To Whom It Honors
“Are you sure you're okay, Rainbow?” Ariel asked with a raspy voice.
“Yes...” The petite pegasus in question hobbled into the gnarled wooden interior, being supported by Wildcard with every trotting step. “...just... a bit dizzy. But...” She shook her head, Loyalty Pendant rattling. “...all things considered, I'm friggin' lucky. We all are.”
“The fact that Lexxic did not have you executed on the spot for that stunt...” Seraphimus stood at the doorway leading into the small hovel. “...completely astounds me.” Outside, the murky and rumbling industry of war persisted nonstop. The former Talon Commander leaned against the entrance frame and crossed her forelimbs. “You very nearly ruined everything you worked to achieve in one single leap.”
“Oh get off her, Sera...” Ariel frowned in the center of the room. “With all the crap that was unfolding, it's a shame that none of us leapt in as well!” She rolled her eyes with a grumbling breath. “I mean, it's no surprise that you just sat on your catbutt!”
“When will you stop being such a pathetically defensive sycophant and open your eyes?” Seraphimus' beak clenched. “Rainbow's wild and impulsive tactics from the Light Side simply won't work here! For a moment, I thought she had wised up to the politics of this place, but then her true nature broke through.” She blew aside. “As it always does.”
Ariel stuck her tongue out. “You mean the same true nature of hers that kicked your ass more times than you can count?!”
“Girls... please...” Rainbow waved, teetering. Wildcard helped her down onto one of multiple thin sleeping mats spread across the floor of the humble interior. “I can only stand this love/hate schtick so much. Yeah, I went in over my head, but I came out in one piece—we all did—and now it's time to count our blessings and prepare a strategy...” She blinked... then blinked some more. “... … ...just where in the heck are we?”
Wildcard steadied her, then stood up and talon-signed.
Rainbow blinked curiously. “The outer roots? Why are we in the outer roots?”
“To retire for a spell, presumably,” Seraphimus remarked. She looked cautiously out the doorway and into the main body of the Bloodwing war camp in the shadow of the Tree of Mothers. “Lexxic made a show of instructing Azarias that we should have adequate shelter.”
Wildcard gestured something before squatting before a brazer built in the center of the chamber.
Seraphimus responded to him: “My point, Jordan, is that he went out of his way to preserve our heads before the whole of his inferiors!” Her beak nostrils flared. “The Sons of Nightmares would have gladly slain us right then and there in the Hall of Honor had Lexxic not intervened.”
“Even then, could they have explained what happened to Lexxic?” Ariel remarked. “Their glorious and invulnerable leader?! In such a state of—”
“This isn't time to gloat,” Rainbow remarked. She rubbed her head dizzily. “Besides... me and th-the girls are still stumbling to figure out exactly what happened.”
“Rainbow Dash...” Seraphimus spoke firmly, standing on all fours with a serious expression. “We need to have a deep and thoughtful discussion about Lexxic.” She slowly shook her head. “I still don't believe you fully understand the gravity of his presence here among the Dark Vigil.”
“What we need...” Rainbow was already reclining on the sleeping mat as she gestured. “...is to get some shuteye while it's available to us. Lexxic made it more than obvious that he wants to continue our awkward little diplomatic hoedown session. He obviously finds importance in my being here, despite the things I may or may not have done...” Her ears twitched above a faint smirk. “...and the crap he himself has pulled.”
“This is his army... his brothers...” Seraphimus' charcoal brown eyes narrowed. “He has the liberty.”
“Does he? Forever, that is?” Rainbow squinted back. “What do you think that barbaric show in the Hall of Honor was all about?! He's doing all he can to maintain control that he knows will slip away at any moment. You really think Mistress Faatail and Nat'rdo have me doing this dance because I'm just some random tourist visiting from out of town?” She shook her head—which only made her dizzier. Recovering, she sputtered: “I'm the Avatar of Luna... the closest living thing they have to a blessed wielder of their Divine Mother's authority. I may—in fact—be the one and only key to bringing balance back to this crazy warmongering bucket of bloodthirsty berserkers!” That devilish smirk of her turned crooked. “Why should I look a gift bat horse in the mouth, huh?”
“'Divine Mother...'” Seraphimus weathered a steely breath. “All this time since we first crossed paths...” Her eyes were as cold as her voice. “...and you're still high from playing off the theocracy of Rohbredden.”
Rainbow Dash blinked at that.
Ariel chewed on her lip—
FWOOOMB!!!
—then jumped from a leaping column of flame.
Everyone looked towards the center of the room, where Wildcard had successfully lit the brazer. The Desperado stood up, flexed his metal limb, and gestured towards the rest of the group.
“Nah, dude...” Rainbow Dash shook her head, shifting where she lay. “You deserve sleep just like the rest of us. Be selfish for once.”
“Indeed.” Seraphimus leaned against the doorframe yet again. “I shall keep watch first.”
Wildcard's dark headcrest ruffled around his even darker goggles. He slashed the air with emphatic gestures.
“No...” Seraphimus glared at him. “It is I who shall act as sentry!”
The Desperado retorted with flying talons.
Seraphimus hissed: “So far, you've only proven that you taunt these cretins, not intimidate them.” She gestured at herself. “As for me: both my strength and my station properly disturbs the Sons of Nightmares. They will not enter this domain so long as I stand watch.”
Wildcard spat, then sliced more gestures with his talons.
Seraphimus almost snorted. “And what? Attract your new coltfriend? The silent homunculus with the voice box?”
“Everyone... please...” Rainbow Dash rubbed her temples, grimacing. “...we can't afford to have two badass griffons who refuse to sleep...”
“Did...” Ariel pointed at the doorway. “...Sera just make a gay joke?”
“You're a gay joke,” Seraphimus grumbled, looking away with disdain.
“Hah! She did! She totally did!” Ariel beamed. Ariel blinked. Ariel droned: “... … … dumb turkey bitch.”
“Your insufferable poultry vocabulary has no effect on me.”
“You get stiff and wordy when you're pissed off. You know that, right?”
“Stop pretending to be intelligent and observant.”
“Uh huh. Whatever, poop penguin.”
Wildcard gestured wildly.
“Wasn't talkin' to you, Dubya. Chillax.”
“And stop pretending he's on your side. I've known Jordan longer than you.”
“Pffft. No wonder he went mute and ditched his arm.”
“What is that supposed to insinuate?”
“If I had to serve under you, I'd obliterate my love life as well!”
A shrill whistle. Swinging talons.
“Dude, it was just a joke. Relax!”
“Don't give her an inch of mercy, Jordan. Even if you are equally as sycophantic to Rainbow Dash—”
Another whistle, more rabid gesturing.
“Rnnnngh...” Rainbow Dash slumped completely to her side, clutching her skull as the other three bickered wildly within that hollowed-out chamber of the Tree of Mother's roots. “...Applejack, what I wouldn't give for you to materialize and kick these melon fudges straight.” A beat. Her eyes rolled. “No, that wasn't meant as a slight to Ariel, Pinkie Pie. Can I just...” She clenched her everything tightly shut and curled up into a fuzzy blue ball. “...can I just get a single friggin' minute of sanity in this looney warhole?!?
As Rainbow Dash groaned in exasperation...
And while Seraphimus, Wildcard, and Ariel argued into a buzzing tumult... …
… … …a certain Imperialist Clerk looked on from the sidelines. The first to have entered the chamber—as she was the one tasked with guiding them there—she had found a sleeping mat upon the fringes to lie on. Squatting on folded hooves, the unicorn sarosian kept her spectacled eyes locked on the group of grumpy Penumbrans while her horn glowed with telekinesis. She levitated a scroll out of one saddlebag and a pen from another.
She unpinned her mane and tossed it loose, letting the shiny silver hair flow over her shoulders as she exhaled the shuddering extent of the day out from her lungs. Only when she pressed the pen to paper and started scribbling down words did Shriike finally relax:
To Whom It Honors,
I, Administer Shriike, Tertiary Assistant to the Chief Imperial Record-Keeper of Gibbous Sanctum and Current Acting Archivist to the Scrolls of the Tree Of Mothers, In Full Compliance to Imperial Decorum and In Special Subservience to Captain Xandraa of the Imperial Guard, On This Night—the Twenty-Seventh Cycle of Year One Thousand and Three of the Mother of Nightmare's Exile—do hereby put to written record the dialogue, actions, and observations concerning Rainbow Dash—the supposed W'ynlppa yln H'luun, as hypothesized by Nat'rdo and other high-ranking members of the Dream Council—and the attached company of foreign denizens likewise hailing from the Searing Lands of the Great Deceiver during the so-called avatar's diplomatic exchange with Lexxy'kyn, Chief Commander of the Dark Vigil's Military Branches and Self-Proclaimed First Son of Nightmares.
While one may contend that the Tertiary Assistant to the currently-indisposed Chief Imperial Record-Keeper is far too young and aesthetically pleasing to endanger said-qualities with an arduous field excursion such as this, far be it from me to neglect the duties that have been projected onto my humble self by the head Captain of the Imperial Guard who is wise, stalwart, and admittedly long overdue for a flattering manecut. Among the tasks that have been bestowed upon this most diligent and aesthetically-pleasing clerk: chiefest is the need to remain quiet, unassuming, and reserved—all of which will undoubtedly be tantamount to impossible, considering my irresistible character and charming good looks.
The fact that I must carry all of these—along with my duties—through a thick sea of the Dark Vigil's most ravenous warmongering specimens of predatory masculinity—is a nightmarish reality not lost to me. Far be it from my industrious self to challenge the lead Captain's courage or tenacity, but I suspect that there is more at work here than endangering the innocent life of a priceless and charming clerk of Gibbous Sanctum. There are many reasons why the good and experienced Xandraa could not step hoof onto these toxic grounds herself, and my keen intellect infers that it has much to do with at least one member of the most-polished Elders in the uppermost branches, to the whole of whom these records are addressed. If you know who you are and would wish to discuss potential compensations for the inevitable horrors and body odors endured by this most loyal of clerks in the field of duty, please see the attached missive bundled with this parcel after consuming the body of this initial memoir.
“Sera, just let Wildcard keep watch first. You won't ever win an argument against him.”
“That's what you think, simpleton. Maybe if you paid less attention to your goddess-empress' cutie mark and gave more heed to Jordan's inner character—”
The air whipped like tropical winds from the blurring talon-signals.
“What? You honestly think you've changed that much since you served with the Talon? What's the name of the paltry organization you formed during your exile: 'Desperados?' Desperate for an excuse, perhaps...”
An angry, shrill whistle—but it didn't come from Wildcard.
Shriike winced, pausing in writing to rub her head as Rainbow Dash barked at the group:
“Alright, screwjobs! Here's how it's gonna go down! Or in my friggin' case—Up!” She hobbled onto all fours and limped towards the door-frame. “I will keep watch for the first few hours!”
Wildcard did a double-take.
“But Rainbow...!” Ariel reached out, grimacing. “...you're still reeling from the Hall of Honor!”
“Please...” Seraphimus smirked ever so slightly, on the brink of chuckling. “You've got to be joking.”
“Tough talk...” Rainbow trotted up to her and stared the griffon down. “...for a pelican who's about to have a beak full of floor.”
“... … ...” Seraphimus blinked.
“... … ...” Rainbow Dash glared back.
A flick of the tail. A drooping headcrest...
...and Seraphimus walked away from the door.
Wildcard began hand-signing something—
“And you!” Rainbow pointed at the Desperado, glaring. “Don't pretend I didn't see you having a metal-prosthesis-waving contest with some of Lexxic's finest today! You wanna get chummy with freakazoids of the Dark Side?? Consider doing it after we know who our friends truly are! Until the time comes—can it with the impervious badass gimmick! And for right now—go the buck to sleep!”
Wildcard's everything drooped. His tail tucked between his legs as he backstepped towards a sleeping mat.
“Rainbow Dash, we really must discuss Lexxic and his—” Seraphimus began.
“Sera—” Rainbow pointed at her. “—stop being so brooding!” She pointed at Wildcard. “Jordan, stop being so awesome!”
“Well said, Rainbow—” Ariel nodded.
“And Ariel!” Rainbow's teeth gnashed as she pointed. “Stop being so gay!”
Ariel blinked. “Hrmmfff...” She turned around three times and plopped down on a mat with a frown. “Easier said than done.”
“As somepony who hasn't done anything or anyone in ages, I promise that you'll survive.” Rainbow slumped against the doorframe and folded her wings around herself like a blanket. “So just... suck it up about not sucking it up...” A yawn. “...and you'll be fine.” A pause. Rainbow's muzzle hardened. “I can and I will, Twilight. Sometimes the boss has to step up and take charge. That's what this is.”
Seraphimus and Wildcard chose sleeping mats beside each other, but their gazes remained locked on Rainbow Dash.
“She will surely fall unconscious,” Seraphimus muttered to her former inferior. “When the time comes, I will take her place.”
Wildcard huffed a sigh and replied.
Seraphimus squinted at him. “Simply because it's the rational thing. Don't insinuate that I'm concerned for her out of personal spite...”
“You heard the mare,” Ariel stifled a yawn and rolled onto her side. “...get some shuteye.” She smiled faintly. “I, for one, am ready to sleep like an anvil.”
Wildcard blew out the side of his beak and signed something.
Ariel squinted tiredly at him. “I do not kick in my sleep.”
“He's right. You do.” Seraphimus muttered, resting on all fours. “Habitually.”
“How would you know?”
“... … ….” Seraphimus flexed and unflexed her wings. “I'm observant of all things... even the banal details...”
Ariel rolled her eyes, then shut them. “I would never kick in my sleep...” She stifled another yawn and drifted off. “...would... m-make a horrible cuddle buddy that way...”
As soon as Ariel stopped talking, the general atmosphere of the room quieted—even the two griffons.
Shriike breathed with evident relief and returned her floating pen to the floating parchment:
These... ambassadors from the Light Side—with all of their unique qualities, specific talents, and physical manifestations—are, simply put, a bunch of insufferable nimrods. Supposedly they have survived countless perils and lengths to arrive here—including an arduous crossing of the very Brink itself—and yet I fail to see how they could possibly conquer a single hour of adversity together. What—with their pretentious and juvenile habit of bickering with one another and making light of every curious detail that flounders in front of them. (Note to self: “making light” is a fitting pun for those who hail from the blinding realm of the Great Deceiver. Only someone as quick-witted as myself could have thought of it.)
But, yes, nimrods: the whole lot of them. From a broken warrior who refuses to talk to a hormonal mare with the muzzle of a disgruntled tart to an ice-blooded creature with eyes that have seen countless horrors of searing madness—and they all answer to a living color palette of a pony who bears the diplomatic grace of a winged possum on opium. From as far as this observant clerk has learned, there are supposedly three other members of her otherworldly posse—lingering back at some Goddess-forbidden shanty-town deep in the saturated navel of the bleaks. I shudder to guess how their ludicrous qualities are compounded among such sad individuals: will there be a half-dog-half-sea-serpent? An expressively pansexual cockroach with metal tentacles? Possibilities abound, but surely not my own curiosity—and both as a consequence of these insufferably migraine-inducing misanthropes.
But a wise and loyal clerk lives to serve. For the extent of the last cycle, I have performed my duties to the Captain of the Imperial Guard and the Council of Elders with utmost dedication. Attached to this document, you shall find plenty of transcripts and records made—on site and with peak accuracy—that document the interactions, observations, and motions committed by the so-called Avatar of Luna during her stay within and without the company of Lexxic, First Son of Nightmares. This document in particular that you may or may not be reading is simply the journal made by the Acting Archivist as means of compiling the moments experienced at this current culmination. (Also, it keeps this archivist sane, which is a difficult task as of late).
It is—unfortunately—not without its colorful commentary, as necessitated by the maddening lengths that these nimrods have pushed me, for which I have no other outlet. I apologize in advance for any potential stretching of journalistic etiquette. This is an encounter unlike no other, which may not manifest itself for another eon. It is with a calm and sound mind that I take a moment to reflect on how lucky I am to be readily available to observe such things. If I fail to assume this mindset—however artificial—then I risk certain madness.
Take—for instance—the leader of this merry band of displaced dystopians. One would expect a mare of steely resolve, with the tactful presence of a saint, fearless and undisputed in her intimidating stance. What a pity—then—that all they have to answer to is a petite purse of fried fruit slices, thin and raspy—just like her voice—and equipped with a veritable arsenal of immature aplomb befitting a wayward imp attempting to sell the Elders “Flux Pesticide.” (Note to self: may or may not delete that last bit later. The Elders are too serious to appreciate a loyal clerk's peak humor.)
I do not exaggerate. Rainbow Dash, the so-called avatar, is always either trying to pick a fight or pick her nose. And yet she pretends to be serious about making friends with the upper branches of the Tree while also rubbing fetlocks with the Sons of Nightmares. Even I know that such can't be achieved, and yet she pursues such absurdity with moronic zeal.
I recall vividly from the first hour that I accompanied her and her companions...
“The fact of the matter is...” With a flick of his pale tail hairs, Lukaas turned about and paced across the dusty trail between Bloodwing encampments. “...the First Son of Nightmares is going to be extraordinarily busy for the next foreseeable future. He simply won't have the time to entertain visitors from the Searing Lands.”
“S'all good.” Rainbow Dash leaned casually against a stack of metal crates. “We can wait.”
Lukaas turned to face her. His balding brow furrowed. “And just what—pray tell—are the First Son's fellow warriors to do with you in the interim?”
Rainbow Dash shrugged. “That's for you to decide not me. But don't you fret.” A smirk and a wink. “I'm pretty easy to entertain.” Her ear flicked, as if somepony was whispering into it. A slight sigh, and she muttered aside: “Well, I'm not the same pegasus from Ponyville, Twilight.”
Shriike looked up from the levitating pen and parchment she was using to record the spoken words. She arched an eyebrow curiously at Rainbow Dash, adjusted her spectacles, but nevertheless went back to her duty.
Masser cleared his throat. He trotted past Ariel and the two griffons to approach Lukaas. “Perhaps I can take them to the pit.”
Lukaas spun at him, his good fang glinting in the twilight. “Nopony is taking any outsiders to the pit!”
“Why not?” Masser shrugged with a bewildered expression across his scarred face. The stallion towered above the Fifth but nevertheless came across as strangely demure in his tone. “Would it not be a proper display of Bloodwing ingenuity—?”
“Given the intricacies of its maintenance...” Lukaas hissed. “...would it not behoove us to defer to the First Son's permission?” His slitted eyes narrowed. “Or at least Azarias'?”
Masser blinked. He stepped backward, hunched noticeably. “Oh. Right. I suppose the contents of the pit are quite important.”
“Are we...” Rainbow Dash fidgeted. “...talking a fun pit or a scream until you wish for death pit?”
“H-hey!” Masser pointed at the mare, smirking. “The avatar gets it!”
Lukaas kicked Masser hard in the side.
“Ow!” Masser frowned, rubbing his body with mild annoyance.
“'Supposed avatar',” Lukaas emphasized, then resumed pacing through the center of the group. “She is our company strictly by request of the Elders—not by any station based in reality.”
“Love you too,” Rainbow droned.
“And...” Lukaas glared at the mare. “...if she expects to be treated with the same luxury as that which she witnessed up in the High Branches, she's sorely mistaken.” A crooked smile graced his pale features. “Down here—among the shadow and the roots—contentment is earned.” His teeth gnashed as he gestured with a swinging fetlock. “Through strength! Competition! Struggle!”
“And blood!” Masser said, brightening.
“Mrmmfff...” Lukaas blew out the side of his muzzle. “Yes. Whenever there is plenty of that to spare.”
Masser smiled in unironic pride.
Rainbow gave the Third a prolonged look. “For a bunch of blue collars, you really love the color red,” she eventually stated.
“H-huh?!” Both Lukaas and Masser blinked strangely at her.
She waved them off and stood straight and polite. “The Elders specifically requested that I hang out with Lexxic. Now you guys are telling me that's not gonna happen for a while.” She shrugged. “They won't exactly be happy to hear that the First Son and his blood brothers cowered away from a direct order coming from the Highest Polished.”
“We are not cowering away!” Lukaas snarled. “Out here, the directives of the First Son are paramount. And—as it so happens—he's requested that he not be disturbed while dealing with important business!”
“You mean the problematic 'Twelve' that were spared by Lyw'Malaak?” Seraphimus calmly stated.
Both Lukaas and Masser gave her double-takes.
The Former Talon Commander continued: “From what I understand, Lexxic is intercepting them after they've been sent back home with official pardon by this brusquely-spoken-of Malaak.”
Lukaas held a hoof out, but his mouth merely hung open in a lapse of thought.
“Oh, she's got good ears, alright,” Rainbow said with a smirk. “You just can't see them under all the feathers.”
Wildcard nodded.
“Hrmmfff...” Lukaas shrugged. “It matters little.”
“Doesn't it?” Seraphimus cocked her head to the side. “Every time this 'Lyw'Malaak' has been spoken of, it has been with great anxiety and vitriol—on behalf of Lexxic and all his subordinates.”
“If we didn't know better,” Ariel remarked, “I'd say Malaak is more than a mere thorn in Lexxic's side.” She arched an eyebrow. “But maybe the last edge the Elders have over his entire army?”
“Or can he actually call it 'his army' with somepony like Malaak still around?” Seraphimus added.
Masser blinked worriedly at Lukaas.
The Fifth was already fuming. “Listen to me here...” He pointed an angry hoof. “The First Son of Nightmares is in complete and total charge of the brave warriors fighting for control of the Sarcophagus of Ages. And he will not allow his authority to be challenged by the pathetic few who mistake cowardice for tenacity! The High Polished simply do not understand the full extent of Lexxic's sacrifices, and every single time they meddle with the bureaucratic banalities of old, they risk everything that—” The pale stallion cut himself off completely. Blinking, he turned to squint at Shriike across the group. “... … ...what in the Narrow is she doing?”
The Imperialist clerk blinked through her thick-thick glasses. “Uhmmmm...” Her voice rolled in time with her fluctuating horn. “...I'm recording?”
Lukaas' good fang showed. “You surely cannot!”
“Yyyyyyyeah...” She squinted back at him. “...but unfortunately for you, my years of the Vigil's finest lunar education and Gibbous Sanctum internship says that I do...”
Lukaas rushed forward before Masser could stop him. “Eee-eee-eee!!” He stood tall with bleached wings outstretched, towering above the clerk's startled figure. “These words spoken between the Sons of Nightmares and the supposed avatar are for our ears and our ears alone” He seethed in her face, causing her to tremble all over. “Do not test me, breeder, or you will suffer a fate far darker than even the Lower Roots can echo! Is that understood?”
“I-I fully and totally c-comprehend the vernacular!” Shriike stammered, her everything drooping as she shrank from his diseased complexion. “Just... pl-please... take your scars and liver sp-spots and st-step away!”
Lukaas did indeed back off—but not by his own volition. A sky-blue hoof pulled him away from Shriike. Sharply.
“Chill out, buddy,” Rainbow Dash said. “There'll be no threatening messengers on my watch.”
“Unhoof me, female—” Lukaas' slitted eyes suddenly widened as he found his entire body buckling in pain. He sank like an anchor to the dusty earth. “Aaaaugh!”
This was because Rainbow Dash had bent his left wing at a vicious angle, and she applied even more pressure as her smirk melted into a frown pressed into the side of his fuzzy head. “I said... chill the buck out...” Her teeth glinted in the twilight, just centimeters from doing permanent damage to the Fifth's leafy ears. “I'm on a very important mission here, and no amount of stupid petty politics is gonna get in the way of that. Now—our four-eyed egghead friend here has been told by ponies with higher authority than all of you Sons of Nightmares combined that she's to accompany me and note down everything that's spoken. So, if you wanna keep her from recording things, the smart choice is to keep your muzzle shut. Simple as that.”
Rainbow gave Lukaas' wing a slight yank, which summoned an embarrassing squeak from his inner being.
“But...” Rainbow growled. “...if I catch you threatening her again, it won't be the Maria Matriarchs or even Lexxic who'll stomp your remaining teeth into gravel, it'll be me. And you'd better believe I've pile-driven bigger bullies than a thousand you's combined.”
Shriike's eyes fluttered in a stunned blink.
“Httt!” Rainbow Dash gave Lukaas a hard shove.
“Ooomf!” The Fifth went rolling. He tried hopping up into a nimble stance, but could only manage an awkward stumble. His pale features were flushed red—a combination of sheer frustration plus knowing that several distant warriors had stopped everything they were doing to gawk at his limp display.
Wildcard exhaled, slowly loosening the grip he had on his bo-staff for the past thirty seconds.
“And don't try getting angry. I promise—I'd only be angrier.” Rainbow smoothed her bangs straight and gestured at Shriike. “Whatcha waiting for? Don't slouch on the job, bookworm.”
“R-right...” Shriike nervously levitated her pen and parchment back.
Ariel leaned towards the clerk. “I've seen her when she's angry.” She fanned herself while Shriike merely squinted in confusion.
Meanwhile...
“Snrkkk...” Masser hunched over. “Snrkkkk—Bwa ha ha ha ha!” He stomped his hoof across the ground—making the whole earth shake so that even Seraphimus had to shift her stance. “Haaaah hah hah hah!” He grinned at the Fifth. “I get it now! Hah haaah! But it's a lot funnier when she hurts another brother! Hah hah hah hah!”
The air around that portion of the camp echoed with squeaks, chuckles, and laughter from observing Bloodwings. Lukaas' nostrils flared as he shifted under their humored gaze. Eventually, the soldiers stopped snickering at his expense and went back to whatever it was that they were doing.
“Ohhhhhhh...” Masser caught his breath, grinning from ear to scarred ear. “If only you were there to see it, brother! Truly a headbutt for the ages!”
“Humorous to a fault...” Lukaas spat. “But I refuse to entertain such obvious pawns of Gibbous Sanctum.”
“And how is it your place to refuse?” Seraphimus asked.
“It is my job to protect the interests of the Roots,” Lukaas huffed.
“Say...” Ariel pointed at Masser. “Doesn't he outrank you?”
“She's right!” Rainbow brightened. “He does!”
“I do?” Masser blinked. “Ahem!” With a shudder, he stood tall and proud. “Indeed! I do!” He turned towards Lukaas. “How about I take it from hear, Fifth—”
“Masser'myn, brother...” Lukaas groaned, gesturing at the group. “Don't let these seared strangers take advantage of—”
“I believe you need a reprieve, Sy'lukas'ymb. And as the Third, I hereby relieve you.”
“... … …!!” Lukaas' jaw dropped. His ears flicked, and he snorted. “The Second will not like this.”
“I shall deal with L'azarias'ym,” Masser declared. “I'm one of only two souls on this plane who can.”
“Mrmmmff...” Lukaas flicked his threadbare tail. “You mean you're one of the few who won't be killed on sight for talking back.” He spread his wings to fly back to the Roots—but instantly winced in pain. A few more chuckles resounded, and ultimately the Fifth trotted off in an embarrassed huff.
Masser exhaled long and hard. He turned towards Rainbow with a tired smirk. “You must forgive him. The Fifth has not... killed in a long time.”
“Unless you count his own ego,” Rainbow said. “So—you're gonna show us the pit, now, right?”
“Yes—NO!” Masser shook his meaty head. A low grumble rose from within his massive frame. “By honor to the Elders, I shall arrange for you to be in Lexxic's company. But I ask that you show me greater respect than you have with my older... far grumpier brother.”
Rainbow smirked. “Yeah. I can get behind that.”
Ariel waved. “See how far we get when we ask nicely?”
Masser turned towards her. He blinked, fidgeting slightly. “I am... not accustomed to taking anything except by force.”
“It is, indeed, a difficult habit to shake,” Seraphimus said.
“I do not think that I can... 'shake' it,” Masser said. “Nor do I aim to. But...” He motioned towards Omega. “...I can bring you closer to Lexxic.”
“Fine by me, champ.” Rainbow Dash gestured for the group to follow Masser as he trotted across the grand encampment. “Shake a leg, egghead. And Wildcard—no headbutting.”
A shrill whistle protested.
“Ohhhhhh can it, Polly. You only wish you were the first to do it back then.”
Shriike tongued the inside of her muzzle, warily eyeing the group—but mostly Rainbow Dash—as she gathered her supplies and stumbled to keep up the pace.
It boggles the sophisticated and educated mind that a pony such as this could have survived so lengthy a trek, utilizing frankly primitive tactics befitting a raw slab of meat. I find it a far more globular clot of blood to suck that those in the Dream Council would ascribe her the legendary role of 'W'ynlppa yln H'luun.' But—they are the ones who have peered into Rainbow Dash's mind—not I. I suspect that I am all the better for it; my fangs just hurt from the resonance caused by her insufferably raspy voice. Goddess help me if I allowed any part of her somewhere between my ears. I need this beautiful mind for recording dialogue as well as manifesting these priceless chronicles.
Where was I? Oh yes—when Rainbow Dash finds herself at odds with somepony or something, her solution appears to be tantamount to a diplomatic headbutt. I say this because of tales I've heard spoken by both Bloodwings and Bloodcolts alike. Everywhere we go, soldiers talk. Curse my osmotic sense of intellectual awareness that can absorb the full extent of what they say—even when writing one particular length of discourse down while trying to ignore the other. I never actually thought that the First Sons of Nightmares could be so verbose and eloquent, but where passion lies—so does the recount of curious events. For having such a short stay in the shadow of the Tree of Mothers, Rainbow Dash has generated quite the stir thus far.
It's from this that I found that she did—indeed—strike her skull against the intimidating cranium of Masser'myn, Third Son of Nightmares, at the first moment that Lexxic's company rendezvoused with her party out in the bleaks. For the longest time, I found this hard to believe—until I saw how fearlessly the mare from the Seared Lands confronted Sy'lukas'ymb, the Fifth Son of Nightmares, before my very eyes. The fact that Lukaas, Fifth Son of Nightmares, would very gladly have caused personal injury to me concerning a particular matter of sensitive information-gathering is besides the point. (Note to self—some parts of this account are superfluous, I just want it noted that my precious body and mind were both threatened by a subservient member of Lexxic, Commander of the Bloodwings. Also, the Fifth has liver spots and needs a bath.).
Anyways, this offensive act proved quite successful on Rainbow Dash's part, which is remarkable given her relatively small stature. The fact that Masser, the Third, reacted with amusement and enthusiasm seems to suggest that Rainbow's boldness functions as a matter of impressing her potential foils rather than intimidating would-be-inferiors. It should be noted that Rainbow's companions—observing the somewhat dramatic exchange—supported her resolve and psychologically persuaded the Third Son into using rank to make the Fifth stand down. The lattermost development can most likely be attributed to a questionable frailty in Masser's intelligence and self-esteem, but I am not here to psychoanalyze the Sons of Nightmares, although I do think I would be most exceptional at such. (I must put in a good word to Captain Xandraa; it could make for an illuminating future project.)
So, in short, Rainbow Dash likes to be direct, blunt, and forceful about things when all other ventures fail to pull through. Does she do this in all cases? It would appear that it's a tactic used with her very own traveling companions. Just now—as her party and myself are attempting to retire for the night—I witnessed her hissing her lackeys into line. They are a chatty bunch—disorganized, varied, and strongly opinionated. But there comes a point where they no longer afford to push Rainbow Dash any further than she wants to be. That's when she takes charge, and the gravity with which her words fall makes me wonder if it'd indeed be better if she just headbutted each and every one of her friends in like turn.
This is alarming. Or—at least—it should be alarming. What we have here is a pony who cannot... or will not take “no” for an answer. She is very bold, forward, and spearheaded. At the same time, she knows how to play face—and she can shape and mold herself to fit the context of the pony she's speaking with at any given time. Like the twirl of a moonstone, she brightens and dims on command. Blink in a dark chamber, and you just might miss it. But not I. I see how her back hairs bristle with frustration when she can tell that a conversation isn't about to go her way. I see the flick of her tail when she's about to leap upon an idea or a suggestion or a request. Others who are not as well-trained and gifted as this Imperial Clerk might miss such keen details, but probably because they're too busy being flabbergasted by her enthusiastic audacity or—dare I say it—wooed by her alien and otherworldly charm. Sure enough, the thugs and grunts down here in the shadow of the Tree are a breed driven by passion, feeling, and gut instinct. Rainbow Dash mirrors all of these qualities to a perfect shine, and she polishes it—gladly and daringly—before every meatheaded murderer she makes contact with.
I wonder: could this be what won her the role of W'ynlppa yln H'luun? Was this malleable, shifting, ever-changing proxy of unparalleled ponydom the form that she presented herself with in the Seared Lands? Was this the creature that won favor with the Mother of Nightmares (or whatever essence remained of her escaped, defeated self) so as to have the blessing of Luna's avatar distilled into such a cringey, petite vessel?
If so, she's far more dynamic a soul than T'chyrym herself—and all the layers of Flux that cocoon around her. Whether or not this demands that we treat Rainbow Dash with far more scrutiny and caution than we have so far—I cannot pretend to say. While I might have the capacity for limitless wisdom, it simply isn't this humble clerk's station among the Branches to decide. Only to observe.
And it is high time that I state—with more than a modicum of alarm—that I have observed something quite disturbing about the W'ynlppa yln H'luun. While I hold great doubt over the tales of epic accomplishments that bleed from her muzzle, I have no doubt that she has crossed many obstacles and tackled many perils. It stands to reason that this would cause a pony great stress—to the point of fraying sanity—even with the support of allies who seem ready to die for her. But—a toll, her ventures appear to have indeed taken. Because when she is not talking to Lexxic's lackeys or her own subordinates, Rainbow Dash... well...
The so-called avatar just talks...
“No...”
Silence.
“No. No. How many times do I gotta repeat myself, Fluttershy? I can't just... trot off and investigate crud willy-nilly!”
Silence.
“Because... we don't exactly have free-range here! We're waiting to meet up with Lexxic and Company, not tour the Dark Side Fairgrounds.”
The prismatic pegasus from Penumbra perched atop a stack of crates like a fuzzy blue cat, staring off past hazy rows of shacks where blacksmiths worked on the latest crafted weaponry. Wildcard and Ariel stood a few feet away, with one gesturing to another in muted conversation while the friend nodded. Rainbow was completely isolated—and completely calm—and yet her muzzle moved fluidly as if she was talking to a crowded room full of familiars.
“Well—I know that it sucks—but I'm gonna need you to just... keep a mental record of the location of whatever or whoever you're sensing. Who knows. If the opportunity presents itself, I'll... uhhhhh... try to find a way to sneak in a peek or something. But just one hooftrot at a time—”
Rainbow suddenly did a double-take at a patch of nothing. She stared intently into thin air, then raised an eyebrow.
“What are you going on about?”
A pause.
Rainbow sighed. “We still don't know how much it has to do with him being around or not. Just... chillax, Twi. We gotta play things safe and not do anything crazy for a while...”
Her ear flicked, and she tilted her head in the other direction with a scowling expression.
“For Pete's sake! It's because I know when and where it's okay to go full-on kaizo! So don't use the situation back then against me! I've been doing this far longer than the whole fumbling fart of you!”
Silence.
Her eyes rolled. “Oh, so I'm being a hypocrite here, huh? Well let's see you handle it so well as the anchor, then, Rares. Yeesh... have you anything better to do than step on my fetlocks?”
This whole episode—if one could call it that—was quietly observed by a certain Imperial clerk. Shriike huddled in the shadow of an adjacent stack of crates—far enough away from Ariel and Wildcard to be there uncontested, but not close enough to Rainbow Dash to be caught. She stood stealthily amidst the forest of military supplies, watching with thin eyeslits as the W'ynlppa yln H'luun had a dynamic and engaging conversation with invisible phantoms.
Then—after a long period of observation—Shriike came upon a scientific conclusion.
Her leafy ears folded back as she clenched her teeth. “She's mad...”
“I thought same too,” spoke an icy voice barely inches from Shriike's face.
“Waaa-aaaiiieee!” Shriike hopped sideways five feet. She hoofy-kicked at the air, tilting back from the weight of her bulging saddlebags, and ultimately falling on her rump. “Ooomphies!” She winced, eyes tearing behind her thick glasses.
As her vision of the eternal night sky came back into focus, an ominous figure stood above, blotting out the stars in a vaguely avian shape. Two charcoal brown eyes peered as a sharp talon reached calmly down. “To be frank, it still crosses my mind.”
“Mrmffff...” Shriike hesitantly accepted Seraphimus' grip, gasping as she was yanked strongly back onto all fours. “If you feel that way...” She squinted as she took her glasses off and rubbed them clear once again. “...then why do you continue to follow your illustrious leader?”
“She is no leader of mine,” Seraphimus stated. “But... she is the reason for why I'm here on the Dark Side.” A long exhale. “For better or for worse.”
“I see...” Shriike's horn glowed slightly. “Care to make a statement for the record?”
“It matters little,” Seraphimus muttered. “Suffice to say—there's more to Rainbow Dash than can simply be observed through one's natural senses. Trust me. I found this out the hard way.”
“Uh huh...” Shriike ultimately decided not to extract a pen and parchment from her saddlebag. Instead, she stood there beside the former Talon Commander, observing a seemingly oblivious Rainbow Dash from afar. “Should I be concerned? For myself?”
“Only if you aspire to capture and imprison her by force against her will.”
“H-huh?”
With a terse breath, Seraphimus changed the subject: “What exactly is your duty up in Gibbous Sanctum?”
Shriike cocked her head to the side. “Am I suddenly being interviewed, here?”
Seraphimus was slowly pacing around the supply station where they stood. “The hierarchy of the Dark Vigil is plain to see, and the further it gets to the top—I see that it narrows drastically. I can only imagine that the functions of the Highest Branches are far... far removed from business concerning the Trinary War.”
“Oh! Hardly the case!” Shriike stood tall and smiled in pride beneath her thick, thick glasses. “Why—I find myself requisitioning supplies on a consistent business! Whether it be chronicling additions made to the pit or special refits planned by our smartest engineers for My'spyd'ylm's vessel...”
“I imagine this current task at hoof must feel terribly beneath you.”
“Hrmmmfff...” Shriike blew out the side of her muzzle. “Far be it for a loyal clerk of Imperial Records to complain...”
“Far be it...”
“...but I feel I would be far more useful back up in Gibbous Sanctum, maintaining order and filing. You know—I'm still filling in for the head archivist! My supervisor has been battling the lunar pox for a fortnight or two by now. If both of us remain indisposed for long—what will become of the sacred archives??”
“What indeed...”
“Already, I've had my precious life threatened by the vitriolic bravado of the Fifth Son of Nightmares! And all of these horrid smells and leering eyes and pestilential living conditions...” Shriike shuddered from head to tail. “...it'll be a miracle if I return to Gibbous Sanctum with even a fraction of my faculties in full working order! I swear, if I stumble in my future duties, it'll be Captain Xandraa who will have to answer for the circumstances that have befuddled me! Not that... I-I wish to damage her illustrious career, but the pen can—in many ways—be mightier than the sword when the situation calls for it!”
Seraphimus merely nodded. “It must be terribly difficult to maintain such a passive—yet important—function in a world defined by war.”
“Mmmmm. Yes. Quite.” Shriike gestured. “But it does afford me occasional glimpses into the heat of the action!” She smiled with glinting teeth. “Like—this one time—I filled out a requisition for battering rams made out of Tchernic chitin! It gave me hopes that Lexxic's forces were advancing upon the Sarcophagus—perhaps even close enough to siege the entrance!” A slight sigh, and her ears drooped. “Turns out it was merely a raid of a metamorophic encampment. They were tossing incendiary weapons down the hive and needed long cylindrical tools for plugging the exits.”
“How interesting.” Seraphimus nodded again, deadpan. “You must handle many of the missives coming to and from Lyw'Malaak's camp.”
“Oh, that I do.”
“Only good news, I hope.”
“Pffft. Far from it! You see, Malaak has been hard pressed as of late to receive any assistance from Lexxic's patrol groups along—” Shriike froze in mid-speech. A few bulbous blinks, and her refracted eyeslits darted nervously towards Seraphimus.
“... … ...” The griffon was staring patiently at the clerk.
Shriike gulped. “I... should not be talking about this...”
“Talking about what?”
Hard lines formed in the clerk's velvety brow. “You know what I mean.” Her fangs showed. “You were trying to make me relate highly sensitive information regarding the Roots of the Dark Vigil!”
“Is that what they're referred to?” Seraphimus asked. “The divisions of your army? They're referred to as 'Roots?'”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, the Fourth and Fifth Roots have been ordered back to the Tree of Mothers, which is why you see so many Bloodwing warriors around here, training—” Shriike's eyes crossed. In a flinch, she hopped up and down, then stomped on the ground beneath her like she was trying to trample a grasssnake. “Grrrrrrr!” She leaned towards the griffon, her voice cracking: “St-stop making me t-talk about stuff I shouldn't be talking about!”
“I am not making you do anything.”
“I know!” Shriike huffed. “And it's infuriating!” She huffed again. “You're quieter and deader than a Dream Councilmare sleeptrotting!” Her cheeks reddened as she leaned back on her haunches with forelimbs crossed. “Is this the kind of technique that all creatures from the Searing Lands learn from foaling?”
“I wouldn't know,” Seraphimus said in a taciturn tone. “Before Rainbow Dash crossed my continent, I knew nothing of the Equestrian diarchy. Now that I've learned what I've learned... I can't say I understand it.”
“Hrmmmfff...” Shriike looked down at the ground. “...I would be lying if I said it didn't confuse me as well.”
“I assumed the Dark Vigil had their own narrative concerning it.”
“Yes. But... such narrative is... … …clouded now that Rainbow Dash is here.” Shriike clenched her jaw with apparent misgivings. “If she were a lonely cretin claiming sorority with the daughters of the Night Mother, that would be one thing. But the Dream Council—and seemingly a member of the Mariah Matriarchs as well—are considering her as W'ynlppa yln H'luun. This wouldn't be troubling—except that it's been a thousand years since the Exile and—as prophesied—the stars have apparently aided in the Mother of Nightmares' escape. If such a so-called avatar claims that the Solar Deceiver is still a divine authority, then that complicates everything sacred ever declared by Nightmare Moon. It... puts into question exactly what it is that we're fighting for... and why w-we're even here...”
“It must be especially vexing for a record-keeper such as yourself.” Seraphimus craned her neck. “In charge of so many sacred texts.”
“You have no idea.” Shriike hugged herself, shivering. “I just... wish I knew exactly what Mistress Faatail and the other elders are discussing. Giving audience to a Seared Soul like Rainbow Dash—and even going as far as to let her brush wings with the likes of Lexxic—is very... very much against standard procedure.” Shriike gulped. “I fear a crisis is at hoof. I might even have to open the very original Book of Saros itself!” A brief smile. “Don't get me wrong! That excites me like nothing else I can describe! But it is also a frightening course to take! What could this mean for the entire Dark Vigil? What will it mean for the Sarcophagus of Ages and the power that resides within?”
“You are a clever and resourceful archivist,” Seraphimus declared in a calm tone. “I have no doubt that you can handle any circumstances that come your way.” A dip of the head. “Especially considering your years of diligence and preparation.”
“Hmmmff... quite true. Quite true.” Shriike tilted her nose up with a proud smirk. “Ahhh... to be alive in this age! And to witness such dramatic events unfolding!” She smiled. “Why, I could be the one mare who gets to chronicle the most dynamic shift in sarosian history since the Exodus that brought us here! Just imagine... my name listed in the modern addendum to the Book of Saros! And I'm not talking mere apocrypha here—but honest-to-goddess revelations!”
“Would you be listed before or after Lyw'Malaak?”
“Pfffft! Isn't it obvious? Before! After all—what has that old mare done these last two decades?! Except act like a stubborn stalagmite poking into Lexxic's side, what with her lasting ties to the Maria—” Shriike bit on her tongue. Her four-eyes locked onto Seraphimus yet again.
Seraphimus raised an eyecrest. “So...” She cocked her head aside. “Malaak is a female officer...”
“Rrrrrr...” Shriike hopped onto all four limbs, stomping a front fetlock indignantly. “That's the last time I engage in any casual conversation with the likes of you! You... you...” Her eyes clenched shut as her forward half shook. “Nimrod!”
“I would expect an imperialist clerk to have a wider vocabulary.”
“Oh! My vocabulary is wide alright! But as an unwitting diplomat for the Mother of Nightmares, I can't be assailed with... that is... it isn't my chief tribulation to suffer... uhm... I musn't allow flagrant consternation to... to...” Shriike spat. “NIMROD!”
“Quite curious...” Seraphimus bore the faintest hint of a smirk under her beak. “...that such a trusted archivist would be so easy to crumble under the weight of casual conversation once she steps hoof outside her beloved tree.”
“And just what were you before you got yanked here to the night-kissed bleaks, huh? Tough bird?!”
“A commander—much like your beloved Lexxic.”
“He is not 'beloved,'” Shriike grumbled. “Not to me—not to anypony.”
“And yet you employ him as your only means to victory.”
“Yes, well, at least he doesn't deprave his own station by luring innocent and unwitting clerks into spilling confidential information!”
“I heard nothing that wasn't told to me freely—” Seraphimus began.
“All that blinding light in the searing lands, and yet you still rely on gas?” Shriike pouted. “I can't imagine what you were once the 'commander' of, Miss Goose, but it must have been a paltry army indeed for you to have been promoted to this.” Her eyes darted to Rainbow—who was still mumbling to unseen souls. A wicked smirk, and Shriike looked at the griffon once again. “Are you certain Rainbow Dash isn't your leader?”
“... … ...” All semblance of a smirk swiftly faded from Seraphimus' complexion. Her next breath was as cold as her eyes, and twice as dismissive. “Off... the record.” And she trotted off on icy talons.
Shriike squinted at her as she left. “You weren't dismissed, soldier.”
Silence.
“Hrmmfff...” Shriike floated a pen and paper out from her saddlebag. “I'm going to need more ink for this.” She rubbed her temple beneath a glowing horn. “...and maybe some cyanide.”
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...Shriike may have inadvertently struck Sera's nerve there
It was great seeing Dash take charge though.
And put the 5th in his place.
Nice to see some party banter too, knowing that despite their shared history, there's still a little animosity between Jordan and Sera makes them a little more alive.
Through the path long forgotten, into the darkness long begotten. Ofolrodi.
10472840
Shriike knew exactly what she was doing with that last barb.
--Spade
I'm starting to like Masser a lot more.
Pffft.
Very good first half. A lot of nice bits here and there. Specially from RD's gang. I also liked the use of Shriike's POV in this.
I can't wait to meet Malaak. She seems to be more important than I thought.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
I caught up with the story... there is nothing more to read...
Be careful who you piss off, Shriike...
Man, Shrike is throwing around the word Nimrod like it's going out of style. Also lots of arguing.
A fun chapter all around
I think the best part of this statement is that it is not in any way an exaggeration (as Nevlamas can attest to). An Shriike is starting to learn the insidious ways of the light side, and is much like Twilight pre-ponyville. So caught up in the theoretical that she misses or dismisses the practical when it is showed to her. Also not doing much to convince me otherwise that the elders sent her into this to get rid of her. Also love Seraphs excellent interrogation technique on her, and how she kept falling for it even as she realized what was going on.
The thirst is real and I love it
Looks like Dash tried to speed dive Lexxicc, but the speed of existance of chaos metal is faster still?
At least hopefully this time she didnt need generous application of yak.
10473221
After this chapter I'm hearing her with Peridot's voice.
Oh this is getting more and more interesting. I like the way that Shriike is taking notes it is a neat way to tell all the details. I really wish there was a way for Dash to prove the other girls are there with her so we don't keep going though this thing of people confused as to why she is talking to herself though.
Well, everyone else died so there's that.
Nice to see more Rainbow Dash talking to nothing again.
*here
Pfft, not possible, Rainbow
This is getting interesting. It looks like Rainbow got into a little altercation with Lexxic, and maybe accidentally used her element on him.
Sera extracts enough info without saying anything to rival Natasha Romanov.
Someone get Shriike an editor
I just spent a uncomfortable amount of time clicking sequels to get to this.... and the 200 plus chapters and a unfinished..... Is this rabbit hole realy worth it? I am a avid reader, and I feel intimidated...... I read project horizons in a three weeks.... should I be as worried as I feel?
Welp, After a month or so, I am finally back at it.
Caught up and all!
Also jeez Shriike, getting the buttons correct.
Loved this chapter, getting Shriike's perspective is a real treat. Shame there wasn't any Shriiriel interaction, honestly, Ariel needs someone to handle her Dash thirst at this point and Shriike is adorkable! Nice bit of lore we got too with Malaak being a female commander with ties to the Mariah Matriarchs. Seeing Lukaas get his ass handed to him in short order was perfect karma for his threat to Shriike. Would've been upsetting if Dash hadn't intervened there, not that I thought for a second she was gonna let that slide.
10479913
trust me, it's worth it
10473036
I feel you, welcome to the club
10472891
first, I love your username and pfp, second, let's just say Seraphimus' comment about her being a gay joke was a pretty spot on character analysis
Erry' pony gangster until the kard-fu griffin starts breaking out the forbidden jutsu.
Is one of my new favorite descriptors for Rainbow Dash.
10479913
Yes, you should be intimidated.
But yes, it's worth it.
Other commenters usually make this recommendation: Read the first book, then decide whether you want to continue with the series.
Juicy chap 🤤
Shriike is even more insufferable now, dear god.
At least she's as stupid as she is proud. Maybe the gang can get her to spill even more down the road.
...XD Loving the conversation between Shriike and Seraphimus.
The fact that Shriike's clumsy, adorkable self is backed up by a an ego and sense of self-importantance roughly the size of Logan fills me with nothing but mirth.
Gettin' a little indulgent there, aren't we? Hardly the most objective clerk.
Well doesn't that change things? Taking power away from the mares, I see. This whole show may turn into Two and a Half Stallions.
Oh man, this chapter. For a little bit I was actually kinda starting to dislike Shriike a bit, but this totally brought me back on her side.
Yeah, Rainbow, you of all ponies should know that.
Hey, you did at least get one good bang in with Roarke, so... there's that.
But they're our nimrods.
And as modest.
We feel ya, girl, we feel ya.
Go Murder Chicken with that intel.
Y'know, I actually kinda figured that from the get-go.
Yes, an extensive vocabulary indeed.
When one returns after a long absence, only to discover that the creator is absent...
One becomes frustrated.
Thanks for the reminder on how crazy things are.
10503322
I found "petite purse of fried fruit slices" an equally good contender.