Part 2 - Duels and Destiny
My earliest foalhood I remembered little of, nor wanted to, for my only recollections were of the orphanage that was my home for many years. Many a lonely night did I wonder… who were my parents? What had happened to them? Were they dead or was I just abandoned?
And in either case, why?
They were questions that had answers, but ones I would not know for a long time—all the orphanage staff could tell me was that I had been with them since I was but an infant, delivered there by a hooded pony who begged them to ‘take care of this little one’, but over time, they mattered less to me.
I was always a very rough-and-tumble pony, a pegasus who loved practicing stunts and enjoyed getting into scraps with the local colts and fillies whenever she could. It drove my caretakers at the orphanage mad, but they eventually learned that I simply didn’t take well to confinement or discipline—I needed the sky, and I had a competitive fire that would simply not be quenched.
And as my town abutted Fort Spur, the training center of the Armored Guard, there were always things to watch.
The base itself was off-limits to visitors, of course, outside of a few special occasions, and magical shields and anti-intrusion enchantments prevented pegasi or any other ponies from entering or even flying over it. It didn’t keep me from watching base activity from clouds and nearby hills, though, my sharp eyes able to pick out various fighting and training drills recruits were endlessly put through.
They were warriors and I wanted to be one; I fantasized endlessly about joining them and making a name for myself, of donning that gleaming armor and the title of Guardspony itself. Their training was said to be brutal but in truth, had never seemed that bad to me …
At least, not until I joined them.
“So, you actually followed through with your plan?” Wind Whistler asked me later that day over a mug of apple ale at the local pub.
I nodded at my oldest and dearest friend, one I’d known since I was six. We’d played together, grown up together, and gotten in more than a little trouble together over the course of our upbringing. “Methinks I shocked the recruiter something fierce,” I chuckled. “’Tis no secret that in the event of war, ’tis the mares that do the fighting. So why would I bother with the pretense of a maid or some other servant when I wish to wear the colors of Equestria proudly?”
Wind Whistler sighed. Looking at us, one might think us color-inverted twins. Whilst I had a bright pink coat and blue mane with a cutie mark consisting of two parallel lightning bolts, she had a blue coat and pink mane with a cutie mark of pink and blue whistles, as she had a odd talent for making whistles and windchimes. We had first encountered each other during one of my practices for my eventual entry into the Guard, when I was yet a filly, seeking solace from the orphanage I’d grown up in, watching the Guardspony training at Fort Spur from a cloud and dreaming of the day I would be of age and ready to join them.
That day had finally arrived, on the occasion of my nineteenth birthday—the minimum age for entry. Whilst my pegasus friend had little interest in being a soldier herself, enjoying more her books and crafts—rather ironic given that she was the daughter of a military family—she nonetheless gave me some advice that I took to heart, eventually becoming my trusted friend, playmate and confidant. Each day since, she had visited, always offering another bit of wisdom for my training and life, even sometimes willing to be my sparring partner.
Our friendship had grown slightly due to her visits, but ’twas cemented when a group of Diamond Dogs had ambushed her on her way to my practice field. Her cry of alarm had caught my attention, and I flew to investigate, discovering that she’d been cornered and snared by the rough-looking fivesome, who were shaking her down for any gems or bits they could find.
Forsaking the caution that taking on such a burly group alone would have normally demanded, I flew at my greatest speed into what appeared the group’s alpha male, blindsiding him and smashing his face into the ground, sparing him little more thought before giving a second dog both hoofs to the chest, breaking his ribs. This gave Wind Whistler the opportunity to free herself and summon help whilst I held the remaining three off.
Four patrolling Guardsponies arrived not a moment too soon, for despite my surprise attack and other efforts, the remaining three canines had finally pinned me down in the cramped confines of the forest path using their enchanted snares and strength, and began to pummel me mercilessly, intending to rob and likely kill me for the injury a mere female had inflicted on them—Diamond Dogs were a very patriarchal society, completely unlike our own.
They might well have succeeded in slaying me had not the mixed Guardspony group intervened, overpowering the group with strength and magic and clapping them in irons before they could escape back into the tunnels from whence they sprang.
My wings and ribs broken, I was taken immediately to the local healer and given magical salves. Afterward, Wind Whistler had asked me, “You might have been killed! Why did you aid me?” she demanded to know from the side of the bed where I would spend the next week.
“Is that not what friends do?” I’d replied in a tone that asked why ’twas even a question, and she never left my side after that.
We had been the best of friends since, her even and level mind serving to counterbalance my own reckless and daring temperament; over time she became the voice of reason in my impulse-driven life. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she mused over her own drink, for what had to have been the hundredth time since I’d told her my plans. “The stallions of the Guard are a rather prideful lot.”
“And what good does that pride do them?” I waved my hoof dismissively. “They train constantly for action they never face, knowing full well that stallions being so few, they would never actually be sent to fight. They guard a regent who doesn’t even need guarding, unless you’re seriously suggesting something could actually threaten Celestia—and ’twas there such a foe, what use would they even be?
“They are, essentially, toy soldiers who stand around and look intimidating in their armor, yet should it come to war, they would not even be allowed to take part!”
“If that were true, why wouldst you even want to join them?” Wind Whistler shook her blue head. “The Armored Guard is the self-proclaimed spearhead of the Equestrian Armed Forces, consisting only of the strongest and most skilled stallions who have already sired at least one son. They are the cream of our colts, and though their strength would not be spent lightly, ’tis folly to say they would never be used at all.
“Three thousand strong, they are an elite unit; prestigious and very difficult to get into. That is why you wish to join them, Firefly,” she said with certainty. “And that is why, regardless of what the rules may say, they shall not be happy at you joining.”
“Perchance you are right,” I allowed—truly, my friend knew me well. “Nevertheless, I am the equal in the air of any pegasus stallion!” I proclaimed proudly, flaring my wings for all in the pub to see. None of the colts there challenged my statement, as they had already learned from bitter experience ’twas no idle boast. “They have neither my fire nor desire, to say nothing of my strength or speed. I have trained hard for this chance, and there is no challenge they can give me I cannot meet!” I proclaimed to the sun and moon gods themselves.
Wind Whistler rubbed her eyes with a hoof. “Your pride will either be your salvation or your downfall, my friend. ’Tis unclear to me which, yet,” my bookish friend chided. “I grant not everypony who enlists in the Guard has the same harsh training regime you put yourself through. Nonetheless, methinks they are an accomplished group that is not to be trifled with.” She looked askance at me as she spoke. “Do you truly believe that you shall be any better than the rest of them?”
“I do not ‘believe’, Whistler,” I replied with the smile my friend had come to both expect and dread. “I know I will be different. I will finish basic training in record time, and be well on my way to becoming Captain of the Royal Guard!” I threw back my drink as I spoke.
“There is an old saying, my friend,” Whistler cautioned, knowing that when my mind was set there was little use in trying to change it. “An adage the earth ponies use: ‘Don’t sow all of your seeds in one field’. You must first survive basic Guardspony training before you can ever contemplate becoming Captain. And few ponies even make it through that training.”
I laughed. “Please, dear friend. I have already fought duels and Diamond Dogs. So what is the worst that basic training could throw at me?”
Five months later
“You call THAT flying?! I’ve seen earth ponies fly faster than YOU, recruit!”
For what seemed the thousandth time since I had started training, I bit my lip to keep from retorting. I was exhausted, in pain and in desperate need of a long hot bath, reflecting again that my earlier self-assurance had been woefully misplaced.
“You’re not a unicorn, so stop being so prissy! Get in that mud, NOW, recruit!”
It had started on the very first day, almost the instant we stepped through the gates of the training base known as Fort Spur for the first time. We were segregated into separate earth pony, unicorn and pegasus companies, stripped of any personal effects and screamed at nonstop, told how worthless and hopeless we all were… and the Sergeant Major in charge of pegasus training, I quickly came to realize, seemed to hold a particular disdain for me.
“You will not laugh! You will not cry! You will learn by the numbers, and I WILL TEACH YOU!”
They then marched us off to the base barber and dye shops, where we were all given identical manecuts, or lack of them—our manes were almost completely shorn and our tails cropped to the bare minimum necessary for stable flight—and then, just to emphasize our low status and lack of individuality, they dyed our fur and feathers the same bland shade of grey to mask our colors and cutie marks, telling us that our special talents were useless here… that no matter who we were or what we did in civilian life, it meant nothing now.
“So your cutie mark was two lightning bolts? What’s THAT supposed to mean? That I’ll be TWICE as shocked by your uselessness?”
Between the constant drills, the lack of sleep, and the unending harassment by the stallion recruits of the mare in their midst, I was nearing my wits’ end. And yet ’twas not the drills, the lack of sleep or the endless harassment that had me near my breaking point. Sergeant Major Windshear, the pony in charge of pegasus training for the armored division of the Royal Guard, was not as bad as Sergeant Bone Deep had implied. No, he was far, far worse.
“Move your pretty pink flank, recruit! If you can’t keep up with a colt, then you don’t belong here!”
From the moment I had stepped into the facility, he had never let me have a moment’s rest. From dawn until dusk, and oft even at night, he hounded me mercilessly, criticizing my every move even when I knew they had been flawless, seemingly doing his best to make me quit. ’Twas long past irritating, and into the realm of infuriating.
“Are those wings of yours just for show, recruit?! If you can’t pull your weight here, we’ve got a nice maid outfit waiting for you back at Canterlot Castle!”
Currently, the green-eyed, slate-blue stallion with the wingblade cutie mark was running myself and the other pegasus recruits ragged, as he had for the past two months, during which time half the class had already quit, unable to keep up mentally or physically with the harsh training regime. We were performing our usual endless array of morning drills, including thousand-meter flight dashes, wing push-ups, weighted flight and weapons training, etc. Windshear was, ostensibly, yelling at all of us recruits. I say ‘ostensibly’ because he had never once moved away from me, keeping pace with me as I went to various drill stations.
“Stop your slacking and LIFT, recruit!” he shouted. “You think you can hang with the big boys? PROVE IT!”
After two months of this, my patience with this insulting stallion had worn thin and ’twas all I could do to keep from throwing the barbell at his head, knowing full well that the only reason he was an instructor was because he was a poor soldier—“those that cannot do, teach,” I had found very much to be a truism in the past, and I had no cause to doubt it here. I ground my teeth and continued lifting the 100-lb weight with my shoulders, trying to ignore him as I mentally counted how many times I’d hefted the bar.
“If that’s too heavy for you, methinks you’d like a mop and feather duster instead!” he mocked again to scattered snickers from the other recruits, whose sole solace from their own pain was that I was getting it even worse.
Having reached 100 lifts, I put the bar into its resting position and stood, preparing to head to the next drill, feeling myself getting perilously close to snapping and splattering the insulting Sergeant Major all over the training grounds regardless of whether it got me kicked out.
“And where do you think you’re going, recruit?” Windshear asked, his tone dripping with scorn.
I glanced at him, feeling almost ill, less from the fatigue than from the rising rage in my system, churning my stomach hard. “Sir, I have finished the current exercise, and was proceeding to the next station, sir!” By Celestia, having to address this brute with anything approximating respect gave me nausea even worse than the just-concluded drill.
“You aren’t finished yet, recruit! I counted your lifts, and you were short by a full ten when you put up the bar! Back under there, and start from the beginning, counting out loud this time!” he ordered, pointing back at the station with a hoof.
That was the final straw of the hay bale. I had been patient up until now, swallowing my pride and drawing on all of Wind Whistler’s advice to keep my temper in check. But being told that I hadn’t performed to standard when I knew that I had… I could restrain myself no longer.
I leveled a glare of my own at Windshear. “Sir, perhaps you were paying attention to another recruit prior to shadowing me, but you told me to lift the bar 100 times, and I did so, sir!”
He regarded me coolly for a moment. “I’m sorry. Perchance I misheard you. Are you implying I can’t count, recruit?” he asked, in an oh-so-smug voice.
“If the horseshoe fits,” I retorted, turning to face him, my eyes smoldering. I knew I was on thin ice, but no longer cared—I would put this sniveling stallion in his place, NOW!
The entire training yard fell silent. Everypony stopped what they were doing, giving me looks of either awe or wariness, knowing I had just slipped two insults into one statement. Calling anypony a horse, even in such an oblique way, was a grave insult. And dropping the honorifics that a superior rank demanded was equally grave as far as the military was concerned.
Windshear narrowed his eyes, his wings flaring slightly. “Care to repeat yourself, recruit?”
“Why should I?” I countered, showing my teeth and disrespect along with them. “Is your hearing as bad as your math, you useless mule? You heard me plainly. And I have had quite enough of your constant berating and yelling at me! You are, without a doubt, the most despicable, arrogant, misogynistic horse I have ever met… sir.” I spat the last word out.
Despite the venom in my voice and the grievousness of my insults, he barely batted an eyelash. “Flattery gets you nowhere, recruit,” he said calmly, giving me his usual mocking smirk. “Now, either you get back to lifting and I forget that charming repartee, or you continue to make a foal of yourself and I put you in your richly deserved place… back in the maid outfit you deserve!”
I knew his words were deliberately chosen to provoke me, but I was already seeing red and too enraged to care. “So you’re saying I can’t cut it in the Guard? That I can’t already beat you? Care to put your bits where your apples are, sir?” I marched up and flared my wings, a demand to duel implicit in my words and gaze.
There was a gleam in his eyes like I’d just done something he wanted me to. “That’s my question to you,” he countered smoothly. “Sounds like a challenge to me! Corporal!” he barked over his shoulder.
A nearby pegasus who’d been observing the confrontation jumped slightly. “Y-yes sir?”
“Fetch two sets of wingblades, for me and our wannabe Guardsmare here,” Windshear ordered.
The corporal saluted and zipped off, returning with the requested items barely a minute later. They were standard training equipment, nothing fancy but potentially quite lethal in a fight. One set was given to me, whilst Windshear took the other. I pulled the harness onto my back and fastened it over my chest and barrel, then triggered the blade deployment with a sharp shrug of my shoulders, releasing the restraints and causing the blades to slide forward and outward from their sheaths. They moved until they locked in place over the leading edges of my flared wings, turning them into not just instruments of flight, but a pair of very lethal weapons.
Wingblades were the traditional and very celebrated weapons of pegasus warriors, wielded in both duel and battle, and countless centuries of use had honed their design to something very practical and elegant—strong yet thin and flexible blades that conformed to the contour of my wings regardless of what contortions I put them through and did not restrict my flight in the slightest, though their long history of use was lost on me at that moment. “When I defeat you, Sergeant Major, I expect to be given my membership in the Guard immediately and a full apology for the way you have treated me over the past two months!” I growled, my blood boiling.
My rage only grew when he gave me a sly smile like my skill was nothing to him—me, who had already fought my way through a dozen barroom brawls, bested every colt I’d faced in drills and even taken down a pair of much larger Diamond Dogs in defense of my friend. “And when I defeat you, recruit, you’ll do exactly as I say without hesitation or backtalk, or you will be out of the Guard on your pretty pink flank!” he replied, slipping into his own blades in a very practiced manner.
By this point, a rather substantial crowd had gathered, mostly other recruits, but a few other officers from the barracks as well. They murmured in confusion and awe—’twas not every day that a recruit challenged a head trainer like this; ’twas even rarer for a mare to challenge a stallion given ’twas anathema for most Equestrian females to harm one. Among those watching was Sergeant Bone Deep, who had a notable frown on his face as he stepped forward. “Sergeant Major Windshear, with respect, is this wise? Would it not be more prudent to merely dismiss her from the service here and now?”
The question nearly unbalanced me. Dismissed from the service? Never! I could never let that happen! But I quickly relaxed and smiled at the thought that by the terms of the duel, once I defeated him and proved I was already better than any trainer, they would have no choice but to keep me.
Windshear, surprisingly, seemed to agree, shaking his head and giving me a mocking smile. “This recruit is just a little hot-blooded, Sergeant Deep. Don’t worry, I won’t do any permanent damage to her pretty little tail. I merely intend to let her know where she stands, no more.” He smiled slyly. “Still, because you’re so concerned, wouldst you do the honors?”
Bone Deep’s frown grew more pronounced, but he dutifully stepped between us, obeying the order of his superior. “This duel is to submission, knockout, or disabling the other’s ability to fly,” he called out, looking between us both but primarily to me. “By standing orders of the Royal Guard, there is to be no bloodshed, on either party’s account! Is that understood?”
I nodded, already gleefully picturing the Sergeant Major’s face when I dislocated his wings. Windshear nodded as well, looking almost bored.
Bone Deep raised a hoof, then brought it down swiftly to signal the start of the duel. “Combatants! Begin!”
As soon as the hoof came down, I charged forward with a single powerful beat of my wings, intent on ending the duel quickly. My wings pumped again, giving me a sudden burst of speed, as I prepared to fly by him and clip the base of his left wing hard enough to wrench it out of its socket.
Except… that didn’t happen. Windshear blurred, and suddenly a powerful pressure slammed into my barrel, driving the wind from my lungs as I was propelled upwards. After a few moments, the pressure abated, and I nearly went into free-fall before I could recover my breath and start hovering. I looked at Windshear in disbelief as I realized what he had done…
That arrogant horse had head-butted me!
He rubbed his forehead with a hoof, then grinned. “I’ll say this, recruit—with all that muscle and such a hard head, perhaps being a maid is not your place after all.” He paused, then gave me another mocking grin. “Methinks now I was wrong—far better you be a farmer instead!”
Steam blew out my nose in my rage—how dare he imply that a warrior such as I should live like an earth pony!—as I let out a battle cry and shot towards him again, even faster than before.
But as before, the Sergeant Major was infuriatingly unimpressed, refusing to even take to the air, easily sidestepping my rapid rush and knocking me aside from a single contemptuous flick of his wing. “Attack in anger, and you play right into your foe’s hooves!” he told me as I landed in the mud to the laughter of the other recruits. “Keep your emotions under control, recruit, or they will betray you!”
Far from calming me down, that only enraged me further—this mere stallion dared to lecture me about battle when I’d already fought and won half a dozen duels? I flew back towards him, teeth bared, intending to try and clip his wing… or so I made it appear. As I saw his head begin to move, I brought my forehooves down, and managed to catch him in a headlock, my hooves around his chin. I planted my hind legs in the dirt, and heaved him into the air. Given my smaller stature, it drew many gasps from the onlooking crowd when I actually flung him a fair distance into the air, flipping end over end.
Wanting to press my advantage, I shot into the air after him, intent on clipping his wings whilst he was disoriented. However, he righted himself in a moment and flung a forehoof at me accented by a sharp stroke of his wings. I realized why a moment later, as my eyes stung from the dust that he’d released, driven hard into my eyes by a wind gust generated by his wings, momentarily blinding me. Unable to see or defend myself, I felt his hoof strike my jaw a moment later, sending me tumbling down hard.
Seeing stars, I barely managed to right myself before I hit the ground, growling in frustration as I blinked the dust from my eyes and bit back the pain of a broken tooth. “So, this is what the great Sergeant Major Windshear is reduced to? Cheap tricks and dirty fighting?” I asked, doing my best to glare at him. “Methinks you have no honor!” I spat out the words along with a molar.
“No honor?” He gave a derisive laugh, crossing his forelegs in his hover. “And methinks you are speaking out your tail! Do you think honor is going to help you in a fight against a full-grown dragon, recruit? Do you think a charging Minotaur or pack of Diamond Dogs will be impressed by your honor?” he recited in contempt. “Do you think a gryphon raider is going to act according to your honor? Or just take advantage of it as he pretends to surrender only to blind you with a flash gem, leaving the corpse of your squadmate behind as he slits her throat for expecting him to fight fairly?” he asked, and for the first time I heard an edge to his voice like he was speaking from bitter experience. “These aren’t the dueling fields of Neighpon! Honor has its place, but not in war against Equestria’s enemies! And not against me!”
With those words, he moved higher, my weakened eyes automatically tracking him as he passed in front of Celestia’s sun, putting spots in my already-blurred vision. Unable to see him, I nonetheless sensed him diving on me again and tried to dodge but this time he struck down hard on my shoulders with the flat of his blade, knocking the wind out of me, leaving it all I could do to remain airborne.
I struck back wildly with my good wing and missed, the Sergeant Major dodging my increasingly desperate efforts with ease. “Pathetic,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt, not even breathing hard. “And you claim you want to be a warrior? Make no mistake, recruit—if you were as weak and unwilling to do what it takes to win against the Gryphon Empire as you are against me, you’d be slain in a matter of moments!” he emphasized his point by swooping in and striking my right wing directly at the sensitive base, causing the entire appendage to go numb.
I fell from the air in an uncontrolled tumble, and a cry of pain escaped me as I landed on my left wing, a sickening SNAP! indicating to all listening the wing had been broken. In sudden shock, I tried to rise again, but before I could Windshear followed up, knocking me hard on my back and pinning me with his weight, snorting as his wingblade came into sharp contact with my throat. Trapped beneath him and no longer able to fight back, I felt it bite slightly into my vulnerable skin, the Sergeant Major threatening to relieve me of my life—and for a single, terrifying moment, I thought he truly would.
He kept me pinned and held the blade poised at my neck for several excruciatingly long seconds, making sure the message was driven home that I was well and truly beaten. “Were I a gryphon, you wouldst now be dead, recruit,” the Sergeant Major told me, his voice ice cold like he’d crossed blades with them before. “You lose. Now drag your sorry flank to the infirmary and decide whether you still want to go on.” He retracted his blades and, just to add insult to injury, slapped me hard in the face with the back of his wing as he stood up and stalked off, leaving me beaten and broken in the dirt.
To my shame, I lay there crying for several minutes more… hurting less from my wounded wing than my shattered pride.
Some time later found me in the infirmary, Sergeant Bone Deep resetting my wing whilst I cleared out my eyes with a basin of water. Bone Deep was not only a recruiter for the Guard but the head healer for Fort Spur as well; he had a look of resignation on his face as he tended to me. “In all honesty, I foresaw this whole ordeal when you first applied, recruit,” he sighed as his aura tended me, various medical implements floating around him. “In fact, ’tis exactly what I was afraid of.”
“You foresaw me being humiliated by one of the most belligerent stallions to ever exist?” I bit out, still despondent over my defeat.
“In truth, yes,” he replied evenly as he began applying a splint to my wing. “I knew that your personalities wouldst clash heavily. That he would press you, and you wouldst inevitably snap and challenge him. And I also knew that Sergeant Major Windshear would then show you exactly why he is a highly decorated soldier who won many engagements with the Gryphons.”
I winced, not just from the pain in my wing but also from the chiding tone in his voice. ’Twas a none-too-subtle hint that I had bitten off far more than I could chew by challenging Windshear… to say nothing of attempting to join the Armored Guard at all. Tears welled in my eyes again as I was left with the knowledge of my defeat and failure, and I found myself feeling that most poisonous of emotions—self-doubt.
Bone Deep must have noticed, as he offered up a wan smile. “Don’t feel too bad. You are far from the first recruit to have challenged him, and ’tis certain you will not be the last. You lasted longer than most, and methinks you did get one good move in on him,” he noted, cold comfort though ’twas to me. After applying the magical salve and making sure the bone was set properly, he tightened the splint, making me grunt in pain briefly, then nodded. “There. It should take no more than three days for the bone to fully mend itself, and that goes for your tooth as well. I would avoid flying and eating any hard foods for at least seven, however, just to be certain you’ve healed.”
I grimaced. Seven days grounded? For a pegasus it might as well be seven months. Or years. I tried to work up some gratitude, but couldn’t quite suppress my sigh. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“You’re welcome,” he nodded gravely. “I’ll inform the Sergeant Major that you’ll be on weeklong medical leave until you’ve healed. That means no flight, no training, and no pushing yourself. Healer’s orders. But if I may perchance make a suggestion…” his voice turned serious. “Whilst convalescing, think long and hard on whether this is still what you want to do. Because I promise that if you return, ’tis certain to only get harder from here.”
I nodded and settled down in my infirmary bed, lost in my own brooding thoughts.
* * * * *
I was discharged the next morning, my wing still splinted as I made the long walk from the infirmary to the front gate, past the other recruits undergoing their morning drills—enchantments and magical shields prevented anyone from entering or leaving the base except through the front gate, so that was my only exit point.
All activity stopped as I came into view, but I kept my eyes locked straight ahead, unable or unwilling to meet their alternately pitying and mocking gazes. I fully expected some parting insults to be lofted by Windshear as I departed, but none came; the only thing I heard from him was “eyes FRONT!” to bring the attention of his wavering recruits back to him.
To my surprise, Wind Whistler was waiting for me outside. “Firefly…” she called to me as the front gate closed behind me with an unnaturally loud clang, seemingly slamming the door shut on all my hopes and dreams.
“How…?” I barely managed.
“Everypony knows,” she told me, holding up a newspaper scroll that announced my humiliation to all Equestria in big bold letters, proclaiming with no little glee that I would be quitting the Guard.
Two months earlier, such a public shaming would have only redoubled my desire to prove them wrong, but this time, my spirit was so badly broken that my only reaction was for tears to well in my eyes. “And… why are you here now?” I all but sniffled. “’Tis over. I failed.”
She favored me with a sad smile. “Is that not what friends do?”
I couldn’t hold it back any longer, collapsing into her embrace and sobbing.
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Damn, that fight scene was intense!
I loved Basic. It was awesome!
Eh, don't get me wrong when I say this, but I really enjoyed this chapter. But I think Firefly's arrogance tipped off that she was going to lose.
I think it was towards the end when the fight was over I started to enjoy the chapter.
...Basic in a nutshell. Aka the worst time of your life. Thank goodness I was I the Army Reserve. Only had to survive 24 weekends of hell instead of 6 weeks.
i got confused on the whole misogynistic angle of the "instructor"- cause i hate going back to check the titles of characters. but if im guessing right here, id only guess its so the two could but heads. one thinks poorly of stallions and the stallion thinks poorly of mares. but it really confused me as to the fact it escalated her to challenge him. partly because i don't think merely getting infuriated by insults is grounds to challenge a full on vet. (i know im bad with words, so correct em if i said something rather stupid and i shall hold any verdicts till the end ^_^ . just thought to have a first impression of sorts to compare to my end thoughts)
7955756
If you've read a couple chapters ahead by now, you know he's not misogynistic at all; he's just trying to make sure she'll be ready for what she faces as the first mare in the guard. He's a drill instructor--insulting people is part of what they do to test and harden recruits, all in an effort to wash out those who can't take severe mental or physical stress. He resorts to those particular insults not out of misogyny, but because he learned quickly that was how to get inside her head and rile her up.
Windshear knew she needed to be humbled, certainly, and thus he pressed her until she broke. She doesn't think poorly of stallions; she thinks poorly of him for how unfair she thinks he's being and also believes that he's only a trainer because he can't fight--she couldn't be more wrong, but she doesn't know he's a combat veteran, let alone a very famous one at that point.
Because after two months of constant physical and mental abuse, she'd had all she could take. She challenges him because she's hot-tempered and he finally succeeded in pushing her to her breaking point, and gets her head handed to her for it. Quite rightly, I might add; Windshear knew full well she had to be broken down in order to be built back up into a proper soldier, same as any other recruit, but doubly true for her given what she was trying to accomplish. Her own hubris finally caught up with her, and she got destroyed for it. But now that she knows where she stands, she can start over from a better mindset unencumbered by her pride and false self-image.
It's cool. The essence of Firefly, as you'll see in the chapters to come, is not so much that she's a total badass to start. It's that she learns from her defeats and comes back ever stronger for them. She's not invincible or a Mary Sue; she'll in fact be humbled repeatedly but emerge stronger and better for it each time until she finally becomes the great warrior she's destined to be. But it's far from an instant process for her; everything she gains she will have to earn, starting with six months of basic training hell and an instructor who punishes her mercilessly to make sure she'll be ready for what he knows she'll face. Bottom line is that he's trying to help her, even if it doesn't look it right then. Part 4 explains that.
AFAIK, wing blades were in the S1 episode Bird in the Hoof. When Fluttershy tries to enter & the guard stops her, they use wing blades
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=mlp+S1+bird+in+the+hoof&&view=detail&mid=41C629C77CAC9D0CB59841C629C77CAC9D0CB598&rvsmid=4BA0C5DC543755C71DE94BA0C5DC543755C71DE9&FORM=VDQVAP
about 39 seconds in
That. Was. AWESOME. On point for your fight scene: not too much or too little, a very fluid pace, immerses the reader! First chapter I was like “yeah, okay.” This chapter? I’m hooked.
And yeah, kind of saw that coming from Windshear. Sorry, Firefly. Also, I love your name choices. Windy Whistles? Windshear? Noice.
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Thank you!
This is the first of many fight and battle scenes to come. As for the names, Wind Whistler was actually a G1 pony, same as Firefly. I’m pretty sure that Windy Whistles was actually based on her. Windshear came from co-author Leo Archon and as you read forward, you’ll find he’s not as he first appears either.
With Wind Whistler being Firefly's friend I'm wondering if more G1 ponies will show up eventually.
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Appreciate all the comments! Let’s get started on answering them...
Maybe.
The link for "Challenge Accepted" is broken
Drill instractor will be like:
Guard training to clear a area be like:
The dark side of gender equality...
Like holy shit... That training sure make or break you.
Unless it break you to make you...
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I’m sorry. I’ve let these comments of yours languish for far too long.
Let me take care of that now.
Pretty much! As Gunny Hartmann Full Metal Jacket once said, they come in all equally worthless in the eyes of their drill instructors.
There’s clear, and then there’s pulverize!
Eh, we’re living it right now. :ajbemused.
That’s it exactly. As Windshear later states, the Guardspony trainer motto is that They either break their recruits, or make them unbreakable
I like that RD reference
So I finally got some time to read this story...got a dislocated shoulder...so I can't work or even play games ...and have nothing but time for once.
I will not comment on every chapter, as I usually do for Feathered Hearts, as I don't need to wait between chapter, but I plan to add my two cents when there is something on my mind.
And hopefully I'll manage both this and sequel.
Here the only thing I am not certain is a boot camp stuff as that was not entirely the middleages style, but I may be overthinking here.
I also like you using the shakesperean english...equish?
It is always my favorite part in fanfics especially when Luna uses it
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Welcome! That sucks.
I hope you can find some distraction and solace here. This remains one of my favorite stories, though it could probably use an editing pass at this point. I think it’s the characters that sell it, but you can judge for yourself.
By all means. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, whenever you see fit to share them. This is a strictly military thriller story and was my go-to for years when I needed to work on something that didn’t have clop. Unlike C&C, this has none, nor do the sequels. You might find a rare romantic moment or mildly suggestive remark, but nothing more.
The sequel is actually three books in one, and three times the length of this. So you will have plenty of material to keep you busy for a while. Hopefully it will hold your interest. It always held mine while I was writing it!
It’s kind of a mixture between the Medieval era and now.
I’m using Ye Olde English to a point. Had to learn the rules of it in order to write this. They won’t go full Shakespearean with words like ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ except in a couple select places, though. So I guess you could say that their language is evolving away from it, containing a mixture of older and newer English.
Heh. Well, sadly, Luna is not present in this fic for obvious reasons, but she is not forgotten by me or the characters, and her presence is certainly felt.
I’m sorry about your shoulder.
Hope it feels better soon. I hope this story serves a some medicine.