Discord`s Gate

by elmagnifico

Perspectives

At roughly the same time Blueblood caused Shining Armor to receive a serious case of accelerated lead poisoning.

---

Twilight Sparkle stood in the kitchen of Sugarcube Corner. The pastry-themed confection shop was busy today, with Equestrians of all shapes and sizes filtering in and out of the place with bags full of bits and bags of goodies, respectively. As such, Pinkie Pie had invited her friend behind the counter, so that they could converse while she worked. This mostly consisted of Pinkie bouncing around the bakery throwing various ingredients into bowls while Twilight tried very hard to not get hit with any cupcake components. The pink earth pony was completely oblivious to her friend's plight as she spoke, punctuating her query with an energetic ingredient-fling.

“So, what did you want to talk with me about?”

Twilight ducked as a cup of flour flew through the airspace where her head had been.

“Well, I thought I'd ask for your help.”

Pinkie perked up at this as she sent a plethora of sweet items airborne.

“I'd love to help! You need some event planned? Ooh, is it a party? A picnic?”

Twilight shifted her head backwards to avoid the assorted candies.

“No, Pinkie, I need your help making friends with somepony.”

The party-planner's eyes took on a sly look, which was only accentuated as she searched for the next ingredient.

“Ah, say no more, say no more! So, we'll need mood lighting, some pasta, that long spaghetti would probably be best...”

Twilight just stood there uncomprehending as several teaspoons filled with vanilla powder took flight, each thankfully missing her head by inches, and Pinkie Pie continued.

“What kind of drinks will he want? Or she, Rainbow Dash says we can't assume that kind of thing off the bat. Assumptions like that are bad. Honestly, I thought those two musicians were together! I don't think I'd ever seen two mares change color so rapidly without rainbow juice involved! And both such vivid shades of red!”

Twilight shook her head as a near miss from a salt shaker snapped her out of her reverie.

“No, Pinkie, not a coltfriend. No romance at all. I need to make friends with Shale.”

Pinkie Pie paused in her work to look her friend in the eye.

“Are you sure? I know the best place just north of here. It's perfect for that kind of thing.”

Twilight laughed, even as she avoided the pitcher of milk.

“Yes, I'm sure. Normally I'd just, I don't know, invite her to come study in the library, but this is important. I don't want to mess this up. I'm still not very good at making friends.”

Pinkie crossed her eyes in thought as she sent a squadron of eggs zooming.

“But that's silly! You've made lots of friends! There's me, and Rarity, Dashie, Fluttershy and Applejack, and that's just for starters!”

“Yes, but I met you girls while trying to set up the Summer Sun Celebration, and we weren't really friends until we banded together to stop Nightmare Moon.”

“So you're saying we need to cause a big disturbance that necessitates you working together with Shale for the benefit of both our societies?”

Twilight's eyes lit up as she began to agree, and then settled down as previous speculation asserted itself.

“YE-ah, no. Causing natural disasters or dragon invasions for the sole purpose of winning the trust of the interdimensional emissary would be bad. Building that kind of trust on a lie would risk losing it if the lie was discovered, and losing a friend's trust would likely result in losing that friendship permanently.”

Pinkie let the conversation pause for a second, her face spread with a grin of approval as she contemplated bursting out into a three syllable synonym of permanent, just for emphasis. Thinking better of it, she continued picking at Twilight's insecurity.

“But even without life-threatening peril, you've still made loads of friends. What about Zecora, the Cakes, Lyra or Little Strongheart?”

Twilight paused, considering while eggs began zipping past her ears.

“I don't really count them. Lyra I knew in passing from Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, and the others I met while I was with you and the girls.”

Pinkie paused. She was standing on her two back legs, an egg balanced on each front hoof in preparation for flinging at the mixes. Her face screwed up in concentration before a wide grin split her entire face and seemed to radiate into the area around her. The smile was evident even in her voice as she spoke.

“Well DUH, sounds like you make friends best when we're all together! Sounds like we should round up the others and get to work on a PART-!”

Pinkie's diatribe was cut off by a purple hoof, which prompted her eyes to start getting large and wet. This in turn caused Twilight to sigh before she replied in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

“No. No parties until after we've gotten to know Shale better. I don't know what her culture's like for parties, we don't want to offend her. Moreover, she's only just about to be released from the hospital after going through intense spell-shock related concussion. I don't want to stress her out with too many ponies about, and a party in particular would likely just aggravate her symptoms. After that incident with the Brain Enlargement spell, I'd know.”

Pinkie looked disappointed. She flung the eggs halfhartedly, and they sailed across the kitchen before splitting on the near edges of the target bowls, dropping the yolk and whites in while sending the empty shells spinning out onto the countertop behind. She sighed around her friend's hoof before pushing the offending limb down and giving another, slightly less toothy smile.

“In all seriousness Twilight, friendship comes from being there with your friends. My advice? Do something with Shale. Invite her on a picnic. Where's she staying in Ponyville? Maybe offer to put her up in the library. Do something nice for her, hang out, and it'll all come naturally from there. Just don't wig out like you do when the princesses come to visit. That never turns out well.”

Twilight mirrored Pinkie's expression with her own smile. She spread her front hooves for a hug, which Pinkie gladly gave. Twilight's voice was gentle as it broke the happy silence that followed.

“Thanks Pinkie. I'll keep that in mind.”

Twilight's mind was busy with plans before Pinkie's voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Of course, that advice also applies to any colt you decide you're sweet on. Or mare, for that matter.”

Twilight looked shocked for a second before drawing her hoof back to give Pinkie a good-natured bonk for that comment. The party planner was not within reach, however, having placed herself on the opposite side of the kitchen while Twilight was processing the jibe. Pinkie Pie's face was split with a mischievous grin as wide as she could make it. Twilight's eyes narrowed as her own smile grew.

“Oh, it is ON.”

---

A gunshot. It wasn't all that remarkable of a sound. False Tan had been making a living out of being within earshot of firearms going off since he had been little more than a foal, fresh out of the Trakhenian Talent Academy. A Whisperer of the Portal Authority was bound to be around gunfire. He or she was expected to command the massive Portal Hounds, war dogs as well as companions and finders of interdimensional gateways. Moreover, Whisperers acted as field team's message stations and short range reconnaissance gatherers, their Relay Birds being much more flexible about the places they could be sent than a Tapper's telekinetic signal.

These duties put them near the bleeding edge of the Portal Authority's frontiers, helping to fight portal pirates and often encountering wild creatures looking to have an Eponan for breakfast. The point being, False Tan was no stranger to gunshots. He'd heard hundreds of the thunderclap-like detonations over the course of his life. None affected him like this one did.

The strangers had left the treeline opposite in an obvious show of force, but the blue-maned officer that was obviously their commander had tried talking. He'd failed, since Shale was the only one in the whole expedition fluent in Surkholti. Captain Hard Trail knew a bit, and it looked like they would be able to have a peaceful discourse. Then that other stallion had tried volume over tact, supplemented by some kind of lightning display, and someone's weapon had gone off.

Then the world had descended into chaos.

False Tan legged it back to the nearest fallen log, Hard Trail's scream echoing in his ears and the air sizzling with lightning bolts. He heard other shots going off, with the oversized Uromaneth Antimaterial Rifle that Blade Hair called a carbine and everyone else called the Doom Whomper booming like its own miniature apocalypse.

The Whisperer's first thought was for the animals. They were all there, waiting dutifully. Argus, the expedition's last Portal Hound was unhurt, but his mastiff-shaped face was written with concern as his training alternately told him to go slay whatever was attacking his companions and to stay put as per orders. The two relay birds, one green and brown, the other sky blue, were sitting there placidly, “there” being on the metal perch attached his barding for the purpose. It would take either a whisper from him or someone trying to take them to get the small, slightly stupid creatures to move.

Having secured his charges, False Tan brought his attention back to the battle. The initial volley of lightning bolts had been replaced by a second salvo, this one supplemented by fireballs and glowing missiles that apparently burst into existence from the horns of the foe. False Tan watched, dumbfounded, as the impossible projectiles tore into the dead wood and dead Eponans that littered the area.

Having completely forgotten his own rifle, False Tan shifted his gaze around to the other members of the survey team. The remaining guards were letting rip with their own weapons, their standard issue Trakhenian Model 9s releasing a devastating synchronized volley, each one firing as another went down to prime his rifle. The rhythmic motions were punctuated by the metallic click-clack of the rifle's bolts as they were drawn back to fire again.

The Doom Whomper let its own voice be heard, its Arapalfrian owner following her gun's detonation with a whooping a war cry that had not been heard on Epona for a century. The armies of the Arapalfrian septs had been the most powerful of the nomadic Mustang tribes that had plagued Epona's more settled populations until the advent of gunpowder had taught the raiders to stay away. The Arapalfrians were civilized now, more or less, but Blade Hair evidently had held to some of the more warlike traditions of her ancestors.

The rest of the expedition was contributing in its own way. Rill Slant the armorer was fighting just as hard as the guards, the lever of his Blue Scar Mk. II carbine in almost constant motion when he wasn't stuffing more shells into the gun's reciever. Elegant Hair, the cartographer, was burning maps as fast as she could pile them into the tiny pyre she'd set with flint and tinder. Notched Door, the cook, was not doing much, having been reduced to an outline on a log by an incoming fireball.

All these details, the desperation, the quick thinking, the valor, the death, were taken in by False Tan, until his eyes rounded on Pathmark. The Farmalian stallion was still sitting there, his rifle paused just above the fallen tree both he and the Whisperer were hiding behind. False Tan acted without thinking, tackling the other stallion to the ground to bring him out of the way of an incoming fireball.

Unfortunately for the Whisperer, the action brought him squarely into the path of one of the humming bolts of energy that accompanied the fireball volleys. He felt the impact, and had he not lacked the necessary experience, he would have compared the feeling to being hit with a steam-driven sledgehammer. As it was, False Tan was slammed against one of the logs that formed the impromptu fortifications, and he could feel his internals protesting the movement by shutting down.

One thought was paramount in the following moments: Get the animals out. False Tan looked over to his three charges as the clamor of rifles dwindled one by one. To Argus, he spoke as he Whispered. “Go on, get! Go back to the portal, find Dark Cell.” The Hound hesitated momentarily before fleeing. The blue Relay Bird received a similar command, albeit without the verbal component. The last, the green and brown avian, False Tan gave a much deeper stare.

Much as he had pulled thoughts from this creature's relatively primitive brain to see what it saw, now he put marks of his own, highlighting the sight and sounds of the past few minutes in the bird's head so the next Whisperer would know to look at those, that they carried his message. The strain of Whispering left False Tan feeling light, and he gave thanks for that last burst of strength even as his lifeblood seeped from where it should be in his body to where it oughtn't, the trauma of arcane impact causing the red liquid to burst its normal channels and betray its purpose, killing its master.

With that, False Tan's eyes dimmed as his life guttered out like a flame starved of air.

Author's Note:

Can you say mood whiplash? I can say mood whiplash!

I apologize for these chapters' brevity, but I tend to think of them less as chapters and more blocks of writing I publish whenever the amount of unpublished stuff hits around 2000 words. What do you lot think? Would I be better served sitting on my writing for longer periods, and publishing when I reach logical breaks, or would you prefer more frequent snippets that maybe should be mushed into larger chapters during a later edit?