Chapter 1: Risky business
My little pony: Friendship is magic belongs to Hasbro and Lauren Faust. The original characters belong to me but I'm a negligent parent so you can use and abuse them if you really want to, just be gentle senpai.
To the newbies of this relic of a story, sections of italics are used to denote when the events are taking place within a dreamscape or another non-physical realm. And to the crusty veterans...glad to see you still alive.
Snow fell silently underneath the full moon's light, casting the forested landscape into deep shadows of dark blue and muted white. Except for one trickle of orange glow spilling out from the window of a stone house set deep in the woods. The fallen snow had removed all traces of any road leading up to it, and from its rooftop chimney a steady trickle of smoke rose up into the air before dispersing into the night sky.
The stone walls of the house were deathly cold to the touch outside, but once over the threshold a pleasant warmth infused every room. Which wasn't much of an accomplishment since it only had a small bathroom, a narrow hallway, and one grand room for all the needs of its inhabitant.
The source of the light and heat was a large fireplace seated at the very center of the house, carefully—almost excessively—gated behind a complex iron grate of woven patterns. The rest of the room contained only sparse hints of furniture—a table in the corner; a large couch in front of the fireplace; and rows upon rows of bookcases lining the walls.
However, the attempts at decoration were barely visible beneath the flood of books covering every available surface. The table, the floor, on top of window sills and armrests. And on the few places where they would have been impossible to place—like the walls—instead large hand-drawn diagrams containing symbols and alphabets of all kinds were plastered without a hint of order or reason for placement.
On the couch before the glow of the fire the single occupant of the house was seated. His face was pale and gaunt. The sharp features of his hawkish nose and cheekbones contrasted against the scraggly dark beard and shoulder length hair. Dark gray eyes gazed down intently on the book in his lap, the orange light of the fire flickering in them.
His body was covered in a robe of some kind, black fabric covering him from toe to shoulder in a dark mass that looked too big for his size. But despite his ragged and worn appearance, the man looked to be at a young age, clearly below his thirties.
His brows furrowed as his eyes became fixated upon a passage in the book, eyes scanning the page before moving back to the beginning and reading it once more. Again and again he read with a feverish glaze to his eyes, faster and faster. Until finally his eyes remained unmoving at the bottom of the page, then looked up and shifted his eyes towards the window. His gaze turned distant as he stared out into the darkness, and as the moment went on his jaw clenched incrementally until eventually he was almost grinding his teeth.
Then, with a sigh, he let go of his tension. His shoulders slumped down and he lightly stooped over, cradling his face with both hands. He shrugged his head and sighed once more, even deeper this time.
"Fuck it, why not," he breathed quietly, then stood up from the couch and arched his back until an audible crack sounded. He shook his legs one at a time, then bent over and slapped them up and down. Satisfied, he seated himself once more, but this time on the floor in front of the fire. Weaving his legs together in a lotus position, he clasped both hands together, fingers intertwined and both thumbs lightly connected to form the shape of a circle. He placed his hands above his navel, the circle made of his hands aiming directly into the center of his body. Then he let out his breath, gently pushing out all the air in his lungs, before letting it trickle back in again.
Again and again he breathed deeply, letting the rhythm slowly extend each time. Slower and slower the flow of air continued while his head began to slump forward. When his head hung so low his chin brushed against his chest, he closed his eyes and allowed one final slow exhalation.
And then he was gone.
****************************************
It was cold. A horrifying, empty cold the likes of which can never be properly described. A cold of perfect stillness, of complete and utter un-being. And within this endless ocean of void the man hung, a single candle of weak pale blue light vaguely in the shape of a person.
Thoughts came slowly, flowing like molasses. It took an effort to bring his own mind together into anything comprehensive.
"Come on," the figure forced himself to think, and the mental impulse echoed out from him if he had spoken it. His shape flickered uncertainly as his mind struggled.
But the man did not relent. He forced his thoughts to flow, his memories to shape themselves, his very self to appear. And with each excerpt of will his form glowed a little brighter, his shape becoming more defined.
But the man knew he was living on borrowed time, that he could not hold out for long this way. After all, the book had stated as much. What he needed was something solid, something he could draw strength from. But that was, after all, why he was here.
"From nothing, something new," the figure thought, his words echoing out once again. Then he turned inwards, towards his desires, his need. He tried to give it shape instead, feed it his strength of will and emotion, infusing it with every scrap of power he could. Then with a horrible snapping sound, like he was tearing off a piece of his very being, he flung it out into the abyss around him screaming.
"Come to me!"
There was no dramatic explosion of sound or color. There was no feeling of falling, rising or changing direction. Instead he was suddenly standing in a forest, as if he had always been there but only now noticed.
The forest was bathed in a soft yellowish light, but there was no sun in the sky, instead it was just the endless blackness from before, but distant; as if there was a thin membrane or atmosphere protecting him from the hungry void. Instead the ambient light appeared to emanate from everything in the forest all at once with no source or heart; it simply was.
With a glance around himself the man studied the trees surrounding him. None of them were quite the same, patches of spruce stood right next to the white-and-black bark of birch. Large strong oaks stood intermittent between ash and rowan trees. Even the pine trees were clumping together with... palm trees?
The figure could only shake his head looking around at the motley collection. And with no path or road visible, he simply began to walk forward. As he continued his way new trees kept appearing. Willow, maple, elm, cherry, hickory and many, many more he didn't know the name of. Trees from every place on earth, and many with colors and shapes which made the man suspect there were natives of other worlds entirely. Even huge mushrooms of white and brown appeared as large and sturdy looking as the rest.
The forest seemed to go on without an end, and not matter how much he tried to spot anything there were no obvious landmarks to navigate by. No stars in the sky, no sun, no sensation of change in elevation of the dark brown ground he walked on. Even when he tried to turn around and walk back the way he came he found rows of trees he couldn't recognize.
Eventually the figure came to a stop next to a large rowan tree, glaring at it like he was expecting it to provide some answers. Then he tilted his head slightly, the spectral eyes closing halfway as he reached out with his senses towards it. There was a hint of something, a note of power thrumming from inside the tree only noticeable once he started paying attention. But the more he extended his senses towards it the stronger the impression became. First it was smells, then tastes and feelings flowed in broken flashes without context. Eventually brief glimpses of visions and sounds appeared.
Mountains. The screech of some monstrous creature. Taste of bile and blood. Fear, love, loss. The stronger the impressions became the faster and more deliberately they flowed, piecing themselves together to form some kind of picture, and entire story of a life lived of-
"Yeah, that isn't a very good fit for you I think," a voice spoke from right behind the figure, and with a startled yelp he spun around and backed away quickly. The sensations had vanished as soon as his attention had shifted, leaving him back in the forest. But now he wasn't alone.
Another man stood facing him, bare chested and wearing only black pants and moccasins. A wry smile touched the lips of the stranger slightly, twisting into an expression of amused mockery that seemed well ingrained into the lines of his face. Wiry dark hair sat like a wild mess upon his head with a neatly trimmed beard underneath, while amber eyes looked at him from dark sockets, giving the appearance he hadn't slept for a long time. He stood, casually leaning against one of the trees with his hands in his pockets.
"And you are?" the ghostly figure asked, straightening his form and regaining some of his composure.
The stranger's smile widening was the only answer, then he brought out one hand from its pocket and swirled it in the air theatrically, and an apple appeared in his grasp. Still smiling, he took a bite and allowed a small trickle of its juice to flow down to his chin, before wiping it away and munching loudly.
The spectral form looked back at the stranger with a firm set to his lips. "Fine, go find whatever strip club you're working at before you miss your shift and leave me to my business," he growled. The loud thought rolled out from him like a wave, carried by undercurrents of anger and bitterness that produced a visible flicker of light in pale green and orange.
Raising an eyebrow the stranger regarded him, still chewing on his apple. "Quite a lot of emotion for someone out looking at trees. Your banter needs some work as well, but since you're out of practice, I can't blame you," he said.
The voice of the stranger was melodious, almost hypnotic in its depth and timbre. As if every word he spoke carried three more meanings hidden behind it, lending it both weight and mystery. But the only response the ghostly man gave was rubbing his forehead angrily then turning his back on the stranger.
"Come now, you were the one who called for help, weren't you?" the man asked, swallowing loudly before giving a dramatic pat on his stomach.
"I don't know what con you're running, but I am not 'out of practice' enough not to recognize someone trying to scam me when I see it," the ghost spat without turning around.
In response the stranger tossed his eaten apple at the ghostly man's head. It passed right through without slowing down, but triggered some kind of shivering wave of instability from it. The ghost gasped then made a series of choking sounds as his form wavered uncertainly, taking a solid minute of struggle before he managed to finally regain a stable form. At which point he spun around to face the stranger with anger burning in his eyes, little sparks of red and white shooting out from his body.
"Fuck off before I make you!" he shouted, raising one hand towards the stranger in a vaguely threatening gesture.
A spark of wickedness gleamed in the stranger's amber eyes, and his voice turned dry as he spoke. "Oh, how terrible, however could I survive such a horrid threat from a drop-out apprentice. I guess I better squeal in terror and run away to let him continue his desperate attempts at gaining forbidden knowledge. His impotent flailing has been very successful this far, after all," he remarked, then threw up his hands in the air and twisted to his right as if to walk away.
The emotions rolling off the ghostly form were so varied and strong it flowed out in pulses of every color imaginable. Until he managed to suppress it all, and spoke in a hiss.
"Fine, make your sales pitch."
With a flourish the stranger turned to face him again, then cleared his throat loudly. "Well, first of all I wanted to speak to you about an extended warranty on your car. You see-"
"Enough!" the ghost snarled, scarlet lights bursting out from him so bright a wave of heat accompanied them. "I get the picture, you think you're funny and want me off my balance before you throw me your deal. But I'm running out of time and I don't wanna get trapped here once my focus gets drained and I can't maintain my form. So just tell me what you want! My soul?"
"You're the funny one now," the stranger replied, eyebrows raised above a poorly restrained smirk. "Your soul is kind of like those consolation prizes you get when you win something at the lowest level of a carnival game. No, what I want isn't the reason we're here. What you need is."
"And what do you think I need?" the ghost sighed in a tired voice.
"Besides a style consultant and getting laid?" The smirk widened, and the stranger stalked forward towards him. "What you really need is a guide. Someone to get you from point A to B. Give you the options you yourself already squandered once..." the stranger trailed off.
The forest was completely silent, and as the silence went on the tension in the air grew heavy. The ghost regarded the stranger intently, his form flickering slightly, but otherwise holding firm. Until he nodded his head in resignation. "There's always a price."
"Always," the stranger agreed, and started circling the ghostly shape. His voice deepening, the pitch almost like an echo carrying several voices behind him, speaking alongside him from a far away place. "And the cost of what you desire is... to give. Quid pro quo is the way of the universe. What you want for yourself you must give to another."
"How do you mean?" Came the reply, the voice uncertain. But there was a note of hunger underneath it, and it seemed his shape was becoming more solid with each word the stranger spoke.
"You're lost, and want someone to provide you with.... a bridge, to where you feel you belong, to where you believe your destiny resides. So, I want you to provide help to someone else also lost and in desperate, desperate need to provide a bridge for them to journey home upon. Do that, get them back to where they belong, and I promise you that in turn you'll get a chance to go where you do."
The ghost furrowed his brows. "That last part sounded vague and ominous. You think I'm just going to get into a deal without knowing the details like some idiot?"
"Magic is often a gambit with the unknown, and the path you've stumbled upon is one completely of your own making," the stranger told him, a hint of something paternal entering into his voice. "But you're not gonna get a better deal. And your stumbling will lead you down to places that'll make you beg for your current predicament eventually. That world you almost sucked yourself into is not as pleasant as the road I got in store for you," he said wryly, nodding his head towards the rowan tree.
The ghost turned to face the tree again, blinking his ethereal eyes rapidly. "A world," he stated thoughtfully. Then his eyes widened as he looked around at all the other trees." They're ALL worlds?!"
"Sure, and they all got their fruits, and dark roots..." the stranger replied, producing yet another apple out of thin air and taking a bite. "Don't get any ideas though," he mumbled through a mouthful, "you couldn't stomach the ambrosia. But we're getting off course here. I made my 'sales pitch,' and since you're not doing the disco ball routine with all that emotional leakage, I'll just go ahead and say you're interested. So, we've got a deal?"
For a moment the ghost hesitated, lips slightly parted but saying nothing. Then the moment extended, the question hanging in the air.
With a sigh, the stranger raised one leg up to his waist, then the other one until he was floating in the air, mimicking the lotus position the ghostly man was seated in back in the physical world.
"What's the issue?" he asked, nibbling at the last pieces of flesh around the apple's core.
"You don't strike me as someone that knows all that much about the kind of mysteries I am pursuing," the ghost told him, eying the floating stranger critically. "You talk a good game, but appearances can be deceiving."
"And what kind of 'someone' would know about the things you desire? Old men with long flowing beards and pointy hats? Starved hermits who haven't seen the sun in so long they'd burst into flame on contact and can't go without stroking a book for more than an hour without having a panic attack?" the man gave a spiteful laugh and tossed the finished apple over his shoulder.
"The real magic," he continued, "isn't something you'll find in ideas, theories, or the written work you've picked up on your local bookshelf next to the self-help guides, little mage. The real magic is what shakes you up, breaks you apart and awakens you to the mysteries at play all around you at every moment. It is what teaches only the ones who struggle and earn their way into them. And that isn't something that can be achieved through moderate means, or just looking the part in a comfortable home behind a book or screen. It's a risky business."
The ghost waited until he had finished his speech, regarding him silently with a blank expression that revealed nothing. But underneath the ghostly mask his form shivered with undercurrents of thoughts, sending small ripples through his ethereal body.
"So what do I call you?" he finally asked.
The stranger smiled a wolfish smile while he descended from his levitational perch, and slowly walked up to stand before him. "For you, I think I am... a locksmith. Opening the doors to things locked away," he said coyly, then reached forward with a hand. "So, once again—we've got a deal?"
Only a moment's hesitation passed before the ghost reached forward with his hand to clasp the stranger's. "Deal," he whispered, his voice tinged with equal parts dread and anticipation.
************************************
"This... is not good," a womanly voice said dryly, only a small tremor in her words hinting at the fear she was suppressing.
Around her there was nothing. Complete empty blackness and a yawning hungry cold that had started seeping into her very core since the moment she got here. How long ago was that now again? Minutes? Hours?... days? It had ceased to matter, the only thing that mattered now was getting back home before she froze into a unicorn-shaped popsicle.
"Or something far less tasty-sounding happens," she mumbled to herself, forcing a joking tone into her voice. She tried to look around but every time she tried.... well, nothing happened. There was no up or down, left or right. She couldn't turn or shift herself in any way because there were no ways to shift towards.
"Come on, you've figured out tougher situations than this!" she huffed, then continued hesitantly. "Of course, technically I'm not in a situation, I'm in... nothing. So maybe that's better, or worse..." she trailed off with a forced laugh. "I really should stop experimenting without more safety measures," she finished, then added. "And maybe stop talking to myself so much."
The nothing didn't respond. The empty cold of un-being crept deeper and deeper into her no matter how much she spoke, how much she babbled and theorized and tried to think. Each attempt seemed to drain her little by little. Her thoughts congealed into slow-moving sludge, and she found it more and more difficult to reach for words. To grasp for memories, for context to give shape to her thoughts. Slowly but surely she too was becoming nothing.
Despair flowed through her like a poison, so stark and blinding in its vitriol it felt like a current of needles coursing through her body. And when she raised her hoof in front of her, she could see an actual flow of pale yellow lights.
And just when it felt like her body might explode from the pressure, tearing her into little pieces easily devoured by the nothing. That's when a forest roughly the size of forty planets hit her in the face.
************************************
"Come on, what's taking you so long?" the locksmith called out with mocking laughter. His shape was so far ahead into the forest he had almost vanished out of sight.
The ghost figure was running after him as fast as he could, the spectral shape passing by trees at a blinding speed not hindered by any earthly constraint. And yet, despite this the stranger kept getting further and further away, and with what appeared to be a regular body of flesh and blood to boot.
The mocking laughter of the locksmith echoed between the trees, now so far ahead he couldn't be seen. With a snarl the ghost stopped his pursuit, clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly.
"There's some kind of stupid game to this I'm not getting," he muttered darkly, then took a deep breath and turned his face skywards to stare into the nothing. His hands kept clenching rhythmically, but with less force and more as a thoughtful gesture as the seconds went by.
Eventually he turned his face forward again, in the direction the voice of the stranger last had come from. Then he closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, and...
"Finally, well done," the stranger said, his voice right beside him.
When the ghost opened his eyes again, the forest around was completely different from where he'd been standing a moment ago. He turned his head to face the locksmith with his eyebrows raised. "So, what's the point you're trying to Mr. Miyagi into me?"
"You tell me, oh barely-mid-level student of the mystical arts," the stranger told him, tilting his head quizzically.
The ghost shook his head then drummed his fingers on the side of his legs, furrowing his brows as he considered what had just happened.
“Well... I only caught up to you after I stopped trying to reach you.... and then started to consider things at my own pace, trying to figure out where I was and what I was doing in the moment. If I had to guess, I would say that I caught up to you because this is my journey, so I have to walk it at my own pace in my own way, not chasing after someone else. Or something like that," he finished with a shrug.
The locksmith shook his head with a disappointed look on his face. "That was the easy part, now let's hear the important one," he admonished dryly.
The ghost rolled his eyes, but furrowed his brows once more, his fingers drumming quicker and quicker against this leg. "And that means... that I didn't catch up to you at all. It was just an illusion. Your job is merely to show me where the road is, while the actual journey takes place where I happen to be on it. It's my job to engage with it."
"Go on," the stranger said, motioning with his fingers for him to keep going.
“So,” the ghost responded hesitantly. “It probably means that the purpose of the entire chase was for me to realize this, which means there is no purpose in running any more since I have already arrived at the end.”
"Almost there," he drawled out, gesturing with both his hands now.
"... and since I'm not chasing you anymore, the thing I need to look for is whatever resonates with me in this very moment."
As soon as the thought had left his spectral form and shaped themselves into words, a sound similar to that of a fly being swatted with a newspaper came from behind him.
The spectral man blinked in surprise and turned to look at whatever had made the sound. At first it seemed to be a blob of purple coloured limbs in a vaguely pastel colour. He couldn't determine if it was skin or very short matted fur, and his eyes widened slightly when an equine head popped up from the shape. It had a single pinkish streak in a patch of otherwise blue hair, or was it mane? It was much stockier than the normal horses he was familiar with, a child maybe? Or was it one of those short stocky horses, ponies or whatever it is called?
The equine visitor made a groaning sound as it tried to stand up on its hooves. And the ghost shifted his gaze to the locksmith and regarded him skeptically.
"You want me to help the little horse get back home? Am I supposed to lure it with hay or something?" he asked incredulously.
"Did someone say hay?" a high pitched feminine voice asked groggily.
The ghost's jaw dropped slightly as his eyes locked on the unicorn. "So what, it's intelligent enough to talk or is this just her animal thoughts I'm reading as words because we're spirits here?" he asked the locksmith without looking away from the equine.
"They're roughly as intelligent as a human.... maybe a little less, from what little I've observed," he said, muttering the last part mostly to himself.
"Uhm, excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear," the little pony began, having regained some of her composure along with her sense of balance. "But I can assure you I am smart enough to talk, I can speak very well actually," she stated, a note of something wry entering into her voice. "I'd also appreciate it deeply if anypony could tell me where I am or what is going on!"
"Okay, a talking, chubby little horse got lost and need a ride home. Is that all, and then you'll give me what I want?" The ghost asked while ignoring the equine and turned towards the locksmith, scanning his mischievous smile and gleaming eyes carefully.
"You'll get what you give. You already know the terms of our deal and agreed to them. Time to get to work," he simply answered and held out his palms innocently.
The expression of skepticism did not leave the ghost's face, but he nodded slightly and turned his attention to the little unicorn. "So how did you end up here exactly?" he asked it.
"Well," she said, drawing out each syllable hesitantly. "I was kind of researching this new spell for being able to travel in dreams to other places, maybe even other worlds! But when I first tried it then went to sleep, I just... ended up here." She had sounded more and more excited with each word she spoke, until she ended it with a shudder, all joy draining from her expression as she gave a quick glance up towards the empty sky above.
"So, you tried astral projection through the dreamscape, had no idea what you were doing and ended up disconnecting from whatever dimension you're from and got dumped into the void... groovy, I get the picture," the ghost summarized with a voice as dry as a desert, then he turned to face the locksmith. "So how do we get the incompetent horse back home?"
"Hey!" the unicorn objected, and got completely ignored by both humans.
"We?" the locksmith asked with a mock expression of shock and put a hand up to his chest. "Well, bless my stars and garters, here I thought this was your task, not mine. But I'll give you a hint to speed things along; the stumbling equine is from a place long ago in a galaxy far, far away, and then a few dimensions over from that," he said, voice adopting a deep and bombastic melodrama while he flung his arms out, wildly gesturing with each phrase spoken. "There's no express line from where we are to where she is, because she was connected to the nothing, and once she's connected to you she becomes part of your resonance, and therefore your world. Your task is figuring out a way to get her spirit back into her own world's resonance so she can pop back into her body before it expires," he finished in a hushed whisper, pointing at the offended little pony.
"Yeah, hold on a sec, what do you mean when you said 'once she's connected to me'?" the ghost asked sharply.
"She's a spirit without any anchor to a physical vessel. You got no way to transport her from here into any container jar or lamp or similar. And if you leave her now, you won't be able to find her again. Only leaves one option—she's got to jump back with you into your head. I'm sure there's ample space," the locksmith grinned at him.
"What?!" both the ghost and pony deadpanned simultaneously.
"Look at it like charity. Housing homeless spirits is sure to give your karma score a nice boost along with the benefits of our deal," the locksmith assured him with a wave of his hand, then raised it to scratch the beard on his chin with a smirk.
"And if I refuse?" The ghost asked heatedly, clenching his ethereal jaw tight.
The smile on the stranger's face faltered as the gleam of amusement vanished from his eyes. Something cold and ruthless arose in its place, as dangerous and hungry as the void above them had been. When he spoke, it was with a soft calm voice, making each word gently sink into the ghost with total clarity. "If you refuse, you'll live to hate everything you are. Unable to escape your own damnation, and unable to forgive yourself for having had a chance but not taking it. Not even death or madness will give you peace from the torment that'll infuse the rest of your pitiful existence. Until finally you'll willingly seek out the void you felt before to let it render you into nothing."
Unable to help himself, the ghost glanced up at the sky above and its unyielding emptiness. Then he swallowed and glanced at the unicorn. She met his eyes, and he felt something then. A spark of recognition he couldn't quite place.
"So," the locksmith continued, his voice regaining his former tone of mockery and wryness. "Will you save the lost little mage, sent adrift into the nothing because of personal flaws and a failure?"
Those eyes. There was something about them. A mystery inside he couldn't grasp, but knew was important. But none of those thoughts congealed into anything comprehensive within the ghost's mind, and therefore went unspoken for the others.
"I'll give it a shot," he finally answered.
"Excellent!" The locksmith proclaimed, and snapped his fingers.
Instantly the world around them shattered, as if it was only by will that it had been held in place to begin with. The earth beneath them cracked, and pieces already began to dissolve. With a panicked look the ghost locked eyes with the unicorn, then reached out a hand towards it and shouted, "Hurry!"
It hesitated only for a second before throwing itself over the crumbling earth towards him. And just as the entire construct fell apart into rock and dust, her hoof managed to glance against the tip of one of his fingers. And that was all it took for the world to explode into a blinding light, and a weight beyond anything he had ever felt sent the ghost tumbling down, down, down...
****************************************
The world returned to him in the form of a blinding headache, a pressure pulsating throughout his entire skull so overwhelming all he could do was curl into a ball and cradle his head. There seemed to be some kind of noise buzzing in his mind, but he couldn't be sure if it was the sound of blood rushing through his ears or something else. With each hammer blow of pain, all attempts to gather his thoughts instantly evaporated. So he didn't.
With a wrench of will, the man instead focused on his breathing, forcing control back over his breath by filling his chest deep with air. He held it for a moment, until the pain struck him again, so hard he lost control and it all escaped his chest in a coughing fit. He tried again, then again and again. Each time with a smaller measure of success. And with each cycle he focused his mind to align itself with the breath, letting the pain and tortured pressure flow out of him with the air. It felt like an eternity before his mind had become clear enough for him to dare to focus his attention elsewhere, and he opened his eyes.
It was entirely dark inside the room. The fire had died out a long time ago, signifying just how much time had passed since he sat down to let his spirit roam freely. But the floor had remained comfortably heated, although the same could not be said for his limbs.
With a groan he stretched out his legs fully, feeling the pinpricks of needles as blood rushed to fill them once again. He allowed himself to simply lay there on the floor, tensing and relaxing then moving his muscles slightly, little by little easing some life back into his body. And it was during this course of exploring parts of himself that he noticed something. Now that the pain had receded into a dull ache at the back of his skull, there was a presence within him—an energy that hadn't been there before.
With his mind once again—relatively—unburdened, he thought back to what had happened, and the memories quickly returned.
"You in there?" he thought towards the presence.
There was the sound of a yelp in a high-pitched feminine voice, and then a reply softly flowed back to him. "Yes, I am here. Although I am not quite sure where here is, it is... kind of dark."
The man laying on the floor didn't reply at first, he simply stared up at the ceiling and considered his situation carefully.
"Well, shit," he eventually groaned out loud, then rubbed at his head gingerly. "Ok, so what do I call you, little unicorn? he projected towards the alien knot of energy.
"My name is Twilight Sparkle," it replied evenly.
For a moment, the man neither said or did nothing, then he rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. Alright, Twilight, let's get you back home and out of my head."
"And before you make me put a gun to it," he muttered darkly, rubbing his aching head once again in a pitiful gesture.
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This still exists?
Well this was an unexpected notification to get. Exciting.
I could have sworn I had the old story saved somewhere
Lemme go check my desktop
I sent the old version I had saved to the author using the site's mail function
the file was like 9 years old, christ
11702297
No worries dude, I have the old copy myself. I'm just redoing the story. But thank you for effort, hope you enjoy the new version. Maybe I should rename it Machinations of a trickster 2.0 or something to avoid confusion.
11702301
Idk, man. It's your story, and I honestly forgot it existed, until this popped up
It was in the files I copied from a laptop of mine that was giving warning popups that the hard drive was failing.
11702301
11702306
I lost my backup years ago and I would really like to revisit the old version. If you both agree, would you be willing to share the epub or whatever form of backup you guys have?
11702308
I've just got a .txt file. Come to think of it, it might be in one of the fimfiction archives that I've seen people maintaining. It was like a 7 gig zip last I looked
11702311
Do you have a link?
This is quite interesting. Can’t wait to see more:D
I'm sorry... What? I had COMPLETELY written this one off. I remember loving this story back in its original version, and I am very interested in seeing how the re-vised one does.
Oh, WOW. I thought this was dead! Awesome! It's been one of my favorite fanfic series of all time, FiMFic or no. Looking forward to more!
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I do not
I knew you would return one day! Glad I picked today to check my 400+ feed items lol.
Going to check this out tonight, the original was one of my fav fics from back in the day so I look forward to visiting the world again. Anyway, happy to see you back Deviance
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https://www.fimfiction.net/user/116950/Fimfarchive/blog
Also check =
https://fimfetch.net
Oh my dear sweet lord above it lives again.
...Well, I hope. Gonna look forward to reading through this again, that's for sure!
Story aside, how are you doing, Deviance? It's been quite a long time.
Thanks for coming back!
It begins!
Once again I just want to say I'm stoked to see this coming back.
No lie, some of the concepts in this and the later stories inspired some things in my own fic so for anyone new to this story I can tell you it's well worth reading!
Well, must say I'm shocked, I was in the middle of reading this years ago and it just disappeared, I had slowly convinced myself it never existed. Glad it's back though, I'm excited to rediscover this story. Just kinda shocking to be blindsided by a ghost memory from back then, very surreal feeling.
This is like what, the 3rd or 4th iteration of the story? It's always nice to see an old favorite still putting stuff out there, but at the same time it's a shame the old story is gone unless you can find it archived somewhere or someone happens to have a copy to send over. I almost wish you would just republish the old and completed first story for people to enjoy. While I remember this fondly, at this point this story gets deleted and republished so many times randomly that I think I'll only bother if it actually gets completed this time around. Would be cool to see you instead continue the saga with the planned, but never published sequels.
Hope you have been doing well!
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Understandable. Back in those days it was a little different and I was just making it up as I went along. The later iterations was a way for me to try and go back and refine my skills since I couldn't even begin to read it without cringing so hard it felt like physical pain sometimes. I've had plenty of time to consider Karon at different moments since then and am in a much better position to write a final/complete version of it.
Although for the moment I only have time to write on my Sundays so progress is slow, but I'm trudging on. Got some cool shit planned for poor old Karon.
And for those that want the old story you can find it on fimfetch. Just google "Machinations of a trickster fimfetch" or similar and it should be first hit or thereabouts. Same with "Starlit Paths."