The Blue Rose

by Chicago Ted

Canto III

By some form or other of a magical might,
The Great-Hero Thorn walked across the sky.
Here he was, at an overwhelming height,
To fight with dragons. The battle was nigh!
By his side was Tânadain. He won by rite
Of passage, by using a verbal method so sly.
The dragon-warriors completely had his back.
If help he needed, they would take up the slack.

Not one pony stood in front of the foal–
Truly none; all the Pegasi were in hiding!
This left little between him and the goal
Of diverting Cloudsdale– with little fighting,
He thought– yea, that was to be his dole.
With the flower by his side, few a betiding
Threaten to fail the war. And maybe even
The pegasi will help. Then they’ll leave them!

So as to make his way across Cloudsdale,
Across the weatherclouds Thorn had to hop.
Hop– like a coney’s bop– He dared not to fail
And fall off– then his own life he might drop!
Understandable at this height he’d show quail.
He was no pegasus– But he shouldn’t stop
Because of this petty reason. He took a breath,
Backed up and lept– seemingly to his death!

But nay! He instead landed firmly further
Onto the next cloud. It indeed was close!
The job was made easier by a lack of armor.
He landed here, there– on surfaces so rimose.
He didn’t slip, not at all. But, if he were,
The dragons would abandon their bellicose
Attitude, and swoop down to retrieve him
Before he plunged through the fog-scrim.

One hop further, then two and three,
Then he landed on a firm cloud, with little air.
After Thorn wore out his legs like a flea,
He found himself within the central square!
He looked around to find a means to free
Cloudsdale from her chains. But she was bare.
The foal sensed that there was set an ambush.
’Twouldn’t be long before they would debouch.

Then a port’s maw gaped! Afore Thorn acted,
Six Cloudsdale guards had surrounded the colt.
Said their Captain, “Your spot is jacketed!
There’s nowhere for you to run, you can’t bolt!”
“Aye! This is true!” So one guard added.
Thorn replied, causing in the guards a jolt:
“It would be unwise to attack me, nay dense–
Else your doom and destruction will be hence!”

This elict’d a retort from the commander:
“Do you aid this foal? Is this true?”
“It is,” said one, “if you’d just take a gander.
He was on my back when here we flew.
If Thorn is lost to us, then you will be no victor;
Your fate will be sealed through and through.”
“Kill Thorn,” another warned, “and wyrmfire
Will render your dear Cloudsdale a pyre.”

Halberds lifted up, thus clearing the way.
“What troubles you?” asked Thorn. “Tell me!”
“’Tis the Windigos’ Coven, I say–
Gust, Gale, Hail, and Frost, they told me!
On arrival, Cloudsdale’s anchors they did fray,
Took control of the Factory, despite our plea!
They threatened to tear Cloudsdale to rubble–
Please! –Help us! –We desire no trouble!”

“What motivates their takeover,” he pressed,
“And then their exodus to Dragon-Lands?”
The Captain, when asked, looked too distressed
To answer– xenophobia set in over the sands.
Finally he said, “To the Sisters, this is a quest
To lay all in snow, and to make badlands
Of others’ territory. However, we respect
That you drakes have a realm to protect.”

“Let us aid one another in repelling
This pestilence,” one dragon proposed.
“Then afterwards, may you aid in propelling
Cloudsdale back home?” the Captain supposed.
“We will. But for now, let us start felling
the fœ– now that we find you quite disposed.”
“Let us expel Gust, Gale, Hail, and Frost
From Cloudsdale– aye, and at any cost!”

“Where’s the Factory now?” Thorn then asked.
With a hoof, the Captain pointed yonder.
With this in sight and mind, Thorn was tasked
To find the Coven and bring to them war
He planned to sneak in, his presence masked,
And then shove them right out o’ the door!.
He took the shortest path marked by a sign,
To interrupt operations clandestine.

He came to threshold, then elsewhere–
They’d expect that entry, ’twas too obvious.
He spotted a venting right there
Would be most suitable. Its width impassible
For large objects– Thorn could easily fare
Through that labyrinth he would scramble–
Turns and outlets, then kick out a grate,
Draw his Tânadain, and seal their fate!

The screws were turned easily, sans tool,
The grate came right off, allowing easy access.
Even with his things, packed tight as a spool,
Would he still fit? Fate answered with a yes,
He’d fit– O Fate, she had not been so cruel
To him, to Thorn, as one could clearly guess.
Without a single thing less, Thorn crawled in
The tunnel, to travel towards the threat within.

The demense of the vent was quite dusty,
Nearly making Thorn cough and wheeze.
The air of the Factory was acrid and musty,
With the breath of snow and ice in the breeze.
Thorn spotted a grate that was rusty,
One he knew that he would be able with ease
To kick out, even for a foal like him–
Through the passageway was growing slim.

Thorn held his breath out, then crawled in.
Stepping stealthily, making way to the threat
Though this section of passage be thin,
He bravely crawled, so that he may be met
With the grate. Closing in, by his teeth’s skin,
He slipped past a corner, greased by his sweat.
A surprise awaited him after this next bend–
His intended route yielded a dead end!

Carefully, he started to slither in reverse.
He tried to remember the path, but merely
Backwards. He didn’t know what was worse:
To be punished by his Dragon-kin severely,
Or to make a wrong turn, and suffer the curse
Of the cold. In his thoughts, Thorn nearly
Missed a left-turn. Finally, he breathed in;
He had returned where the path did begin.

He glanced upwards, to another shaft–
Instead of crawling, he ought to climb!
Yea, that was it– frost-knit air did waft
From it, and the tunnel was coated with rime.
Thorn adjusted Tânadain’s haft,
Leapt up– slipped, but caught himself in time.
Now he climbed as high as he dared,
While the fangs of the snowstorm were bared.

The rime was not so merciful on the foal–
Relentlessly, it tried to loosen Thorn’s grip.
The air tried to pierce through to his soul,
To no avail– Thorn fought through the nip,
Not allowing the weather to take its toll
On him, forcing himself not to slip.
He soon reached the top of the passage.
The cold and ice did nothing to ravage.

The rest of the journey was easier so–
Through labyrinthine paths he did cross.
Here Thorn felt the currents blow to and fro,
As the Coven concocted their cold chaos.
He crossed the bridge– not too fast or slow.
He didn’t want to be noticed by their boss,
Frost, who would surely catch him blind–
Stuck here in a tunnel surely she would find!

Down another duct-chute the foal went–
Somehow in all this, he had made no sound,
Nor, at the bottom of the chute, left a dent.
Despite this, the Coven still had not found
Thorn– who by then neared the rusted vent.
“This grate has been worn loose,” he found.
He put an ear up to the grate to observe
The Coven tampering with the reserve.

Said eldest Frost, “Quiet now! Do you hear?
Something’s within the vents, I am sure!”
Said twin Gale, “Nay, to me they sound clear.
Don’t make every bump and thought a lure.”
Said twin Hail, “Still, what have we to fear?
We are nearly finished with leg of our tour!”
Said youngest Gust, “Nay, nay! Frost is right!
Something in the vent is to bring us a fight!”

“Are you certain of this?” then asked Frost.
“Aye, Frost– the threat is all too true!”
“Is it not some cloud-rat that has become lost?”
“No mammatus mús is so large!” she did argue.
Thorn watched this from afar, growing crossed,
His patience held steadfast– hitherto.
But before Thorn could react violently,
The blue Rose spoke up redolently:

“Hush, Thorn, and get out of their sight–
You musn’t give yourself away too soon,
Or else you may prove old Frost to be right!
With Cloudsdale at risk, a rough-hewn
Stratagem will bring your flaws to light!
Instead, wait for a moment more opportune.
Let complacence hold them in thrall–
Let their distraction be their pitfall!”

On and on, the Coven prattled more–
Their disagreement boiling over to hate,
When Gust caught whiff of a pony’s spoor.
“Sisters, hold your tongues! I say again, wait!”
But the other three decided this to ignore.
Such opportune point did quartet create!
The grate was then opened by Thorn’s clout.
With the way clear, the foal tumbled out.

All four turned to investigate the noise,
And found the foal there, glaring boldly.
The Sisters approached him with poise,
With a wind that blew past him coldly.
Such confidence! Thorn considered the ploys
They may be pulling– most manifoldly!
Their front hooves extended, where assembled
Four staffs of ice– the colt trembled!

Now was Tânadain’s first of many a moment!
Thorn drew the great sword out of its sheath.
Sparks and flames flew forth, to augment
Thorn’s weak strength, bearing its fiery teeth.
This caused the four their choice to lament
As Tânadain’s flames about did wreathe:
“What’s this? The foal had brought Tânadain?”
Fire and ice mix not; this sword was their bane.

The first Sister to attack was Hail,
Swinging hard with her staff of ice.
Second to enter the fight was Gail,
Who thrusted her staff– once– twice–
Frost and Gust allied the twins without fail,
But their striking was quite imprecise;
Thorn dodged it all, quick as can be,
Thus avoiding altogether the older three.

Gust’s next strike was blocked by a flame,
Tânadain’s blade, having saved Thorn’s life.
Gust struck and struck again in vain–
Thorn easily parried Gust’s feeble strife
Then a blow ’cross the face Thorn did feign,
Giving Gust perhaps an end, sure as knife–
She hoisted her staff, intending a swift finish.
But lo! Her Thorn’s next strike would diminish!

She fell to the floor, and the other three
Charged at him– four sisters, now a trio!
Hail’s staff-striking aimed for Thorn’s knee
To no avail– Tânadain’s fire burned with brio,
Stopping her. Hopping up like a flea,
Thorn returned their advances, as raging rio
Ah, but the Sisters were likewise quick,
But Thorn had with him yet another trick.

Tucked away in his bag was a sack
Of marbles, for whenever he played ringer;
A plethora of colors, from white to black,
Across the rainbow– Thorn did not linger.
He pulled them out and made his attack,
Casting them on the floor, which did fling her,
Frost, down to the ground, and out of sight.
He’d halved the Coven in the fight!

Appearing on Thorn’s left was sister Gale,
Staff poised, ready to strike down their fœ.
Likewise on Thorn’s left was sister Hail,
Who had rose from her blanket of snow..
Thorn’s face at this prospective turned pale–
His chance of survival was all too low.
Then Hail lunged forth, and Gale followed suit,
Aiming their staffs to pierce to Thorn’s root.

However, for them, Thorn was too small.
Naturally, this resulted in them crashing.
They then fell to the floor. That made them all
Subdued, subjugated, all weary, none thrashing.
Surprisingly, Thorn had survived the brawl
On the factory floor– off he went dashing,
Sheathing Tânadain, for now it was not needed–
All of his expectations the sword exceeded.

Whatever came next? Now ’twas to inert
Whatever machinery they had set in motion.
During that impossible fight, Thorn did exert
Himself– drained himself in the commotion.
The pegasi of Cloudsdale tended not to concert
Their equipment; they moved in slow motion,
Churning out snow and ice as well as rime
As though it could spend a great deal of time.

Thorn’s eyes along the pipes followed:
Up from the fresh-made ice and snow,
Where in the mix the pistons wallowed
Whatever material the belts had in tow.
Thorn glanced higher; hard he swallowed,
Finding the source from where it did flow;
Up near the ceiling, there he did observe
The Weather Factory’s water-reserve.

The reserve was connected by a single pipe,
Itself controlled by but a single gate,
Meant to be closed once the weather was ripe.
Thorn leapt up onto the machine to the gate,
Gripped the wheel, and with a mighty swipe,
He started to shut off the machine so great.
“Look out!” cried the Rose. Thorn turned to see
That the Coven had torn themselves free.

Again Tânadain was summoned to fight–
And not too early; Frost was upon Thorn!
Her staff sang out a crescendo of frostbite
Upon his face– which was nearly shorn!
Then, seeing something move to his right,
Thorn swung the firesword at a war-torn
Hail– knocking her back to the ground–
And him into the water– he nearly drowned!

Tânadain’s flames went out in the water.
Thorn sheathed it, and swam to the top.
Then Tânadain was again present, hotter
Than ever, and Thorn wielding again, atop
The reserve– to return to the slaughter!
The colt leapt up, and let himself drop
In front of Frost– fire and ice met anew.
Steam and mist from their arms flew!

Where he was blind, there struck Gust–
Hail was to his left; Gail was to his right.
With Frost in front, win they must!
Even the sword must yield to their might!
And yet, it wasn’t– He blocked every thrust,
Every attempt at winning this fight.
No matter when they struck, or where,
Something about him made this war unfair.

Via a broad swing, Thorn countered all four,
And then some– Tânadain stopped not there!
Even with the Coven on the floor,
The sword vaulted colt into the air!
Tânadain– the Firewing– and Thorn soared o’er
The Sisters– all they could do was stare!
What sort of earth pony they before met
Could challenge them and pose a grave threat?

Thorn landed behind Frost, then swung back–
Connecting a staff of ice– she was determined!
Hail assisted Frost with her sudden attack,
Gail, too, joined them– her force hardened!
Gust seemed inattentive, but there was no lack–
With her fourth staff, the forces seemed evened.
Now at last were they on the offensive–
All they needed was a force so intensive!

Neither Thorn nor Tânadain could resist–
With four against one, they had to recede!
No Dragon could come to assist;
A vow to protect them they had to concede!
Further back and back– the strength did insist;
But Thorn, for the Dragons, refused to accede.
Then he slipped on the marbles earlier thrown,
Sending him to the floor with a loud groan.

Gale, Hail, and Frost kept him pinned,
And Gust went to restart the machine.
A great roar of water, and a mass of wind–
Now to oversnow all that can be seen!
Before, Dragon-Lands was nearly done in,
But now, such progress was unforeseen!
Soon would end all that dragons had ken,
To become a world much frozen!

A great roar thundered from the roof,
First from knocking, then from a word:
“Thorn! Pony-Child! We bring reproof!
Why have the Sisters resumed going forward?
This plan you proposed should be foolproof!
How have you ruined it? You have us angered!
Defeat the Coven, however you must,
Before you might ultimately lose our trust!”

In a perfect imitation, Gust answered:
“Ah, yes! All gœs well in the Factory!
Whatever you’re saying sounds absurd!
Look down below at that warm scenery–
All that will remain, you have my word!”
Quickly, Frost pounded Thorn in the knee
Before he had a chance to rebut the liar.
The Dragon believed her and flew higher.

Whilst the Dragon relayed his finding,
Thorn’s eyes darted about the facility.
Even though he found his restraints binding,
He can still fight– with a bit of ingenuity.
Gale suspected of Thorn’s pathfinding,
Struck his face– to remind him of his futility.
Then Thorn spotted in their plan a fatal flaw,
One that took advantage of physics’ law.

“The Dragon returns! Dare to look outward!”
This was naught but a false warning.
Not three but all four acted upon his word,
Peeking outside at the sky of the morning.
They saw nothing, naturally. But they heard
A plan’s execution, one of Thorn’s forming,
And Tânadain’s crackling, smoldering flame.
Well! –They only had themselves to blame.

With Tânadain as his wing and his prayer,
Thorn soared up, away, and off the wall!
The Sisters never reacted; he was but a blur
In their vision. They tried for a freezing squall.
Then Tânadain sliced through that thick layer
Of iron in the reserve– creating a waterfall!
Once the temperature dropped to thirty below,
The Sisters found themselves frozen in a row.

The four strained to make their voices known,
But the ice made them mute– and vulnerable.
Their misfire had frozen them to the bone.
Now, more than ever, Tânadain was valuable.
It burned brightly, with a vengeance of its own,
As Thorn moved forth, shouting polysyllable,
“One! –and Two! –and Three! –and all Four!
The Windigos’ Coven shall be no more!”

Thorn decisively tucked Tânadain away–
And when he did so, he witnessed this:
When the Sisters were left to the light of day,
They fell away to dust– with a hiss–
They were part of Nihilia without delay,
And Thorn? Ah, he felt not remiss;
Why honor the dead, when in life
They have caused much trouble and strife?

Once and for all Thorn leapt up to the reserve–
He gripped the wheel tight, and started to turn.
This water was valuable; this he had to conserve
For something better. That he did learn!
With the late Coven having had the nerve
To waste it all– how to regress, to return?
That would be a problem for the pegasi.
Thorn finished turning. He let out a sigh.

This aside, he hopped down to the door–
His task was done in this leg of the campaign.
As he approached, he wondered: What more?
What else have the Pegasi as a chain?
Once he crossed the frost-riddled floor,
He opened the door, to clouds full of rain,
Though the Dragons minded not. If anything,
They were helping the Pegasi with this thing.

Carefully, he retraced his steps in the haze,
’Long the path, back to the central square.
The actions of the Dragons served to amaze
The foal. He thought to ask would be fair:
“The Coven is no more, them I did raze.
But this new weather? Dragons, do you care?
Is it not the same as the ice or the snow?
Dœs it rile you much, thus and so?”

“What make you think this shall descend?”
Inquired one dragon, hard in toil.
“These pegasi we now consider a friend.
What we do now? Lance this boil!
To clean this mess, we decided to lend
Ourselves to Cloudsdale, not to roil.
They simply want to reuse the material.
We have no problem; this is ætherial.

“But, Thorn!” cried the Dragon. “Is it true?
The Coven is gone, and never shall return?”
“That is correct; the Coven is through.”
“O joyous day!” said the Captain. “They burn!
And nothing remains of their frozen brew!
Nothing now in our Factory dœs churn!
Hero Thorn, if there is anything we can repay,
Cloudsdale can give it to you without delay!”

“Two things,” said he, “that I don’t go alone–
A jar of lightning, for the road ahead.
I also need safe passage to Gryphonstone,
High o’er the Sea.” That is what he said!
“It shall be done– I swear on my bone!”
Said the captain, who flew into a nearby shed.
He reëmerged in a moment, with Thorn’s jar,
And was arranging for an airship to go far.

Thorn tucked away the jar next to the Rose,
And then spotted an airship alighting to him.
An old pegasi came forth, ’midst the airflows.
“Hail!” he shouted in a voice so thin.
“I am Captian Fogbow. Who now gœs?”
“Why, ’tis Thorn!” replied the other Captain.
“He is the one that is going to Gryphonstone–
The greatest hero that ever has been known!”

“Come aboard, then, Thorn!” shouted Fogbow.
“We leave for Gryphonstone immediately!”
Thorn took a running leap and landed low
On the deck of the ship, bound for the sea.
“Are you Thorn?” Thorn nodded. “It’ll be so!
For your deed, this is what we owe to thee!
I shall take you straight to the Gryphon-throne
Aboard this ship– my sky-lady Halcyone!”

“Bless you, Thorn, and thanks for your help!”
Shouted the Captain. “Well may you endeavor!”
“Take care of yourselves!” back Thorn did yelp,
In hopes of sealing this brotherhood forever.
And now it was settled: help returns help,
It matters not who had helped whoëver.
Thorn fared to a place of great trade-power,
Getting closer and closer– by the hour.

Comments

[Maniacal_Muffin]

I would not be opposed to having one of Tânadain's kin as my own.

[Chicago Ted]

6913786
Me neither. Except Tânadain's a sword, not an actual living being.

[Maniacal_Muffin]

6913885
Haha, very true. I did not have the correct word in my mind so I went with what might get the point across, if it may be sloppy. I am no where near your level of English mastery my friend. That said though, If I am misinterpreting this please tell me, but Tânadain did seem some what sentient in how it would relight and move in Thorn's hooves to parry. It reminded me of, at least in the fantasy I have in my mind, how objects infused with a soul would act, where Tânadain contains the soul of some great warrior. In this case, the fallen warrior takes control when its skills are needed and the only weaknesses of whomever weilds the sword are the weaknesses of the warrior whom has their soul inside the sword. How the original warrior was slain, for example. Or like how the protagonist in Shadow of Mordor was possessed, possibly. I never played Shadow of Mordor, so I am only going off of my memory of it, from watching 30 minutes of gameplay... I hope that gets my thought across. Either way though, Tânadain and its champion are a force to be reckoned with.

[Chicago Ted]

6914649

I did not have the correct word in my mind so I went with what might get the point across, if it may be sloppy.

I got what you meant, though; no worries!

I am no where near your level of English mastery my friend.

derpicdn.net/img/2016/2/7/1082432/large.png

Tânadain did seem some what sentient in how it would relight and move in Thorn's hooves to parry.

Nah, Tânadain's magical. That said, the flames usually are constant burning, until it's sheathed. Having it go out in the reserve is unusual.

Tânadain contains the soul of some great warrior

Eh, probably not. Unless you count King Gurun's legacy as a soul.

Either way though, Tânadain and its champion are a force to be reckoned with.

Very true.

Trust me-- this is but the beginning of Tânadain's use!

[Thought Prism]

Ok, so I've elected to stop reading here. See, here's the thing. This is a masterfully written piece. You have an excellent grasp of the intricacies of the English language. Probably more than I do. The problem, I find, is that the actual meat of the story, namely the plot and characters, are about as generic as you can get. I feel like my time is being wasted reading about a kid with no real defining personality traits going on a generic hero quest. Like the Legend of Zelda in book form.