This Game of Mine

by Swan Song

|♫| ɪɪ. The Path

 

  
 
 

S E V E R A L   M O N T H S   A G O . . .

S I L V E R   S P O O N

 

“Welcome home, Lady Silver,” greeted the Head Servant with a sweeping bow.

“Thank you, Mirror Sheen,” I replied curtly, stepping through the gate into my family compound and taking in the sweet aromas of the well-groomed courtyard. As I strode towards the front door, my servant fell into trot beside me.

“I trust your evening went well?”

“It was certainly… eventful,” I responded, still puzzling over the day’s events. “There was an altercation at the opera house during this evening’s performance of La Trotska. Apparently some daft stagehand had confused a prop handgun with an actual loaded pistol, and it had gone off during the execution scene.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my. I trust nopony was hurt?”

“The actor was slain on the spot.”

“That is… most unfortunate.”

“I suppose it is.”

I had no strong feelings either way. I had attended primarily for the symphony—La Trotska was a rather intense production, one that only a suitably bombastic orchestral ensemble could do justice. After all, no bard or poet could truly hope to match the storytelling prowess of a legion of frantic woodwinds, sweeping strings, and powerful brass, all swelling and rising in harmony with each dramatic reveal and crescendoing in a tsunami of melodic emotion as the events on stage raced to their inevitable conclusion.

It was thus that, aside from the rather frustrating early curtain call, I cared little for the unexpected turn of events. Despite being an admittedly decent tenor, the stallion who had died had been wholly unremarkable. I had not even known his name.

Diamond Tiara, on the other hoof, had declared the actor’s grisly end an absolute riot. Which was fascinating—usually, my friend couldn’t care less for the symphony, and she had only gone for my benefit. Yet, because of the unexpected outcome, she had deemed this performance ‘well worth the price of admission,’ a proclamation she had made no attempt to conceal as we had departed the concert hall.

Always a rather morbid sense of humor about that one.

“Perhaps your evening fared better?” I asked the Servant, keen to redirect my train of thought elsewhere.

“The same as any other day, perhaps,” he replied cordially as we stepped up to the front porch of my home. “Though in the midst of preparations, I was greeted with a rather curious delivery this afternoon. A sizeable crate bearing the seal of Barnyard Bargains and addressed to you.”

Ah, right. The Hoofbox.

“I see. And where is the package now?”

“It awaits you in your room.”

“Very well. Thank you, Mirror Sheen.” I stepped through the door into the well-lit foyer of my family estate and made for the stairs.

“I don’t suppose you were… privy to the contents of this package?”

Oh dear.

I froze for a moment as I considered the implications behind his query, before slowly turning around to face him.

“I may have been,” I replied slowly. “I… don’t suppose this means you opened it?”

“Indeed, Lady Silver,” he answered genially, “to verify its contents and ensure their safety.”

I fixed him with a hard stare. “And? Do mother or sister know?”

He wore a placid smile. “I made certain only to check the package after Madame Sterling had departed with Lady Quicksilver to the spa.”

Of course. Reliable as always. How could I expect no less?

“Very good,” I responded, turning back around and ascending the stairs to my room. “Thank you for your discretion, Sheen.”

“It is my pleasure, as always, Lady Silver.”

---

Monolithic.

That was the word that initially came to mind when I first laid eyes upon the strange black appliance that now stood in my room, free from the trappings of its delivery packaging.

It was a large cube that stood at just about neck height, and perhaps half my length. Each surface was smooth, polished wood, painted with a rather sleek piano-black finish that was free of blemish or decoration. The only exception was the logo that adorned its face—a circle of frosted glass, with a hoofprint engraved into its center.

Though I couldn’t help but find the machine’s countenance to be rather imposing—for an inanimate object at least—it certainly wasn’t unattractive, by any stretch of the imagination. No doubt it would eventually be left forgotten in some corner of my room to serve as a glorified nightstand, or perhaps a display for my violin.

But not until I had my fun with it, of course.

A strange sense of giddiness rose up in my chest at the thought. I couldn’t help but take a moment to relish my own brilliance—the chance to invade Sweetie Belle’s little hidden sanctuary was too rich an opportunity to pass up, despite the inherent nerdiness of what I was about to do.

In short order, everything was set up. The device was magically tethered to the stratoscreen, the game itself had been placed atop the machine, and the controller was in my hooves.

All that remained was to turn it on.

Unsure of what to expect, I raised a tentative hoof to the logo. Upon contact, it lit up with an aura of white magic and rang melodically with a two-tone chime.

There was a momentary silence.

Then, gradually, a low hum began to fill the room, and my eyes widened in recognition.

It was the deep rumble of a contrabass, subdued and monotone—chills raced down my spine as the familiar warbling of a bow drawn across strings pervaded my senses, soon joined by regal brass horns and sorrowful strings that began weaving a harmonic narrative. Together, they spoke of a glorious civilization that had spanned the centuries, until a great tragedy ended everything—histories were swept mercilessly away by a great Darkness that consumed it all, aided by hubris and contempt.

But then, the violins rose brightly with hope. The entire ensemble bolstered with confidence, it rose as one to a glorious crescendo, foretelling a chance to restore that forgotten greatness, an opportunity to reclaim all that had been lost... a chance to undertake a journey of redemption, and a promise that it would not be taken alone.

Their message of hope delivered, the melodies dwindled to a gentle purr, and the majestic soundscape faded into silence. It was only then that I realized I had shut my eyes for the entire duration.

I opened them to a room filled with light, emanating from the bright projection upon the stratoscreen, its ethereal image resolving into a single, emboldened word.

E T E R N I T Y

I let out a breathless sigh. Admittedly, I was impressed. I hadn’t known what to expect when I turned on that device… but it most certainly wasn’t a soaring symphonic performance on par with that of Canterlot’s finest.

Then again, Canterlot’s finest could be contracted to do just about anything if one merely had the bits and the time. They did, after all, compose for several movies. Video games didn’t seem too much of a stretch.

But at least they had a certain degree of class.

My attention returned to the screen, and I noticed a glowing prompt had appeared beneath the title.

“PRESS START”

I looked at the controller—a sleek, roughly boomerang-shaped contraption, laden with an intimidating array of buttons and levers. Some of them were labeled, thankfully, but it still took a moment to figure out which doohickey was “Start”—which, upon tapping, caused the screen to go dark.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose with a sigh. This was going to be a bit more difficult than I had initially realized.

Within moments, the screen lit up once more, with a single question.

“WHAT ARE YOU?”

Within moments, a dizzying array of creatures faded into view on the stratoscreen, and my jaw dropped as I was beset with a diverse range of species, displayed in what could only be described as a biological gallery. Virtually every sapient creature that could be found within the bounds of Equestria was represented—all three pony races, zebra, gryphons, even diamond dogs. Occasionally the caricatures would fade between physical variations—sexes, coat colors, mane styles, feather markings, and more.

In a moment of awe, I realized that I could be anything I wanted to be.

…But this was getting absurd. I was taking this far too seriously. It wasn’t even something I planned to spend more than maybe a few days messing around with, and really only so that I could get into Sweetie Belle’s head.

Still though, my chosen persona would almost certainly have an effect on those who bore witness to it, something I could not ignore.

I stared up at the ceiling, pondering my choices.

My first thought was to design a character around myself. After all, I was the finest mare I knew. With a giggle I imagined the shocked look that would overcome Sweetie Belle’s face when she saw one of her worst nightmares frolicking about in her little video game world.

But no. That would make it too easy. She already knew me in real life—what was the point of playing the same antagonist when I could be a completely new one?

Perhaps I could be a graceful pegasus, free to soar the skies? I briefly entertained modeling a character after a Wonderbolt, one that carried Spitfire’s acrobatic grace, or perhaps even Soarin’s raw unbridled horsepower. It’d be an interesting perspective, and certainly an entertaining proxy with which to get close to the hapless Crusader.

Or perhaps I could even be a gryphon? There was nothing more frightening than the beastly visage of a sworn enemy of Equestria, descending upon its enemies to ravage and cannibalize its victims in a rage-fueled bloodlust. Ooh, yes. To really be the bad guy was an attractive proposition indeed. As I began to drift towards the gryphon model, I only briefly wondered what even drove the game’s creators to include such a barbaric species…

…until another creature caught my eye.

A dark-coated, blue-maned caricature stood off to the side, so dark it was nearly consumed by shadow. It had a lithe figure, otherworldly leathery wings, and glowing yellow eyes narrowed into a sharp gaze.

How curious.

Umbra were an extremely rare species of pony in Equestria—the highest concentration lived in the cold mountainous lands to the distant north of Canterlot, and the few within the Heartlands typically served as members of Princess Luna’s personal guard.

Having never actually met one of these unusual creatures in person, I couldn’t help but be enchanted by their mystique. There was something within the creature’s eyes—twin orbs expressing a silent, cunning malice—that resonated within me and carried a sense of devilish solidarity that I hadn’t expected to discover.

What a perfect envoy for my intent.

Without further hesitation, I selected the umbra.

I was then given a choice of gender—naturally, I selected male, because really, wasn’t it just completely humiliating to be slandered by a male? Poor Sweetie Belle didn’t know what was coming to her.

Soon, my character was fully configured to my taste: a fierce-looking umbra, sleek but imposingly tall. Satisfied, I confirmed its appearance.

The game immediately asked me to select a combat discipline. Such details honestly seemed very inconsequential, so I halfheartedly decided on “Warlock”, which meant my character was apparently skilled in “manipulating dark energies to his whim” or some such drivel.

Another prompt appeared before me, and I rolled my eyes—how many questions did this thing demand of me?

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

I suppose that was rather important. Enough to give me pause at least.

Using my real name would be unwise if I was hoping to interact with Sweetie Belle anonymously. But beyond that, thinking too hard about it seemed a waste of effort for what was almost certainly a trivial detail.

And yet… perhaps not. I prided myself on thoroughness—whenever I committed to a task, I spared no expense, monetary or otherwise. There was little sense in carrying out this endeavor if I didn’t at least seek to make it thematically appropriate. And at the end of the day, there was a certain allure to choosing a name that would be symbolic of my intentions.

Which… honestly, I hadn’t taken into consideration before. Why was I doing this?

I stared down at the controller at my hooves. Not once in my life could I ever have imagined such a thing even so much as fouling up the front porch of my estate, much less the sanctity of my own bedroom. And yet, here it was. An impulse purchase—not that those were particularly uncommon—so I could… what? Tease one of the Crusaders? I could easily do such a thing in real life, after all. Why was this any different?

I considered my relationship with the ragtag band of misfits. My interactions with them were most commonly fronted by Diamond Tiara, who bore the majority of the heavy lifting and behaved with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer… adorned with pulsing neon signage… and maybe set on fire.

I, on the other hoof, preferred leaving a more understated hoofprint. If ever I chose to sling a verbal abuse at the Crusaders, I refused to do anything less than cut deep. Why waste sentences on a sprawling diatribe when all one needed was a few well-placed words? I drew upon their insecurities to viciously open long-healed wounds, fill them with crippling self-doubt, and reignite fiery internal conflicts that tore the trio apart.

And that was just in public. Much of my time was spent composing schemes to manipulate other ponies into hating them, sometimes via gossip or rumor-spreading, other times by manipulating circumstances such that any of their foalish endeavors would inevitably end in humiliation and failure.

And, truly, there was little that was more gratifying than watching the Crusaders gradually buckle under the pressure of so much understated malice set in motion by my hooves. It was an entertaining exercise, and it let me flex my social muscles.

I, of course, shared all my ideas with Diamond, so that she could execute them in my stead. Her overstated ego made her a terrific, if rather blunt, implement for my machinations, and she didn’t even need encouragement to gaily take credit for my brilliance. This of course meant that she took most of the heat, whereas I could lie back in the shadows, content to watch the fruits of my labor blossom. Diamond thought herself the master. But truly, I was the composer and conductor, and she, merely an instrument.

...

And there it was.

With a smile, I reached for the controller—in moments, my newly-minted nom de guerre was emblazoned upon the screen.

Shadow Song had been born.

Author's Note:

In case anyone doesn't know what the Hawkmoon looks like

I like birds.

Comments

[Icanhazmochi]

When Swan posts four chapters in one day >.>

[Swan Song]

7085522 tfw none of them are actually new

[SolarChaser]

7085572 sad face. they were all around the story, so i am currently rereading it for new content... i have been tricked!

[JMP]

Just restructuring? I was really excited for more chapters of this story.....

[Doctor Fluffy]

7085572 OH NNNNOOOOOOOES!
Also SS and DD are real creepy. Thanks for reminding me of this pertinent fact.

[ThatClosetBrony]

Did you draw that Hawkmoon? Because it GUD.

I, on the other hoof, preferred leaving a more understated hoofprint. If ever I chose to sling a verbal abuse at the Crusaders, I refused to do anything less than cut deep. Why waste sentences on a sprawling diatribe when all one needed was a few well-placed words? I drew upon their insecurities to viciously open long-healed wounds, fill them with crippling self-doubt, and reignite fiery internal conflicts that tore the trio apart.
And that was just in public. Much of my time was spent composing schemes to manipulate other ponies into hating them, sometimes via gossip or rumor-spreading, other times by manipulating circumstances such that any of their foalish endeavors would inevitably end in humiliation and failure.
And, truly, there was little that was more gratifying than watching the Crusaders gradually buckle under the pressure of so much understated malice set in motion by my hooves. It was an entertaining exercise, and it let me flex my social muscles.

THIS GIRL
THIS GIRL RIGHT HERE
pre09.deviantart.net/7d10/th/pre/i/2015/034/d/7/freddie_mercury_by_rose_pop-d8glrws.jpg

[Killjoy1221]

On the Internet, nobody knows you are a dog.

[Pecan Crisp]

Why do I get the feeling Proper had something to do with the "misplaced" gun?

[Yutah123]

I hate slander.

Physical injuries heal, but having your reputation destroyed and your name smeared is an injury that takes time and effort to reverse, and that's if it's possible in the first place.

[Ice Star]

The image in the author’s notes is broken.