Sarosian Times Dinner Show
“EEE-EEE-EEE!!!” A one-eyed sarosian snarled, beating the air with battle-scarred wings. “Behold, Sons of Nightmares! I am Ryn'Skysm! Veteran of Fifth Root! Slayer of T'chyrym'lynna!” He beat his chest with an unshorn fetlock. “And I shall be the Bloodwing Beholder of Honor!”
Across from him, touching down on a patch of dust, a younger sarosian with vivid silver tattoos hissed right back: “Behold! I am Syml'rym'sykk! Lead wing of Sixth Battalion in First Root! And it is I who shall be the Beholder!”
Ryn'Skym shrieked at him. Syml'rym'sykk howled back with a flaring of his velvety neck hairs.
“Brothers...” A unicorn sarosian trotted between them, levitating a torch flickering with silver-blue manalight. “You both shall have your chance.” With a fanged grin, he turned and gestured to five other pairs of sarosians who stood at separate portions of the circular arena, facing off against one another. “As shall the rest of you!” The aged unicorn lifted his head, shouting towards the highest seats of the Hall of Honor. “But while all shall test their might to seize the title of Beholder—only one will succeed! May you fight with honor... dignity... and the passion instilled within you by Terror itself!”
The collective breath of the entire arena lingered upon a mute precipice.
The unicorn trotted neatly to the sidelines. He waved his torch. He hollered: “Begin!”
“Eee-Eee-Eee!”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaugh!”
“Hresssssssh!”
All six pairs of warriors instantly engaged in brutal sparring combat. Velvety bodies and leathery wings flew into one another. With thunderous claps of flesh and fangs, they scuffled and struggled under a cyclonic cacophony of cheers, rising all across the body of the coliseum. Fetlocks wrestled with withers and tails slammed into faces and wings knocked bodies off-balance. The violence was so sudden and explosive that it was no surprise whatsoever that at one corner of the arena—
“Rrrrrrgh!” One stallion grappled control of his opponent and violently body-slammed him onto the dusty earth of the arena. Before the opponent to kick up to his hooves, the dominant sarosian kicked him hard in the side, knocking the wind out of his lungs and throwing him into unconsciousness. Within one quarter of a minute, a battle had already been completed.
“Winner!” another unicorn shouted, trotting the circular sideline with a torch levitating. “Who challenges?!”
There was a mass of antsy sarosian bodies gathered along the Omega side of the arena. Upon hearing the shoutout, one of many leapt to the very front, wings spread dramatically. “I, Mry'sykkl, honorable soldier of Sixth Root and looter of N'shydym monoliths, challenge you!”
Sweating and heaving, the first victor tossed his mane back and met the challenger with a flash of fangs. “I, Syn'lypwyk, accept!” He sneered, wings spread. “Behold my blood!”
“Behold!” the challenger hissed back, summoning a new round of cheers from the spectators above.
The nearest unicorn with a torch swung his hoof. “Begin!”
“Raaaaaaa-aaaa-aaaaaaugh!” Mry'sykkl leapt at Syn'lypwyk, and the two grappled where the previous sparring match had ensued. Meanwhile, a group of teenage bloodcolts had rushed in to drag the unconscious sarosian to the sidelines.
Across the arena, the six battles continued in this fashion. Once an opponent was knocked out, a new challenger would arise. When met, the previous winner would test his endurance against the newcomer. In such a fashion, the battles seemingly continued without end—with the audience of the Hall of Honor eagerly watching to see who would win or outlast the rest of the volunteer sparring combatants.
All the while, the feast was enjoyed—on multiple terraces overlooking the sparring matches. Nothing about the sheer violence or sweaty drama below appeared to affect the Bloodwings—as they ate their meals and chatted and cheered merrily without flinching. Even Azarias—normally serious and silent—possessed a remarkably illuminated expression, his slitted eyes locked on the combat below as he took liberal bites of stringy, raw meat.
The Heraldites—on the other hoof—found it considerably more difficult to enjoy their meal. If it wasn't the unseemly state of their menu, it was definitely the grunting and bleeding bodies down below. While it was clear that certain unspoken rules of Bloodwing combat kept the sparring partners from outright murdering each other, it didn't stop some particularly gruesome injuries from taking place. Each time there was a particularly heavy body slam or hoof impact, it sent a resounding wave of rapturous noise through the bustling crowd. Rainbow and her friends—however—could only wince and grimace... including the griffons.
“Is this...” Ariel squirmed in her seat. “...really necessary?”
Splorch! The noise came from Masser, a seat and a half over, who had just bitten into a particularly juicy pocket of a meaty hamstring that once belonged to... some creature. “Hrmmmffff...” The sarosian was so large in size and musculature that he had to occupy two seats. He looked over at Ariel, smirking through a bloodied grin. “The Battle for the Bloodwing Beholder of Honor is absolutely necessary!” He nodded towards the bodies smacking against one another in the ring right below where they sat. “Every cycle when there's a feast here in this Hall—the victor's name gets etched into the entry roots on four sides!”
“Exactly how is—” Seraphimus began, but was interrupted by a body being slammed into the barrier just beneath her, punctuated by a pained groan. She took a calm breath, then resumed: “Exactly how is a 'victor' chosen?”
“Mrrmfff...” Masser spoke through another meaty muzzle-full. “He is the last Bloodwing standing, of course.”
“So... it's like a battle royale?” Ariel suggested.
“That's right!”
“But... isn't that kinda unfair?” Ariel waved at the match. “Many of these participants could show up several minutes into the grand fight! The defenders who've been sparring all this time won't stand a chance!”
“Augh! But you'd be surprised, uterus-bearing one!” Masser grinned.
Ariel's eyes narrowed. “...the buck did you just call m—?”
Masser continued: “Those who stand in the arena the longest are more worthy of honor! Even if they don't end up Bloodwing Beholder! This is as much a struggle for the challengers as the challenged! Strength... endurance... opportunity—they all have their place on the battlefield! Many talk with pride and with boasting, but here, their resolve can be put to the test!”
From a few rows away, Hyggs chimed in: “Plus, we get to see some real sweet ass-kicking!”
“Damned straight, brother!” Masser spat, winking back at him.
Thud! Another body slammed into the sidelines, followed by a wave of cheers above and beyond.
“Hressssshaaaaaaa!” Masser and the others next to him stood up, rearing their front hooves and hissing with praise: “Eee-Eee-Eee-Eee!”
Ariel rubbed her head, wincing.
“Just let them have their fun,” Shriike droned. The clerk had produced two tiny knives from her bag and were using them to telekinetically carve thin slices of meat from the raw helping on her plate. Once she had agreeable portions separated, she took dainty nibbles, pausing between each bite to dab her chin with a piece of cloth also procured from her collection. “As oafish and boneheaded as this entire charade comes across, it does appease their putrid proclivities.”
“Don't tell me you actually approve of this—” Ariel winced as another body was thudded into the ring of the arena, followed by applause and stomping hooves all around. “... … ...insanity?”
“These are creatures who are born to shed blood and give blood.” Shriike shrugged. “What difference is it to me that they engage in filthy exercises outside of battle?”
“One day, the War over the Sarcophagus may end,” Seraphimus stated in a pause between meaty bites. “For soldiers who know nothing but violence and bloodshed—what then? Do they all become civil servants? What channel remains for their aggression to flow forward?”
“Don't be a nimrod.” Shriike gave the griffon a four-eyed blink. “The Dark Vigil will still need conveyance back to the Realm of the Solar Deceiver. This will require a most arduous military undertaking!”
“So it's all nonstop war, then?” Ariel remarked. She waved at the sparring matches still unfolding wildly below. “Once all bone and blood and brains have been splattered over getting the Harmonic Prism from the Armory, you'll just re-enslave the most important caste you guys have into waging another campaign against Equestria??”
“Pffft!” Shriike rolled her refracted eyes. “Don't be ridiculous.” She took a dignified sip from her canteen. “The Highest Polished is the most important caste.”
Ariel face-hoofed.
“Heh heh heh heh heh...” A chuckling voice wafted darkly from across the table. Ariel and Seraphimus looked over to see the noise emanating from Lukaas. “Why are you so surprised, Seared ones? The elders know how to begin things—but they fail to ever finish them.”
Shriike huffed, refusing to so much as look at the Fifth as she replied: “The Maria Matriarchs have meticulously planned for any and all eventualities from the start—”
“Which explains why our fore-bearers have been locked in a grueling stalemate for over a dozen generations??” Lukaas' pale brow furrowed as he glared at the clerk from across the table. “You and your learned mistresses have been content to sit fat and pretty in the loftiest branches of the Tree, gorging on the scant spoils of the Exodus' bounty while the bastards of the Trinary War have spilled their blood and bowels over nothing!” Bloodwings from as far as four tables over nodded and murmured in surly agreement. “I have survived far more winters than many of my familiars and I have personally seen for myself the wondrous change brought about by Lexxy'kyn—subverting abhorrent tradition with a renewed sense of honor.” He raised a mug to his muzzle, sipped, and spoke: “Bastards of war—we no longer be, for we have all found a father in Nightmares. We are Sons, destined to return to the Narrow, and that's something the High Polished will never understand.”
The whole table shook as multiple Bloodwings pounded their hooves and hissed with enthusiastic accord.
Huffing, Shriike nevertheless countered: “By the Moon Goddess—this is why I think that the Root Sanctuary here should never have been re-contracted into being this so-called Hall of Honor...”
Ariel leaned in to her. “You might want to quit while you're ahead.”
Nevertheless, the unicorn clerk continued: “The elders grant you this one luxury—this ancient and redundant piece of mothballed history—and already you meat-headed ruffians think you're entitled to the entire legacy that the Mother of Nightmares has so nobly ensured.”
The table filled with scoffing chuckles and snorts.
Shriike's fangs showed. “You've committed your entire lives to one function and one function alone! What could you possibly know about civility? Politics? Social engineering? Economics? Any and all of the finer arts of civilization that will be required to establish an empire of Everlasting Night on the other side of the Plane??”
“Hah!” Masser wiped meaty juices from his muzzle and grinned across the table. “They can establish my ass!”
“Yeah! Hah hah!” Bosonn had a good snicker from a table over. “That should be big enough to block out the Great Deceiver's searing glare!”
“Hahahahah!”
“Hah hah hah!”
“Eee-eee-eee!”
Shriike folded her forelimbs and huffed. “It is completely inconceivable that any Bloodwings of your station could possibly perform beyond your militaristic talents! You don't possess the Book of Saros! You don't exercise the sacred art of dream-trotting! What you have is muscle and might—but without guidance... without intellect... without the blessing of the Mother of Nightmares, just where would you be?”
“Mrmmfff...” Hyggs smirked, speaking through a mouthfful of meat. “...a harem!”
The throng of nearby tables filled with laughter.
Bosonn added: “Preferably one that wasn't mired in root sludge!”
The laughter intensified.
Shriike sighed, slumping back in defeat.
“I think you fail to hear yourself, sanctified one,” spoke Lexxic's calm and night-slick voice.
Shriike adjusted her glasses, squinting across the table. “Eh??”
Lexxic's plate was noticeably empty. He sat with his forelimbs neatly folded against the table's edge while little Spek'kl and Azarias—seated on either side of him—dined liberally. “Yes, most of us are deprived of the teachings of Saros. Yes, we are uneducated in the aspect of the dreamwalk. And—yes—we sorely lack when it comes to schools of higher thought and learning. Combat is truly our station, and it is exceedingly difficult to emerge beyond the cusp of it. But have you ever asked yourself just who it was who deprived us of those things?”
“I... I-I don't understand...” Shriike sincerely beheld a blank expression. “You are Bloodwings.” She glanced at the entire table and those that stood adjacent. “Your role is to fight, to protect, and to defend.” A shrug. “Why would you do any different? Why would you desire any different?” She glanced aside at Ariel. “It would be as if a clerk such as myself yearned to gut a drone of Tchern on the battlefield.”
“Don't look at me, girl.”
Chuckles and hisses.
Lexxic's smile curved under his helm. He spoke without tilting his head away from Shriike. “Wry'spek'lym.”
A tiny snort. The bloodcolt seated beside Lexxic nearly choked on his latest bite. Guzzling down a throat-full of water, the tiny soldier-in-training stood tall and at attention. “Commander, yes, Commander!” Meat juices dribbled down his deadpan expression as he saluted.
Lexxic ignored the snickering reactions all around him as he spoke to the youngster: “Convey to me the proper tactics needed for a battalion of soldiers to enter, inspect, and purge a hive of T'chyrym.”
Spek'kl stood in place, blinking nervously. It was more than obvious that the colt did not wish to hesitate, but he was clearly at a loss for words. “Erm...”
Lexxic continued: “How many winged forces does it take to counter a single N'shydym monolith?” The First Son wasted no time before further asking: “What is the appropriate amount of runic charges needed to clear ten acres of enemy land at a distance of five hundred meters?”
“I...” Spek'kl sank more and more in his position. “I-I'm afraid I d-do not know, Commander.”
“No. Of course you don't.” Lexxic reached over, gently pressing his pale fetlock to the colt's withers. “Be seated, little brother. And—please—enjoy your meal.”
Spek'kl reluctantly acquiesced, his ears and features sagging in a dim sheen of shame.
“Relish in that which nourishes, Wry'spek'lym,” Lexxic continued, which brought an ounce of relief to the bloodcolt's countenance. “It is—after all—what you fight for in the present. But in the future, ascendance will provide far greater reward.” The Commander of the Bloodwings tongued the inside of his muzzle, tilting his face back towards Rainbow's group across the way. “A curious word: ascendance. That it should instill so much hope and enthusiasm.”
“A false pretense if there ever was one,” Shriike muttered.
“Ah... but truly indicative of those who defend castes so vehemently,” Lexxic said, pointing with his hoof. “It only underscores the fact that they invented them.” His nostrils flared beneath his helm. “And I won't pretend to say that pre-established stations don't serve their purposes. But rather... they should only be prisons...” His voice took on a lower tone as his tongue rolled. “...for those who deserve them.”
Ariel blinked. Seraphimus cocked her head slightly to the side.
“Take our honorable little warrior from Bloodcolt Bleak Formation Delta here...” Lexxic gestured to Spek'kl, who shifted uncomfortably under the sudden table-full of scrutiny. “...he shall undoubtedly make a fine frontline soldier. But does he know the strategies necessary to properly engage our foes on all fronts? No—but it's more accurate to say he does not know them yet.” He smiled admirably in the bloodcolt's direction. “In my lifetime, countless soldiers just like him have risen to the occasion, learning and employing methods of warfare that have ensured victory in areas once hopeless and defined by stalemate.”
“Indeed.” Shriike nodded. “All of Gibbous Sanctum and the High Polished above know of the turning of the Trinary War's tide on behalf of your increased leadership.”
“The tide hasn't turned because my leadership has increased.” Lexxic's fangs showed. “Victory after a thousand years of bloodshed has become possible because the elders' leadership has decreased.”
A round of concurring murmurs rolled solemnly across the tables—in sharp contrast to the brainless cheers set to the bloodsport in the arena below.
Lexxic continued: “Hrym'slyk... Mry'lym'sylm... Yrrk'hrym...” He counted off. “The stubborn female generals of the Roots struggled to maintain the reins of the Bloodwings. And one by one—as they slipped away into necessary retirement—the army of the Dark Vigil only got stronger, smarter, and more versatile.”
“Under your leadership,” Shriike added in a dry tone.
“My sacrifice has allowed us an edge over our enemy,” Lexxic said with a nod of his pale helm. “But the departure from predisposed tradition has given us an edge over ourselves. In a span of half-a-decade, we have pushed the Night Shard and the forces of Tchern back to the brinks and the bleaks just before the Sarcophagus' line. It is the closest advance we've made in over five hundred years—and all achieved within the span of a decade. This... all accomplished against the rising might of the Flux and the indomitable, soulful perseverance of the Night Shard.” He leaned back with an icy breath. “You see, sanctified one, the Hall of Honor is no mere patronizing of your toy soldiers. It's a reward for a job well done. And when the Sons of Nightmares—whom your very cause depends on—sees something worth fighting for... worth growing for... then victory is no longer a means to an end... or the end itself. But—rather—it is the next step. The next step in ascension.”
“And just what do you intend to become?” Shriike asked. “Assuming the Mother of Nightmares will ever run out of enemies who oppose the foundation of Everlasting Night?”
“What we become and who we are... is one and the same.” Lexxic smiled. “Victory is not as far away as you and your elders would think. If only you would have faith in us—”
“We have faith in the Mother of Nightmares... and in the Book of Saros' teachings.”
Lexxic held up one hoof. “One is in perpetual exile, despite what the avatar says.” He held up another hoof. “The other is enmeshed in dust and pretense.”
Chuckles.
Nodding heads and hissing tones.
Shriike sat still with her forelimbs folded.
Lexxic smiled. “Faith in the here and now is the one thing that your elders seemingly can't afford. Stubborn and immovable to a fault.” His fangs glinted in the firelight. “Now who is obsessed with staying in one's station?”
An awkward fidget ran through Shriike's figure. She suddenly couldn't look the Commander in the face—or what little of it was presented. A body being slammed into the arena wall beneath her jolted her from the moment. Another round of cheers resounded, above and encompassing.
“Might be wise to take notes, sanctified one.” Lexxic took another sip of his mug. “That is—after all—your station.”
Masser had a good chuckle at that.
Ariel looked from the Third to Lexxic. “So... Lyw'Malaak?”
Azarias flinched hard. The rest of the table went cold and silent.
Only Lexxic—as smooth as freshly-melted snow—commented without hesitation: “She is all that remains. The last vestige of the Tree of Mothers' stubbornness. A root-within-a-root. It is only a matter of time before she too fades away like the sad anchors before her.”
“What then?” Seraphimus asked. “The Bloodwings seize victory unimpeded? I fail to see how it can all be that simple.”
“Well-spoken, Commander,” Lexxic replied. “An army cannot rest on its laurels... especially in a land of darkness where laurels refuse to grow!”
The whole table of soldiers chuckled.
“Heh heh heh heh...” Lexxic smirked, rubbing his fetlocks together. “You see how pathetic that is? Over a thousand years of exile, bloodshed, suffering—and we still employ phrases burned into us by the Searing One's kingdom of yesteryear.” He gestured. “Some things are more difficult to grow beyond than others.”
“And you're obviously not a fan of tradition,” Ariel stated.
“Traditions are like gardens,” Lexxic said. “For you to grow anything new, that which is old has to die.” A calm smile. “If someone such as myself who has lived his whole life under perpetual darkness can express such an analogy, how much more would it apply under Sunlight? Hmmm?”
A round of dry chuckles and nods.
Ariel glanced at the rest of her group. She noticed Wildcard standing dead-still, gazing curiously across the table in a straight line. Her gaze traced the direction of the Desperado's goggles.
Further down the table, Sypher was also standing absolutely still. But instead of having a staring contest with Wildcard, the Fourth Son waited patiently as a Bloodwing companion reached in with his hooves, fiddling with the silent warrior's neckpiece. At long last, there was a metallic click sound, followed by a moist hiss of hot air. The front of the throat box was lowered completely from Sypher's neck, and it exposed raw red throat muscles to the torchlight—along with an inner esophagus glinting with fresh mucus. Sypher sat still and resolute the whole time. Meanwhile, the Bloodwing assisting him stripped loose a tiny chunk of meat with his fangs. After half-a-minute of chewing, he raised his muzzle to Sypher's exposed neck and spat the softened morsel directly down the Fourth Son's throat. He repeated this multiple times, feeding his superior officer—meanwhile Sypher remained deadpan and calm.
None of the other Bloodwings made any comment on this ceremony or bothered to stare at it. So Ariel and Wildcard—in their own separate ways—figured it was best not to do so either. They returned to their own plates with awkward gusto.
It wasn't long until Lexxic spoke again, addressing the prismatic elephant in the room:
“Avatar,” he spoke gently. “What are your thoughts on tradition?”
All this time, Rainbow Dash had been struggling to taste—much less swallow—the modicum of non-meat edibles that had been lumped soggily onto her plate. The “wry'kyl'myk”—as Shriike called it—was just as detestable as the clerk had prophesied.
Granted, Rainbow Dash in the past had been forced to eat worse on occasion. One week while flying loops over Alafreo, Josho had tried cooking for the Noble Jury while Ebon and Booster Spice went off on a scouting expedition to northwest Val Roa. Rainbow Dash would just have easily embraced starvation at the time.
Here—while the food was vile—she could tell that her stomach would handle it. Rainbow simply had to pursue her meal through very slow and careful bites. This was a lot harder to do when suddenly under intense scrutiny of a potential war criminal and his fellow cronies.
She looked up, making visual contact with Lexxic's helm for the first time in minutes. “Hmmm?” She swallowed a lumpy morsel and tried not to grimace. “Tradition?”
“Indeed.” An entire line of dining sarosians stared at the mare whom Lexxic was talking to—save for Sypher and his assisting comrade, of course. “I can only assume there's been no savage war or forced exile endured by the denizens of Equestria.” His helm leaned slightly to the side. “And surely there's been plenty of time for a civilization to establish and maintain its own culture... unless it's all the the same as when the Searing Sister first deceived the Mother of Nightmares.”
The table filled with surly growls and hisses.
Shriike hissed too—then blushed at having joined the Bloodwings in a singular expression of negative emotion. She hid her face behind her utensils for the next minute or two.
“Well... yeah...” Rainbow Dash nodded slowly. “...aside from a few butting-of-heads with... less than friendly neighbors from time to time, Equestria's been doing pretty alright.” She cleared her throat. “There's been... uh... loads of new cities built. A few changes to the government here and there, I guess. Lots of allies made with distant lands like Saddle Arabia and the Zebrahara...”
“No actual wars, though?” Masser's tattooed brow furrowed. “None whatsoever?”
“Well, there's always the risk of freaky stuff comin' out of the wilderness,” Rainbow Dash said. “Like monsters from the Everfree Forest or the Wayward Dragon migration that brushes a little too close to home.” She shrugged. “But all in all... things have been pretty peaceful and... uh... friendly.” Rainbow Dash looked generally at all the velvety faces across the table. “Friendship—in fact—remains the biggest and most awesomest virtue in the land.”
“A tradition built on banishment and exile,” Azarias grumbled, causing many at the table to stir and murmur in frigid agreement.
Rainbow frowned at her. “Now look, just because Princess Luna had to be given the zap doesn't mean Equestria is all about—”
“Don't lie to us, 'avatar.'” Azarias' tone rose with abrasive intensity. He pointed a scarred fetlock at Rainbow's neck. “You're wearing a piece of that damnable weapon that banished her around your head!”
The table rose even louder in commotion—almost rivaling the cheers over the fierce sparring battles below.
Azarias faced Rainbow directly with a flash of fangs. “How in Narrow's name anypony in Gibbous Sanctum or above even considered letting you into their sanctum—much less giving your presence the time of night—is completely beyond my faculty to comprehend.” He gestured with an angry fetlock. “And I have personally gutted and drank the blood of countless traitors smarter than you... who have tried in vain to sabotage the First Son's authority. In the end—they had nothing to speak of their failings but screams.”
Even the sarosians in the next table over squeaked and hummed enthusiastically at that.
Rainbow waited patiently for the commotion to cease. Meanwhile, a ghostly dragonequus levitated closer to his anchor's side.
“My my... if he isn't the loyal sort.” Discord turned to smirk at Rainbow Dash. “Remind you of anypony you know?”
Rainbow clenched her jaw without looking at him. When it was calm enough for her voice to be heard, she finally countered: “Well, it's good to know where you stand on tradition. But if that was meant as a threat, you're gonna have to try harder, pal.” She lifted her slimy plate of wry'kyl'myk, smirking devilishly. “I have more farts to give to this slop then a hundred shades of you.”
“Rrrrrrrggghh—!!” Azarias shot up on all fours, preparing to hiss something vile—but he found himself drowned out by all of his fellow Bloodwings laughing and whooping.
“Hah hah hah hah!”
“Eee-eee-eee!”
“Assassinationnnnn!”
“By the Narrow...” Lukaas folded his forelimbs and smirked in Azarias' direction. “It's been a good cycle since I've heard anypony bark back at the Second!”
“Hah hah hah!” Masser was slapping the table. “Straight to the jugular, too!”
“Hrmmmffff...” Azarias slumped back to his seat, glaring daggers at Rainbow. “She knows nothing of what I'm capable of.”
“No,” Lexxic said with a slight shake of the head. “She doesn't.”
That was enough to calm the Second Son down. Azarias hung his head, returning lethargically to the meal in front of him.
“Heheheheh...” Masser was still chuckling by the time he stared at Rainbow Dash. “Something tells me that you are unlike most ponies from the Seared Lands.” His eyes narrowed. “With all this talk of 'tradition'... you aren't very normal for an Equestrian, are you?”
Seraphimus glanced silently at Rainbow Dash.
“I'm far from a normal Equestrian.” Rainbow Dash struck a devilish smirk. She raised her mug in the crook of her hoof and swirled it in a debonair way. A body slammed into the arena beneath her, and while her table rattled—Rainbow Dash remained cool and unfazed. “I'm as awesome as it gets.”
“Gnnngh...!” Discord facepalmed so hard he nearly pulled his ghostly face off. “Oy gevalt...”
“You were... chosen by the Searing One to be a wielder of the burning weapon, were you not?” Lukaas asked, peering across the table.
“I was chosen, yes.” Rainbow took a sip and placed the mug down. “Whether or not by Celestia specifically—well—that's a long and complicated argument.”
The entire table hissed and writhed at the mention of her name. Even Sypher's companion nearly missed in spitting the next morsel down his throat.
Rainbow glared at the entirety of the table. “Get used to it,” she grumbled.
Azarias glared daggers. “Surely you were indoctrinated into the Searing One's deceptive manifesto.”
“Surely I farted around, kicked at clouds, obsessed about the Wonderbolts, and lived my lazy days out as a carefree pegasus, thank you very much.” Rainbow took a small nibble of the sarosian slop, shuddered, and bravely continued in the same air of confidence: “Becoming a bearer of the Element of Loyalty just sorta happened.”
“Loyalty?” mouthed a confused Bloodwing.
Rainbow tilted her neck up. “This baby. Right here.” She pointed at the ruby lightning bolt pendant hanging off her neck. “Gotta be honest—I really dig the zappy look of it. I always have.” Her nostrils flared. “Even when there were times I wanted to be friggin' rid of the thing.”
“And why would you want to be rid of such a powerful piece of weaponry?” Masser asked, blinking thickly. “Would it not be a prestigious honor for your kind?”
I mean... I guess?” Rainbow's ears drooped slightly, but she maintained her composure. “The problem with every weapon is that they have a chance to backfire.” She blew out the side of her muzzle. “Well, this one sure did. And now... I'm the only one left.”
Azarias' scarred lips pursed. “You're the only one left of the weapon bearers?”
“He shoots! He scores!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed. Only a few sarosians chuckled this time, so she continued: “And being that my bag was always meant to be 'loyalty', well, you can pretty much guess how much of a blow that was to the system.”
“Awwwwwwwww... what an emotional gut-punch, Sparky,” Discord said. He shoved his talon deep into his own chest and pulled out a beating heart. “Sorta gets you right here, doesn't it?” He smirked... but suddenly blinked off into the distance with a contemplative gaze. “Wait a minute. Have I done this bit before?”
Before Rainbow could even pretend to react to him—
“Then...” Lukaas' good fang showed as he leaned forward against the table. “...if we slay you... we not only rid ourselves of the elders' ploy, but we'll possess the last bit of the Searing One's equalizer!”
Slowly, the table full of sarosians rose up in a bloodthirsty clamor.
Shrike bit her lip. Ariel and Wildcard stirred nervously. Seraphimus remained calm, waiting—
“Don't be fools,” Azarias spat coldly. “What good is simply one piece of the Deceiver's weapon? And against the T'chyrym'lynna and N'shydym, for that matter?” He shook his head. “No. The treasure within the Sarcophagus of Ages... that is the only weapon of importance that matters—on this side of the plane or the seared half.”
And just like that—all the violent energy from the table had been sucked dry. The nearby sarosians went silent, even as two new victors knocked out their opponents below.
The Heraldites calmed noticeably. Rainbow Dash remained perfectly chill, nibbling more on the bitterly nourishing slop on her plate.
“Well spoken, Second,” Lexxic eventually said. “And it is additionally worth noting that nopony in the Seared Lands—regal or not—would even think of allowing a piece of the equalizer to enter the Dark Vigil's domain...” He leaned forward. “Unless an irrecoverable disaster had been endured... and the weapon simply does not and cannot employ the same power it once wielded.”
Sypher—still being fed—finally darted his eyes towards the First, then to Rainbow Dash. He remained unmoving.
Lexxic smirked under his helm in the ensuing silence. “Loyalty is a most admirable quality. I daresay... it remains my favorite virtue that the Seared One's weapon harnessed. Others might say 'polluted'. I suspect we'd both be right.” As Bloodwing companions murmured in contemplation, the First Son folded his forelimbs thoughtfully beneath his chin, all the while “staring” across the table at Rainbow Dash. “And to imagine an avatar—not of Luna, but of Loyalty—was possessed with a strong urge to abandon everything and everypony back in Equestria to arrive here... well... it most definitely begs the question: just what service have you still committed to the Great Betrayer?” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Or does any service remain whatsoever...?”
Lukaas rubbed his chin in thought. Masser and Azarias exchanged blank expressions.
“Hmmmmm...” Discord shoved his heart back into his phantom chest and “zipped” it tightly shut. “Will you answer his dare? Or take the physical challenge?”
At the same time, Seraphimus was leaning in towards Rainbow Dash, whispering: “Be careful with the substance of truth that you choose to share with him—”
“My service,” Rainbow spoke loudly, “Is to this plane. Both sides of it. And to the accompanying remnants of the whole world beyond.”
The table full of sarosians merely murmured in mixed confusion.
“I was asked if I was 'chosen' to bear this pendant,” Rainbow Dash said, brushing her hoof against the golden edge of the necklace in question. “While I certainly believe that is true... it wasn't Celestia's choice. It wasn't Equestria's choice. And—as friggin' weird as it sounds to say—it wasn't even the Elements of Harmony's choice.” Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “No. This choice is even older than all of us. It was made long before there was ever a war over the Sarcophagus of Ages. Long before the likes of Luna and Celestia even happened upon this plane. And I'm sure a lot of you guys are just itching for me to explain just who or what it was that laid the invisible tracks down that got me chugging my way here to your laps. Well...” She sighed and shook her head. “Problem is, I don't know all the answers. But what I do know is that I too need to have access to the Harmonic Prism inside the sarcophagus. And it's not just for Celestia and it's not just for Equestria and it's not just for you... … ...but for a purpose far greater than anything the whole bunch of us can possibly friggin' imagine.” She gulped. “And from the places that I've seen... the visions I've endured... the mortals-and-immortals alike who have all caught wind of the ancient truths and meddled with my life, I know that this is the path I must continue taking.”
Lukaas hissed. “She's not here on a mission for the Great Deceiver!” A bitter smirk. “She's here because she's insane!”
“Hahahahah!” Hyggs snickered from the next table as several other sarosians nearby chuckled and snorted. “The Searing One's blinding madness got into her brain!”
“Hey! Works for me!” Masser slapped the table with his hoof. “Ha HAH! A little bit of crazy does us all a lot of good on the battlefield!”
“Don't be dense, Third,” Azarias said hoarsely. “If she's that far removed, then it's all the more pathetic that the elders and their Dream Council lap dogs have gone so far as to humor her.”
Rainbow stared at the Second emphatically. “I frankly don't care what the elders want out of all this. Or the Dream Council for that matter.”
“Did you not just say that you desire the Harmonic Prism?” Azarias spat.
“Yes—but I also want to work with you!” Rainbow gave the whole table a pleading look. “All of you! The Bloodwings and the High Polished! Even the castes above and below and in between!” She sighed, staring into the center of the table. “I want to find a way that all of us can benefit from what's inside the Sarcophagus—”
“And then what?” Lukaas questioned. “You'd hoof the Artifact over to the Great Deceiver?! She'd eradicate the Vigil in a single blink!”
“No she wouldn't—”
“She vanquished her sister—her own flesh and blood—over the fate of the sky,” Azarias added venomously. “Why would she not render us casual annihilation?”
Seraphimus raised a hoof to Rainbow's shoulder. “This will get you nowhere—”
Rainbow stood up, gnashing her teeth. “Celestia did what she did because she had no other choice! I was there when Nightmare Moon made her return, bright eyes!” She slashed the air with an angry fetlock. “I was there for when she bathed Equestria in your precious 'everlasting night.' Here's a refresher course: nopony in Equestria wants it. They didn't want it a thousand years ago... and they sure as heck don't want it now.” She sat back down, calming slightly. “Now... I stand by what I said. I want to work with you guys. And... I-I understand that doing so involves compromise. I'm coming to grips with what I've gotta sacrifice to play ball with you batsos. Maybe it's time your whole culture embraced the fact that everlasting night simply isn't going to cut it. After all, if the real flesh-and-blood Princess Luna back on the Light Side is totally cool with both day and night, then just what hoof do you grudge-holding punks have to stand on?”
Click! Sypher's throat box was snapped back in place by his companion. No sooner was it fitted that he let loose a long and ragged hissing sound. Wildcard glanced over, goggles rattling. Both he and Rainbow Dash caught onto the same realization: it was the closest the Fourth Son could emulate laughter.
Sure enough, a wave of levity and amusement had washed over the entire table. But instead of bellowing with cacophonous laughter, every Bloodwing merely shared the same identical, knowing smirk.
This confused the fuzz out of Rainbow Dash. That is... until—
“Your loyalty indeed precedes you, avatar,” Lexxic calmly said. His smile was the most confident out of everypony's. “It is a straight-edged sword, narrow and faced forward, like a good soldier's.” He slowly shook his head. “But I suspect you make a poor strategist.” His helm tilted towards Seraphimus. “No doubt much to the Commander's frustration.”
Seraphimus merely fumed.
“There's a reason I've allowed you into my company,” Lexxic continued. “And it's not strictly due to the orders of Gibbous Sanctum and above.” He slowly shook his head. “No... the truth is, avatar, that you are blind. But—much like me—you have the innate capability to see far beyond.” He raised a mug to his lips. “And... you possess an inner light with which to do so. I do whole-heartedly believe that this entire situation is salvageable... just like you do.” He took a sip, swallowed, and exhaled. “And that's why I cannot refuse your presence... despite how evidently dangerous it may be.”
“I...” Rainbow Dash squinted awkwardly at him and the rest of the table. “I-I'm afraid I'm not catching on. Lexxic... just what—”
“Do you actually believe that my brothers and I give a damn about restoring the Mother of Nightmares' Everlasting Night?” Lexxic breathed.
Shriike blinked hard. Evidently startled. She threw Rainbow and the Herald pathetic, confused looks.
Rainbow stared contemplatively at Lexxic. “...you and your forefathers have fought and suffered and died over the Sarcophagus for untold generations.” She cocked her head aside. “If you don't want the Harmonic Prism for accomplishing Nightmare Moon's goals... then just what do you need it for?”
“You're not the only pony on this plane who aspires to something greater, Rainbow Dash,” Lexxic said. “But where you appear to hoof the line of based insanity...” He chuckled briefly, then shrugged. “...our aim for ascendance is supported by truth.” He then exhaled in a melancholic tone. “Truths long abandoned by those who have also abandoned us... all while enslaving us...”
Azarias and Masser stared off with noticeably sober expressions.
Rainbow glanced at them, then back at Lexxic. “What I aspire for is... not quite so crazy once someone gets the chance to hear its explanation in full.”
Lexxic nodded. “As you stand to be illuminated, dear avatar, so do we. Which is precisely why we must take this rather slowly—as it can be afforded.” He leaned back in a casual breath. “And be sure to observe: regarding those who would attempt to rush you into one particular decision or another. They are the sentinels of old ways... and they are not enlightened to the higher truths as you and I.”
Rainbow blinked.
Lexxic smiled. “We both live in a time where being 'crazy' is a benefit, yes?”
THUD! One last body was pounded into the floor of the arena with a prolonged groan. The entire coliseum erupted in wild applause.
Rainbow glanced over to see that only one Bloodwing remained, standing tall—albeit battered and bruised—above a sea of unconscious meat.
“And we have a winner!!” a unicorn announcer hollered. He trotted briskly into the center and held up one hoof of the crookedly-smiling combatant. “All cheer for Hry'skym!This cycle's Bloodwing Beholder of Honor!!”
“Wooooooooo!”
“Yeahhhhhhhhhhh!!”
“Victory!!!!!!!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee!!!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee!!!”
“Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee!!!”
“HRY'SKYM!”
“HRY'SKYM!”
“HRY'SKYM!”
The victor smiled tearfully up at the rows upon rows of spectators above him. This was quite clearly the best moment he'd experience in his short and violent life, and he stood tall with swelling pride.
“Ah...” Lukaas calmly sipped from his mug. “A soldier from First Root.” He gave Lexxic a pale smirk. “That should bode well for the night's proceedings.”
“Indeed. I'll be quite pleased to congratulate him.” Lexxic nodded. Just then, a soldier galloped over to the table and whispered into the First Son's ear. Lexxic listened, listened some more, then took a sharp breath. “Speaking of which.” He stood up, facing the table as a whole. “Our meal has finished, brothers.”
Spek'kl—ever quick to impress—spat out his last bitten morsel and stood up alongside the Commander.
Azarias' threadbare ears arched in concern. “What is it, brother?”
“The Cowardly Twelve.” Lexxic calmly smiled. “They are here.”
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I mean, I always wondered where all the femcolts are.
Confrontation time!
Hn... I am pretty sure Lexxic knows about the machine world as well...
Oh dear, first comes dinner, the plan, the wind up,
Next comes the excution, the pitch?
Dash going to have to Battle Royale, Lexxics crew? If she wishes to try and, save the 12?
Sypher as the tall dark brooding powered mask assist one.
RIP Dave Prowse.
He crossed his last to the other side.
I wonder what things Lexxic has seen...
The atmosphere is so palpably tense you can see it with naked eyes and cut it with a butter knife.
... Also, the suspense before the showdown is killing me. Good show.
Looks like Lexxic is planning a rebellion, which makes sense. One can only be abused for so long before one hits back at their abuser.
None of them believe Rainbow when she says that she has been tasked to save the entire world, and many other worlds to. Can't say I blame them, but at some point she may just prove her words are more than just air, for now though they keep the Bloodwings off her an her allies, and that is good enough.
Here is a saying, amateurs talk strategy, professionals talk logistics. And from the sounds of things, Lexxic has made little concern for logistics. Hope it doesn't come back to bite his army.
It'd be interesting to just see Dash and lexxic sit down one on one and have a chat, get to understand each others goals.
Through the path long forgotten, into the darkness long begotten. Ofolrodi.
10556653
I bet he sees a lot of crazy stuff with that chaos bucket on his head.
This is going to be quite insane I think. The build up to this is very good I can't wait to see how things go down at this point. I have to admit that it is rather surprising that it took RD this long to figure out that Lexxic didn't really care about the original plan.
10556608
Oh dang, that would be something.
A funny thing about Lexxic's crusade into enemy lines is that since there is a simultaneous disintegration of support structures and social order in the Sarosian hierarchy, he very well may be causing more damage to the Sarosian mission than if he were to continue with the endless stalemate. A fine example of burning the candle on both ends.
"Better an end with horror than a horror without end" -George Orwell, in his review of Mein Kampf.
How often do each one of you check for an update?
For me, every 4 hours or so.
During the whole chapter, I was just waiting to see if Rainbow Dash would go down there and fight a couple of sarosians.
There will be a point where she will need them to at least respect her, and if that's the only language they know... it's not one she is not used to.
The Cowardly Twelve huh. wonder what that's all about.
Wow, story picked up her pace and hooking deeper with each chapter ^^.
10557877
There is an instant e-mail notification of Rainbow awesomeness if you click on that green bookmark icon on top of the story header. Love it )
pbs.twimg.com/media/EoFfqbCXcAIXUc5?format=jpg&name=small
Ooo juicy chapter
10556547
The Cowardly Twelve?
I hope they aren't eating dinner not Dimmer.
It's always a nice chapter when RD throws down the world saving gauntlet and lets new characters know about her crazy quest! Great chapter! On to the next one.
Tenser than tense and a little bit of a revelation: if not vengeance or everlasting night, what does Lexxic want to use the Harmonic Prism for?
Rainbow frowned at her.
I know this is a nitpick, but, last I checked, Azarias is a guy
Lexxic continues to be an interesting character, and if it wasn't obvious yet, he and his Bloodwing brothers are far, far, FAR smarter and more clever than any of the mares living in that tree.
Oof, I was right. The huge divide between Lexxic's faction and the Matriarch just got more apparent.
So, basically...
...Holy s***.
10556608
I would not be surprised at this point. I stand by the idea of Lexxic actually seeing the main six and Discord spectres.
So the very last vestiges of the Upper Root's power is probably old and senile, ready to kick the bucket any day now. When that day comes, Gibbous Sanctum won't have a leg to stand on. They'll be vulnerable. Weak. Easy to topple over.
Perhaps Lexxic can fabricate a working economy from the wreckage and debris, but will it work long-term is the question? He obviously won't get the chance- narrative demands he be defeated before he causes irreparable damage- but it is an interesting thought to entertain. He's not just some lunatic with grand ideals, he clearly has secret knowledge and intuition.
When Lexxic sounds like the most reasonable person of sarosian society, that is a sign of ominous portent... Could he become a friend? Or another foe?