Concerning So-Called Servants
If the so-called avatar's penchant for rambling out loud to herself during “private” moments isn't reason to question her sanity, then I'm tempted to point at the sheer oddity of her traveling companions as ample proof of the Seared representative's functioning psychosis. I've alluded to several of the party members' quirks already, but it takes a certain degree of focus to truly outline their suspiciously awkward personalities.
Seraphimus—the feline-avian abomination with a cold-hearted glare—is someone whom I've already briefly touched upon in passing. She was quick to do Rainbow's dirty work: questioning me with the patience and scrutiny of a dream inquisitor (without the dreaming, of course; kindly forgive this exhausted clerk's lack of beauty sleep). I found the oddly formal Seraphimus quite intent on pulling apart whatever scant information I possessed in regards to the Dark Vigil's military chain of command. At the core of her curiosity was the perceived relationship between Lexxy'kyn and Lyw'Malaak and their mutual control over the Roots of the Sarcophagus Offensive.
While it may be possible that Lexxic and his fellow brothers have already related a great deal of information to the visiting party, the zeal with which Seraphimus attempts acquiring greater knowledge is of great concern to me. I may be out of the loop when it comes to the true nature of Rainbow Dash's collaboration with Mistress Faatail, but it most certainly would have alleviated me of a great burden to know what is or what isn't privileged information to share with the would-be avatar and her familiars. Until I become so blessedly enlightened, I must err on the side of caution—feigning ignorance when required (although it greatly insults this highly-educated archivist to resort to such).
All things considered, I'm no push-over. I can handle the likes of Seraphimus. If nothing else, my curiosity concerning that... creature supersedes my worries over her. There's something about the seared specimen that makes her different from the rest of Rainbow's followers—yes, including the other cat/bird hybrid. Namely, I find it fascinating that Seraphimus talks back to Rainbow Dash. Alright, to be perfectly fair, all of the subordinates have a habit of talking back to their leader... including the one who doesn't talk (which I shall endeavor to explain later).
But when Seraphimus speaks to the so-called Avatar, it is almost always in the form of contradiction, critique, and questioning. There's a tone in her speech that suggests she doesn't see Rainbow Dash as somepony in charge—at least not in spirit. In fact, I don't think this creature even perceives Rainbow Dash as an equal. There's a great depth of indefinable conflict existing between the two, and I suspect that—at some point, very recently—they've freshly forged an alliance for practicality's sake. My postulation is supported by the hour, as I observe more and more side commentary that seems to suggest that—at some point prior to crossing the brinks—Rainbow Dash and Seraphimus may even have been adversaries.
Curious, then, that such a mysterious soul like Seraphimus—harboring much honor and menace and self-esteem—would bend herself at so many painful degrees to support Rainbow Dash. There is something at work here that is forcing her to accept the so-called Avatar's authority. I'm tempted to hypothesize that the creature isn't even here on Rainbow Dash's behest. Much rather, there must be some subjective purpose... a personal motive that drives her into performing the duties of a common bodyguard. I see lots of Captain Xandraa in her—which is alarming. Because nothing in the universe—no forces within or beyond measure—would ever convince the good and honorable Xandraa that she would have to lower her guard or... Mother forbid... abandon her post.
So why, then, is Seraphimus here? What was she once the guardian of? And what exactly did she do—or what has Rainbow Dash done—to tear her away from that post? What kind of a pony does this paint the so-called avatar to be? And should we—the higher polished—be concerned or relieved that both Rainbow Dash and Seraphimus are taking such a fervent interest in Lexxic and his relations?
Perhaps I am looking too much into it. Writing the words of these simpletons—being charged with chronicling their exposed thoughts and outlandish motivations on a minute to minute basis—has made the remaining faculties of my mind flail for an explanation to the seared purpose behind it all. With Seraphimus—I find the least clarity. But, perhaps, she is simply an anomaly. She's an appendix to Rainbow's journey at best, and I wonder if even the so-called avatar herself knows how loose the strand is that keeps her coldest ally attached.
As for the other two—well—they are blatant sycophants to the nimrodic core. They go where Rainbow goes and do what Rainbow tells them to without question. Both are obedient servants to the very end. But even if the entire night-drenched plane was to fall under the so-called avatar's spell, nothing in this universe can top Rainbow's chiefest, youngest, and thirstiest familiar, who—from all accounts—has the single-mindedness of a locust and the decency of a rabid bloodcolt hacking and slashing its way through a greasy ocean of puberty.
“And so... get this...” Ariel spoke, beaming. “...once the messengers of Bleak's Plummet informed us about the advancing forces of Frostknife's Central Guard from the west, Rainbow Dash decided she was gonna meet the attackers face to face. But... she wasn't gonna just go and fly into them and get speared in midair by a hundred crossbolts. After all, we had to wait for the harmonic gondola from the Dark Side to arrive for our party to make its exit, so there's no telling just how much time was available for us and Enix's band of warriors to fight off the Rohbreddenites. So, we needed a distraction... in other words: Rainbow Dash needed to make a distraction!”
“Mmmmhmmmm...” With tired eyes blinking through her thick-thick spectacles, Shriike sat bored in the back of a wagon, scribbling Ariel's words onto a levitating scroll. The Imperial clerk was positioned across from Ariel, and the two were nearly swallowed up by stacks of war supplies rattling tightly all around them. A pair of sarosian stallions were drawing their vehicle swiftly down a path that stretched through several rows of tents and barracks. Ahead of them—a few paces out—was another wagon where Rainbow Dash, Seraphimus, and Wildcard sat—likewise being drawn towards their next destination. Masser was nowhere to be seen—having flown ahead minutes ago to prepare the Foremost Sons for the W'ynlppa yln H'luun's arrival at Central Operations.
“You wanna guess what she did?” Ariel smiled wide.
“You will have to dictate it to me,” Shriike droned.
“It's so friggin' badass!” Ariel went on as the wagon creaked and rattled around them. “Basically, we grabbed all the spare runestones we had from Xarchellus' flock and a bunch of junk from Flynn's ship—the Princess Stardust. And—from that mess—Rainbow Dash fashioned a crude torpedo out of a metal cylinder. She then used some of the runestones with lunar commands to propel it! Then—while the rest of the ambush party waited in the twilight skies for her signal, she mounted the torpedo and—spsssshkkkkkttthhhshhhhh!” Ariel gestured a skimming object with her hoof while her muzzle made obnoxious sounds. “She rode the damn thing underwater! For several hundred meters! Straight into the armada!” Ariel bore a dumb smile. “Isn't that amazing?!”
“Mmmmhmmmm...” Shriike simply scribbled the words that were being conveyed.
Ariel's smile lingered as one of her eyebrows rose. “...you don't sound very impressed.”
Shriike responded in a terse tone: “Please do me a favor and space your spoken sentences out more so I can properly punctuate your completed thoughts.”
The clerk's cold statement wasn't enough to stifle Ariel's enthusiasm: “Anyways, so after riding the torpedo underwater—no doubt having to hold her damn breath the whole way...”
Shrike stifled a groan. She reached one hoof up to stroke her aching temple as she struggled with the constant, written recording.
“...she slammed into one of their ships! Zskkkkkppt—KAPOW!!” One of the Bloodwings drawing the wagon looked back with a curious squint, but Ariel continued. “Sploooosh! The damned boat sank like a stone! But Rainbow wasn't done!” Ariel's teeth showed as she spoke more emphatically. “Not only did she survive the blast, but as soon as she surfaced she spent her next breaths of well-deserved oxygen on taunting and intimidating the surviving crew members! They all took wing—Rohbredden's finest griffon and pegasus soldiers—and they chased Rainbow Dash as she led them into the ambush! And THAT...” Ariel slapped her thigh and sat back with a proud smirk. “...is how we were able to stun the unexpected armada at the last second... and prevent them from discovering Bleak's Plummet!”
“I see...” Shriike nodded, scribbling... scribbling... scribbling—then finally dotting the end of her dictation with a super-thick period. “Certainly a heroic accomplishment.” The scroll started rolling up under telekinesis as the clerk made to put it away. “Well, that was most educating, and I suspect that I'll submit it to—”
“Oh! Oh!” Ariel waved a hoof. “I gotta tell you about the one time she outraced the entire Right Talon of Verlaxion... IN A STEAM TRAIN!”
“Buh?” Shriike's spectacles rattled in migrainesque discombobulation.
“Damn straight, buddy! Blew up half a mountain and collapsed a tunnel while jumping out unscathed—”
“No... no no no...” Shriike shook her head. “No—that did not happen!”
Ariel blinked. “...huh??”
“None of those things could ever possibly have happened!” Shriike fumed.
Ariel's muzzle contorted with mixed amusement and confusion. “The Hell makes you say that—?”
“Because then I would have to write about it!!” Shriike pulled at her ears. Both stallions glanced briefly back at her as she rambled on: “I absolutely... positively refuse to believe that one single pony—so-called avatar or not—could accomplish so many bizarrely impossible feats and still somehow come out unscathed!”
“But Rainbow Dash—”
“'But Rainbow Dash! But Rainbow Dash!” Shriike spat. “We've got word in moonwhinny for you, nimrod!”
“... … ...” Ariel blinked. “Is it 'nimrod?” she droned.
“No—Yes—!” Shriike glanced left. Shriike glanced right. “NO!” Her fangs showed. “The word is 'Dr'ymsyllyp!'”
“You just made that up.”
“I d-did not!”
“You did too.” Ariel upturned her nose while folding her forelimbs. “You sneezed it. Lunar bat pony sneeze. And you know what? It's not nearly as cute as Bard describing his sister Nicole doing it.”
“Rrrrngh...” Shriike pushed her spectacles up her muzzle only for them to slide back down over her glaring eyes. “'Dr'ymsyllyp' is from an ancient root word that roughly translates into 'tributaries,' but since we don't have many rivers on the non-seared side of the plane, we don't use it much.”
“How can you use a sneeze on purpose?”
“It means 'LAKE BLOOD,'” Shriike shrieked. “The connotation being that you're nothing but a lake—with all the tributaries flowing from one source! In this case—Rainbow Dash!”
“Awwwww... that's kind of cute—”
“And of course you would think that!” Shriike tossed her forelimbs before fwumping back onto a rough pillow made by her loose saddlebag. “I shouldn't have expected any less...” Her fangs showed. “...nimrod!”
“I still think you made that word up.”
“Oh yeah?!” Shriike sat up again, re-re-readjusting her spectacles. “Well I think you made that Rainbow Dash stuff up!”
“... … ...which one?”
“All of it!”
“All of it?!”
“You heard me—sun bleacher!” Shriike snorted, waving the super-thick scroll of freshly-written information while sporting a grimacing expression of pure nausea. “Riding a torpedo into her enemies?! Saving an underwater kingdom of sirens from a pirate mafia?! Single-hoofedly crossing an anomalous desert of antimagical properties?!”
“And an ocean too,” Ariel said, pointing. “The Blight covered land and sea before Rainbow dissolved it.”
“Impossible! IMP-POSS-IBLE!” Shriike stood up in the moving wagon and shouted to the stars. “As in—It. Did. Not. Happen.” She pointed at a blinking band of bloodcolts as they passed by. “Do you think it actually happened?! Huh?” She pointed at a squadron of soldiers soaring overhead. “Hey! How about you?! Riding a torpedo into a ship?” She came within spitting range of the two stallions who were drawing the wagon. “She couldn't have survived all that crazy stuff, right?”
“H'jnorrem symyl ly'rysm, ryk ryk!”
Wincing, Ariel yanked the clerk down by her tail so that they were both safely seated in the wagon once again. “For the love of oats...” She shrugged, tightening her wings around her withers as she felt the anchoring eyes of Bloodwings all around them. “Sit down and don't make a scene.” A shudder. “I know you're not used to living outside of your posh tree, but the bulk of these punks don't play nice...” Her eyes narrowed. “—and as much as I hate to say it, they're bound to be even less nice to mares like you and me.”
“We've got nothing in common, nimrod.”
“Uh huh.” Ariel patted Shriike's horn. “You do you, hun.”
“A-and don't t-touch my high-polished body!” Shriike batted her hoof away, frowning. “A single square inch of brushed coat is worth more than ten of you nimrods combined!”
Ariel snorted. “You really believe that?”
“And you believe that your so-called avatar is actually capable of accomplishing and surviving so many damnable feats of bravery?”
“Uh... yeah? Why not?”
“Pfffft...” Shriike waved a dismissive hoof. “Typical hero-worship. Regardless of your...” She hesitated, fidgeted, then ultimately flicked a fetlock. “...proclivities.”
Ariel's eyes were thin as daggers. “...my what—now?”
“Face it, seared-pony. Your very venture here is a virtual suicide run.”
Ariel propped her smile against a forelimb, gazing curiously at the clerk. “In wh-what way...?”
“Isn't it obvious?” Shriike waved at the expansive military encampment surrounding them and their wagon. “You are fully immersed in enemy territory!”
“Sarosians have never been my enemy,” Ariel declared.
“Right...” Shriike rolled her four-eyes. “We're Rainbow's enemies.”
“If that was true, would the likes of Nat'rdo and Faatail bother with—”
“ANYWAYS...” Shriike snarled. “Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted...”
Ariel snorted, containing her snickers.
Shriike went on: “Here you all are—Rainbow Dash's party—surrounded by the enemy of the Solar Deceiver... in an alien world! Deprived of harmony, order, color—in fact all the bright factors that have so blinded you into a brainwashed gallop on the seared side!”
“Pffft—uh huh...?”
“You're throwing yourselves into the grinding gearworks of a tenuous power struggle—”
“Are we, now...?”
“—which can and will ultimately lead you down a path to butting heads with Lexxic. Or, at least, it'll lead her down the path.”
“Along with me and the rest of her brainwashed zombies.”
“Exactly.”
“Snkkkt—ahem. What's your point?”
“Well, where exactly does this road curve back and return you to the land you once knew?” Shriike peered curiously at Ariel. “The world you call home?”
Ariel shrugged . “I have every bit of confidence that—after gaining access to the Midnight Armory and its contents—our next course of action will be to help Rainbow get back to Equestria. That... kinda sorta involves a return trip.”
“Do you truly... honestly believe that the Dark Vigil will just let Rainbow Dash enter the Sarcophagus of Ages on her lonesome?!” Shriike balked. “Without having something to say or do about its contents?”
“If you ask me...” Ariel rubbed her neck, gazing at the battlements that they were still passing. “...Rainbow Dash is working on a way to make the journey—and its rewards—beneficial to everypony. The sarosians here are distant cousins to Equestria, after all. And... if the Royal Sisters of Equestria have made up after all the crap that went down between them a thousand years ago, then why can't Rainbow and... y'know... you guys do the same?”
“Hah!” Shriike smiled nerdishly. “You have to be a complete nimrod to expect that outcome.”
“I believe...” Ariel returned with a softer, knowing smile. “...that you have to be a complete nimrod to believe—so whole-heartedly—that there can't be any other outcome.”
“Or...” Shriike pointed. “...you just have to have a deep, unhealthy, and completely self-defeating faith in one single hero.” Her nostrils flared. “Enough that you gotta make up preposterous historical fabrications in order to sanctify her image in your head—and thus consecrate the sheer desperation of all that you do and say for that image to remain 'true.'”
“Don't you...” Ariel waved a hoof. “...have heroes that you believe in here on the Dark Side?” Her ears twitched abrasively. “Or are they all just cold-blooded psycopaths?”
“Don't be ridiculous...” Shriike rolled her spectacled eyes. “I have plenty of heroes.”
“Oh yeah? Where? Up in Gibbous Sanctum?”
“In the sacred texts, nimrod!” Shriike stuck her tongue out for the briefest of bleps. “The Book of Saros alone has over a hundred heroic figures of lunar lore: mares and stallions alike who have fought hoof and tail for the protection and salvation of the Mother of Nightmares and all her foals!”
“Yeah... I see...” Ariel brushed her mane back while her eyes remained locked on Shriike. “And I'm guessing that the Mother of Nightmares is a pretty cool pony too, huh?”
“Uhm... eee-eee-eee-eee??” Shriike's sarcastic squeak rattled the equipment around them. When she finished grimacing, the clerk continued in a more discernible tongue: “She's the very reason we all exist, y'know. The Mother of Nightmares saved us and corralled us outward from otherworldly subconsciousness. It is all because of her that we were safely and blessedly ushered into the corporeal realm. And—as such—we have pledged every iota of our being into serving her, her will, and her sublime destiny.”
“Something something a night that will last forever.”
“Indeed.”
“Sooooo...” Ariel tossed the rest of her mane back and smirked with thin eyes. “...why should I believe that the Mother of Nightmares even existed?”
“... … ...” Shriike stared off into space.
“Why should I believe that any of her so-called servants—saints and martyrs, no doubt—ever existed as well?”
“Uhm...” Shriike's words dribbled off her tongue. Her tail flicked a few times, brushing up against her saddlebags full of reading material. “...the Book of Saros... the sacred texts say—”
“Yeah yeah—they say whatever long dead ponies ever once bothered to write down—by divine righteousness or by damned whim. But what they mean... and the substance of their truth that may or may not have been purposed in distilling...” Ariel gestured. “...well, that's just a matter of faith, isn't it?”
“Don't confuse facts with—”
“Can you prove any of that written stuff true?” Ariel's brow furrowed. “You're a smart clerk'n'shit. Where's the empirical evidence? What about yesterday's manifestations can be tested, observed, and sustained by what's available today? Hmmm?” Ariel gestured up at the Tree of Mothers shadowing them and the entire encampment surrounding. “Are you gonna tell me that the entire Dark Vigil rests on a bunch of stuffy old mares hiding out in hollow branches, dreaming about past fantasies??”
Shriike glared at Ariel with a thick sheen of sober anger. “If you presume to tell me that the very foundation of the Mother's most righteous Vigil is false—”
“Hah... no... noooooo...” Ariel slouched casually, shaking her head with a smile. “I haven't got the time nor desire to chisel away at all that. Besides... I really don't know you and what makes you 'you'.” She arched an eyebrow. “But you gotta admit... I did kinda cut deep just now, didn't I?”
Shriike shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. “I must admit... I've never had another pony... … ...challenge the very notion of it all, before.”
Ariel leaned forward, eyes hardening. “You think I haven't challenged the very notion of who and what Rainbow Dash is?” She breathed hard through her nostrils. “Did it ever once occur to you that I had my doubts... that I still doubt the friggin' cosmic bullshit that has dragged me to this goddess-forbidden purgatory?” She blew out the side of her muzzle. “Or do you just see me as some ditzy-headed suck-up who hangs on her very withers?”
“You certainly do entertain the description,” Shriike murmured in a breathy tone. Her eyebrows flexed above her glasses. “With vigor.”
“Hah... yeah, well...” Ariel leaned back, rolling her eyes and sighing—mostly to herself. “...a lot of that is just... finding a happy place.” She tongued the inside of her muzzle as her gaze shifted across the wagon and the bleaks beyond. “And sticking to it. A lot.” A gulp. “To keep sane.”
Shriike blinked.
“But—fact of the matter is—I have witnessed a lot of Rainbow's awesomeness. Heck... I've shared with it... and it hasn't been only her who survived a magnitude of impossible circumstance. The whole crew and I—me and the Job Squad—we've survived Hell and high water to get here. That is to say... most of us. We've suffered losses. And... uh... so has Rainbow Dash. It's not a matter of survivability legitimizing or not-legitimizing the epicness of one's legacy. But Rainbow Dash...” Ariel slowly nodded. “...she's something unlike the rest of us. I know some of the ins and outs... but not the full scope. That's hers and hers alone to deal with. The best I can do is... support her along the way. And if I get a teensy bit infatuated during the full measure... heh... so be it. I feel less like going insane that way. I don't know what Rainbow Dash clings to in order to keep from imploding but... but sometimes I think it's us... the ones who believe in her.”
Shriike gazed past Ariel in contemplation.
But then Ariel stole her attention once more with a direct look. “I know you haven't met the Princess of the Night whom you worship so much. But for her to have left an impact—THIS FRIGGIN' BIG...” She gestured at the military forces around them and the gigantic tree looming above. “...well, hell's bells, girl...” A wink. “The Mother of Nightmares must be truly... truly impressive.”
The clerk gulped. “I like t-to think so.”
“And I think the same of Rainbow Dash. Only I've been with her through some of the thick of it. And believe you me...” Ariel smirked proudly. “Some day... some magical day... it may not be this world or even the next... but somepony... somebody is gonna write of her tales just like others have written of your Luna. A Book of Dashie, so to speak—and if that testimony somehow doesn't conjure up its own religious following of mesmerized and exultant generations then... … … well … … … I guess the universe really must be poked through of holes.”
Shriike made a face. “You can't possibly believe in the so-called avatar that much.”
“Can.” Ariel winked. “And will.”
“... … … you truly are a nimrod.”
“Pfffft ha ha ha ha ha...” Ariel gave the clerk a playful shove with her hoof. “I think I'm starting to warm up to you, Shrek.”
“Shriike.”
“Whatever.” Ariel closed her eyes and rested with the sway of the wagon. “In the end, you're fiercely loyal. To a fault. Gives me faith in myself, y'know?”
“... … …are you trying to compare us again?”
“Mrmmfff...” Ariel stifled a yawn. “...imagine that.”
Shriike merely sat opposite of the mare, squinting confusedly as they both remained silent.
Perhaps, dear elders, I've been mistaken about the supposedly-brainwashed followers who make up the so-called avatar's seared company. Maybe they are—indeed—capable of remarkable depth, sincerity, and logical contemplation. Take for example—the most sycophantic one—and how she is able to sculpt a rational facsimile of her adoration for Rainbow Dash in a way that can lead those who witness her to analyze both her loyalties and their own. Maybe there's more to what she says and what she does. Maybe she's nothing more than an empathetic pilgrim who follows the path of righteousness. Perhaps—just perhaps—there is something about her passions and beliefs that can serve as inspiration for the Dark Vigil in its grand entirety.
Or maybe she's just a nimrod.
Yes. This is my conclusion. Ariel of the Seared Lands is simply a hormonally-charged nimrod. I don't know why I even bothered wasting parchment on the commentary. (Note to self: delete that entire previous bit at the first opportunity. Actually, scratch that. Such a lengthy scroll isn't entirely without purpose; the lavatories down here outside the Tree are severely lacking in utility).
On to far more interesting and provocative characters: there's a seared abomination who cannot speak! No doubt, word of this curious companion of the so-called avatar's has spread as far as the Upper Branches. The Sons of Nightmares appear to have taken a strong liking to the specimen whom Rainbow Dash and her familiars call “Wildcard.” It's not hard to imagine why. He's a grim, edgy, intimidating anomaly of a warrior who lacks the function to properly vocalize.
However, I feel that there's a great deal more to him than that. No, elders, I'm not about to waste more parchment on needlessly pendantic humoring of a seared representatives' psuedo-philosophical proclivities (Although, if I've taken enough trips to the latrine, then the receivers of these records won't know what I'm referring to.)
What I mean to say: I don't think Wildcard is incapable of speech. Rather, I believe he simply refuses to speak. I have no evidence of this, of course. But—somehow—I suspect it would fall in line with the pattern I've observed thus far about the so-called avatar's company. For one, they are loyal to her in all things. For another, they are compelled to follow her—even against better judgment. Thirdly, they are willing to bend over backwards to assist her. Seraphimus sacrifices any and all self-respect. The one called Ariel forfeits any semblance of a brain. And—with Wildcard—I do believe the winged abomination sacrifices his soul. Or, at least, he attempts to.
That's why he has no windows to peer within; his eyes are completely obscured by dark goggles that he wears at all times. He doesn't speak—so any sign of agency and ego is metaphorically erased. But there's more to his... complex than what's on the surface. He meets the taunts and challenges of Lexxic's brothers head-on. He glares back at anypony who dares glare at him, but he does so with a calm, passive coolness. He stands stalwart and frigid—refusing to back down unless reined in by Rainbow Dash herself. Which, admittedly, doesn't happen as often as one might expect.
It is my esteemed belief that the one called Wildcard simply perceives himself as an extension of the so-called avatar. He's a living prosthetic, if you will, which is especially ironic (in a morbid way) considering the metal replacement of his front left limb. No doubt it was something he sacrificed for mare in the past. Goddess-knows how many trials and tribulations he may have suffered for Rainbow's sake in the seared lands. For that matter—who knows how many companions have sacrificed themselves for her in the past, or how many limbs may be missing from the remaining sycophants camped out in the bleaks.
If I'm right—and if Wildcard has simply molded himself to be an extension of our current guest—then it shows a cold and cunning soul capable of rivaling Lexxic himself. Is this what Faatail and Nat'rdo see in her? If so, what may be the possible implications? Is it even the place of this Imperial clerk to know—much less deduce?
Until then—I suppose—I can only throw up possibilities and hypotheses. For the time being, I feel that my best way of gleaming the true purpose of Rainbow Dash is to look through Wildcard. And, as it so happens, the silent rook has provided me with multiple occasions to glean as much as possible.
Hyggs bit his lip, trying not to tremble.
A menacing griffon with dark feathers glared him down from afar.
Dust occasionally blew across the cold stone space between them, but otherwise the scene was mired in impenetrable silence.
At last, Wildcard made a move. He reached down to his side and unholstered two shiny daggers that glinted in starlight.
Hyggs' sucked his breath in.
Th-Thwissssh! Wildcard threw both blades at the soldier in a blink.
The Bloodwing clenched his slitted eyes shut—
CHT-TUNK!
THUNK!
Both knives embedded into a large stone target positioned right behind the stallion. Hygss' eyes flew open, and he gasped to see the blades stuck into the scarred rock surface just millimeters away from his leafy ears—perfectly paraphrasing his skull. He slumped, exhaling with relief, and his mane hair brushed against the handles of the stuck knives.
A large throng of soldiers cheered and stomped their hooves from where they crowded around the demonstration. The sarosians here were especially-scarred with elaborate tattoos and body modifications. If that wasn't enough to signify their higher ranks than the bulk of the gathered forces, a large round building loomed just meters from the target practice area where the group congregated. Built out of precious ancient wood from forests long dead, the Central Operations structure of the Bloodwings stood in sharp contrast to the multiple tents and canvas lean-to's surrounding it in the shadow of the Tree.
“Woooooo!”
“Hah hah hah!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee!”
“Look at that precision!”
“How's that even possible?! Figured all the bastards under the Solar Deceiver were blind!”
“Maybe they are! Look at his goggles!”
“Hah hah hah...” Bosonn wandered over to his twin's side at the circular stone target. “Why all the shakes, brother?” He slapped Hyggs' tattooed shoulder and winked. “Surely the avatar wouldn't have let her feathered familiar actually kill you! That would have soiled any and all chances at diplomacy! Ya think?”
“Who knows?!” another sarosian called out. “If he actually slew Hyggs' worthless hide, he'd be doing us all a favor!”
“Ha ha ha ha!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee!”
“Smug talk.” Hyggs gulped, then glared up at his brother from where he slumped. “Perhaps you would like to exchange places for the next round?”
“Pfffft!” Bosonn gave his twin a shove and backtrotted between laughing and jeering warriors. “No thanks! I'd rather go down in a blaze of glory, thank you very much! Dying in training is a real lousy excuse for being sent to the pits!”
“I dunno, brother. I think you'd fit in well there—tied to a stake.”
“Hahahahaha!”
The laughing and chuckling sarosians suddenly gasped into startled silence as a dark patch of murk glided through them. Quiet as black snow, Wildcard had flown to the target, where he removed his two daggers from where they had previously embedded on either side of the witless Bloodwing's head.
“Your aim is admirable, sr'ythyn'sym!” Masser called out from where he stood casually on the sidelines.
Ariel, Seraphimus, and Rainbow Dash had gathered just a few feet away. The lattermost blinked curiously at the Third. “What'd you just call him?”
Masser opened his muzzle to reply—
“It roughly means 'Falcon Panther,'” Shriike droned in the middle of scribbling notes along the fringes. She casually adjusted her thick glasses without looking up. “Undoubtedly it's the ruffians' closest colloquial approximation to 'griffon.'”
Masser's jaw muscles tightened and his ears folded back. There was a slight shifting of his limbs—angry and short—but he came out of it with a calm breath aimed at the target practice. “No doubt it took a great deal of practice and commitment to learn such expert knifework.”
By now, Wildcard was walking back to the original spot where he stood and threw the blades. He paused once—to gesture in Rainbow's direction.
“He says 'He rarely used it in combat. But it did help him catch food on the islands of the Seven Seas.'” She yawned at the end of the translation.
Masser was blinking at her, impressed. “You figured all of that out by just looking at his gestures?”
Rainbow blinked. “Huh...” A warm smile crossed her muzzle. “...I did, didn't I?”
Ariel and Seraphimus exchanged glances.
“Ahem... it's... uh...” Rainbow turned towards Masser. “It's how we communicate. Well... mostly all him. I can't very well do it back because...” She dangled her front left fetlock for stubby emphasis, smirking. “...well...”
Masser was already nodding. “I see. It takes a lot of finesse and physical articulation.”
“Right.” Rainbow smirked. “The language relies a lot on fortune as well, I suppose. Fortune in one's birth. But it's not too terribly hard for equines like us to learn when you put your mind to it.”
“Even for those of us who are late to the party,'” Seraphimus signed.
“Precisely—!” Rainbow did a double-take at the former Talon Commander.
“We must be standing in the presence of a well-trained soldier,” Masser said.
Wildcard turned to face the stone targets across the way. He swiftly gestured something.
Masser looked confused.
“Actually, he was 'freelance,'” Ariel explained.
“Ah...” Masser nodded. Then his muzzle scrunched. “...what is freelance?”
Ariel fumbled for words far longer than she wanted to. “Y'know what?” A dumb smile, and she pointed at the Desperado. “Just watch the badass do badass things.”
The throng of Bloodwings had already silenced. Dozens—if not hundreds—of slitted eyes watched as Wildcard held one knife by the metal blade, aimed, and flicked it towards the faraway target.
Th-Thunk!
It embedded deep into the center of the bullseye.
Wildcard grasped the second knife in his metal talon. But he froze just before performing the throwing motion.
“... … ...”
A glint of starlight kissed across his goggles. The Desperado's body twisted as he snaked his lion's tail up from behind his hindquarters. The prehensile end of the limb gripped the knife by the handle and—Sw-Swoosh!—he blurred around in a pirouette, tail uncurling in a streak.
The knife flew outward from his spinning body and—Thkkkkk!—embedded just a sliver away from the center of the bullseye. Both it and the previous projectile formed a neat metallic “V” from where they both stuck into the stone surface of the target.
Once again, the Bloodwings shrieked and cheered like crazed barbarians. The earth shook from their combined hoof-stomping.
“Whew! That'd skewer a Tchernling's spinal column from across the battlefield!”
“Hah! See it enflame itself after that!”
“It'd turn to ash!”
“Hahahaha!”
“Hah hah hah—well done, sr'ythyn'sym!”
“Yeah, not too shabby for a seared soldier!”
Wildcard bore the tiniest of smirks under his beak. His dark lenses glinted once more as he bowed low with utmost showmanship—
SW-SW-SW-SW-SWISSSSSH!
—a small curved axe spun through the air, cutting so close to Wildcard's bowed head that it lopped off a few black strands of his skull's plumage. He jerked his gaze up with a rattle of his goggles.
Seraphimus' body tightened with a start. Shriike glanced up from her levitating scroll.
CHTUNKKK! The axe finished its twirling arc with its sharp blade wedging itself perfectly between the Desperado's embedded knives. The two smaller weapons were completely dislodged by the heavy impact, and they rattled uselessly to the floor beneath the target while the axe remained, vibrating to a harmonic stop.
The group of Bloodwings gasped and jumped in place, hooting and hollering.
“Srym th'syll mrym!”
“Myl'sypher'ym!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee! Myl'sypher'ym th'symyl lym sr'ythyn'sym! Mrym thyml lyk lyk s'rym thynnym!”
“Hahahaha! Ywm!”
By now, Wildcard had turned around in the direction of the thrown weapon. His goggles reflected a tall stallion's cold expression in twice the menace. Slowly, one icy step after another, Sypher trotted onto the scene, making a bee-line for the Desperado. Or so it seemed. Eventually, the Fourth Son of Nightmares passed the griffon—but within a hair's intimidating breadth, and not for lack of trying to move elsewise.
Wildcard nevertheless stood still as stone while the Bloodwing passed, which afforded the Desperado an uncomfortably close look at his scarred neck and the moonsilver voice box surgically planted within. A sickeningly dissonant hiss filled the air from the device as Sypher barged by, punctuated by the thunderous clops of his heavy hooves. Wildcard glanced down as Sypher's limbs stepped over the few threadbare pieces of the griffon's own severed quill-ends, then he calmly observed Sypher approaching the stone target.
The Fourth Son of Nightmares stood still beside the slab—like a contemplative iceberg—for a few tense seconds. He then knelt down, grasping both of Wildcard's loose and fallen knives.
Bosonn and Hyggs had to fight to keep from squealing in mischievous anticipation. The twins looked excitedly between Wildcard and Sypher.
The latter in question eventually turned around with both blades grasped within the crooks of his fetlocks. He examined the Desperdo's weapons with a dispassionate expression. Eventually, his cold eyes darted towards the griffon across the way.
Wildcard looked back, just as deadpan.
Silence—but not for long.
Sw-Swisssssh! Both knives sang through the air, but it was a slow throw.
Wildcard easily caught them both between his metal talons, his goggles remaining locked on Sypher the entire time.
CRKKK! Sypher dislodged his axe messily, cracked his neck muscles, and came oozing back towards the spot where Wildcard stood. Before he returned within hissing distance, the mute Bloodwing gave Masser a look. A sharp exhale whistled out of his neckpiece with a slightly melodic lilt. Within seconds, he used the tip of his axe to carve an arrow in the dirt—pointing at a stack of round metal discs situated beside Masser.
The Third glanced towards the pile, smirked back at Sypher, then marched over to pick one of the heavy objects up. “As I said before...” Masser's scarred muscles heaved as he lifted a disc and dragged it towards a large horizontal lever mechanism. “...your companion's talent shows great practice and commitment.” With a grunt, he slapped the round object into a matching slot on the lowered end of the lever. “But all of that means nothing without experience.”
Rainbow Dash glanced briefly at Wildcard, then gave Masser her full attention.
“The armies of the Seared Land—no doubt—excel in following the regimental codes and procedures set in stone by the likes of the Solar Deceiver. Greater numbers is almost always a guarantee for victory—which is still the chiefest reason the foals of the Mother of Nightmares found it so taxing to exact her divine will a thousand years ago. But triumph...” Masser pointed, grinning. “...triumph is earned in the moment. Be it in killing or dying or all the sweat and blood in between. What you learn by struggling... is what is truly worthy of boast.” He nodded his head towards the Fourth. “A testament embodied by our honored brother Myl'sypher'ym here...”
Several Bloodwings murmured and squeaked in dull bass reverance.
Ariel leaned towards Seraphimus, whispering: “I wasn't aware this was a competition.”
“They're stallions,” the Former Talon Commander droned.
Ariel's muzzle scrunched. “... … …that's no excuse though...”
“Did I ask you to speak to me...?”
Meanwhile, Masser continued, gesturing towards the disc lodged within the large mechanism. “Any 'badass' can stand in place and skewer stone slabs for a hundred cycles. That—in and of itself—is an art. But we are the Sons of Nightmares. Our life is war, and war is our life. Your enemy won't waste time standing stationary and docile. No—the only target worth hitting is a moving one!” He looked at Sypher.
Sypher nodded back.
“Htttt!” Masser leapt up—and his massive weight came down on the lifted end of the lever.
THWKKK! The large metal disc was catapulted high into the air, arcing across the starlight that stretched over the target practice area.
Sypher's eyes narrowed. He shifted his weight back, held his breath, then spun like a silent tornado. Not even Rainbow Dash could tell at what moment he let loose the axe—only that it left his figure and glinted skyward at some nebulous point. Before her ears could even flick, she—and everyone around her—heard a resonating CLANGGGGG!
Bosonn and Hyggs flinched. They each jumped in opposite directions as—THUDDD!—the disc landed heavily between them, with Sypher's axe lodged deeply into its circular center.
The reaction of the fellow Bloodwings was as loud as it was predictable.
“Woooo!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee!”
“Fine throw, Myl'sypher'ym!”
“A killing blow! For sure!”
“Ry'lysym thyln sryk sryk'lym!”
“Hahaha! Myl'sypher'ym srym wy'lym!”
Meanwhile, Sypher had trotted over to the fallen disc. With a simple tug of his forward limb muscles, he easily dislodged the blade from its deep embedding. He pivoted to face Wildcard, then eyed Masser.
Masser smirked at the Desperado. “Care to give it a shot, sr'ythyn'sym?”
Wildcard stood in contemplative silence.
Ariel bit her lip. Seraphimus cocked her head to the side, observing.
A pair of goggles reflected Rainbow's face.
Rainbow merely smirked. “Seems like you're in the spotlight, dude. Have it your way.”
A hush fell over the Bloodwings.
With a scrape of his talons, Wildcard turned to face Sypher. He nodded.
Sypher launched the axe at him in a medium arc.
THPPP!! Wildcard caught the handle in his flesh talon. The combined weight and inertia of the weapon made him teeter back slightly, and he winced under his beak.
A few sarosians chuckled.
Wildcard exhaled. Calmly, he turned the blade over in his grip, giving it a brief juggle or two to test its balance. This preparation lasted for only a moment. A short whistle, and Wildcard tightened his lower limbs, facing Masser with a nod.
The Third had already loaded a second disc. Upon the griffon's prompting, he jumped heavily onto the opposite end of the lever.
THWKKK!
The target went flying.
Wildcard's goggles reflected its arc through the starlight.
Rainbow held her breath.
Shriike blinked, then—
SW-SW-SWISSSSH! The axe went sailing upwards in a slow twirling motion—but much slower than Sypher's spin.
CL-CLANK!!! The axe struck the target high overhead, but bounced off at a dull angle.
Ariel winced.
The disapproving groans and sighs of the Bloodwings were more than a little bit pronounced. While the heavy disc thudded loosely to the stone earth a few paces away, Sypher calmly backtrotted and reared his body upwards in time to—CLMMP!—catch the handle of the fallen axe in nimble teeth. A sharp hiss—and he landed back on all fours, spitting the axe out so that he gripped it once more in the crook of his fetlock. The Fourth's tail flicked as he threw Wildcard a look of mild exasperation.
“A commendable effort!” Masser said. “Especially for wielding a weapon you've never handled before!” The scarred stallion smiled as he gestured at the fallen disc across the way. “But unless you can land a lethal blow to your target, you're better off not ridding yourself of the weapon to begin with. Of course...” He stood tall and proud. “...Sypher's experience on the battlefield has leant him the precision he needs to accomplish this at anytime. One most definitely wouldn't learn the skill from anything but true and brutal combat.”
The surrounding soldiers murmured to one another.
Shriike tapped her pen in a slow rhythm against her floating parchment, gazing in contemplative silence.
“Well...” Rainbow Dash took a deep breath. “...guess he's got you there...” She winked aside at the Desperado. “Eh, chatterbox?”
Wildcard's headcrest perked. He cocked his head to the left and right, as an eagle might spot a mouse from a mile away.
Seraphimus blinked at him, then glanced at Rainbow.
Wildcard strafed sideways, standing closer to the perimeter of surrounding sarosians. He pointed at Sypher, then at Masser. He then gestured two talons at his goggles before pointing back and forth between Sypher and the catapult mechanism.
“Do you wish to witness Sypher's excellence again?” Masser asked.
Wildcard nodded.
“Very well then.” Masser grunted, heaving another disc into the launcher. “Fourth...?”
“... … ...” Sypher lingered in place, staring at Wildcard. When Wildcard did nothing but stare back, Sypher let loose a long hissing sigh, then nodded at Masser.
“Ready... and...!!!” Masser leapt once more on his end of the lever.
THWKKK!
The disc flew towards the stars.
Sypher's body coiled as he prepared to throw the axe.
But the weapon had barely left the Fourth's body when—
THW-THWISSSSH! Two knives flew from Wildcard's position. The Desperado had barely shifted in his stance.
SWISSSSSSSH! One dagger flew madly at the disc. The other shot off at an angle, intercepting Sypher's axe in mid-air.
CL-CLANK! The sparking impact of both weapons sent them spiraling in opposite directions.
Masser flinched.
The crowd of Bloodwings flinched.
Sypher's axe went toppling in a stunted arc, but Wildcard's dagger—which had ricocheted off of it—went flying towards a new destination. A destination that it reached in gasping milliseconds after the first dagger got there—
Cht-Chtinkkk!
A shadow crossed over Sypher's body. He quietly turned around, a deep hiss catching in his scarred throat.
THW-THW-THWOOOSH! The axe fell limply, and yet—CHTUNNNK—lodged blade-first into the outer lip of the round target that Wildcard had been throwing knives at minutes before.
As for the disc—THUD!—it landed and spun and spun and spun... but would not topple completely over. This was due to Wildcard's two daggers, each of which had embedded neatly into opposite sides of the round target, keeping it in an mostly upright position as the disc finally ground to a stop.
The collective jaws of Bosonn, Hyggs, and their fellow Bloodwings hung open wide.
Shriike dropped her pen altogether, blinking rapidly.
Messer stared in disbelief. He glanced past a deadpan Seraphimus and a beaming Ariel until his gaze fell on Wildcard.
Tw-Twppp! He had already dislodged the knives and sheathed them back into his bandoleer. The griffon walked over to where Sypher's axe was embedded in the stone target—but paused. He turned towards Masser and calmly gestured a flurry of talon motions.
Several sarosians looked at Rainbow Dash.
“Ahem...” Rainbow folded her forelimbs, hiding a proud smirk as she interpreted: “'Killing blows aren't everything. What you all learn from killing and dying, I learn more from living longer.'”
CRKKK! Wildcard pulled the axe out of the target. He turned towards Sypher, poised to toss the weapon towards him. “... … ...” He pivoted it around and held it out neatly at arm's length, instead.
Sypher—with countless eyes on his silent figure—had no choice but to trot the long distance between the two of them and accept his own weapon being offered by the Penumbral outsider.
Shriike gradually hunched over, returning her pen to her parchment while the befuddled crowd murmured and dispersed from the awkward scene.
The one called Wildcard is quite talented—to say the least. Between his skills and the intellectual poise of the one called Seraphimus, it's a wonder that Rainbow Dash—and not those two—is the one leading her party. This, I suppose, is only fitting. I find it incredibly hard to believe that an abominable specimen of mammalian and avian bastardry would ever be worthy of carrying the title of W'ynlppa yln H'luun. (Although, even Rainbow's status remains in sharp question)
Another possibility—now that I think about it—is that these griffons make up a lower status among the populace of the Seared plane. That would make a lot of sense, actually. No doubt—after ruthlessly searing the lands of her own kind—the Great Deceiver would begin a campaign of conquest across all the known lands blinded by her false light. The result would be the creation of lower castes, populated by unsightly creatures who lack the sophistication of their equine familiars.
But this theory doesn't entirely check out. Why keep such talented warriors on invisible leashes? Wouldn't this risk being horrendously overwhelmed the very moment that such superior killing-machines revolted? Or—perhaps—Rainbow Dash reserves some hidden power or force that keeps these lowly specimens in check? Could the secret lie in the portion of the Infernal Weapon that she carries around her neck? Mayhaps it's an edge she holds over Ariel as well?
I suppose I'll only glean the truth in time. All I can state for a fact at this point is that Rainbow Dash has yet to impress me as a strong and capable leader of this awkward band of Penumbral trespassers. And the only reason Wildcard hasn't taken the lead is because he's either too naive or too moronic to know when he's the overqualified nimrod forced to work for breadcrumbs. (Get it? Because he's half bird. You see, it's quite funny).
Shriike smirked to herself.
As she finished writing, she looked up—and did a double-take.
Wildcard was staring straight at her from across the way. He didn't break his gaze until Ariel and Rainbow Dash casually trotted up to him, engaging in a new conversation.
Bulbs of sweat formed along the unicorn sarosian's temple. She glanced up to see Seraphimus shuffling past her—and she was also squinting curiously at the mare with cold charcoal hawkeyes.
A shuddering breath. Shriike returned her pen to paper.
I'm starting to wonder if there are some... metaphysical properties gained by those who have been subjected to the Solar Deceiver's searing gaze. I'll have to keep my eyes open for signs of a divine revelation... before I reveal too much of myself. (Did that sound too paranoid? By the Goddess' mane... I should just delete this paragraph and start over.)
Patience, dear elders.
Patience has been the most precious virtue in this current endeavor that you've charged me with. I've found it quite stimulating—at first, that is. In very quick order, it's became an insufferable ordeal. You've been blessed with blissfully short spurts with which to meet and greet these alien cousins of ours. But I? I must endure their pedantic prattle for hours on end—and with a great sacrifice of parchment as well.
Need I remind those in charge that I have been chiefly responsible for maintaining supplies and requisitions up in Gibbous Sanctum for multiple fortnights? I know very well the scarcity of paper and wood in this age of great tribulation. The pulp that we've been harvesting from the subjects in the pit isn't enough to fill the vacuum. Not at this rate.
Just what is anyone expecting from the so-called avatar? Assuming that Rainbow Dash is what she says she is—and provided that her existence holds the precise kind of gravity in the shadow of our beloved Mother that I'm reluctant to imagine—then will the utilization of these precious resources somehow stop? Is it too much for me to ask to know just what the end game is here?
All this time, I have spent writing. In truth—I've actually just been waiting. Waiting for revelations. Waiting for rendezvous. Waiting for some sort of purpose to be eked from this entire situation. I know that it is simply not my place to declare when and where any developments might pop up, but I can already tell that the Bloodwings serving the First Son have been endeavoring to waste Rainbow Dash's time—to delay and distract her from the inevitable meeting that everypony expects to take place.
But what infuriates me the most is that... Rainbow Dash appears to be fine with it. She shows no sign of frustration or aggravation at being made to fritter and waste the time away. Isn't she on some sort of... dire mission with the Sarcophagus in her sights? Has she not rambled endlessly about the fate of the universe or some other cosmic imperative?
This venture is gobbling up so many of our resources. My special and requisitioned resources. And yet she plays it off as though this is just some prelude to a foalish pageant. We're not reenacting tales from the Book of Saros here. We're on the road to what may or may not be the next major shift in the history of the Midnight Exodus! Does she not realize this? Or is she brazenly taking advantage of the good graces of Mistress Faatail and the Dream Council?
I wish I knew. I wish I could explain it to myself in writing. But—more than all of that—I really truly wish this banal band of nimrods would stop rambling to fill time!
Scribbling.
“I'm pretty sure they won't let us in at this point. Even if we asked nicely.”
“It certainly wouldn't hurt to ask.”
“I'm telling you, Sera. It'll be just like Rainbow and me inside the Tree. Only in reverse. You really think these chauvinistic punks will let 'breeders' inside the Central Operations building?”
More scribbling.
“We won't know until we press the issue.”
“Maybe they'll let Wildcard in.”
“Hahaha! Dang skippy, Ariel. They're probably ready to invite him to the next orgy.”
“Orgy?! Pffffft... so just because Big Show isn't here, you gotta absorb and release all the lewd?”
“I suggest we inquire of the Third Son...”
More and more scribbling noises.
“You think I'm 'lewd' now, girl? You should have heard me spoutin' wisecracks back at Wintergate.”
“Wintergate? That's a new one.”
“I never told you about Wintergate? You would have liked it. The town of Windfall had lesbians.”
“Really?”
“Well. Just one. But I won't go into that.”
“Uhhhh... why not?”
“Perhaps if we had Wildcard ask about entering the building on our behalf—”
Scribbling-scribbling-scribbling-scribbling—
—finally, Shriike's pen snapped.
And so did the clerk, in turn. “Aaaaaaaaaaugh!” She hobbled up onto all fours, dropping the scroll from her magic field and gripping her velvety skull. “Nimrods nimrods nimrods!” She gnashed her teeth. “I've had enough of this prattle!”
Rainbow, Wildcard, and Ariel blinked curiously. The lattermost leaned towards Rainbow, murmuring: “It's 'cuz somepony said the 'L-word,' isn't it?”
Shriike spun—glasses rattling—and spat: “All you four ever do is ramble ramble ramble! How's anypony expected to parse the wheat from the chaff?! When do you ever have anything truly enlightening that's worth recording for the posterity of the Lunar Empire?!?”
Silence.
Wildcard gestured an obvious statement—
—to which Shriike barked: “And somehow you're the chattiest of them all!”
“H-hey...!” Rainbow beamed. “She's catching on!”
“Just chill, Shiva.” Ariel waved a hoof. “Things will come around.”
“It's Shriike! Shriike!” The clerk clutched her skull again. “Rnnnngh... why am I the only one paying attention, you... you...”
“Here it comes—” Ariel yawned.
“Nimrods!” Shriike yanked her bundles of paper up and shoved them messily into her saddlebags before marching off.
Rainbow arched an eyebrow. “Where the heck are you going?”
“To go lose some weight!” Shriike huffed.
Seraphimus pointed in the opposite direction. “Latrines are in that direction,” she droned.
There was a slight delay—but Shriike ultimately scuffled about-face and marched off towards where Seraphimus was pointing. She huffed to herself multiple times. “Stenographer to a minstrel show.” Her leafy ears burned red. “I swear to Goddess.”
Once the clerk was gone, Rainbow Dash looked at the others and spoke up: “Y'know, for a haughty little fluffball of pretense who's lived in sheltered luxury all her life...” A wry smirk. “...she's handling this pretty well.”
“Shouldn't we...” Ariel craned her neck, looking in the direction Shriike trotted. “...I dunno. Look after her n'shit? This isn't exactly a cozy neighborhood.”
“Eh...” Rainbow waved. “She isn't too far off.”
“Ya sure?”
Seraphimus interjected: “About forty meters at most—as the Wildcard flies.”
“H-hey!” Ariel smirked at the Desperado. “Ya hear your former boss, Dubya?! You're confirmed for crow! Doesn't that make you salty??”
Shriike grumbled with each trotting step she made towards the lower hillside.
“Damnable... damnable plebeians... sooooo beneath my station. Beneath everypony's!” She huffed and puffed. “Why couldn't the good and honorable Xandraa be playing escort? After all, she's used to dealing with... with... w-with dirtiness!”
She paused, turning around and craning her neck upwards.
The Tree of Mothers loomed above the Central Operations center of the Bloodwings—as it loomed above everything.
“So high up...” Shriike's ears drooped as a shiny sadness glossed over her lensed eyes. “...even if I climb all the way back, will I be the same again?” A sniffle. “Will I smell the same again?”
Silence.
“Mrmmfff... after my business, probably not...” She fumbled with her saddlebag pockets as she strafed back down hill. “...let's see... I doubt anypony will miss the last page and a half.”
As she turned towards the latrines...
...she bumped into a pale pair of forelimbs.
“Mmmmmff!” She flopped back on her plot, shaking the cobwebs loose. “H-hey!” She looked up, frowning. “Don't you know a High Polished representative when you see...” Her features sank as her pupils turned to pinpricks. “... … ...her?”
What stared down at her had no eyes. It barely had a face; just a thin pair of lips set within a necrotic muzzle. An eerily calm expression was weighted down by a pale tombstone slab, covering the stallion's crown and fitted with mana-daggers.
“You're...” Shriike's breath barely came out as a squeak. “You're...” She gulped, her refracted eyes dancing up and down with a noticeable rattle of her spectacles. “...you're blind?”
“One would suffer a lack of clarity to qualify.” His response was quicker—and softer—than she anticipated. She shivered nonetheless as Lexxic loomed closer, that slab tilting further and further—as if it might behead her at any moment. “You are far from the nest, young one. What business have you among the field of blood?”
“I...” Shriike's left eyelid twitched as her rear legs squeezed together. A reddening expression. “...I-I think my b-business just transpired.”
Lexxic breathed in and out. “Hmm.” The slightest curve of the lips. “I expected no less.”
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Haaaah, art imitates life it seems.
and Jordan continues to be a total badass.
Through the path long forgotten, into the darkness long begotten. Ofolrodi.
Yup, nothing like third party expositional observation to bring characters into focus. Sera is indeed an intelligent bird and a damn good foil to Dashie's kaizo self, Ariel is indeed a deep and complicated soul buried under a thin veneer of Rainbow worship, and Wildcard is...insufferably chatty and an absolute badass.
Also Shriike is adorable when angry. A shame that the batty bookhorse doesn't realize that there is a lavender ghost who has prolly committed her spare time to reading everything being written.
Shriike is asking good questions, and sees quite a bit about her charges, no doubt about that. Unfortunately for her, said good questions are being buried under mountains of meaningless prattle. And Rainbow and co. know that
. But I think the biggest problem is that she is unable to look beyond herself, she approaches the situation thinking she is right and everyone else is stupid if they do not agree with her, and so keeps getting caught flathoofed when her subjects are able to make things work in a different way. Hopefully she will learn from this experience, but first she needs to pull her head out of her plot.
And here comes Lexxic, lets see what he wants.
Oh this was very good. Wildcard and the Bloodwings part was very entertaining and it really shows how much of a badass he is. I love Shriike commentary on what is happening it give a great different perspective on things. I can't wait to see what happens next now that Lexxic is here.
16 instances of nimrod. That's an academy record, Shriike.
I'm just waiting for her serial killer arc now.
Rainbow Dash be like:
derpicdn.net/img/2020/9/6/2439837/thumb.gif
Brevity is the sole of wit... this bat is not brief.
It's almost like the Ebon Mane letters to mother chapters, but with a prissy horn-bat horse
Awww, Shriike broke.
Wildcard and Sypher need to have a battle to see who's the Ultimate Edgelord.
Shriike is really perceptive and really dense at the same time.
Also holy hell was that a flex by Wildcard. What a gamer
Lexxic remains as terrifying as ever it seems...
Wildcard put a dagger into Both sized of a circular target?
Top that.
Now I'm imagining IC as some kind of interdimension-viewing psychic who has to go into meditative trances of Dr Pepper in order to gather the tale of bird-lesbian east-horse
10486593
Praise be to Cult Leader Imploding Colon!
I love that Ariel called Shrike Shrek. That was hilarious. Also lexxic is blind, dang, must be chaos stuff.
My discord name is salt(confirmed crow) I have been referenced!
It is not yet a character but I am happy
CLODS
Whelp, I can wholeheartedly say, I did not expect the heaping helping of shipping fuel for Shriike and Ariel I got this chapter and I probably didn't deserve it, but damn if I did not revel in every moment of their interaction. Don't even try to tell me I'm overreacting, this is the most interest and personal introspection I've seen Ariel go into with another female non-Dash pony. I also get to see her in an entirely new light, which is much better than just 'the thirsty Dashsexual', so that's great! It's honestly just been too long since we've seen a lot of her personality and I'm thirsty for more of this, sorry for rambling. But the way Ariel worries over Shriike being alright on her way to the latrines though...
As for the rest of the chapter, I think I may have already expressed how much I enjoy getting Shriike's perspective, and I sincerely hope she's with us for the long haul. Please, IC, please let us keep the adorkable bat pony, we'll take care of her, we swear! I'll even personally unclog the latrines backed up by her redacted reports!
And now I'm looking back and seeing way too many exclamation marks for one of my posts... ah well, this chapter made me feel genuine hype and enjoyment and shipping. Shipping is definitely an emotion, don't @ me.
You know, for a second, Shriike allowed herself to think of Ariel in a positive matter: my headcanon is that she caught herself being all warm and fuzzy and promptly went into Tsundere Mode :3
Wildcard continues to impress
....aaaaaaand here's Lexxic
I really enjoy the shriike narrative.
Well, you're not exactly wrong.
Hey! I resent that!
OK, I don't really like Shriike very much.
So... Tchern's children can be slain by severing the spinal column.
Good to know.
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They insulted him to his face. Don't tug on Superman's cape.
Ah, Windfall... It seems like so long ago now.
Maybe I could do one more reread :)
Boy I was really hoping Lexxic would kill Shriike rifht then and there. But I guess we can't expect good things to happen on the dark side now can we?
...1986 chapters...
Shriike is giving me intense Peridot vibes in this chapter, and as annoyingly pampered as she is, I kinda love it. Her dictation and commentary on everyone is amusingly observant all the while full of angry bookworm-gremlin energy. Her conversation with Ariel, I think, was my favorite part though. Not only did Ariel challenge Shriike about the notion of faith, but it gave us a small look into some of Ariel's deep inner thoughts too, which is really nice to see in her case.
So is this a case of the blind leading the metaphorically blind here?