What's in a name?
This was how stories began; a stranger came to town. Only, the barony wasn’t much of a town. It wasn’t even a village. Was it a hamlet? Sundance had little knowledge of these distinctions. And what a stranger approached, to be certain. Even at the current distance, the approaching figure wasn’t quite pony-shaped. He—it was certainly a he—was brown. More accurately, he was brown with brown-on-brown stripes, like a zebra, but this wasn’t a zebra. Because he was brown, for one thing, and had long, rabbit-like ears.
He cut a striking figure.
Sundance was torn between waiting, and going over to say hello. The approaching stranger was loaded down with barrel packs, two massive barrel-sized packs, one slung from each side. A gourd hung from a strap bounced from the odd creature’s neck. Carrying such a load would make the considerable distance seem even longer. Yet, there was quite a spring in the stranger’s step, and his brisk gait never slowed, never faltered.
In the end, Sundance’s inquisitive nature could not be contained.
“Hello.”
A simple hello wasn’t much, but it was an adequate greeting. Honest. Sincere. Lacking in pretension. Sundance studied his guest while thinking about first impressions. The stranger looked about, his eyes going from place to place, never lingering for too long. This quickness suggested intelligence, or maybe a short attention span, one never could tell.
“Good day,” the stranger replied.
“I’m Sundance.”
“I suspected as much.” With a nod, the stranger introduce himself. “I am Gothcruz, recently a student of Twilight Sparkle, and trained as a lorekeeper. Having just recently graduated, I’ve come in search of stories. History. Let us get some quick answers out of the way. You are no doubt curious as to what I am, as most ponies are. I am a zurro. My father is a burro and my mother was a zebra. As for myself, at a young age, I felt the call to become a griot, a type of storyteller from my mother’s culture.”
“That seems… thorough.” Sundance studied the stranger for a time, unsure of what else to say, and wondered if Gothcruz was perhaps acting as Twilight Sparkle’s agent for some as of yet unknown reason.
“Every conversation seems to start with a barrage of questions.” Gothcruz smiled and shifted his stance, perhaps to be more comfortable under his load. “I try to be forthcoming, so I’ll be accepted. It’s harder than you think, acceptance.” For a moment, it seemed as though he might say more, but instead he turned away and remained silent.
“I suppose you want to stay,” said Sundance. “Can you work?”
“Work?” Gothcruz blinked, surprised. “While I am of a scholarly bent, I am strong. I’ve hiked here from Ponyville. Stopped by and visited Zecora on the way over and she gave me a few stories. That took a while. What sort of work needs to be done?”
For Sundance, that was good enough. “You’re welcome to stay. Follow me, I’ll show you around.”
“Strange name… Gothcruz.”
“A pony that dances upon the sun is most peculiar, is it not?”
Unable to stop himself, Sundance laughed. It felt good to do so, and he felt his spirits lifted. Turning to face the zurro who walked beside him, he said, “I’m named after a type of sunflower.”
“And I am named after some sort of crusader icon. My father believed it would make me brave. Of course, to hear my mother tell the story, we had just arrived in Equestria, in Fillydelphia, and when the immigration officer asked for my name, Gothcruz was the first thing my father thought of and blurted out. I arrived a bit early, you see. Was born on the ship. So it could be said that my sovereignty is that of the sea, but I would bitterly disagree with you.”
Then, after some time spent chuckling, he added, “I do not like the sea. It does not agree with me.”
“Funny thing about stories… they change with whoever is doing the telling.”
“Oh, quite.”
Sundance took a deep breath and said to his companion who walked beside him, “A colourful bunch lives here. They might tell you a story about an owlbear. I’ve already heard a few versions, and the tale has reached legendary proportions. The long and the short of it is, I was so scared that I was about to piss myself, and I was largely useless. Almost got myself killed. I am not the hero, no matter what anypony tells you. I was rescued by the hero.”
“But… is it not advantageous for a baron, a ruler, to be steeped in legend? Does this not give credence to your rule? Your shadow advances before you as your herald, a shadow as long as the tales told about you. Tell me, does this not inspire others to follow in your stead?”
Sundance paused, and gave Gothcruz an inquisitive look. Together, they stood there, eyeing one another, and Sundance tried to understand whatever deeper meaning could be found in what had just been said. The words troubled him for reasons he could not fathom, and as much as he wanted to sort out what he felt, he found that he could not.
“As a storyteller, doesn’t truth matter?” asked Sundance.
“I came here to collect stories, not truth. Legends, myths, they have power, Baron Sundance. Most peculiar magic. Some call it enshrinement. Odd things happen when enough creatures begin to believe in a figure of legend. When a hero is believed in, the odds are ever in his favour. By understanding what is said, what is told, one begins to understand this peculiar magic.”
Confused, Sundance could only stare.
“It would be wondrous to study this as it happened,” Gothcruz remarked with a charming smile on full display. “Perhaps someday. Twilight Sparkle, my mentor, my teacher, she assures me that anything is possible.”
Frustrated, Sundance knew he needed to do something so he wouldn’t look like a total idiot, and action was needed now. “Tell me about your teacher. I’m probably going to meet with her at some point. What should I know?”
“She is prankish,” Gothcruz blurted out without hesitation. “More so than Celestia, her mentor. She doesn’t want you feeling safe, secure, and complacent. A trickster, she will do anything to throw you off your guard. Of course, as one touched by the magic of my Aunt Nancy, I am also a trickster, and as such, I learned a great many things from my mentor.”
Sundance tucked this information into mental notes to remember.
“Of course, I have collected stories about Twilight, and she wasn’t always this way. I am told she was once a bit uptight. Insecure about herself. A little too worried about what others might think.” Gothcruz paused, thoughtful, and he spent a moment looking around him. “From what I’ve been able to gather, one day, she went to Las Pegasus for some kind of bake-off. She returned quite a different pony. One that ceased to care so much what others thought. Her closest associates tell me that she became a better teacher—and a better ruler.”
Almost—but not quite wincing, Sundance thought of his mother’s warnings about Las Pegasus. A city of hooligans and thugs. The city was a den of debauchery and vice, a place of wickedness, a wretched hive of coffee drinkers that didn’t have their heads screwed on straight. And she had warned him that if he ever did so much as fly over the city, there would be consequences.
Dire consequences.
Ears pricking, Sundance got down to the business at hoof. “There’s our waterfall. I’m not sure what’s about to happen to it, so enjoy it while it lasts.” He chuckled, but he was worried about the way the eggheads were eyeballing his waterfall. “There’s our crystal tree. If you’re lucky, you’ll see it grow. I’m working hard toward that end. To the right of the waterfall, in that cave, there’s our kitchen and our baths… but I don’t think that cave will be either for much longer. In fact, I think they’re laying out the foundation for our new kitchen right now. At least, that’s what I think they’re doing over there by the dining hall. Oh, and that’s the dining hall. It might also be the place you end up sleeping for a while.”
Though Sundance couldn’t tell for sure, Gothcruz seemed impressed.
But that could be baseless optimism on Sundance’s part, and he knew it.
“Behind those big doors is the cave we use as a barn, and also an emergency shelter. It goes down quite deep… I think you’d be surprised. I know I was. Way far back is also where we store food. There’s a second set of fortress doors down there, and it makes sense to keep food stockpiled in the emergency shelter.”
“Excuse me, I sense a story waiting to be told.” As he spoke, Gothcruz offered up a polite nod, and then took off at a brisk trot while saying, “You there! What is your name?”
“Eggplant—”
“Fascinating. Eggplant, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? You seem to be an elder. Can you tell me more about this place?”
The old pony seemed quite baffled and unsure of how to respond.
“All you have to do is talk, and I’ll be glad to listen.”
“Really?” Eggplant cast a grizzled, dubious stare in the zurro’s direction, blinked a few times, and then after a long stretch of hesitation, nodded. “I have some stories about this place.”
“Lovely.” Gothcruz smiled so wide that his molars were visible. “Excuse me, Baron Sundance, but my work begins.”
As the pair went off together, side by side, Sundance sighed. Such was the way of things. After some thought, he was pleased, and why wouldn’t he be? Gothcruz was at least tolerated, if not accepted. Eggplant had somepony to yak at, and there was a good chance that the other older residents might join in, for surely, they had stories to tell. What had started with Corduroy was already showing promise, just the sort of promise that he’d hoped to see.
He stood there, thinking of the events of the morning; his meeting with Skyla, helping Corbie, which in turn was a big help for Hollyhock and her family. One might almost think that he knew what he was doing. A grinning, bespectacled colt went whooshing by, calling out the name of a fetching, glasses-wearing filly that was overcome with the giggles as he approached. Sundance watched, and a part of him felt sad, while also happy.
His own experience in school had been miserable. Maybe school was a mistake. He couldn’t dismiss the notion entirely. There was something to be said about the Corps of Gringineers. These young ponies, these teenagers, seemed to share a united sense of purpose. A common cause. Their shared ideology and desire to do better, to be better, brought them together. From what little that he’d been able to observe, they didn’t act like the foals Sundance remembered from school.
Perhaps if he’d enlisted at fourteen, less of his life would have been wasted.
But would he be standing here? Enlisting would have meant that his genealogy project would have never been finished. That was the work, the great work, that made him, shaped him as a pony. It gave him an eye for detail, a resistance to tedium, and the ability to work long hours on a project without tiring.
This barony was the end result of his hard work. If he’d enlisted at fourteen, then he might be the one working for another baron, or baroness. Not a bad gig, but there was a huge difference between working for the baron and being the baron. His life, and moreover, his job, sucked. But he wouldn’t give this up, no. There’d be no walking away from this, not now, not ever. His blood had flowed into the soil and far too much had been given.
Suddenly maudlin, he missed his mother, his father, and his grandmother. His father wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but there was something to be said about spending quiet time together. Quality time. As for his grandmother, she’d talk an ear off if left to her own devices. She was best described as bubbly, and he missed her effervescent nature.
“I’ve done well for myself.”
Sad, though smiling, he pawed the ground with his hoof.
“There can be no doubt that I’ve done all the right things. It’s brought me here, to this place. And this place… this place… was just the thing that I didn’t know I needed.”
After taking a deep breath, he felt better, a little less sad.
“Hey! Yer Grace! Corduroy needs you right away!”
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All these old peasants are going to be really happy to have someone whose main purpose here is to be talked at.
Careful Sundance dont be to prideful even Celestia makes mistakes
Gothcruz associated with crusader symbol makes me think teutonic cross, or the croix pattée.
It pleases by little bardic heart to know that the stories will not be forgotten.
9560770
At this point it's not being too prideful. He hasn't really had any pride at all. He should be proud of his accomplishments, relative to said accomplishments. And he is an accomplished pony who has done good things. All the while denying that fact.
9560770
Pride is best when it spurs you to strive to outdo yourself.
9559930
Oh I'm well aware Kudz, my areas of study are art, architecture, permaculture ^-^.
9561454
I study earthships and unusual building materials.
Might be because I lived in a compressed bale and adobe longhouse when I was a kid. Seemed normal to me, but for folks off res, living in a 'mud hut' was disgusting.
Is this a pun or should it be “waterfall”
9561466
yeah people get so prissy about Cob despite the fact there are cob houses in this country that predate the doomsday/domesday book and are still standing. I like cob and bale, it makes sturdy b, easily repaired, and solidly insulated places. Studying with the eventual goal of a qualification (MA) in sustainable architecture and a good knowledge of self sufficiency.
9561466
Out of curiosity, can I ask what tribe you're part of? I have family who are Mescalero Apache.
9593589
Lakota and Yakima.