• Published 13th Oct 2015
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Utaan - Imploding Colon



Rainbow Dash endures many trials to reach the edge of the world.

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Different Ways To Suffer, Pray

“Maybe it's not a messenger at all,” Whony said.

“What?” Quint stood in the middle of a group of fellow colts, staring across the eastern struts of Red Barge. “You mean he's a delivery pony?” He spat. “Pffft! Skagra would have him speared the moment he set hoof here!”

“Really?” one colt blinked.

Thwack! Quint slapped him upside the skull. “Where's the profit in just letting him do his delivery, huh?!”

“Ow... jerk...”

“I'm the best jerk you'll ever have and don't you forget it.”

“Well, if he is a messenger, then where is he from?” Whony remarked, squinting. He and the rest of the orphans were studying an exchange between Nixkit and a pegasus stallion two struts away. The stranger wore a flight jacket with several thick saddlebags. “That's some awfully new leather he's wearing for a mud mucker.”

“No way...” Another colt shook his head. “The dude's from Mudtop?”

“He is, alright,” Quint said, pointing. “Whony's right. Look at the pony's flank. You can see the edge of a burnt circle.”

“Maybe that's his cutie mark.”

“Nope. That's a brand alright.”

“Well, what in Verlaxion's Sleet is he doing with all that fancy shmancy gear?” Whony remarked. “Nopony at Mudtop can afford anything that spotless!” He turned and looked over his shoulder. “I'm telling you, he's from the mainland!”

“Nonsense. Nopony from the mainland ever comes to Red Barge.” Quint scratched his chin, squinting at the exchange. “The jacket may have come from Rohbredden, but the rest of him is all filth.”

“Well, what would a Mudtop slave be doing here talking to Nixkit?” Whony asked.

“He's one of Monket's,” said Swab.

All of the colts turned around.

Swab was busily mopping the deck behind them. His face remained locked on his task. His one ear twitched, and gradually he looked up—noticing all of the sets of eyes on him. “... ... ...what? It's... it's something I heard, that's all.”

“You mean the Monket?” Quint squinted. “The Wave Slaver of the Seven Seas?”

“Uhm... I-I guess...?” Swab blinked.

“He's doing business with Skagra?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Another colt barked: “How in the heck did some half-headed sea foam like you hear about this?”

Swab's nostrils flared. He returned to his work. “It doesn't matter—”

“You'll tell us, shitstain!” Whony marched towards him. He shoved Swab against a bulkhead and waved his hoof. “Or you'll be pissing your own teeth come tomorrow—”

Quint calmly placed a firm hoof on Whony's shoulder and pulled him back. “Easy, bloat-maker. Save it for when he needs it.” Clearing his throat, Quint trotted closer to the smallest of the bunch. “Okay. Spill it, muckspread. How'd you hear about Monket?”

“Erm... j-just the other day,” Swab stammered, nervously eyeing the rest of them. “When I was brought up to mop the deck around the Skag Hole.” He gulped and added: “I... uh... overheard Nixkit and Top Dredger Skagra talking about Monket making a visit. There's some super big and important pony in Rohbredden who's making a business arrangement, and Monket's coming to represent him.”

The group turned in time to see Nixkit and the pegasus pony trotting towards Skagra's office in the central platform.

“Hmmm... if that's true,” another colt muttered. “Then that explains why the pegasus is here.” He looked at the others. “The Wave Slaver never shows up anywhere unless he can send product that survives ahead of him.”

Whony asked: “You think Skagra's gonna strip him to his balls and shove him down into the harvest chambers?”

“Nah...” Quint shook his head with a smirk. “Skagra's real smart. He won't let anypony between him and Monket bloat if it means him luring the mucker in deep.” He turned towards the other foals. “But if he can find a way to have Monket's scalp as a trophy, he will.”

“Could you imagine?” Whony smiled crookedly. “Our Top Dredger Skagra? Doing in the Wave Slaver of Mudtop?”

“He could force Mudtop to pay up! Then buy a whole new strut for Red Barge!”

“Yeah! One we wouldn't have to polish so much!”

“Hahaha!”

“Pffft... as if...” Whony rolled his eyes. “He'd just leave Red Barge altogether.”

“Then who will be Top Dredger?”

“Skagra's never leaving Red Barge,” Quint droned.

“How do you know?”

“Because he's sea foam. Like us.”

“No way! He's a true crude mucker!”

“Nah, dude, he's sea foam! The smartest and cleverest there is!” Quint smirked. “And someday—just you wait and see—I'm gonna be Top Dredger Quint!”

“Yeah... heehee...” Whony winked. “Only if you melt somepony's face off.”

“Who says I don't melt yours, muckbag?” As the other colts chuckled, Quint smirked in Swab's direction. “Or Swab over there. Turn his coat into a vest to wear at the Tide of Trades? That'll scare the auctioneers from South Barge away. Ain't that right, Swab?”

Swab leaned on his mop, staring at an adjacent strut. A gaggle of fillies shuffled by, pushing carts full of scrap and supplies. Among them was Croche. The light pink pony with sunken eyes glanced back, blinked, and continued on her way.

“Hey!” Quint hissed. “Half-head!”

Swab jolted, glancing over. “Huh? What?”

The colts laughed.

“Honestly... how have you survived this long?” Whony shook his head. As the group marched off, he bumped harshly past the small, trembling colt. “The moment you bloat, I'm using your body as a floatation device.”

“Yeah! Or a defecation device!”

“Hahahaha!”

“Heeheehee...”

“Whewwwww... ... ...I don't get it.”

“Let's get back to work, muckjobs,” Quint grunted. “I don't want anypony losing nibbles on account of one of Monket's messenger pegasi.”

“Who do you think the pony is in Rohbredden that Monket's working for?”

“Don't know. Don't care.” Quint's nostrils flared. “Rohbreddenites are a bunch of mucking manure heads. Friggin' fleas on Verlaxion's butt—all of them. And they only care for themselves.”


Hundreds of miles away...

Far east... ...

Southwest of the jagged inlet known as Frostknife... ... ...

Yet another harbor loomed. Frozen stone bluffs marked the entrance to a cave along the southern shore of the Rohbredden mainland. Here, a translucent mist hung low across the frigid waterline. A cape of sporadic rocks loomed to the south, making large-scale naval travel next to impossible. However, the distant rocks did absorb the bulk of ocean waves. This allowed a lagoon of calm waters to form in between the cape and the main shore... and the location was far from empty.

Ponies and griffons lined the shore—almost all of them wearing ornamental gray robes marked with runes and windigo emblems. Their faces shared a melancholic malaise as they strolled up and down steep slopes of polished granite steps. Some paths led towards the shore of the lagoon, where hundred of ponies congregated around a ceremonial gathering of tiny wooden boats. Other paths led up a steep cliff-face where eventually they entered the large mouth of a cave facing due south over the icy waters.

On one such path leading towards the cave entrance, a figure in a gray cloak shuffled along, ascending at a calm, quiet pace. As the path bent eastward and leveled off, the figure paused. A talon reached out, lowering the hood slightly. With glazed charcoal eyes, Seraphimus stared down at the curved edge of the lagoon over three dozen feet below her.

She watched as the distant figures went about their traditional motions. Ponies in dark cloaks shuffled back and forth from wooden wagons draped in black velvet. They carried pale bodies to the shore, depositing them neatly into narrow wooden boats. Once assembled, grieving family members shuffled to the ice-cold waterline, depositing flowers, ornaments, and heirlooms over the crossed limbs of their deceased love ones.

A priest stood on a stone platform. One by one—as each family hovered and sobbed over the departed—he spread his sleeved forelimbs wide and offered a humble prayer to Verlaxion, entreating her for her kindness and mercy in escorting the dead to the Spring Havens. He blessed the families of the dead, and then he blessed the ocean currents carrying them to the hereafter.

At last, with teary eyes, the families retreated back to dry stone. The ponies and griffons in black used polearms to shove the wooden boats off. Seraphimus watched from above—as she always did, witnessing the armada of floating coffins as they drifted past the shoals of the cape. Soon enough, they were caught in the southwestern currents of the seven seas. Christened with tears and flowers, the honored dead of Rohbredden were left to Verlaxion's mercy, and She carried them past the vanishing point and into the gray haze of neverending water.

The air was ripe with wailing moans. It was something Seraphimus was all too used to. With a shudder, she clenched her beak shut, drew the hood back over her silver-blue headcrest, and resumed her uphill march.

Minutes passed. The anguished sounds of the mournful populace drew distant. Instead—as the Right Talon's Commander entered the large cavernous mouth—she heard an eerie ambiance of another sort. The air grew even colder—a deathly chill that stabbed past her feathers and stung her to her quills. An ethereal blue light reflected off her body and those belonging to the other penitent visitors of that sunken domain.

Commander Seraphimus' hawkeyes focused, adjusting to the light. Still, she didn't need them to know what she had long ago memorized. Past a series of ancient stone columns there were granite alcoves covered in frost. Within each hollow niche, the stone effigies of windigoes stretched protectively over bright blue partitions filled with elliptical spheres of ice.

The spheres were far from empty. Each of them contained a flesh center—a body, preserved in frozen time. Most of them lingered in place alone. Earth ponies, unicorns, pegasi, and griffons lay peacefully in suspended animation. Some, however, were presently being visited by other souls than Seraphimus. Families and friends clad in runic robes of gray knelt by their loved ones, paying their respects and offering quiet prayers to Verlaxion.

Seraphimus heard commotion and weeping. She turned her feathery head, her eyes peering out from beneath the hood.

She saw a decrepit old stallion being assisted as he laid down in an alcove. A mare his age leaned in, nuzzling and kissing him tearfully. The stallion gave the mare a reassuring hug, kissing her one last time before lying back with a peaceful grin. The ponies gathered watched in dreadful silence while a pair of priests shuffled up to the alcove. They placed their hooves against a pair of levers while a third priest stood amidst the family, holding his forelimbs out. He spoke rich poetic words, praising the Goddess for her intervention and glory, praying for a swift cure that would aid in the old stallion's recovery. Then, at his signal, the other two priests pulled the ancient levers.

The mouth, nostrils, and eyes of the windigo statue looming above the alcove vented ethereal blue frost. Within seconds, the sleeping stallion was frozen in a narrow sphere of sea-colored ice. A fresh mist wafted off his resting area, then dissipated. Almost immediately, the mare collapsed over his frozen form, hugging what she could amidst fresh waves of sobs. It took three members of the family to pull her away... the rest to console her with close hugs and even closer whispers.

Seraphimus quietly strolled past them—as well as every other visiting family she could see. She approached a series of elaborately carved staircases—each leading to one of eleven rows of chiseled platforms that filled the enormous cave, each lined with dozens... hundreds of these alcoves. Over five thousand bodies lay in frozen silence there, waiting for the precise moment when finances, medical advances, or just plan good fortune could free them from their necessary limbo.

“And how may I help you, dear child?” spoke a smiling priest in a runic gray robe.

Seraphimus jolted slightly. She turned towards him. After a brave breath, she forced a smile beneath her beak. “The wise and glorious Verlaxion has already helped me, dear elder. I only wish to visit those close to me who await Her grace.”

“But of course.” He bowed slightly. “Would you like me to assist you in locating them?”

“Thank you... but I know the way quite well.”

“Mmmm... indeed you do.” The priest stepped aside, nevertheless murmuring in a warm voice: “Death carves a wide path, child, but the course Verlaxion gives us is everlasting. By Her glory, our love is preserved, as well as the flesh and spirit attached to such devotion. May Her Grace warm your blood and dry your tears.”

“Thank you, elder.” And after a final bow, the Commander shuffled off towards the lower levels.

She passed two families, a weeping spouse, and a few mindful priests. At last, after shuffling the full length of one particular platform, Seraphimus reached an alcove with two frozen spheres. One of them—the larger of the pair—contained a male griffon with slick black plumage. Next to him was a tiny young thing—barely four years old—with a rosy beak and pink wingtips. Both bodies reclined peacefully within the glowing blue ice, preserved perfectly by the Queen of Frost's unquestionable magic.

Seraphimus instantly knelt before the group. She found it hard to contain her shuddering breaths. Nevertheless, with iron-wrought courage, the lead wingmember of the Right Talon of Verlaxion tightened every muscle in her body. Breathing intently, she unfolded the lengths of her robe and placed down two bouquets of flower across the hard, frost-speckled stone. Her sharp talons delicately slid them forward until they rested within the shadow of the frozen spheres' edges.

“Enoch, my love...” Seraphimus spoke firmly, her beak barely clicking. “Red Martha, my little s-songbird...”

She cleared her throat before it could fail her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, then continued in a steadfast tone:

“...there is a wyvern specialist named Krennem, an expert in respiratory pathology who has been newly elected to the Scientific Order. It... may not sound like much, but he has nursed to health many patients suffering from mine collapses in Ash Prefecture. I've been told by the Health Ministry that this new source of experience could assist the Order with valuable research, but in the end we... we know it's n-not all up to them.”

Her beak clenched tight for a few seconds.

At last, she continued. “Things have been stressful this week... just like last time I visited... and the week before last. Enemies are poking their filthy heads out of every valley, rock, and mountaintop. I am aghast at the amount of criminals willing to terrorize the innocent. There is almost no respect for our Goddess in this land anymore. Sometimes I think that... that th-that's the reason for why there hasn't been... I mean why y-you and so many others haven't...”

Silence.

Stifling a cough, Seraphimus exhaled heavily. “I am sorry. This is not what you wish to hear... or what you need to hear.” She smiled weakly while her moist eyes reopened. “I promise you that I have not lost faith. After all, the courage and steadfastness of my wingmates inspire me each and every day. Raptr is finally learning how to keep his wings straight in all forms of danger. Keris is my rock of loyalty, as always. What's more, Windburst and Starstorm would appear to be regaining their confidence for the first time since Jordan perished. The Right Talon of Verlaxion is doing the Goddess' will and I... we have never felt more vindicated.”

The two griffons before Seraphimus lingered in silence, unmoving.

“There... there will be time to hear my words.” Seraphimus shuddered. “It is time that I anointed you once again with Her Blessings.”

Clearing her throat, Seraphimus lowered her hood. She sat on her haunches and held both talons out, palms up. Bowing her head, she murmured humbly before the frost and stone: “Goddess Almighty, Verlaxion, Queen of Frost, Merciful Intecessor who united the Six Tribes... I beseech You. By Your power, my family thrives, and by Your mercy, they can live again. They can rise up from thawing like Your foals did by Your love and salvation so many eons ago. Please, Goddess, bless them. Heal them. Remove the dredge dust from their lungs... as I remove the evil pollutants from Your glorious continent. Together, we can cleanse this frozen land of dirt and disease. I am Your Right Talon, Seraphimus, ever faithful. But how I long—more than anything—to delicately cradle Your heart... as you continue to... ever s-so lovingly cradle m-mine.”

She swallowed a lump down her throat. Tears dripped off her eyecrests as she smiled into the blue mists.

“For Verlaxion is merciful... Verlaxion is divine... and Verlaxion never fails to bless any of Her children who call upon Her name. And I worship You in full knowledge that this is so. Amen.”


With a dry grunt, two stallions dumped yet another frail body into the deep grave of the southeast Quade. The corpse joined several more shriveled figures beneath the dug soil—their coats shredded raw from multiple scars across the spine and flank. Panting, sweating, the two trotted over towards a wagon where more bodies waited to be tossed, their limbs twisted beneath bundles of sackcloth.

Not long after, a deep voice echoed against the pine and mango trees lingering around the grave: “What's this? No rafts? Not even a funeral barge?”

Menthe and Galloran jolted in place. They turned and craned their necks up.

An armored figure perched on a high branch. Silver wingblades reflected a sharp glint of sunlight, making it next to impossible for the two protectors to make out any features from below. “How will they be expected to reach the Spring Havens?”

Galloran stifled a whimper. He rushed towards the front of the wagon, reaching for his crossbow.

Menthe yanked him back by his tail, then soothed the younger stallion with an outstretched wing. Exhaling, the older pegasus glared up at the figure. “Luminards don't believe in the Spring Havens. As a matter of fact, they don't believe in burying anything, really.”

“Is that your excuse for such a shameful heap you've dug here?”

“Their crypts collapsed along with everything they believed in,” Menthe said. “Now, either we bury the old and dead here, or we let them pile deep into the Quade and pollute the waters even more than they have been.” He folded his forelimbs. “How 'bout I ask a question now? Who in the bloody Hell are you?”

Swisssssh! Keris touched down, retracting his wingblades from over his feathers. Cl-Clakka! “My name is Keris...” He removed his helmet. “Lieutenant and Second-in-Command of the Right Talon of Verlaxion.”

“They... th-they sent the Talon?!” Galloran stammered.

“How exactly did these ponies die?” Keris asked, pointing into the grave.

“Hrmmmff...” Menthe's ears folded. “Malnourishment. Old age. Dehydration. Pneumonia. Combination of all four.”

“Is that so?” Keris pointed at the shorn flesh on the corpses. “And just who did that? The monster?”

Monster?” Galloran breathed.

They did that, if you must know,” Menthe said, nostrils flaring. “Only because they were set off by the destruction of the only thing that granted them all salvation. What would you do if you lost everything?”

“Well, if I still had my wits about me...” Keris strolled calmly around the ditch. “...presumably rebuild.”

“The monks here did nothing but,” Menthe said. “But then they had their essence stripped away. Tell me... why are you really here, Mr. Lieutenant-of-the-Talon?”

“I am here to investigate the cause of this.” Keris' beak nostrils flared. “The monster known as the Rainbow Rogue.”

“Again... a monster?” Galloran shook his head. “No... no, she's... she's just a punk! A punk with no right to have gone where she went and we let her in—!”

“Boy...” Menthe sighed.

“We let her in and this is the result of it!” Galloran spat, heaving. “Just what in Verlaxion's name are they twisting it all into out there?!”

Keris looked at him. He strolled over and calmly placed a talon on the young stallion's shoulder.

Galloran blinked, his lips quivering.

“That... is what I'm trying to get to the bottom of,” Keris breathed. “So that I may finally track this being down... monster or punk... it doesn't matter.” He shook his head. “Anypony who maligns the glory of Verlaxion must face Her Right Talon. It is the way of the Six Tribes.”

“Yeah.” Menthe grumbled. “Fancy how the Six Tribes didn't give a rat's ass about the Quade until it fell into blood and sludge!”

Keris sharply looked at the older protector.

Menthe bit his lip.

“Who runs the monastery here?” Keris asked.

“Former monastery...” Galloran muttered.

“The question still stands,” Keris said.

“Hrmmff...” Menthe smiled bitterly. “Are you serious? Your bastard bureacratic friends already done took her.”

Keris blinked. “I... I don't understand. Are you insinuating that one of the representatives who went to Frostknife—?”

“She had no choice, really. Not as though an heir apparent had been prepared. It's just that Sonikah worked alongside the elder the most and...”

“I am not completely ignorant of the ways of the Luminards, dear sir,” Keris said. “As their protectors, it would do best to assist me in coming to a complete understanding here. Now... who is the present Kyron of the Congregation?”

“There's no Reed. So why should there be a Kyron?”

Keris simply stared.

Menthe sighed. “He's dead. Bled out like a sliced tomato.” The old stallion clenched his teeth. “I wanted to stop him, but I knew that I couldn't. I took an oath ages ago. My hooves had to remain at my side. Don't matter if I...” He winced, staring off past the treeline. “...if I considered him a friend. So many years, we walked together. Talked together. And then it's all over in a blink.”

The ocean winds howled through the trees, then quieted.

“Are there any pilgrims still left alive?” Keris asked in a dull tone.

Galloran cleared his throat. “Oh. Of course. Lots. Most of them.” He gulped, pointing nervously west. “On a bunch of platforms that they've roped together... for what it's worth.”

Keris' eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

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