The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XVIII: Cider Slider

Chapter XVIII: Cider Slider

* * * * * *

“Death to the profligate.”

— Mantra of the Moderator Authority. This phrase appears 36 times in the original Books of Black and White.

* * * * * *

“Should be soon up,” the Generous man named Donnet said, “lemme know when y’see it, hear?”

Coin Counter kept his eyes open as he scanned the docks from afar. There were three main ways in and out of the city: the Green Gate in the north, the Mirror Gate in the south-east, and the Winged Gate along the western wall. It was the last one that Coin was approaching now, the largest and most ornate of all three and the one that received the largest traffic, as it opened into the Dreamweave’s main harbor. In the early afternoon, as it was now, the great doors were flung open, allowing a steady stream of citizens and travellers to pass through, either to the city proper or to the shipyard.

Alongside the other Bronies—the rough-talking Donnet in the front, Theosyrius by his side, and Strongshield and Daria Faust behind—Coin passed under the gateway, looking up to see the stonework as he passed. Truthfully, the walls of cities around the Devien Isles saw little use, with their people more inclined to art than war, but they were often built and maintained anyways as a sign of status. The ancestors of the Martes were no different, clearly, with the thirty-foot high fortification that circled the city, with towers that stretched higher at certain points.

“Huh,” Daria Faust said as she looked above, “they have high walls, for a small city.”

Coin chuckled. “Maybe so, but you can tell they’re only supposed to be decorative. They aren’t as wide as they should be for their height. Besides, these aren’t anything compared to the Century Walls from home.”

“Well that’s hardly fair,” Theosyrius chimed in, “there’s no city in the world with taller walls than Central. There’s little point to comparing it to this.”

“Yeah, sir,” Daria said playfully. She stuck out her tongue, and Coin laughed.

“That’ll be enough o’ the idle chatter-chat, back there,” Donnet said, his tone serious. He was an odd-looking man, dressed mostly in purple with only a touch of white here and there. He had a lumpy, shaved head with wide lips, and wore a pair of small, round, colorful spectacles that’s lenses were a dark violet. “We got a job ‘ere. Now, the Moonlight should be squattin’ somewhere on the eastwardly side o’ the harbor, so keep y’heads on.”

Coin did just that, looking over the dockyard that unfolded in front of them. The docks hugged the coast of Dreamweave Bay, the same mess of planks and walkways that they had seen after stepping off the Wonderbolt. The ships that had carried the Bronies to the Dreamweave were gone now—part of the conditions of their ‘stay’ in the city—and their absence only added to the emptiness that Coin had noticed when they first arrived. For even a moderately large harbor, the number of ships docked was quite small, and few of the vessels in the port flew foreign colors. Compared with the harbor near the Citadel of Six, or, in even greater contrast, the tightly packed ports in Reddit and Central, the Dreamweave seemed almost bare. Fishermen and merchants still wandered listlessly around the yard, mixing with customers and travelers, but there were fewer people than one would have expected.

Apparently this port has fallen out of favor, Coin thought to himself as he surveyed the relatively sparse crowd. The small pack of Bronies traced their way down the eastward path, moving past a group of rich-looking sorts with red hair and fine clothes, and looking down each of the buildings on the side for The Moonlight Inn. It was the right place to start, if they were to prove the alibi Greenglade and Dabrius claimed to have.

Despite the wealthy appearance of several trading-houses and the people that walked to-and-from them, Coin could see grime beneath the glid. Almost every block of houses had a beggar or two in front of them, calling for alms or just sitting miserably and staring at those that walked by without a care. One of them noticed the colors that the Bronies wore, and stumbled up. “You there!” he called in a coarse, halting voice. “You there, fine man, friend man, wearing that white? Generous, yeah? A few byts, just a few…” The vagrant had a wild expression and a twitchy manner to him, and teeth with an odd appearance—pale to the extent that it almost looked translucent. An addict, no doubt.

Theosyrius looked over to Donnet. “Give him that and he’ll be shot up with Lauder within a minute, I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m off that!” the man replied desperately. “I’m trying, just trying, just a few, please!”

Donnet unhesitatingly pulled out several coins and handed them over. “That much’ll buy a hot meal or two. Don’t waste it.”

The beggar starting bowing and stepping away. “Thank you, thanks, thanks. I won’t, you hear?” He shook his head jerkingly. “Used to be in that trade-house, that one down the street, ‘till now I mean. Don’t waste it, I won’t.”

As the man staggered off, Theo gave a disapproving look to Donnet. “You may be Generous, but that hardly means being gullible. That one will be laughing at you with his dealer within an hour.”

“Or I just fed a starvin’ man,” Donnet said pointedly. “I’ve seen a lot o’ guys like that in my time. I don’t think ‘e was lyin’.”

Theo scoffed. “You have far too much trust in those sorts.”

“Seein’ that I was grown up with ‘those sorts’, I’d suppose so.”

The group kept going forward, but Coin hadn’t caught sight of the Moonlight yet. All he had seen were more beggars and a few angry young people ganged up in some dark alleys, no doubt waiting for nightfall to step out and cause trouble. A few started eyeing Coin as he walked by, making him draw closer to Daria and Strongshield. In fact, there were more than few people looking at the Bronies; like their initial arrival, it seemed as though all the people passing by could spare a moment to glare at the colorful band, and most did not seem pleased to see the foreign fans walking the same street as they were.

In the middle of the street, a group of citizens walked towards the Bronies. All of them had colored, spiked hair and mismatched clothes, marking them as members of the Animen fandom, whose seers claimed themselves to be wed to otherworldly brides. They seemed to have taken notice of Coin and the others, changing their path in order to stand directly in front of the Bronies as they tried to press forward.

One of them, with light blue dyes in his hair, stepped in front of Donnet. The Generous man stopped, then tried to move to the side, only for the Animan to take a respective step to block him again.

Donnet raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said, tilting his head.

The Animan crossed his arms. “Yeah. I got sick of you types everywhere I went in the Painted Sea, and now you think you can just walk around here as well?”

“Seems like it,” Donnet remarked.

“We’re not trying to cause trouble,” Daria chimed in, “we just want to g— “

“Piss off, Brony,” one of the others blocking them said. There were five in their group, and they started to circle around the Bronies. Coin adjusted himself accordingly, moving in closer to the rest of the team as Strongshield flexed her hands. “Why don’t you horse-lovers just leave us alone? Th’other fandoms can let be, but all you lot care about is puttin’ ye trash on us. Only reason you dress like that is ta force your ‘Six’ down our throats,” the man said, pointing to the orange-gold uniform that Daria was wearing. The accuser himself was wearing bright colors and strange asymmetrical garb that plainly showed his own fandom for anyone to see, but he did not seem to grasp the irony.

Voices were picking up around them, as angry people called out from the crowd on the docks. “Foreign bastards!” shouted one man, shaking his fist at the Bronies. “Out with them!” yelled another.

People were beginning to press in, and Coin saw Daria and Theosyrius looking around nervously. Donnet, however, did not step back, and instead frowned and stood right in front of the blue-haired Animan. He flicked at one of the lens in his glasses, and the color changed to red while he stared down the gang. “We ‘ere are diplomatic sorts, on invite from that shiny house on the hill. Think you can start a fight the Mods won’t wanna finish?” The people around didn’t move, but seemed to consider what he said. Donnet then turned his head back slightly. “Strongshield,” he asked, “how many ‘o them could you take?”

“More than they have,” she answered bluntly.

Donnet looked at the Animen carefully. “Still sure?”

At first, Coin did not think they would break. But the blue-haired man stepped away in disgust, and the rest did the same. Their leader spat at the ground next to Donnet’s feet. “Fine. But this isn’t over, horse-lover. We’ll see who the Mods help when you’re at the gallows.”

“Right,” Donnet said, as he watched the people disperse. As the Animen stalked away, the beginnings of the mob did so as well, casting only dirty looks before walking off. Everyone else on the street returned to their businesses and pretended as though nothing had happened. “Arses,” Donnet muttered as he began to walk forward again.

Theosyrius was still sweating, and sped up to take his place by Donnet’s side. “We should get off the streets, if that happens again I—"

“You’re in luck, then,” Donnet said, “that’ll be the Moonlight." He pointed forward to a ruddy building at the corner of the next block, painted black with white pinpricks on the columns in front of the door. Hanging in front was a sign—though Coin couldn’t make out any of the words, it had what appeared to be a yellow crescent moon painted on it.

“Good eye,” Daria said, hesitantly looking about to gauge any oncoming threats while she moved with the group.

As they walked up to the doors, Donnet turned back and spoke. “‘Ey Coin? You were a Reg, right?”

“A Reg?” Coin repeated, confused. “A… oh, you mean a Knight Regulator! Yes, I was.”

“Figured. Keep those Moddy eyes o’ yours open, see? Scan ‘round, like you do. I’ve got a feeling ‘bout this sink.” Looking back and forth quickly, Donnet flexed his fingers and swung open the doors.

The Moonlight was, appropriately, dark, with the handful of customers slouched around small tables that were lit only by the thin lines of light that streamed in from the window. The open door cast a long pillar of yellow across the room, stretching to a bar counter on the other side, where a thin man stood leaning over and looking straight ahead.

Doing as he was asked, Coin Counter looked around warily as they entered the room. The floors were poorly swept and the tables littered with things that prior customers had left behind: bottles and crumpled paper and stains. A curved sword hung on a plaque over the bar, slightly crooked, and on the walls were a number of cheap prints that showed green hills and fine mansions.

Coin glanced at the people seated around them. Despite how early it was in the day, most were either drunk or worse, crumpled on their stools half- or fully asleep with red, miserable eyes and half-shaved faces. The way that a few of them were twitching in their seats said a great deal about what they did in their spare time, a tell that Coin had learned to recognize during his time with the Regulators. A few people were looking bitterly at the Bronies as they passed, but most were too far into their cups to acknowledge them.

Donnet drew up to the bar, standing before the bartender. The man was tall and thin as a rake, with droopy eyes that had been fixed on his new arrivals since they opened the door. Donnet placed a hand on the counter and leaned in. “Heard that you’ve seen some o’ our kind ‘round here before.”

The bartender looked at them grimly, and folded his arms. “I don’t serve that kind now.”

“Now,” Donnet repeated, “but not a few weeks some ago? Two Bronies, one o’ ‘em in yellow, the other in white, most like.”

“I’ve had enough from the city watch about those two,” he replied unsympathetically. “They asked for twice as much of their ‘protection money’ when they found out I was serving horse-lovers, and they turned my bar upside down looking for evidence after your friends killed that Mod. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“We have a notice from Lord Halforth,” Theosyrius said, taking out the paper he spoke of. “We’re to be allowed free use of the city to collect evidence and testimony, and that includes your bar. You can read the signature at the bottom, if you please.”

The barkeep did not take the form. “You can get a paper signed by God in Heaven Himself, for all I care. The city watch runs the city, not the Mods, and unless you can get me word from Arcadio that my bar won’t be roughed up for letting you in, I’m not helping anyone.”

Small chance of getting that, Coin thought. His first meeting with the captain of the city watch did not make Coin Counter inclined to think that Arcadio would help them.

“So, you had the city watch droolin’ down your neck, and now you’ve got more Mods pokin’ ‘round the same,” Donnet said with a nod. “If the watch’s got you payin’ fer that kind o’ ‘protectin’’, why don’t we help you?” He pulled out a wad of green and gold bills, and placed them on the countertop. “Two hundred byts. From Generous sorts.”

The owner stared at the money. “What do you want?”

“Eye ‘round a bit. Might ask you a question or some.”

“Six hundred, then.”

“Are you mad?” Theosyrius gasped. “We could probably buy this filthy bar with that much.”

Donnet held up a hand to keep him quiet. “‘Ey, Sir Coin?” he said. “How many twitchin’ addicts did you see after we walked in?”

Startled by the question, Coin tried to remember. “Three,” he said after a second. Truthfully, he was only certain about two of them, but the third seemed shaky enough.

Raising an eyebrow, Donnet flicked one of his lenses to turn them both yellow. “Mods are keepin’ an ear to what we say lately,” he explained nonchalantly. The owner was looking angrily at Donnet when the Brony put a few more bills on the table. “I don’t much like associatin’ to Mods. Two-fifty,” the Generous man said, “and we also won’t talk ‘bout the crowd here.”

The bartender grimaced, then sighed. “They were in the room upstairs. Don’t talk to any of my customers, and follow me.”

He led them to a staircase behind the bar, and climbed the rickety steps to the top. While he did so, Donnet spoke quietly. “Docks are bad,” he said.

The owner laughed bitterly. “The docks are dead. The city’s dead. Have you seen the streets? The only talent left in this God-forsaken place is cutting throats and selling your arse for Lauder. Anyone with any sense left a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you?” Daria asked, seeming uncomfortable.

“Where would I go?” the man said as they reached the end of the stairs. “I’ve little enough money for passage to much of anywhere, and even if I got away from here, what’s next? Die in a gutter?” He shook his head. “I’m never leaving this place.”

They came to a large, spacious room filled with long tables and benches. The windows were open, filling the room with bars of light and the salty smell of the green sea. It was dirtier than the rooms downstairs, clearly cleaned and used less often, and there was no one currently inhabiting it.

“They came here a few times,” the owner explained. “There weren’t many places in the city that would serve them, but their money was good so I didn’t care much about the ban. They always took this room, whenever they were around.”

Coin and the others spread out to examine the room. There was little in it that was out of the ordinary: the left wall was facing the harbor, while the front had a cold hearth and a door that led out into a balcony. As far as Coin could see, that and the main door were the only exits.

“Was there any others ‘ere with ‘em?” Donnet asked as he scanned the tables.

“No. I passed by the room a few times, but there wasn’t anyone else.”

Then there was no one that was with them the whole night, Coin thought. It would make finding a credible alibi that much harder.

“How often did you see the two o’ ‘em, then? What were they doin’?” Donnet asked.

The owner shrugged. “Not often. They keep to themselves, and I didn’t much want to cozy up with the horse-lovers. After they got their food and two drinks, I really only passed by a few times on the way upstairs.” He leaned against the doorframe. “As to what they were doing, I heard talking the first time I passed. After that, it was quiet.”

“Quiet?” Daria repeated, not liking the sound of it. “Did they ever leave?”

“Neither of them walked out the front door, but they weren’t in there all night, no,” the man replied.

The Bronies all exchanged a worried look. Greenglade said they were there the whole evening, Coin recalled. He couldn’t have been lying, could he?

Theosyrius cleared his throat. “How did you…”

“Because later on in the evening I looked inside and one of them wasn’t there,” he said bluntly, “that’s how I know. The other one was passed out and sleeping in his seat, but the one with the blue dye and the beard was gone. The one in white.”

“Dabrius,” Donnet said.

“You’re sure he wasn’t just in another room? Somewhere else in the bar?” Daria asked.

“I go up and down this place. He wasn’t there. Besides, I checked back an hour or so later, and he still wasn’t with the other. He took off to somewhere else.”

“What time was this?” Theosyrius ventured, considering what the bartender had said.

The man thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. Late. Probably midnight, or a little after, the first time. Then again at one or two in the morning, I suppose.”

“But you said that he never left through the front door,” Coin realized. “If he left, how else could he have gotten out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. That door downstairs is the only way in and out, but I’m telling you now that I never saw your friend go out of it until morning, and neither did the guy I left downstairs at the bar while I was gone, or any of my patrons.”

“He could have climbed out the window,” Theosyrius pointed out.

“The only windows I have either open out into the street or into the back-alley,” the owner replied, rolling his eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe, but the docks are a popular place at night, for all the wrong reasons. I have someone keep watch outside the front of the bar to warn me if there’s trouble. If there were Bronies falling out of the sky, someone would have noticed.”

“What ‘bout this alley, then?” Donnet said, walking across the room. He went over to the only other door, the one that connected to a balcony. “Seems like ‘e coulda done disappearin’ down there.”

Coin joined him at the door, and looked out. The balcony was small, and did not offer much of a view. Directly below was the alley, enclosed by walls and buildings on every side. It was dark and dirty down there, but it was not so far down that one couldn’t jump safely, and Coin noticed that a pile of junk to the side of the balcony was tall enough that someone could climb back onto the balcony if they did so.

But the bartender seemed less convinced. “He might have jumped down there, but there would be nowhere to go. That used to open up into the next street, but they closed it off with other buildings and walls a long while ago. The only other place it goes to is the backdoor of the bar, and we use it for storage sometimes. I don’t know why he would be hiding down there, but one of us would have seen him when we went into the alley for our stuff.”

“Mind if we spec it out down there?” Donnet asked, walking back into the room.

“I don’t care. Just find whatever you want and go.”

Coin and Donnet checked in the alley. There was nothing remarkable in the small space: a pile of crates stood in the corner, no doubt the extra storage the owner had mentioned, and another pile under the balcony, but aside from that it was bare of anything but trash. There was nowhere in the alley where someone could have hidden in, and no other openings from which someone could escape. Every side was covered either by a tall, dividing wall, or the side of a neighboring building, just as they had been told.

“I don’t see any way he could have gotten out,” Coin said as he looked around carefully. Some of the walls had graffiti on them—a name on one, another with a crude painting of flies and a small green heart clandestinely printed in the corner—but aside from that he could see nothing of note.

Donnet nodded. “If that guy’s tellin’ the truth—and I think ‘e is—then I dunno how Dabrius coulda gotten out o’ there without bein’ seen.”

Coin tried to think. None of it makes sense, he thought, Greenglade seemed certain that Dabrius was with him. If he was truly drunk enough, then perhaps he was mistaken and the bartender is right. But if that’s the case, where did Dabrius go? And why? Of course, there was the possibility that Dabrius Joh had been in Nightside, just as the Martes and the Moderators claimed he had been, at the same time that Sir Harald and the squire had been there… but Coin did not want to believe that.

Convinced that they’d found a literal and figurative dead end, Coin and Donnet returned upstairs to the others. Theosyrius was in the middle of asking a question. “...and how much of this do the city watch and the Moderators know?”

“All of it, of course,” the bartender said sharply. “Do you think I’m doing you some kind of favor? They asked me everything, and I told them everything. I can testify to all of it, and I might have to before this nonsense is over.”

“Did you hear anythin’ from the two that struck you important?” Donnet asked as he stepped inside. “Anythin’ ‘bout where Dabrius mighta vanned off to?”

“No. Only thing I heard from them was later in the morning, when your two friends were walking out the front door together. One of them was too drunk to stand, but the other one—Dabrius, you called him—he was still fit enough to say goodnight.”

“You didn’t think to ask where he had gone earlier?” Daria put in.

“I did,” the man snapped, “and he told me it wasn’t my business. And it wasn’t.”

Donnet stood still, rubbing the back of his neck and considering what the bartender had said. Then he sighed. “Alright. I think we’re wrapped ‘ere. We got other places t’check, friends.”

The droopy-eyed owner walked past Donnet and led them downstairs. The bar was much the same as it had been the last time Coin had seen it: dim, dreary, and filled with ambivalent clients. The owner took his place behind the bar, and the Bronies began to file out when Donnet turned and placed his hand on the bar once more.

“Thanks fer the help,” he said calmly.

“Thanks for the two-fifty,” the bartender replied curtly.

“If you hear anythin’ that might be o’ interest…”

“Then you’d better prepare more money. Now get out.”

The Bronies did so, and pooled back out into the street. As they walked, Daria leaned in to Coin and whispered, “So how’d you know how many of them were addicts? It’s a neat trick, I mean.”

“Part of being a Knight Regulator is knowing the enemy,” Coin explained while he took a step down from the Moonlight’s porch. “Once you learn how to spot the addicts, finding the, ah, the source is all too easy, so we’re trained to pick up on the symptoms at a glance. For Lauder, it’s easiest to tell when someone hasn’t had their fill recently.That’s when the twitching comes in, and the color fades out of their face and teeth.”

“Nasty stuff,” Donnet remarked. He flicked the sides of his glasses, turning the lens color to yellow. “People start on it t’simmer down, but drinkin’ one drop might be ‘nuff to get you hooked. Expensive too. See too many people thrown to the streets ‘cause o’ that scat. Doesn’t help that withdrawal’s like torture.”

Theosyrius eyed him carefully. “You have… ahem, some experience with it? Did you ever…”

“No,” Donnet replied bluntly. “Half the neighborhood, but not me. Ran in the family, though.” He was quiet for a moment, as was everyone else, before he fingered his spectacles again and changed the color to purple. “We got more work to do.”

“Where next?” Daria asked, while they stepped back into the middle of the docks.

“Dabrius and Greenglade both were hangin’ around all parts o’ the city. We’ll have to chat ‘bout them in a few more venues. And I’ve a couple interestin’ new questions transpirin’.”

“Such as?” Theosyrius inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Such as how a man disappears into thin air,” Donnet said. He grimaced at the thought of it. “An’ where Dabrius managed to van off to, that night.”

They ventured back the way they came, keeping a sharp eye on the Dreamweavers that walked past them. Hopefully they restrain themselves, Coin thought. The people of the city clearly had no love for the Brony Collective, and any city watchmen that might have been around seemed to have little desire in holding their citizens back. I can only imagine who’s behind that, he pondered ruefully, remembering their commander, Arcadio.

As they walked towards their next destination, however, Donnet stopped abruptly.

“What is it,” Daria asked nervously. “More trouble?”

Donnet did not answer at first, squinting his eyes at something up ahead. “Banish me now,” he said in disbelief, “it couldn’t be…”

He walked forward again at a quick, deliberate pace, the rest of the group falling behind him, until he stopped once again, staring down at a patch of ground directly in front of the Winged Gate they had come from. “What’s all this about?” Theosyrius demanded, his eyes darting around at the Dreamweavers that passed them by. “We shouldn’t just hang around here, if we’ve found what we need lets— “

Donnet stopped him with a hand on the arm, still looking down on the stone street in front of him. He pointed to an unusual mark upon the ground: a dull, greyish-black smear that was spread and curled in front of them, as though splattered on the cobblestones. Whatever it was, Coin had not noticed it when they first arrived on the street, due to it being concealed then by a crowd of people. It was laid bare for all the Bronies to see now, however; the thing resembled a scorch mark, as though a fire had been lit there recently and then extinguished, leaving the ashen scar behind.

Coin heard Daria gasp behind him, but he was still lost as to what the mark was or why Donnet had taken an interest in it… until he recalled something that had happened in the Dreamweave months before Coin ever came to it.

That can’t be, he thought, his mind racing, it isn’t possible. But they said it was done here, in front of the harbor gate… That was why Dabrius and Greenglade were sent there in the beginning, wasn’t it? But it can’t be… There was no way that such an act could have left its traces there for so long: if it was really that long ago, it would have faded or been washed away by now. And yet there it was, printed like indelible ink, directly before the Winged Gate and the guards watching over.

Some months prior, this was where a Brony of the Collective had burned himself alive.

Theosyrius’ eyes went wide when he realized what Donnet was thinking. “You cannot actually think… it couldn’t have lasted, I mean, that’s… that’s…”

“You there!” Donnet cried out to someone. “Yeah, yeah you! Over ‘ere, c’mon!” He waved a hand over frantically, his gaze returning to the mark on the street.

A man approached them, and Coin saw that it was none other than the twitching beggar that Donnet had given alms to earlier. He was wringing his hands anxiously, wide eyes twitching between the Bronies. “Yes, friend man? You… you don’t want it back, do you friend man? Oh please, I haven’t gotten food yet, please—- “

“No, not that,” Donnet answered firmly. He pointed down at the black patch. “What is this? What ‘appened here?”

The beggar’s open eyes widened even more when he saw the spot. “The bad happened, friend man. That’s where that Cassio killed himself, right there.”

“Cassio?” Coin asked, feeling ill.

“Your Brony, that one with the pink hood, that one,” the beggar said, shaking when he said it. “Called up to the guards, told ‘em he’d had enough, about the unjust, the ban. He’d been shouting to ‘em for weeks, but they’d never listen. They were laughing, and he lit a match. Laughing…” he trailed off, twitching more and more. "Fire and screams…”

“Six save us,” Strongshield muttered. She took a step away from the black ash and began recanting a chant to the Warden and the Six Friends to herself.

“That’s impossible," Theosyrius said firmly, though his voice was wavering when he said it. “There’s no way it could still be here, after all that time. You’re lying.”

“Can’t wash it out,” the beggar said, quivering, shaking his head in a manic way, “can’t wash it away. They tried, all day, all the time, to scrape it away. City Watch on their knees, with brushes and water, Arcadio was shouting. Never leaves, never gone, never, never. Can’t wash it away. A curse…” he muttered, clenching his head tightly, as though it hurt to say it. “Cursed, we are cursed! They laughed, and he laughed up there at him, and we can’t wash it away…”

Theosyrius was mouthing the word ‘impossible,’ but said nothing as he looked down at the remnants. Coin was speechless as well. It went against every law of common sense he knew of for the fire of a burning man to remain so fused to the stone after all this time, and yet there it was, black and curling and lying permanently on the floor of the docks. There was no explanation in his mind that could explain how it was still there. None of them spoke, standing together as a still island while the stream of Dreamweavers parted and passed around them, uncaring.

Daria was the first to speak up. “May he go with the strength of Six,” she said. Her hand was over her heart, her head bowed and her voice solemn. “Out to the Beyond beyond, and to the Summer Lands.”

Donnet did not reply for a moment, keeping silent. “Aye,” he said at last. Turning away, he signalled for the others to follow. “This Cassio was a friend o’ the Collective, and ‘e died ‘cause o’ the ban ‘ere. Want t’set it right? Then we get to work.”

They trailed behind him obediently, though Strongshield did not move until she finished her prayer. As they were about to pass through the Winged Gate, Coin glanced back at the mark in the street, where the Brony named Cassio had writhed and screamed in the flames he lit. Coin looked up at the guards on the wall—they were mulling around, doing little, though several were staring right back at him. That beggar called this a cursed city, Coin thought, now I wonder if it’s true. In how many places would men watch and laugh while a man burned alive?

* * * * * *

“Before we can continue with the narrative of Madelin Wright and her doomed offensive into Greatchan, or with the dual responses of the anonymites and the Authority, we must first turn to the story of another. While the bold action of Lady Wright did much to win the war for the Bronies, it was only half of the military equation, so to speak. It was the Loyal Friends that burned Greatchan, that captured Baysmouth, that stormed past Paulton and Doublesdale, and who issued the final blow that ended the First Rise. But it was the Honest Friends that held Comchan, despite invasion, assassination, and blockade from all sides, and had it not been for their efforts the very home of the Brony fandom would have been razed and lost. It was the Honest Friends… and on top of that, it was an honest man.

“But who is this man? To that question, we have little answer. Before he even had the title of ‘Warden of Honesty,’ he was only known as ‘Honesty’ or ‘the Honest Man,’ and it was by those names that he would refer to himself, in the few instances when he chose to. I have had the privilege of knowing the Warden of Honesty as he has served at his post in the Citadel of the Six, but even so he is a most private man that is not inclined to speaking of his own past. Divorced from any chance for an autobiographical reveal of his past life and name, and without any alternative nomenclature to chose from, we must make do with what we have, and simply refer to him as ‘Honesty.’

“While he first appeared on the Chan during the tumult of the First Rise, his background is an utter mystery. No one matching his description appears in any records of the Chan or the Authority, nor have any credible tales or rumors been found that suggest that anyone resembling him has lived in Comchan, or any of the surrounding territories. Considering how unusual said description of him is, it should not difficult to find traces of him in the historical record, and yet we have no indication of his existence outside of spurious sources may be safely discounted. Great speculation exists on the subject, but for now it must be regarded as simply that—speculation.

“At any rate, the one called Honesty first came to prominence in southern Comchan, the area now called Sixchan-on-the-Shore, where the earliest roots of the Brony Collective were made. The earliest reports of him are dated to two weeks before Madelin Wright left Comchan to begin her invasion of Greatchan—it is conceivable that she heard distant tales of a gigantic local leader before she left, but it is unlikely, and during my interviews with her she could not recall any such mention. His own role, then, was one that grew independently. With the chaotic beginnings of the fandom, various petty commanders and organizers emerged during this period, leading small bands of Bronies in several different settlements. Lord Honesty appeared in one such town, one that was fiercely contested between Brony and anti-Brony factions. The Channic settlement of Yellowake had been burning for some time before his appearance, but neither side was able to fully defeat the other. This changed with his arrival.

“Lord Honesty offered his services to the entrenched Bronies: this became partaking in raids against the anonymites, which soon became leading the same raids. With his aid, the friends were able to push back the enemy, and soon Yellowake was under Brony control. The remaining Channic were smashed—some fled to the hills, others surrendered or converted. Those who refused to do either were caught and—on Honesty’s orders—hanged from the town walls. The first settlement secure, Lord Honesty moved on, with his new followers in tow. Whatever leadership they had prior to his arrival, it was now dissolved; they would follow the Honest Man, and him alone.

“Clothed in orange and gold, the Lord of Honesty’s followers moved across southern Comchan, lending their strength to each local Brony cadre and aiding them in destroying the opposition. Bit by bit, town by town, the entire south was united under Brony forces. Tales spread wildly about the new leader: it was said that he was a warrior without equal, and without fear. In every battle, he would always go where the fighting was fiercest, and yet he would always emerge uninjured and not even slowed in his implacable advance. Weaker leaders of small Brony factions soon buckled under his influence and bent the knee to the Honest Man, marching under the red-apple standard of the Friend… or under the sign of a golden eye, a symbol taken up by Lord Honesty’s most fanatic devotees. It did not have the same bravado as Wright’s Greatchan Campaign, but soon the Honest Man had amassed a powerful army that controlled a great deal of territory, and was absolutely loyal only to his express commands.

“It was not finished yet, however. Comchan was still filled with scattered Brony supporters—these, Honesty determined, had to be united under one fandomic command before victory could be possible. Gathering up his forces, he aggressively pushed out of the Bronies’ strongest holdings into the hotly disputed north. As was the case with Wright’s campaign’s, it was the disunity of the Channic that proved their undoing: none of the traditional fandom factions or anonymite groups in Comchan had the sway to combat the threat on their own, and by the time that they realized the need to rally each other, it was too late. Starting on one end of the island, Honesty vowed to not rest his advance until he could hear the waves of the distant sea. Anyone that threatened his friends, or blocked his path, would meet the hammer or the noose.

“Over a month later, and with many bodies behind him, he succeeded in his goal. The Orange March of the Honest Friends would prove to be one of the great strategic successes of the early First Rise: from the south-eastern shore to the Bay of Masks, almost every settlement and center in Comchan was under Brony influence.

“So it was that the fandom managed to carve a foothold in the westernmost island of the Chan. This would prove an invaluable aid to the nascent Collective in the times that would follow shortly after: the fandom’s darkest hour, beginning with the catastrophic loss of black Baysmouth.”

— Excerpt from The Brony War, by Lorelove

Comments

[Yami Vizzini]

Curiouser and curiouser... those lenses especially.

[Brother_William]

I would love those glasses.
The fact that the Burn is still there says a lot about what's happening in the city, and the opinions of the Six. Very few things can draw the ire of the Kind Friend, but her wrath is implacable as a hurricane. Woe to the Dreamweave, for it shall find no peace until its wrongs are corrected.

[Lord Max]

Greetings, all! I hate to do this again so soon, but I'm going to be travelling again, and that means another two weeks where I won't be able to post new chapters. Rest assured, I'll jump right back to the usual schedule as soon as I return. For now, however, Scotland awaits! Hopefully the flight has some movies.

7420781

*turns lens color to purple*

Indeed.

7422716

The fact that the Burn is still there says a lot about what's happening in the city, and the opinions of the Six. Very few things can draw the ire of the Kind Friend, but her wrath is implacable as a hurricane. Woe to the Dreamweave, for it shall find no peace until its wrongs are corrected.

Hell hath no fury like a Fluttershy scorned.

7424560

I love the unbridled creativity in the setting here. Bravo Lord Max!
Now to continue reading.

Heh. "Unbridled."

Thanks for the compliment, friend! I hope that you enjoy the rest of the story just as much - feel free to leave more comments along the way! Oh, and I couldn't help but notice on your profile that you joined this site exactly one year ago today - happy anniversary! I hope the next coming year has just as much of both FiM and fiction as your heart desires.