Chapter II: Showdown at Tambelon
He stood there, in the center of a large ring of salt, observing his handiwork. As the midday sun beat down upon his black-and-white stripes, he watched as the last drop of blood poured out of the vial’s neck. The blood landed in the center of the red pentagram, spattering out into smaller droplets which were absorbed by the hot sand.
Putting the bottle back into his pack, he proceeded to bend forwards, putting his forehooves together. “Damu yangu kwa ajili yenu,” he said. Standing back up, placed a hoof on his temple. After taking a deep breath, he slowly slid it down his face and to the ground.. “My name,” he continued shakily, “is Tuluki.”
Setting the first forehoof back to the ground, he stared down into the sand. He felt the hot wind ruffling his short mane, the hotness brushing against his necklace of golden fetishes. Making note that the wind-blown sand was starting to pick up pace, he shut his eyes, focusing his thoughts towards locating and classifying any sort of local electromagnetism.
“I have performed the ceremony – why do you not work‽” Tuluki growled.
That’s when he felt it – the sort of distant vibration only supposed to be felt by animals, the sense of an impending disaster, the feeling of the ground trembling. Then the air whipped by with a sudden chill, and he felt the electromagnetic field of the whole desert going crazy.
A little smirk formed at his lips, as he felt thick pillars penetrate up, and through, the sand. It scattered to make way for the ascending obelisks. Taking in the scent of the air, he noticed the dryness, too, was gone, replaced by a palpable moisture, almost as if a thick miasma were around him – no, exactly as if a miasma were surrounding him. Yet as he stood there, protected within his circle of salt and pentagram of blood, he felt something else, felt the heat and electromagnetism of a body some ten meters before him.
From where he stood, he could gauge, via energy running through this other body, that it was likely tall and well-built, the body’s muscular electricity placing the bulk at thrice that of his own. Tuluki could feel the amount of air being moved with each breath, so he surmised that the presence possessed large, powerful lungs to complement its body.
Tuluki smirked even harder as he sensed the presence walk towards him. Yet he also felt the cold air shifting over his body, as if the coolness were the tentacles of some voracious invertebrate, curling and shifting and rubbing his body in all the wrong ways. To him it felt as if there was a third entity in wherever he was: the location itself.
As he felt the hot, rancid breath of the being before him, he ceased his smile, focusing every last bit of concentration onto the being before him.
“Servant of the Caster Class?”
The body snorted.
“Ah, so you are a Servant of the Berserker Class?”
The other being grunted.
“Good. Now, who were you in life?” He held out a hoof, touching the face, then rubbing the other’s head and ram-like horns. Then, setting his hoof down, he went back to feeling with electromagnetism. Yet this time he felt outwards, focusing on his surroundings and not just one thing.
Surrounding him on all sides was a powerful weave of crisscrossing and interconnecting branches of a certain type of electromagnetism, the fallout of magic – and it was fresh, so fresh that it told him that the spell was still active. As he took a deep breath, he sent out his electromagnetic feelers into the source of the fallout, and was astounded that he hadn’t felt it sooner.
All around him was the magical outline of an urban megalopolis, the structure of it feeling beyond medieval. The city, as he now perceived it, was channeling and pulsating and vibrating with the tailwhips of energy, so much so that he was amazed that it didn’t momentarily render his abilities numb.
Pulling his focus back to his most immediate surroundings, he felt at the body before him. “I have heard of this place... This is the ancient acropolis of Tambelon, the city of lights and dreams, the city of empires... You are he, the Tyrant of Tambelon, the Great Betrayer.”
The Great Betrayer snorted.
“You are named Grogar, and I am called Tuluki.”
A pause.
“Thus I am your Master, Grogar, and you are my Servant.”
And at that exact moment, he felt another presence, one standing atop the parapets of a tall tower nearby. Tuluki did nothing for nary a minute, except wait. His muscles tightened, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. But when nothing happened, he found his annoyance overwhelming his sense of caution, and so he forced his mouth to form words in the local language.
“I know you are here.”
The body jumped ahead, and then moved an inordinate distance forwards. It landed on a building a story up from Tuluki, who guessed that the newcomer was, logically, a pegasus.
The pegasus whistled, then said in a decidedly male voice, “Well, well, it appears that the bitch was wrong – there is something new this way.” He licked his lips. “Lovin’ the youthful body back, me. Feel like I can take on the whole world by myself... again!”
Tuluki snapped his head in the direction of the stranger, and Berserker did too.
“Ah, you’re a zebra, then, huh? Pretty damn cool, mate. I never met a zebra before... always figured they’d be more talkative...” He whistled. “Oi, buddy – wanna open your eyes? It’s rude to sleep in class.”
The zebra opened his milky-blue eyes.
“Oh, how snappy! You’re an invalid, ain'tcha?” He snickered. “Father, I sure do love this damn language – so simple and direct, no need to remember which word is feminine or masculine or neutered or how to add declension to my stuff!” He gestured a hoof to Berserker. “And who’s the big blue goat?”
Grogar snorted.
“Whoa-ho! Thū mōste bēon Berserker, aron nōwiht thū?” He put a hoof to his mouth. “Whoops, let that one slide. Promise it won’t happen again, mate!”
Tuluki continued to stare, and his Servant did little but the same.
“Y’all ain’t a talkative lot, are you?”
A pause.
“Eh, that is, as they say, cool.” He glanced around. “So, I couldn’t help but notice as I was flying about – avoiding a certain bitch, actually – that this big city just sorta sprang up out of nowhere.” He put a hoof to his breast – a breast which Tuluki recognized as having some sort of armor. “Though I will say this: this city looks really old, I should know. But this looks like something you’d see in a storybook, not in real life. So what gives, eh, zebra and sheep thing?”
Berserker hissed, digging a hoof into the concrete.
The pegasus snickered. “Ah, so I get it, all of it makes such perfect sense now! You’re a fresh Master and Servant, ain’tcha?”
Tuluki took a deep breath, sending out his electromagnetic feelers to a default level. His feelers now encompassed a wide berth but left little room for precise calculations, only keen estimations.
He bowed. “Well then, my name is Archer, and I too am a Servant.” Archer pulled out something, which Tuluki assumed to be a bow. Within the span of an instant, far faster than any archer should logically be, Archer set loose a slip of projectiles, their numbers too great for Tuluki to count with his current configuration.
There was but time for a single series of estimates in Tuluki’s mind, and then only the skin of his teeth let him act upon them.
As the dust settled, Archer whistled. “Son of a... you’re alive, you bastard.”
Tuluki brushed a drop of his blood from his shoulder, the result of a lone flaw in his math.
“I must admit,” Archer continued, changing his accent and speaking with almost a kind of conceited reverence, “I am most impressed by this display here. Yet I find myself wondering why an agile zebra like you would get the hulking behemoth that is Berserker?”
Berserker snorted.
Archer sighed. “You know, silence is generally considered extremely rude.” Putting a hoof to his breast, he said, “Unless I am offending you, O Master and Berserker. Because it ain’t my fault you need to break the stick out of your ass, pardon my French.” Shaking his head, Archer brought his bow back to bear.
Focusing all of his abilities onto Archer, Tuluki detected the indications of a massive magical buildup. Then his senses honed in thousands – no, countless – arrows, each one forming out of the thin air, every one aiming for him and ignoring Berserker entirely.
Tuluki acted with every ounce of speed and determination in his body.
Kneeling and doing his best to steady his breath, the zebra rose his head to Archer, sensing the electricity in the Servant’s face and noting how he was gawking. The attack was over, he was alive, and all was right with the world.
“No... no way,” Archer said. “There’s no damn way a zebra bastard like you – a mortal like you – survived that... What in His name are you?”
“My name,” he growled, “is Tuluki.” The zebra pointed at Archer. “Berserker, do with him as you will.”
Without any hint of warning, the ground beneath Berserker exploded into a slurry of dust, dirt, and shattering stone. The titanic mass of muscles, meanwhile, catapulted into the air, making a beeline for Archer.
Flaring his wings, Archer darted sideways through the air, and Berserker based within just inches of him. “Holiest of Holies!” he shouted as Berserker’s body collided with some sort of stone tower, turning the stones into a fine, chalky mist.
With nary a second wasted for his effort, Grogar tore through the air, away from the tower and back at Archer.
“It’s time to kick ass, and spank other, more shapely, and feminine, asses – and I’m all out dames!” Archer boasted as he readied his bow. In an instant the air was set afire as a fury of arrows were conjured out of the very wind itself, all then sent hurtling towards Berserker.
With the force of some titanic gale, the countless arrows let themselves loose, all targeting Berserker. With some of intrigue, Tuluki noted that each of the thousand arrows individually self-course-corrected towards Grogar, as if they all had little minds of their own.
In the span of an instant, they crossed the gap between Archer and Berserker, shredding into the latter’s body, and some even pierced all the way through through Grogar’s bulk. Yet for all the kinetic force, Berserker never once slowed down, never once flinched, never once wept blood, and he kept on hurdling towards Archer.
Gasping, the pegasus threw himself to the side, one of his hooves passing within mere centimeters of Berserker. “Sacred blood!” Acher barked, pulling backwards from Grogar, who now stood perfectly still on the roof that he himself had just been hovering above. The way Berserker had stopped, it was as if Neighton’s laws had forgotten about him. As he stared at Berserker’s bloodless yet gaping wound, they began to invaginate – folding in upon themselves and fusing, pushing out the arrows.
Then Berserker’s horns began to flow with energy, which Tuluki figured as a likely candidate for producing light. With a roar of thunder the horns’ energy sapped itself, and a bolt of heavenly fury tore into the tower immediately behind Archer. When struck, the tower was sundered in half.
“Whoa! By His name!” Archer shouted, dodging to the side and avoiding getting splattered by a falling brick. “But if you were aiming for me, you most certainly missed!” He put a hoof to his chin. “So, Berserker’s got some kind of a healing factor? ‘Kay, then I gotta approach and defeat you like how I take out the ladies at a fancy gathering – with a single move.”
Flapping his wings, Archer tore into a seemingly random direction, then shifted his form. Soon, he was flying in a great loop around the area Tuliki was in, the Servant’s circles getting thinner and thinner with every move
Tuluki gasped as his electromagnetic feels utterly lost Archer, and a million questions began to ring out in his head: “Where is he?”, “Where’s he going?”, “How’d he do that?”, and “How do I catch him?”
Jerking his head to the side, Tuluki felt that Berserker had some sort of circle surrounding him – and he sensed they were saggital in shape, exactly like giant arrows. Grogar thrashed his head forwards, racking himself against the arrows, yet the cage refused to give way.
Still having no idea where Archer was, Tuluki only stood there, sending out his feelings in erratic directions until–there! Tuluki sensed Archer, flying just above the ruined tower. But then Tuluki realized something: it wasn’t that Archer had slowed down, per se, it was that Archer had generated such a powerful field and energy that he was literally becoming like a magical beacon.
“The Bow of the Lord Commander! Hurricane!” Archer bellowed, and the mass of energy congealed into a single mass, about the precise size of an arrow. And Tuluki’s heart sank into his stomach as Archer vanished, his energy signal being replaced by the ultra-dense arrow-like shape, which itself was ripping the air in half as it charged at the captive Grogar.
Before the arrow could even hit, the arrows which had caged Berserker began to undulate with energy, and then they became themselves swirling tornado-like masses. Each lick of the tornadoes’ wind hacked and slashed the thrashing Berserker, and all his attacks were in utter vain.
Then the main arrow hit, and Tuluki was forced to yelp and cover his eyes as the force of the energy physically burnt his very soul.
Within seconds, it was all over, and there was a huge splash of something hot and thick on the stones of the street, with one drop landing on Tuluki’s cheek.
That’s when Archer landed before Tuluki. “So, I guess that means you lose. But I suppose that’s just the chorus of things – who’d’ve thought an invalid who acts as dumb as he is visionless would’ve had a Berserker Class Servant?... Now, where’ll it be, sir?” He tapped Tuluki’s head. “Bang, bang – headshot, methinks.”
“So, you are the famous Lord Commander Hurricane, first and last supreme leader of the Pegasi Commonwealth, no?” Tuluki said, and Archer blinked.
“Yeah – that’s exactly right.” He bowed his head. “Lord Commander Amadeus Hurricane, or Hlāford Comandere Amadeus Hurakán, in the original tongue.”
“Hurakán? That is not a pegasus name, is it,” Tuliki stated, not asking because he already knew the answer.
Sheathing his bow, he pulled out a knife he had strapped to his shoulder. “Well, it ain’t a proper pegasus name – it’s a Helot’s name.” He smiled. “And I slaved night and day for my country.” The Lord Commander put his knife to Tuluki’s jugular. “Hīe sægde lifde sweorde – they said he lived by the sword... about me, that is. But, truly, I lived through fire and sword and bow. Though I need to ask you something: how did a mortal like you dodge my arrows?”
Tuluki merely smiled.
“Zebra of few words, eh? I can respect that. I can respect that, indeed.” He chuckled. “Don’t mean you’re gonna live to see tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
“Lookout below,” the zebra whispered.
“Excuse me?”
The street beneath Archer’s hooves exploded as a bolt of white hotness struck the plaza, sending him tumbling backwards. “By His son!” he shrieked as a second bolt made for him, and it missed by a distance that singed some of his fur. Archer, darting to the side, looked up at the source of the lightning.
Standing upon a nearby balcony was Berserker, his eyes locked to Archer’s. The Servant had not a scratch on him, no indication that anything bad had happened to him. He just stood there, as if he had found the perfect spot for relaxing.
“Anointed blood,” Archer cursed under his breath. “How can you still be in one piece, let alone be alive‽”
As Tuluki watched Archer’s yelling, he found himself smirking.
“Quit smiling, you stripey bastard!” the Servant snapped.
“You’re an idiot for not killing me outright,” Tuluki said as if offering Archer an ancient zebra proverb.
“If I die, the Servants becomes nigh useless. If the Servant dies, the Master is fine.”
Archer took a deep breath as spread his wings, then he gave a sadistic chuckle. “Then fall, Tambelon.” With the speed of an expert, he dove skywards. Twisting sideways for but a moment, he skirted around a bolt of Berserker's lightning. Now flying high in the air, he bellowed, “Thy will be done! On Earth as it is in Heaven!”
As with before, Tuluki sensed an absurd amount of magical radiation from Archer. But then the Servant’s mouth and eyes began to light up the zebra’s senses, emitting a type of energy that should logically produce white light.
“No! No! Master, why‽” Archer shouted. And then Archer was gone.
In the silence did Tuluki stand in, basking it in, inhaling it, enjoying it for all of a minute. When Berserker appeared next to him, Tuluki turned his head to the behemoth. “So then, Great Betrayer, it would appear to me that this great city, this Tambelon, is your Noble Phantasm.”
Grogar grunted.
“And I do not think that Archer knows who you are, not yet. He said ‘Tambelon’, I’m sure, as some sort of allusion. If not, he would have done something differently, I’m also sure.”
***
“Listen, babe,” he said, leaning back, a bottle of alcohol in his hoof, “I’m all for service and the like, but not so much for you.”
“Do not call the Great and Powerful Trixie ‘babe’, Archer!” she hissed.
“Yeah, see – I get how service and that sort of thing’s probably your kink, but that just ain’t me.” He took a sip of his drink. “Aaand modern alcohol tastes like piss and water.”
The mare blinked. “Trixie does not have any sort of ‘kink’!”
“And by the Nth level of Hell, what is with your irrational phobia of first person pronouns? They’re a required part of every language ever, O Master o’ mine.” He glanced around the dimly-lit tavern, then to the little booth in the corner that he and the mare occupied.
“Will you shut up and obey Trixie‽”
“Yeah, see – the only way to get around with not using a first person pronoun is to use the royal we. And, truth be told, nopony really used the royal ‘we’ by the time of the Exodus. I mean, I should know – I killed the last royal family that used the royal we, by my own two forehooves, mind you... mares and foals alike.” He took another glug of his alcohol. “It may suck, but at least it’s alcohol... or beer... or whatever you call it.”
“You’re supposed to be Trixie’s Servant, but why do you refuse her‽”
He gestured to Trixie, saying, “Lower your voice, Mistress, or else you’ll get unwanted attention.”
The mare groaned, her head falling to the wooden table. “Hestrir did not tell Trixie that a Servant would be so bothersome...”
Archer put a hoof on the mare’s shoulder. “Aw, cheer up, blue girl! Where I’m from, ponies used to wear clothes; basically, with everypony naked, it’s pretty fun and dirty to watch.”
“How does that cheer her up?” she spat, swatting his hoof off her.
“Well, I’m happy. Really. That’s about it. Be happy for me that I’m enjoying my... thoughts. I’m also lovin’ how I was summoned with my young body – I feel so invincible without all that old stallion stuff! That’s why you should be happy.”
Trixie groaned.
“’At a girl!”
“Excuse me, sir, would you be needing anything else?” a plucky mare asked, holding a notepad.
Archer smiled. “Well, my dear, I could most certainly use more pretty faces like yours brightening up my gloomy life.”
The waitress giggled.
“Though if you could get me another drink... and... I dunno – hit me up with some vodka.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, noting it down on her pad before walking off.
“Ahh, tavern wenches,” Archer sighed, leaning back against the wall. “And I must say, the mares nowadays are so easy. Back in my day, you had to pretend you were in love before you even got to see some ankle. Now?” He laughed. “Everything’s for show.” He whispered to Trixie in a clandestine tone, “It makes it much easier to appraise who’s really hot and who's not! And boy–” he whistled “–are the girls ever so fine today.”
“You’re the worst,” Trixie muttered into her forelegs. “We’re supposed to be trying to win this... thing or whatever, and all you insist upon doing is getting drunk and seeing how many girls you can–”
“And it’s because you’re an awful Master. I was just about to win us a major battle, when – outta nowhere – my Master forces me back home.”
“Here you go, sir,” the waitress chirped, setting down a glass of a clear liquid on the table.
“Thank you, beautiful,” Archer replied in a tone just as chipper.
Smiling and shaking her head, the waitress walked off.
“How is Trixie supposed to win when her means to do so would rather spend the day marenizing?”
“Simple, mín hlǣfdige: I’m the best there is,” he said, rubbing a hoof to his armored breast. “Really, all you need to do is leave me be and–”
“No!” Trixie barked. “Trixie will not let you run rampant; you need her guidance. Why else would I be a Master?”
Archer took a sip of his drink. “Ooh! Heavy!... And sort of grainy... Anyways, you’re a Master because you were tricked into it, because you’re an idiot.”
“Trixie is not–”
“You wasted a Command Seal – one of the three you had – because you were scared and alone. You wasted a chance to command me, your Servant, and that takes an idiot to do, especially when I was doing just dandy on my own. And that command seal – of which only has three charges, you get from summoning a Servant, and replaced one of your cutie marks with a tattoo – is now currently 1/3rd useless. You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what it means to be a Master, you don’t really know what a Servant is, and you’re a talentless hack.” He took another sip. “Any questions?”
***
This was the moment. They had been preparing it for eon, it felt. Today the order came down from the top, and now she was to perform the ceremony and summon him. Where Nightmare Moon had failed, he would not. Not this time, at least.
So in the darkness they chanted: “Pater noster, qui es in caelis: sanctificetur Nomen Tuum; adveniat Regnum Tuum; fiat voluntas Tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie; et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a Malo.”
Clad in her starry cloak, the mare stood up slowly; her eyes were trained on the shattered, obsidian throne. Surrounding the throne was a faintly glowing pentagram written in equine blood. Taking a deep, steadying breath and running a hoof through her verdant-green mane, she steeled herself.
“Thou who doth keepst the Darkness, heedst my call! My blood is thy blood! My will is thy will, and thy will’ be done. Enter the Plane of Reality and fulfill our dreams, as we would to thou. For we, those born of the night, call thy name!”
As she finished speaking, the pentagram began to glow with a heavier aura. Then, without warning, a force tore asunder a shred of reality before the throne, creating a swirling purple vortex. Her heart began to throb and pound as she stared into the abyss beyond, listening to the gale-like roar of it.
A great red hand reached out of the vortex and grabbed the edge of the rip in reality. Holding tightly to the edge of the portal, the red fingers all began to flex, as if testing out their ability to move. Then, louder than the chanting and the howl, a sinister laugh wafted out from the abyss as a second hand shot out, grabbing the other side of the portal. This new hand flexed too, tapping the edges.
Everypony gasped as the arms flexed and pulled forth a red body. The first thing she saw was a face wreathed by an immaculate lion-like mane, yet the face itself was perfectly shaven. Eyes going wide, she observed that from the top of his head protruded two bullish horns, their roots shrouded by his mane. As the figure continued to pull, she got a great look as his red chest flesh, complete with hulking abdominals and biceps.
As he continued to pull his body forwards, two fur-clad legs stepped out, each ending in a black hoof. With a measure of walking, another pair of muscular legs stepped out of the portal. Stretching his arms out, the portal vanished, and he just as quickly sat down upon the black throne. The mare got a good, long, hard, lovely look at his legs and body, her heart rate hastening with every glance to his serene body. With the black slits that passed as his pupils, he stared down at the mare in the cloak.
“I ask you, are you my Master?” he said in a terrible yet soothing voice.
The mare bowed. “Master is such a... a dirty word, Lord Tirek. At the end of the day, we are but your humble servants, for we share a goal. We would much rather be comrades, compatriots, the humbled masses yearning to breathe free... a tool to be used and abused as you see fit, if you’re feeling dramatic.”
Leaning his head forwards and smirking, Tirek chuckled. “A clever answer. Were you to claim mastery over me, I’d destroy you before you could use those fancy spells of yours.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, tell me your name, you who is wise enough to not be my Master.”
She swallowed. “My name is Falling Star.”
“Falling Star,” he said as if tasting it. “Good. Now, prove to me that you shall not be my Master.” He gestured a hand at her. “Dispose of your Command Spells. Only then shall you receive my trust.”
Falling Star nodded. “Par the course, my Lord.” She took a long, hard breath. “By the power of the Command Spells, I plead for you to rule us, O mighty Tirek, and use us to your heart’s content.”
Tirek frowned, and Falling Star’s heart felt like it was going to explode.
“B-by the power of my second Command Spell, I beseech you to crush all enemies that stand in your way.” She swallowed, doing her best to keep her voice from quavering. “By the p-power of my last Command Spell, I beg you to levy the beauty of the Night Everlasting.” Feeling the last scrap of magic leave her left flank, she knelt down.
Still frowning, Tirek put a hand to his cheek. “I ask of you, what is that which you sought to raise me for?”
“To bring upon the Night Everlasting, as was your goal in times past, as did the pitiful failure that was Nightmare Moon.”
“And who is ‘us’?”
“Us?” she said, blinking.
“Who is this plural pronoun of which you use? I see only homunculi here.”
“Why, my Lord, I am by no means the only enlightened individual with this particular lust. I am but the Voice of a powerful clique.”
“To see ponies come so far,” Tirek murmured to himself. “Then I shall grant your wish, for then I shall rule unabated as was in the before times.”
***
A puff of smoke breathed out, the edge of the cigarette burning. Bringing a hoof to his forehead, Alastair wiped the sweat off. Exhaling another breath of burnt tobacco, he looked down to the stallion laying face-up in the dirt, his foreleg hoofcuffed to Alastair's own. The stallion's face was swollen, bruised, and bloodied.
Holding the cigarette in his teeth, he felt a hoof over his own face, including the bandages over it and the white strips which taped his left eye shut. He didn't even want to bother looking at his white undershirt, caked as it was with a certain crimson fluid.
Alastair knelt down and blew a puff of smoke into the stallion's face. “So,” he said, almost casually, “ya like cuttin' up girls, do ya?”
The grounded stallion merely smirked, as if he were keeping the world's funniest joke to himself. He gave his shackled foreleg a short jerk, but it did no good.
Taking another puff of smoke, Alastair surveyed his wooded locale. “You know, you picked a swell place to live – secluded; outside the city; no neighbors to hear you scream, especially at such a late hour as this.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Say, how many girls have you preyed on? Five? Six? Seven? More? Yeah, you've probably done in more dames than the ones I found mounted on your wall.”
“Marv?” a mare prodded, stumbling through the woods. Where her left forehoof should have been, there was only a stump hidden beyond a cloth rag. Her eyes went wide as they took sight of the two stallions. “Marv... oh, oh my Celestia... Marv?”
“Aaaaand cut!” another voice announced, prompting everyone's posture to relax. “That's a wrap ponies! Good job, good job.”
Alastair jabbed the cigarette into the ground, sighing, “Finally! Took forever to get here.” He blinked. “Oh, uh, right.” He flicked the hoofcuff, prompting it to slide off, then held out a hoof to the stallion on the ground. “Come on then, Lance, get on up here.”
The grounded stallion grabbed the offered hoof, getting pulled to his hooves. “Ay, thanks a ton, bud.”
“Don't mention it.” Alastair turned around to the stallion sitting in the director's chair. “That everything, then? We get it all?”
The director nodded. “Think so, think so.” He turned to the mare operating the camera next to him. “We got all that, yeah?”
The mare affirmed.
“Sweet.” As he spoke, the scene beyond the direction came to life as ponies appeared out of seemingly nowhere, each on going to a particular piece of equipment – the microphone booms, the cameras, the lights – and the room lit up, momentarily blinding Alastair, who held a hoof over his eyes.
Lance tapped Alastair on the shoulder. “Hey, Al, after we get all this makeup and crud off, me and the lads were gonna be off clubbin' later. You in?”
Alastair chuckled. “Love to, mate. But I've been working nonstop for the past week–”
“I know! That’s why we need to get you out and about! See the town, meet the–” he wiggled his brows “–babes, get wasted – you know, fun and relaxation!”
Shaking his head with good humor, Alastair replied, “Can't, Lance. I relax by sitting down with a fine wine and a good book – not random drink, strange ladies, and not knowing who I am when I wake up.”
Lance shrugged, making an over-the-top frown. “Hey, that's your business. But if you were me, I'd use that chiseled jaw and Hollywood credentials to get in good with the mares.” He put a hoof to his breast. “Ay, that’s just me though.”
Alastair rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah – when you get into trouble with all those girls, I'll be over on the sidelines and laughing.”
“You do that, mate, you do that – I'll still be the one who’s got tail.”
A stallion whistled. “Hey, don't care what your policy with ladies is, but get off the set. I gots to fix 'er up.”
***
Looking over his pristine, unblemished face, and checking his brown fur for anything out of place, Alastair sighed. “Looks good, colt. Yes it does.”
With neither rhyme nor reason as far as Alastair could see, his eardrums exploded as a wave of sound and pressure consumed him. The force ripped his from his seat, hurling him at the ground.
“Indeed, it does,” a feminine and snake-like voice cooed.
The voice strung a chord in Alastair’s mind, and he uttered a cross between a growl and a gurgle as he grabbed at his head, his body erupting into a fit of convulsions, a trickle of foam forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, I'm sorry – did I startle you?” the mare intoned.
Forcing his control over his body, he willed himself to cease convulsions. His face now to the floor, Alastair’s eyes looked upon the black, long, and slender legs before him. Following them up to her body and face, his blood pressure skyrocketed. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips quivered and quaked too hard, the only sound coming out being a sputter.
“Is this how you greet your Queen after so long away, subject?” she purred.
Alastair swallowed hard, nearly choking on his own spit, and wiped the foam away with a foreleg. “Qu-Queen Chrysalis,” he sputtered. “Bu-but I thought–they you were–why am you of–”
“Do not ramble on in such a way; it annoys me.” Her eyes scanned over Alastair. “Subject, change out of that... wretched skin.”
Legs shaking and teeth clattering, his heart threatening to burst through his chest, Alastair rose to a stand, then closed his eyes and muttered something
With a flash of green he reopened his now-cyan eyes, rolled his shoulders, and flexed his insectoid wings. “Wh-what can I do for you, m-my Queen?”
He looked at her gigantic body, easily twice or so his own height. With her bug-like wings, Spanish-moss-like hair, and crooked black horn, she looked to Alastair like a monster. The Queen's black, bark-like exterior did nothing to help the look, and neither did her almost glowing teal eyes, much like his own. She smiled at him.
“Much better,” she cooed, “to see you as you were born.”
Taking a step back, his knees quivering, Alastair asked, “M-my Queen, what brings you from... away to your humble servant?”
“You have been off the leash for too long, subject, and it is time I break you in once more.”
“I–”
“Regardless, I have come to give you purpose in life once more, for you have spent too much time intermingling with ponies.” She glanced towards the door to the dressing room they were in, looking to the name emblazoned on a golden star upon the door. “Alastair, you call yourself?” she chuckled. “What an unusual name.”
“I got it from a book,” Alastair whimpered.
Queen Chrysalis shook her head. “A changeling like yourself does not deserve a name.”
“Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth, keeping his head down so that she wouldn't see. “Only... one as noble as yourself would have the right to a name.”
She smirked. “Good to see these... ponies have not corrupted you beyond recognition.” The Queen waved a hoof at him. “But I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
“Anything, my Queen,” Alastair replied, forcing down the suicidal urge to growl at his Queen down his throat.
“You were once a treasured tool, but no doubt you have heard of my... complications in Canterlot during these past few month since it.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
The Queen turned from Alastair, looking at herself in his dressing-room mirror. “Once, subject, you were my right hoof, but then I sent you into the land of ponies.” She glanced back at Alastair. “I am only too glad my agents were able to track you down, for I require your skills as my servant once again.”
“Name it, my Queen,” he said. Jaw closed, he began to grind his teeth.
“Tell me, have you heard the beasts talking about an object of immense power? That whomsoever wields it will be granted the power of a god... of a goddess?”
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I like what i see please write more because I NEED MOAR MOAR MOAR MOAR MOAR MOAR MOAR I NEED MOAR OR ELSE
1364543
There will be more after i'll return :D
1364578 there should be
1365338
For the record, they are speaking with that odd dialect on purpose. None of them would ever say "thou", because "thou" is first-person-singular informal. And St. Payens himself points out how odd the word "ain't" is, thus allowing him to use it. Also, note how Starswirl has a resonating Bass voice, which is the deepest voice a human (or pony) can possess. Apparently, I'm way to smart for most people, so much of my linguistic humor (aside from English, I speak Spanish and some German, and I m very well versed on dead languages). Also, Payens is French (from Southern France, actually), and Starswirl is some kind of German or Dutch. If you'd like, the original Gdoc is loaded with this discussion... Seriously, it was a really long and in-depth discussion.
1365338
Thanks! That was very helpful to us!
Bible Black - Heaven And Hell
This is becoming my go-to "Eldritch abomination in a book" song.
Starswirl is her Servant? Wait, what?
1368718
Look up Fate/Stay Night and Fate/Zero.
Twilight basically summoned Starswirl as her Servant.
Basically in the animes I've listed, there are Seven (Actually 9 Classes, Excluding Savior and Avenger for specific Purposes)
Berserker
Archer
Saber
Caster
Assassin
Rider
Lancer
Each equipped with specific abilities attributed towards their class and Starswirl happens to be teh Caster Variety.
1368762
I have played every TYPE-MOON game. The Nasuverse is possibly my favorite fictitious setting. I'm just saying it seems odd that she'd get Starswirl lol. Never would have crossed my mind although it makes some sense.
If I weren't familiar with that particular oeuvre I probably wouldn't have capitalized Servant, but that is a fairly subtle clue, lol.
1368845
My bad bro.
It's not too often I see another Type Moon fan on FimFiction.
Btw Gilgamesh is best Servant
Hmm, happens that I have watched fate/zero and fate/stay night recently. I'm going to give this fic a chance.
*throws the fic to the colossal pile of to read later list*
1368855>>1368845
I didnt know of existence of other type-moon fans either :D It's good to see that i am not alone
And what exactly is wrong with Starswirl being her servant?
1369144
Heh heh heh. I understand you so much :D
I love Fate Stay Night, and this looks very promising I will read later after I do some stuff!!!!
You are now #23 on my "Watch Later" list!
No really. It sound really interresting, so I'm gonna give it a read some time
Do I sense this story being featured?
1369145
Indeed. Now if only they could remake Stay/Night and give it an appropriate path to follow.
Hopefully Hollow/Axteria and I wish they'd do an Anime on the Holy Grail war that preceeded Fate/Zero and brought about the Creation of Avenger
Hmm i think this is the first 'Fate/' fanfic i have read. i have seen both animes and i gotta say, loved em both.
i will give this a read, i will post a different comment after i get done readin.
PS. Saber is best servant <3
I WANNA SEE WHAT RIDER DOES IN THIS!
1365338
In the beginning of the 2nd season episode Hurricane Fluttershy, Rainbow dash did show a educational film to the other pegasus of Ponyville about how Cloudsdale take towns reservoir water to make new clouds in Cloudsdale weather factories.
So if Equestria have educational films, why not cinema.
1369145
I am assuming they do not know about Fate/Stay Night.
If a female King Author can become a servant of a Japanese teen boy in the original series, then having Star Swirl being Twilight's servant looks pretty legit to me.
cant wait for more, i am in love with this.
As I said before, this is really interesting and I will stay here, because this is awesome, and that is all
(I have no critisism because I am bad at seeing those things...
)
1369303
I Really hope so. I will send it to eqd, but i will return only after a week to see the results
1369377
I Really hope so. I am a HUGE fan of nasuverse in general and fate in particular. And what i REALLY want is anime adaptation of Heaven's feel route
1369894
Thanks :D
1369435
Not too much of a spoiler will be if i'll say that he is a general villian in 1st half of the story
1369877
Exactly! Their film even sounded, so why not?
1369983
Thanks :D
1370329
oh I dun care about that (I played the game and got all the endings-I've thoroughly had my fill of fate).
I'm just curious how a vehicular animal acts as a rider.
It's like a yo dawg and inception rolled into one just thinking bout it
1370347
Actually it is main villian of first generation of my little pony. From pilot
F/SN crossover? I'm game. BRB after reading.
1368484
Funny, When I was writing this with Stalin, I was listening entirely to German music (Rammstein, OOMPH!, Megaherz, and Eisbrecher).
1369144 1369227 1369273
And now we play the waiting game...
1369983 1369894
Dankeshön. We've been planning/writing these two chapters for a solid month. Glad to see it paid off.
You want to see a comment when you return? You didn't specify what kind.
JELLYFISH JAM!
gifs.gifbin.com/1237576060_funny_dance.gif
1370467
Bad Psychopath. Don't make me get the bottle of Windex I filled with water and pray it in thy face. Thou knowst very well what Stalin wanteth of thee, and thou shalt comply.
1365382
Yeah, I caught a lot of that, but having a medieval knight speak with an archaic dialect (even if it's actually being improperly used) and then saying things like "ain't" or "best/worst ___ ever" really feels unnatural, even if the character themselves make note of it. Parody isn't (always) an excuse for inconsistency.
As for Starswirl, I initially imagined him with the voice of Sir Ian McCullen (when he appeared for the first few seconds before changing scenes). However, with his sort of tangential way of speaking, switching between modern and archaic dialects, I couldn't help but imagine him with a more nasally, higher-pitched voice. While I suppose one's voice isn't determined by their personality per se, when writing a character it's best to match the two together to create believably, unless the character is some sort of comedy relief (which, for all of his absent-mindedness, Starstwirl/caster does not seem to be).
1369877
... Oh yeah.
1370922 Nay I say! Speaking in the way of Luna shan't derive me from the Illogic.
For a minuet I thought you were taking the Fizban approach to Starswirl the Bearded.
Fizban is the forgetful/senile old wizard from Dragon Lance/ D&D, and is a mentor to another Dragon Lance character Raistlin.
upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e7/Fizban.jpg
Here is a common occurrence for poor Fizban, ether setting his hat or sometimes his pet cat on fire with a miscasted fireball spell.
Fizban is hundreds of years old, and most of his spells kinda... got mixed together in his head and has a odd habit of casting Fire ball at the wrong times, then when he actually needs the spell there is a chance he forgot it. Fizban fireball more than Lina Inverse does in Slayers. Fizban is also one of the rare D&D characters that can cast cleric spells without having the cleric class.
note Fizban is really the good god Paladine in Dragon Lance
1371434
While you raise a good point, a lot of this humor is -- and I mean absolutely no offense -- something someone wouldn't get without a linguistics degrees, or (as is my case) has an obsession with knowing languages. Use use of “y'all”, for example, was due to Starswirl overcompensating for the perceived need to distinguish between second-person singular (thou) and second-person plural (you), but he got it wrong because of this overcompensation. Likewise, St. Payens isn't exactly a medieval knight; the perceived need for him to speak without contractions is not only silly but downright wrong, since he's from Southern France he is used to lots of contractions in his speech and so brings this into Modern Equestrian. However, since the *insert name of powerful object* grants all Servants that ability to speak the modern local language(s), it is likewise not entirely unreasonable or silly for them to use “ain't”. If you look at the next chapter, you can see with with Archer, who speaks almost entirely with the word “ain't”, despite occasionally slipping into Old
EnglishEquestrian. Really, this isn't so much humor as it is me showing my work with my mastery of language... God, that sounds so arrogant of me. But if you'd like, I'll PM the link to the Gdoc were we three (Stalin, CW, and I) had a long discussion on this; you'll see that I am, unfortunately, far too smart for my own good (this is what Stalin and CW said, not me).Oh, and as for movies, if you were to read the next chapter, you would see that one of the Masters is an Applewood movie actor named “Alastair”.
1372303
And thank thou kindly, compatriot.
1373121
*Fluttershy Stare*
1373149
Starswirl can be a bit... scatterbrained at times and he can be just as forgetful, but Starswirl is at least mostly competent when he absolutely needs to be... Usually, anyhow.
1373466
Well Stalin's fic here is a MLP , Fate Stay/ Night Crossover.
Fate Stay/Night is a RPG video game series as well as a Anime series; so if you are going to use a RPG series you may as well use RPG elements.
And at parts the Fate Stay/Night Anime uses RPG terms/concepts to describe the characters and events.
1373508
No offence, man, but yeah... that does sound kind of arrogant.
But my point remains. While I suppose I didn't understand some of the subtleties (namely regarding the geographical origin of some characters), parody is still not an excuse for inconsistencies. Furthermore, if you can't get the humor without a linguistics degree, you may want to re-think your approach, because I can assure you that the majority of the audience doesn't fall under that category. Not that you need to pander to your audience's sensibilities, but if what is some sort of linguistic humor for you comes off as a break in character to the reader, you may be better to go without (even if it means maintaining a fake dialect for some characters and in turn grating on your own nerves as a co-writer
).
1373619
Believe me, this came from the aftermath of a huge discussion on this. I consistently makes jokes that are so high-brow that nobody without certain degrees would understand. I do a lot of little things that nobody would pick up on without certain degrees, actually, and Stalin and CW (that is, the Conflicted Writer) hate it when I overdo it -- like how the next chapter involves me conjugating Old English in the Instrumental Case, to which I remarked about in-document about how hard it was. Or how I mentioned Helets (Spartan slave caste) in order to show off how awesome Archer -- whose name is actually a mix between Old English, Old French, Latin, and Taino Native America -- was in life. This is actually the compromised version, since CW thought a lot my linguistical things wouldn't make sense to most human beings -- it was my compromise to not including to many über-high-brow jokes. I did what I could to explain it in-universe, which was my attempt to make it seem logical. I mean, I'm the guy who taught himself German in 4 months and only did it because of the ponyfic he was writing had the German narrator (the guy who is my profile pic is the German narrator).
1373658
Oh, believe me, I could actually tell all of this (by all of this I mean that you needed to turn down the linguistic humor) when I was reading, but it's not the complexity of the humor itself, but how it's kind of half-assed at this point. For example:
By pointing out that the word "ain't" isn't a usual aspect of his dialect through the character himself, you haven't excused the inconsistency, you've actually made it worse. Essentially, you've turned something so subtle that it would just go unnoticed by most readers into obnoxious meta-humor. To me, the only ways to fix this are to go fully one way or the other; either write the story as though these characters are aware of how ridiculous the nature of their speech is (or whatever it was you were originally going about doing), or just get rid of the language humor entirely too keep from destroying the reader's suspension of disbelief. Even if the reader is a language major of some sort, their suspension of disbelief will be much more strongly upheld if the world and characters follow consistent rules rather than borrowing from certain rules only at specific times (and then making vocal observation of it on top of that).
Basically, my point is; it doesn't matter what the process was for the story to be this way, what your intentions were as a co-writer when writing it, or what you do or don't expect the reader to get in the story. As someone who wasn't involved in the writing process, and was not initially aware of it's details, I can be considered to have fresh eyes on the story, and, regardless of what your original intentions were, it's always worthwhile to listen to a fresh perspective. Because while you may have your reasons for something to be this way or that, the only thing the reader has access to, and the only thing that really matters in the end, is the final product, and the readers will base their observations on that and that alone.
Though, despite all this debate, it's really a minor issue.
It seemed a little weird to me, but I tend to pick up on character inconsistencies pretty harshly, and I didn't really like the characters in question to begin with.
1373508cdn.thesandtrap.com/7/71/71e333f7_I-challenge-you-to-a-duel.jpeg
1374685
I accept. And mind, I actually own a sword (as any respectable Southern gentleman ought). But, por favor, would ya mind giving Stalin and I your thoughts/a review upon this little story o' ours?
1375135 Only if you can beat this champion of Khorne.
students.cis.uab.edu/dash/Chaos%20Khorne%20Lord.jpg
1375155
Dude. Khorne used to be my story's editor. I'm not kidding. But Khorne failed me and now I work with Slaanesh.
1375166 Ewww. You mean that thing?
1373962 Nope.
Hm, no Twi and Caster this chapter. Hopefully next chapter.
Why do i have the feeling though that Archer will try to hit on Twilight? Wait, this could be taken in a double meaning...
But damn, most of those heroic spirits are damn evil. The rider´s even his own master/made his master basically his slave. XD
And Archer´s such a free spirit Trixie has no control over him or better she only has two seals left to control him.
I hope everything will be explained to Twilight next chapter and that she takes the news well. Aka send a letter to Princess Celestia ASAP cause she´s about to panic cause she´s supposed to fight six other masters with their servants and she had no idea she came into this shit and her servant is a scatterbrain and she lost her cutiemark for three damned commando seals!!! Also Spike will have a month vacation as it seem.
1378500
This just means that Stalin and I have created in making this story accessible to anyone! Victory!
1379697
Spike's snark is justified and constantly pointed out. I think he kind of has a right to do this now.
Caster's gonna be quite a hoofful for our intrepid Twilight.
Yeah, Trixie and Archer; that's what happens with Archer's Independent Action. Let's home Archer doesn't do too much of anything to our dear Twilight, but even I am less-than sure.
Rest assured that something's gonna happen next chapter, count on it.
1394484
You can thank the lack of a [Dark] tag on Stalin. He hates grimdark ponyfics and the [Dark] tag in general. On the other note, most Servants are, by their very nature, from the past – the only ponies that could really be present-day Servants. So unless you wanted us to, say, kill off Fluttershy and turn her into Flutterkhin (which nopony wants), we're sticking to the past.
1394787
. . . did you play the game fate/stay night? There was a Servant from the future/present there. And to quote from the Servant List in this fic
1400700
My favorite was Unlimited Blade Works. Just because of the entire dynamic between Archer and the protagonist.
I never watched Fate/zero.
1401073
Actually only Archer was summoned from future, and ONLY because Tohsaka had catalyst from future. It's possible to summon servant from the future, but INSANELY HARD to get catalyst from the future
1401073
And hence my use of the word "most".
proceeded
unless you were trying to force a feel 'channeling, pulsating, and vibrating'
'he felt'
It's usually frowned upon when a sentence starts with 'but' when there are alternatives, such as placing a comma between 'notice' and 'but'
not sure if it should be 'a roar' or leave it as is.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-VOWELS! 'an arrow'.
'physically'
an absurd
light up
'to be'
I see what you tried to do, but no need for that last 'is'
'crud'
Tis all I found.