dome, sealing them off from the sand around them.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” Jasmine said in awe as the sand recoiled.
“Pyromancy,” her father coughed, until he noticed the flaming Earth Pony and his glowing blue hooves. “...What?”
“...We know you… your form… your flame… Hammer Strike,” the voice hissed. “The very rocks know your name… and your destiny.” The voice chuckled. “To die. We can change that. Together, we can do great things…”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Hammer Strike started as he grabbed the orb. “But I have somepony waiting for me back home,” he finished, applying pressure to the orb until it shattered in his hooves.
Sibilant laughter filled the air as the black sand blasted out, obscuring the room. “At last!” It hissed. ”Free!” The sand dove towards the floor.
“Not exactly.” Storyteller said in response.
A painful shriek filled the room as the sand recoiled from the floor, a sudden blue light blazing up from the stones. “What magic is this?” it shrieked as black obsidian formed from its melted portions. The storm had died and any sand that tried to enter the room immediately melted to glass on contact with Hammer Strike’s barrier.
“My own,” Hammer replied. “Every crack, every single opening, sealed by my own power. You have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and after I finish, nothing left of you,” he told the entity as his barrier closed in around the room, compressing everything closer and closer, burning the black obsidian and black sand into nothingness as it passed over it. “You fought for freedom by control of an individual, attempted to take over this land and more, innocents killed, the list goes on, but right here, right now, you will do nothing, but die.”
The creature raised a mighty screech as it slowly collapsed in on itself like a black hole imploding, recalling a dim memory to Hammer Strike of a creature from the Human world. Something to do with someone named Tolkien and a returning king. At last, the din faded to a tiny whimper, and lastly nothing as the entity’s essence was completely obliterated and dispersed in the power of thaumic fire.
Hammer Strike exhaled, the flames around them disappearing until all that was left was the fire around his hooves. “Too much intake. Didn’t output enough...” he muttered quietly before taking a deep breath in.
“... Who are you strangers?” the mare asked. Closer inspection revealed an intricate circlet around her head, a symbol of her rank and status even amidst the filmy cloths around her body.
“I’m The Doctor,” The Doctor said in his usual tone.
“My name is—” a decayed slab of stone fell down with a thundering crack as it shattered against the ground, cutting him off. “...They call me The Storyteller.”
“Hammer Strike.”
Jasmine bowed her head. “You have my thanks,” she said. “Could you help me get my father back to his quarters? That … thing nearly killed him.”
Hammer Strike walked over to them and lowered himself slightly. “Lift him onto my back. I’ll carry him.”
“Brave Storyteller, might you be able to assist me?” she asked as she began to lift her Father up.
“Certainly.”
With that being said, they made their way back into the throne room and laid the Sultan down on his cushions. Ten minutes later, the Sultan was being tended to by a local healer who looked very much relieved. “He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Jasmine asked as she turned to The Doctor.
“He’ll be right as rain in no time,” The Doctor said with a half smile.
Jasmine sighed in relief before turning to face Hammer Strike. “Then on behalf of my father and my kingdom, I give my thanks to Celestia’s Ghost,” she said, bowing.
“No problem. I’m usually where I’m needed,” Hammer Strike replied. “And no need for titles, please.”
“I was not aware that you were capable of such feats of magic,” Jasmine said. “You were more like Djinn than a Pony, dealing with that creature.”
“I have plenty of tricks up my sleeves. Something for every situation,” Hammer Strike replied. “Got to be prepared for anything.”
“That is true.” She nodded. “Father will likely give you a title when he comes around again. Such heroism ought to be remembered, and rewarded.”
“I don’t need a reward. You needed help, we came to your aid.”
“All the same, this act will not go unnoticed. All of Saddle Arabia is in your debt, and all of Equis besides.” A sudden cough brought all’s attention back to the makeshift throne, where the sultan had just awoken.
“...Where?” the Sultan asked, raising his head only to be roughly embraced by Jasmine.
“Oh, father, thank goodness you’re alright.”
“I remember that… thing and… a great burning creature saving us. It burned with the fire of…” he suddenly noticed Hammer Strike and his burning hooves. “...That right there. A Djinn. A Djinn of fire saved us.” He smiled and slumped back down onto his pillows again, his eyes closed as he breathed deeply.
“My name is Hammer Strike. A pleasure.”
“...That name is not unknown to me. He nodded his head weakly towards the stallion with the hourglass cutie mark. “Doctor. I see your form has changed, but your mark is still the same.”
“Ah… you’ll forgive me, but what was your name again?” The Doctor asked.
The sultan chuckled. “Aamir, Doctor. My name is Aamir. Remember it. You will need it in your future adventures.” He chuckled.
“I’m sure I will,” The Doctor nodded. “Your people well need comfort. They have had a troublesome past few weeks.”
“Yes. I had hoped to have Storyteller assist. For some reason the people always liked having him near. But he told me he was waiting for an old friend, and judging by his body language, I assume he has found him.” The Sultan chuckled. “It will be up to my darling Jasmine, it seems. Speaking of which, tell me, Hammer Strike, are you still single?”
“Sorry, taken. Last time she had competition she beat them in a duel.” Hammer Strike chuckled.
“A formidable mare indeed.” The Sultan nodded. “With a fire perhaps to match your own. Very well. I would offer you a reward, but our kingdom is in disarray. We shall have to send a gift to the princesses for you after the kingdom is repaired.”
“Send the bill to them with my name on as well as the words, ‘Would you kindly?’ They’ll understand.”
“It is a strange request… but if you insist,” the Sultan said. “Might we press you to stay for a celebration in your honor at least?”
“Sorry, but I’m needed elsewhere,” Hammer Strike replied. “Right, Doc?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Places to go, Ponies to see. You know how it is. I’ll see you later… or would that be sooner? Nevermind. Let’s just go,” The Doctor said, sweating mildly as he headed for the stairs. After their brief walk, the trio found themselves standing before the TARDIS.
“So, Storyteller, what do you plan on doing now?” Hammer Strike asked.
Storyteller shrugged. “I might try to settle down. I’ve been traveling so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a home. Somewhere to rest my head and not worry about a knife in my back.”
The Doctor leaned over to Hammer Strike and whispered. “Where exactly did you meet him anyway?”
“...Yes,” Hammer Strike replied. “But I’m apparently an old friend, so… some time in the future, or past...”
“Well then.” The Doctor moved towards the central console. “Let’s head home, shall we?” he asked as he started flicking switches.
“We aren’t leaving him here, Doctor,” Hammer Strike started. “I can take the heat of armor in the desert, but I wouldn’t want to push it on him.”
“How many more strays must you pick up, Hammer Strike?” The Doctor asked with a sigh.
“Depends, Doc. How many times are you going to ask that question?”
“Oh, alright,” The Doctor sighed. “Let’s just go home. Derpy is probably wondering where I am right now.”
“Doc, you travel through time. I somewhat doubt that,” Hammer Strike replied before leaning his head out the TARDIS doors. “Come on, Storyteller. You’re coming with us.”
“Are you sure about that? I stand out like a sore hoof,” Storyteller replied.
“Not where we’re going,” Hammer Strike replied, chuckling as he entered the blue box once more with Storyteller following behind. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. And you—” he pointed towards the center console. “Please, no more trips. I want to go home now.”
The TARDIS seemed to groan in response before the familiar sound echoed inside the box as they started traveling.
“And so, my brothers, sisters, and honored friends,” Grif’s voice cracked a little as he spoke. The ceremony was reaching its end. It had been a long and solemn occasion. Friends had come up to talk about good times and good memories about Kel'leam. They had spoken of his bravery and chivalry. Grif had been forced to relive the story of his final hours as he narrated the heroic work Kel'leam performed as a final act of loyalty to his emperor. He looked out at the assembled Gryphons. Up at the front, Grif’s family and Gilda, who had requested a spot close by, sat. Fluttershy shyly listened a little ways off, tears in her eyes as she dabbed with a handkerchief. Grif looked to his left, where Cheshire sat. Normally this was only traditional for the fallen warrior’s mate, but Grif had granted her this request. “We commend Kel'leam to fly with his ancestors out upon the winds. Wherever he is, I only hope he has embraced his family and that he waits for each of us. Fly well, Kel'leam.” With those last words, Grif gave a small bow and left the podium.There was a moment of silence before the crowd began to disperse.
Pensword stood off to the side as a few Thestrals approached certain Gryphons to speak to them. He looked to Grif and made a subtle shift with his wing, indicating a private corner with his head. Seeing the sign, Grif strode towards Pensword at a measured pace so as not to let anything appear off. “Hey, Pensword,” he said, his voice subdued. “What do you need?”
“Well, I need you to meet me in the completed meeting lodge that the Thestrals built. It has to do with Kel'leam, and I cannot say what it is at the moment, only that he is the one putting me up to this.”
“Just me?”
“Well, only those that my clan has approached on the sly. You should bring your wives as well. But above all, if none of my clan can get to her, you must bring Cheshire.” Pensword’s tone was resolute. Clearly he wouldn’t budge on this point.
“I’m not sure what this is, but thank you, Pensword.” Grif clapped his friend on the shoulder. “This means alot to me.”
“Do not thank me just yet,” he answered wearily. “Be there after Luna’s moon has risen all the way.” With that said, Pensword left, his shoulders slumped as he pressed on.
Hours later, Grif, Avalon, Shrial, Gilda, and Cheshire approached the lodge in question. Grif knocked carefully before entering. They all noticed that the lodge was guarded by Thestrals not just on the ground, but also perched upon the roofs. It was a two story viking style lodge with steep roofs, wood thatching, and an overhang around the entire outside wall. At each end of the roof’s peak, a wooden crescent moon sat painted silver-white.
The doors opened to reveal a young Thestral dressed in a robe, no older than five years. As the party entered, the place was lit by candles and a small fire burned in a pit. Pensword stood at the front of the hall looking upon them. He was dressed in an outfit no other pony or even Grif had seen him wear before. It was white with designs that could not be fully ascertained.
“Grif, Gilda, Cheshire, Avalon, Shiral. Please step to the outer ring of the fire,” Pensword instructed. As they approached, they noticed certain items laid on the ground around the fire. Each were wooden carvings of different things ranging from Kel'leam’s shield to Grif’s swords. Each was placed before a particular carving and soon realized each of these wooden objects had special meaning to each of them. Pensword waited for them to sit. When all had taken their places, the wooden shield remained alone. Kel'leam’s spot was empty.
“Please, pick the wooden pieces up and toss them into the fire,” Pensword instructed. Thanks to his training in thaumaturgy, Grif felt the subtle hint of magic hovering in the air. It was old magic, musty, ancient even. Something that made even Zecora’s totems feel new in comparison.
Grif lifted the representation of his swords and, taking a moment to contemplate what they meant, he tossed it into the flames. Gilda likewise followed suit. Chesire was next, followed by Avalon, then Shrial.
To their surprise, the representation of Kel'leam lifted up from the ground, and midway to Gryphon height a faint form began to appear. It grew stronger and stronger till Kel’leam stood before them, his body translucent, his expression grim. He flung the shield into the fire and the flames changed into a silvery-white. He turned to look at them and bowed respectfully to Pensword. “Thank you,” he said, his voice echoing like the inside of a cave. “I know this was hard for you and your people.” Then he turned to Cheshire, where tears stood in her eyes anew. “Cheshire…”
“Kel'leam.” She looked at him sadly. “Why’d you have to go and be a big damn hero?”
Kel'leam smiled ruefully. “It’s my nature. Would you love me if I were any other way?”
“And look where it got us,” she said. “I can’t touch you and you can’t touch me. What am I supposed to do with you gone?”
“Live,” Kel'leam said simply. “Live so the next generation won’t have to face our pains. Live to teach them to be more than trained killers. So Equestria can be defended. So everyone can have just a touch of insanity.” He smirked. “You changed me, Cheshire. And I will always be grateful for that.”
“When I get there, you’d better be ready for me” she told him. “Cause I’ll be looking for you.”
“Then we’ll get to play like we used to before you caught me. I’m looking forward to it.” He chuckled. Then he sighed and stared into her eyes. “I love you, Cheshire Bladefeather. I always will.”
“I love you too, you big idiot,” she said with something between a giggle and a sob.
With that done, Kel'leam turned to his clan leader, his expression serious. “Grif, this is an order from the higher ups as well as from me. Stop beating yourself up. And if you don’t, so help me, I will haunt you until the day you die.”
“Would that be any different?” Grif chuckled dryly. “I barely noticed your presence when you were alive”
“And the Winds gave me that gift for a reason, Grif. My mission was to live, to spread justice, and to teach mercy by my actions. My death was not your fault. It was preordained.”
“To hell with that,” Grif told him. “I’ll make my own destiny and I’ll make that world we talked about, Kel'leam. I’ll show our people what true glory is.”
“The ancestors expect nothing less.” Kel'leam smirked. “And neither did I. You’d still better learn to forgive yourself, though.”
“Do you believe in me?” Grif asked him.
“Always.”
“Then I shall believe in that. I will make you proud, brother, and when we fly together on the winds, I will tell you of all the things I’ve done.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” Kel'leam smiled and turned to face Gilda.
“You took me in,” Gilda started slowly. “I was ungrateful and stubborn, and you took me in, and fed me, and brought me into the company.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she spoke. “And all I ever did was act like a selfish, arrogant little cub who only thought of herself. You deserved more gratitude than that.”
“You already gave it.” Kel'leam smiled. “You grew up. You changed. You learned. And you’ve become a fine warrior because you finally humbled yourself. Your choice to change, that was my thanks.”
“Still, I wasn’t worth it. Why did you help me?” she asked.
“Because you were. Never think otherwise. I used to think that about myself. It nearly destroyed me. Don’t make the same mistake.”
“I hope one day I can say I was worthy of you,” she said. “For what it’s worth, thank you.”
“You already are. Your family is very proud of you. They send their love.”
“Thank you, Kel'leam.” Gilda sobbed as his image began to fade.
“We’re always with you. Never forget that. And Grif, remember, find that gem!” With that, the silver flame died, and Kel'leam was gone, his last urgent instruction hanging on the wind as it passed by each of them, dancing around them briefly before finally leaving through the opening above the lodge. No words were said as the group separated. They all needed time to think on Kel'leams words.
Vital Spark slept peacefully on his bed, the sun already high in the sky, but that didn’t bother him as he curled beneath his covers. He smiled as he dreamed, even while his horn sparked casually from time to time. His leg band still held tightly near his shoulder as he slept, the diamond refracting the light through the rest of the room and casting images of windigo across the walls.
Quietly and gently, a pair of headphones were placed on his ears. Before his brain could register the feeling to wake him up and check it out, however, the first few notes of Mozart's Fortieth Symphony blasted into his ear canals.
Vital Spark leapt a good three feet into the air, tearing out the headphones from his ears before landing back down on his bed again. “What the BUCK?”
“Hey! You are half an hour late,” Grif told him. “It’s in the waiver.” The Gryphon held up a familiar document bearing Conor’s signature at the bottom. “So what have you been doing to be so tired?”
Tiny bags hung under Vital’s eyes. “I can’t tell you,” he said before a massive yawn finished his sentence.
“...You know, if it were practically anybody else, I’d think they’d gotten hammered to the wall and couldn’t remember the night enough to tell me, but this is you, and you’re hiding something important. Now I’m going to look the other way today, but if this becomes a thing, then you're going to end up telling me.”
Vital sighed. “Fine. But I don’t know how much I’ll be allowed to say without permission.”
“Is this going to kill you?” Grif asked bluntly.
“I don’t think so. Someone just needed my help.”
“Is someone else going to die if you keep doing it?”
“No.”
“Listen, Conor— Vital. I’m not your mother. I’m not here to lead you around by the hoof and tell you right from wrong. If it’s not killing you and this doesn’t become a regular thing, then it’s not my business, okay?”
“Thanks for understanding, Grif— Taze. I really appreciate it.”
“Now get out of bed and get dressed. The guys are restless and you already missed breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” Vital said as he got off the mattress and twisted his band. In a flash of light, Conor stood, then moved to a stand that held a new set of leather armor from the smith. “Time to start the next level.”
“Hey, look at it this way,” Grif said as he activated his own gauntlet. Taze stood over Conor in Grif’s plated armor. “You aren't likely to be using heavy armor at any point, so you probably won’t get a lot heavier than that.”
“I might go for it anyways, just for the sake of building endurance. You never know when you might need it. Let alone the speed and agility that comes with shedding it. I’ll be like Gohan and you’d be Picollo.”
“I see you’ve actually been paying attention to what you’re told.” Taze laughed “Don’t worry, by the way. I leave the dodge training to Hammer Strike.” Grif smirked.
“I… need an adult?”
“I am an adult.” Taze smirked evilly.
“Why do I get the feeling today is going is going to be hell?”
“You are familiar with the twelve labors of Hercules, yes?”
Conor nodded, performing a very real cartoonish gulp.
“You should be so lucky,” Taze said in a sinister tone.
Vital’s eyes widened and he took on a tone of voice reminiscent of a certain black cartoon duck. “...Mother.”
Grif made his way to the Gantrithor’s core room. He had drawn the short straw and was therefore given the duty of checking if Hammer Strike was back yet. It had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to navigate the Gantrithor’s massive labyrinth of rooms and decks to find his way to the core chamber, and he was almost certain if Hammer Strike was back he’d have been gone by now. As it turned out, his timing was perfect as he picked up the sound of the TARDIS materializing.
Hammer Strike walked out of the blue box with a certain golem on his back and an armored figure. “Grif, here’s something for you. TARDIS doesn’t like when The Doctor thinks she’s lying.”
“Nice to see you back, Hammer Strike,” Grif said as the TARDIS immediately began to dematerialize. “Who's your friend?”
“My name is—” Hammer Strike slammed the golem on the ground. “But, you can call me The Storyteller.”
“Huh,” Grif said. “So we picked up another stray, huh?”
“Don’t you dare.” Hammer Strike frowned for a moment. “Circlet, you around? I got a golem here. Try to merge, or whatever works.”
Several arcs of red lightning shot between the core and the golem. The ley lines drawn onto the golem were quickly filled in with blood-red energy that strobed across the golem in long slow movements. The eyes of the golem opened moments later, burning with a deep ruby-red fire as it slowly began to stir and rise. “C- can you hear me?” a female voice asked in a monotone.
“Yep.”
“This is unusual,” the voice said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a physical presence.”
“To be expected, honestly.” Hammer Strike shrugged. “At least you have a physical form now, and now we don’t have to worry about Pensword translating for several hours, eh?”
“It will be good to see the core put to proper use, Lord Hammer Strike,” the golem responded.
“Now, I have to get The Storyteller settled in, and then, you and I shall have a supply of paper, quills, and plenty of ink to work with,” Hammer Strike commented with a small grin.
“I will await your arrival.” she said, nodding her head in respect.
“Alright. Grif, status report. How long has it been?”
“About twenty hours, I’d say,” Grif noted. “I wasn’t there when you left, so I can’t be exact.”
“And here I said I wanted to be back within an hour of leaving… I also have a letter to send,” he mumbled.
“So how was the trip?
“Long story short, I now know why I’m called the Djinn of Flame in Saddle Arabia.”
“Quite the adventure, though the sand stallions were interesting,” Storyteller commented.
“The Doctor owes you one?” Grif asked.
“Certainly does. Now, come on, got things I need to do right now,” Hammer Strike said, leading the group out of the room. “We’ll be back shortly, Circlet.”
Fifteen minutes later the trio found themselves stepping off the massive warship and onto the docks. Storyteller took the time to recount what happened in Saddle Arabia to Grif.
“That was when he got the idea to turn them to glass, burning away at the grains of sand that made up their form, and then, with a simple punch, they shattered, unable to reform again.”
“So pretty much an average Tuesday, then?” Grif asked Hammer Strike.
“Close enough to one.”
“So where are we going to put our Storyteller?” Grif asked.
“As the head of the more well-armed troops.”
“I kinda meant physically,” Grif said. “There aren't a lot of rooms left, and we’re still working on our third barracks.”
“There are some open rooms in the castle, like next to the forge, assuming the blood’s been properly cleaned after Cheshire’s little mele.”
“Okay, you know we should work on planning out more general housing. I mean, we may need to start bringing in more civilians for things we need.”
“I thought ahead of you on that. Should be here within a week, actually. After that, we’ll have construction begin on the first district.”
“Good to hear. Honestly, we got all the basic resources to really make a foothold. Time we used some of them.”
“Certainly is.”
“You know, this place didn’t age too bad. Back in the day, the castle could have used some work done, but after the work that you have put in, I’d say you should have a secure place on your hooves,” Storyteller said, looking around them.
“You’ve been to Unity?” Grif asked him.
“Yes, I have. But that, is a story for another day.”
Conor was hard at work in the training arena practicing with a bo-staff as he moved through a series of defensive move sets. For now, his movements were unsteady and uncoordinated. He had clearly never handled such a weapon in his life. Pausing to wipe his forehead, he leaned against the staff as he looked up at the setting sun. “Clover is so going to kill me,” he said.
“Why?” Pensword asked as he walked into the area. “How is she going to kill you?”
“I missed my magic lesson today to focus on my training. I’m guessing she’s going to make it another all-nighter for me.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Pensword responded with a chuckle. “What use is a mage without the ability to defend yourself without magic? What if Chrysalis finds a field that disrupts your power, or some enemy is immune to magic? I am the commander, and she will understand that. I want you able to defend yourself no matter the situation. I train to fight not only with wings, but without wings as well. So I want you to train with and without magic.”
“We’ll need to set up a schedule between her and Grif then. I’d rather not risk having her get upset with me.”
“Very well. I shall get to that next on my list,” Pensword said as he flattened his left ear. “Also, I need to warn you. Me-Me thought it funny to add to the number of suction cup bolts Moon River owns. Do not be surprised if you get sneak attacked.” No sooner had the words left his mouth when two suction cup bolts struck the pair, Pensword on his head and Conor his back. “I think Fizzpot has been roped into being her aerial attack platform.” He looked at the ground. “However, she might need to work on the aim.” Three more bolts lay in the dirt.
“She’ll improve. She’s certainly developing fast enough as it is.”
“I just wonder what she will be like when she is a teen.” Pensword sighed. “But I am wondering, who gave her that crossbow? Did you know she refused to let us take it away from her when we put her to bed? We had to put it unloaded at the foot of her bed.” He sighed. “I wonder if I would be called a negligent parent when I am only allowing her to go after a hobby. I have no plans to let her touch the real thing until she is at least five years old.”
“Is that a cultural thing?”
“Is what a cultural thing?”
“The whole weapons training at five thing.”
“Oh, no. At five, I will teach her how to throw a tomahawk. That is cultural, but why would I just stick to one weapon at five?” He smiled with pride. “I was throwing a tomahawk at five years myself. I only tell you about the tomahawk because I consider you a brother.”
“Well, you are her father, and she does seem to be maturing pretty quickly, so I suppose by five she should be developed enough to handle it.” Conor shrugged. “Cultures are really different here sometimes, aren’t they?”
“How so?” Pensword asked with a blank look. “In what way? Remember, to me I grew up in a culture a thousand years in the past. I grew up on the frontier where bandits and raiders were a threat on a regular basis. At a young age, I had a bounty on my head for killing bandits, and was praised by those in my community.” His expression grew distant as he remembered those happier times.
“Well, back home most parents wouldn’t let a five-year-old anywhere near a firearm, let alone a weapon. They might allow for martial arts training if it’s the basics, but nothing too violent. Now I’m here and I find out how that’s a regular thing for Thestrals, a race that had always been mythical until I literally got pulled out of our world by a practical deity of pure chaos. I just find it all a little strange still, I guess.”
Pensword flapped his wings to gain air and patted Conor’s shoulder. “There, there. You’ll make sense of this, and maybe settle down with a nice mare and sire foals,” he said in a soft tone of voice. “Still, you think Earth was dangerous? We have Dragons, Manticores, Cockatrices, and that is just naming some of the more deadly creatures in the forest.”
“Hey, I’m not questioning your choices. You’re right, there are dangers here. It’s just taking some time for me to adjust is all. Secondly, why did you say mare? I thought you guys didn’t want me to stay here.”
Pensword blinked once, twice as he kept his eyes closed. He shook his head. “Look, mare is, I did mention that I see myself Equestrian, right? That I grew up with these terms? What do you call the opposite gender of humans?” he asked as he paused. “Okay, memory gap found.” He muttered as if he was speaking to somepony else.
“It’s alright, Pensword, I know you’re used to the Equestrian version. I just wanted to make sure I understood you correctly.” Conor sighed. “So what now? I’m just about done with my training for the day.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Crap, I have orchestra practice tonight!”
“Then you finish, shower, and get your flank over to practice, and I will be sure to have a sleep drought ready for you tonight, it will put you out till your alarm clock blares, making you feel like you got a full eight hours of sleep.”
“Thanks, Pensword, I’ll see you later!” Conor shouted as he ran, his armor clanking as the studs jangled against one another. In a flash of light, Vital Spark was racing as fast as his hooves could carry him.
Pensword shook his head. “Good luck,” he whispered with a chuckle. “Those mares will be all over you.”
“Alright, let’s see,” Hammer Strike muttered to himself. “Storyteller is settling in and learning names, Grif had things to do, got quills, inkwells, and plenty of parchment ready. Good, I think I should be free to work on upgrades now.” Hammer Strike grinned for a second before his expression relaxed and he exited his study to start his walk to the Gantrithor.
Only, he was cut off before he could make it onboard.
“Oi, Hammer Strike! There’s some giant ponies asking for you outside the gate! Also, how dare ya! Holding out that gin of fire from me and Charge!” Granado shouted from the gate.
Hammer Strike paused, trying to think on what in the world they were talking about before it clicked in his head. “It’s always after a trip that they show up… why is that?” He frowned. “Demo, wrong type of Djinn, not the liquor kind!” Hammer called back towards the Demos as he headed towards the gate. “Open it up.”
The gate opened and in walked a single Arabian stallion dressed in a thick green robe covering his entire body and the top of his head. His face was covered by an ornate and highly polished steel mask that stretched out over his eyes and down the sides of his muzzle. Several plates of armor lay on top of the cloth of the robe covering his chest and shoulders. At his side swung a shamshire in a long metal sheath. The ornate handle curved outwards opposite of the blade before ending in a large rounded gold pommel with a swirl design.
He bowed his head to Hammer Strike before he began to speak. His equish came out clumsily with a thick Arabian accent. “Greetings, honored one! I am Akhmed. I represent Rish Min Shabah. We have come to serve you.”
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Hope your finger feels better.
6662374
Thank you
6662394 Bummer that you hurt your ring finger...
But the story is progressing rather nicely and i will be following it for a long time to come.
Also Hammer Strike is my Fav of the bunch of characters now. I just love how he can command the Princesses around and his character overall... hmmm i wonder.... you put disney in there.... TF2.... tons of other stuff i cant be bothered to mention....
How about Undertale? hehe.... That would be a nice thing... also i would fangasm so much if it were to happen.
You know you are doing far too well when reality gives You the finger. Maybe a certain freind of Strike leant on you.
Lets see what happened around the realms these times then.
Vital Spark and Camo are having so much fun, given I havent played the games, Im suprised at how high quality Camos abilities are, and you say Espionage is the same? Different names for each of the Scouts from Red and blue teams? Was the Tree squeal the end of a Plunnder Vine, given how old those things are, or is it something else for this time round? Spark/Conner is going to be having ever more fun between Penswords combat training, Clovers Magical training, Orchestra training, he hasnt ended up with nursery, or massage training yet?
In Saddle Arabia, Hammerstrike decides not to redecorate, but goes along to find out whats going on? Theres a reason why things used to be more expensive, they were done to survive instead of saving money by stuffing it all together. Oh look, they even supplied him with the resources needed for temporary weapons. His remoulds would probably equal most standard forge works, which is why he works so hard in the forge, for that extra twist of capability. Storyteller is an intresting figure. No visible appearence outside of armour, if age is excessive, implies non living, golem, or infused armour. Will wait with intrest to see if they ever get out to bathe etc. As for the Name, BOOM thing. running gag?Or a curse or effect on this character? Going through the doors on the way to the throne room reminds me of Red Dwarf when it got locked down, Holly 6000? Seeing the Sultan represented was strange, as usually its the Grand Vizir who takes over with an evil cackle. I wonder how many other options were possible with possesed granulated sand. sticky materials such as flour and water, tree sap etc? Pity the entity has definitely lost it, claiming the desert is never ending. There are less grains of sand in all the world than there are stars in teh sky, and it only takes one start to destroy all that sand. Or one Hammerstrike when he really gets going. At least, thanks to the temporal interactions, they got to the Sultan and daughter in time to take care of Mr Ugly, but poor Doctor having to call the burning of yet another race. Im suprised the accords were signed by the Daleks, given the Time War, but I havent seen those episodes or read the books. Poor sultan, cant give Hammerstrike his Daughter cos Rarity isnt into herding, at this time? Still. Send the Bill To Celestia.
With the return to the Gantithor and the delivery of the golem for Circlet, whereabouts was that Golem collected from, or was it made up in the time jump between Hammerstrike and company leaving the Sultan, and arriving back in New Unity?
From Terry Pratchet. An animated female golem. Gladys. Hammerstrikes pet name, GladOS?
If Moon River is bad enough now, what is she going to be like once Pensword and Lunar Fang are successful in makeing an associate in crime to go with her on her adventures? Good thing Fizzpot hasnt got that emotional Master link back to them yet, or he would never be able to get away, but would have more emotion supplies as well?
Given the length of time for travel between Eqestria and Saddle Arabia via various methods, and Celestia hasnt said anything about the bill yet, did the new guy bring it with him via flying carpet, is he head of the Harem, or more likely combat group, and just how many are with him, including possibly the Daughter?
The final ceremonies and goodbyes are carried out for Kel,leam, freinds and collegues old and new, those that would have gone on long with him. Using the rare permissive option only available in high magical realms, to be able to say goodbye.
Fly well, Kel,leam
Sorry to hear about your finger. Nothing is more adorable than moonriver with her bow. I wonder if vital spark will get with Trixie or Octavia. I loved the part where. was the day for Kel'leam’s ghost reconciled with his closest friends, and loved ones. And it seems we'll be getting into Season 4 of the show soon, cause the elements need to return to the tree.
Oh and for the love of all that is pony, on black Friday when you work and a mob of people are coming at you, let your inner pensword out and stand against the tide of enemy know as holiday shoppers. LOL
I'm slogging through this because right now I have nothing better to read. It'd be decent if your English skills weren't shit. GET A FUCKING EDITOR.
6676662
If this comment is being made regarding our earlier chapters in the fiction, the editing process is taking place for them. We will be releasing those edited chapters once we finish enough of them to make a difference. Right now, our staff is being rather pressed by real life obligations and, as such, cannot fully edit every portion of this fiction. We apologize for the inconvenience, but we are doing the best that we can under the constraints and obligations we all have to follow in our real lives. Thank you for your understanding.
~Head Editor: Vital Spark~
6676765
The comment which you are deriding has to do with perspective. Grif was referring to distance when looking up at the plane from the ground. From the ground, it would appear a plane had only traveled about a foot or so across the sky, but when converted to fit actual distance by scale, the plane will have gone much further. I hope this helps to clarify any misunderstanding. Also, please note, I have not been able to get to this chapter yet in my edits of the earlier portions of this fic, as I was brought in around chapter 34, and even then those chapters I have edited previously will need further revisions because I have learned much about the process since I first began editing and proofreading this fic. Please be patient.
~Head Editor: Vital Spark~
6677277
What. No. They were talking about fuel efficiency, not perspective. How little something appears to move from an awkward point of view has no causal bearing on how fuel efficient it is.
6676662 Have patience... it is being worked on.
6676765 Every time you bring real world physics into a world of pastel colored horsies that fly, walk and do magical s***... a baby parasprite dies.
PLEASE! Think of the parasprites!
6678208 And another parasprite died
6678208
I just reviewed the segment you're talking about. You're right. Though the other writer has told me he was meaning to compare distance, rather than fuel consumption. As I said, we will be editing and revising these chapters as time allows us, but for right now, our main focus is on producing the next chapter in the series and having it ready for publication.
~Head Editor: Vital Spark~
6678486 I may have problems with the story, and I don't know how much more of it I'll read, but I respect you guys for your candor and grace when responding to my blunt criticisms. You guys have earned a fan.
6679425
Thank you for your honesty. If the problem has to do with grammar and other writing errors in the earlier chapters, believe me, I understand why the story turns you off. If that's the only reason, however, I would recommend that you hold on a little longer. The writing gets better as time goes on, and once you reach the mid-thirties, the staff's editing kicks in and the writers have fully meshed their styles together. Though I do need to go back to some of those and re-edit a few places, overall, I think you will enjoy the quality of the story as well as the majority of the edits that have been made. Also, thank you for the watch. I was not expecting that at all since it's American_Brony who's publishing the story right now. He's our post person. That being said, I look forward to hearing more of what you think of the overall progression of the story for as long as you stay with it, and if I ever do publish a fimfic of my own, I guess you'll be one of the first to know. Thanks again.
~Head Editor: Vital Spark~
.....That Storyteller character seems familiar.....one of you lot wouldnt happen to play Fallout New Vegas with mods, would ya?
you know what would be funny? if storyteller was actually shawn from when he is really old.
Akhmed!? Spelled A-C-phlem. .? As in Akhmed the dead terrorist?!
Man, really earning the keep's name, aren't they? Unity, of one and all species on the planet. Very nice.
And conor learning the Bo staff? I'm sure Wukong would want in on that. Imagine being able to brag that you were taught the fighting staff from the monkey king himself, (if you don't know how to brag, he'll teach you that too.)
Well then:
6663033
Agreed. Fly well and may any future visits be for happy times.