The Whizzard of Braünstein Castle
“Come in,” Princess Celestia said with a smile. “Come in, come in.”
She gestured into the warm and comforting womb of books that was the Royal Canterlot Library.
“Come in, come in,” she repeated a further twelve times, “come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in!”
Twilight trotted in with a smile on her face; it was always nice to be back home, for home was where the heart was, and Twilight’s heart was kept in a jar on a shelf in the science section between Theory of Evolution and Twerking for Disciplined Cats.
“What’s going on, Princess?” Twilight asked. “You said you had a surprise for me.”
“Yes, I dooooooooo,” Celestia replied, bounding along. “For you see, it is time that we told you the truth.”
“I said to leave me out of it,” Luna frowned from a darkened corner. “I will have no part in these shenanigans.”
“Oh yes, she’s here, too.” Celestia said. “Being a precious frumpy.”
“Do not call me that!” Luna frowned even more.
“Mmmmm, frumpy,” Celestia muttered happily. “Anyway, there is something that we must discuss.”
“What is it? What is it? Oh, do tell me, Princess! Do! Please! Tell me, Princess! Oh, what ever could it be, Princess?” Twilight dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Do not leave me on tenterhooks! Please! Do tell me! Please!”
“There there,” Princess Celestia said, giving Twilight a loving nibble on the horn. “Patience is a virtue. One must wait, if one is to fully appreciate that which is to come.”
The Celestia nodded sagely.
“Alright, we’ve waited long enough,” she said, looking down at Twilight’s sparkling Anime eyes. “I shall tell you.”
“Yes!” Twilight clamoured, eyes wild, flecks of spittle forming at the edges of her mouth. “Yes!”
“Shut up.” Celestia smiled. “You see, our story begins at the very beginning of the start, when the entire Equestria was borned.”
Twilight nodded.
“Since forever, every pony in Equestria believes that there are only two Original Princesses,” Celestia explained. “The O.P.”
“There are only two of us, and I told you not to use that term to refer to us, sister,” Luna grumbled. “It’s terribly uncharacteristic.”
Celestia and Twilight both stared at her vapidly.
“Anyway,” Celestia went on, “There… is a third.”
“A third!” Twilight gasped.
“Yes. And she is the wisest, smartest, and quite possibly the most unhygienic of all.”
“Why, that evens out! She sounds perfectly acceptable!”
“She is very acceptable,” Celestia reaffirmed.
“She doesn’t exist, Sister,” Luna said. “What is with everyone today?”
“If she doesn’t exist, then explain… the tome,” Celestia said with a mysterious air.
“There are many ways I could explain it,’ Luna rebutted. “Let’s begin with the fact that it is drawn entirely in watercolour.”
“And what’s wrong with watercolour?”
“My watercolour!” Luna roared.
Celestia smacked her lips, rubbing her hoof on the shag carpet.
Slowly, she turned to Twilight.
“The tome is real, Twilight. You believe me, don’t you?”
Twilight nodded, mouth hanging open, staring at the loosely-binded collection of note paper that was shoved in her face. “Ooouurgh.”
“Yes. That is the correct response.” Celestia nodded back. “Now, let us read from the tome, and let us learn about… our sister.”
Celestia cleared her throat and began.
Once upon a time in a land far away lived a castle in a princess by a lake.
But this arrangement proved to be slightly uncomfortable, and so the two switched places.
“Ah, much better,” Princess Fartsock would sing, as she hung off her balcony, looking down upon her fiefdom of Beanlandia, for it was a glorious day, and there was no better day for a princess to be looking down from great heights onto the tops of ponies.
She had a beautiful white coat, as pure as unwiddled snow, her extremities ending in a rose tint. Around her neck was a band of colour of the same shade of pink, around which fell a bubble-bath of etheral green floblublins, of which her mane and tail were primarily made out of.
Upon her flank was an invisible cutie mark. It wasn’t not there, but rather, embodied the spirit of her character – she wasn’t one immediately heard or noticed when entering a space, but once she had gotten within range, it would be too late, and one would find that she was a formidable opponent indeed.
Atop her head rested the highest symbol of Equestria: more respected than the Golden Tiara of Celestia and the Melancholic Sadness of Luna – The Lav Paper of Order.
When she flew, a powerful rainbow escaped her bottom as she floated through the skies on a turgid bed of noxious bottom-gas, and forever in her wake would she leave a trail of eternal triple-ply.
Under her rule, her lands was plentiful in bounty and rich in heart. The summers were always long and warm, but never too hot, and the winters were sparkling and beautiful, but always ended when necessary.
The people were happy, although a little fragrant, but the crops were always the largest in the county, and there was nary an unhappiness to be found.
There was a roaring economy based around their toiletries-based goods manufacturing, which drew crowds from as far off as the twelfth plane of Zunterward, which supported their highly sustainable ecotourism infrastructure with a healthy GDP and stable growth, according to fiscal reports of the last ten years, this message brought to you by the Beanlandia Tourism Bureau, if you had any questions give us a call, we would love to be of assistance, and we are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, because we believe in service, and we also sell nose-plugs.
And under her megalomaniac rule, the fiefdom grew and flourished in peace and harmony.
But on the very next All Coughings Day, the 18th of Phegmtober, the princess received a rather odd guest who came knocking upon her castle doors, which was strange because he did not make a booking with the Beanlandia Tourism Bureau, please come and see scenic Skidmark Gorge.
But being the most kind and benevolent of Princesses, she quickly invited the gentlestallion in, out of the spit and chumkins, and offered him some delicious barley-smort tea, made out of the freshest barley and hoof-shorn smorts.
They gathered in front of the royal fireplace, casting the smorts into the fire as was customary, where they squealed and burned and wrought themselves in the eternal damnation of flame, as was customary, before the guest began his tale.
“I am a Whizzard,” he declared, over his cup of tea, with a voice old and wizened like a rat-infested nest. “And I come from the far-away land of Braünstein to bring you a message.”
“Speak your message,” said Princess Fartsock.
“I have read the signs,” he said, “as is my responsibility, and I foresee a calamity in the future.”
“Of what calamity do you speak?”
“When the second-born sun awakens to the cry of a thousand voices on the wind, the clouds will show their incontinence and cause the lands to cry.”
The Princess then blinked, astonished, as she heard those words of wisdom and knowledge, the words that caused her to raise a hoof to her mouth in fright and shock.
She leaned in, closer, upsetting her tea, as she lowered her voice to a hush.
“Kind Whizzard. I do not understand,” she whispered. “Tell it to me as if I were five years of age.”
“Floods on Tuesday, and the birds will be a bit upset,” the Whizzard said.
“I see, I see,” Princess Fartsock straightened up.
She stared into the fire, watching the final pieces of smort crackle and spark.
“And when you say Tuesday…” she said, turning to face the old man once more.
“This Tuesday, yes. This upcoming week.”
“I see, I see.” Princess Fartsock nodded. She finally understood the signs. All was finally revealed to her.
With a motion, the Whizzard was excused, and he, fed upon the finest treats of the royal castle, was sent back with gratefulness to Castle Braünstein, first receiving a commemorative gift of a snowglobe featuring the lovely Effervescent Lake, courtesy of the Beanlandia Tourism Bureau, why not visit the real thing this Summer, you can even rent boats for the low, low price of 49 bits a day, and you can feed the swans.
For the next two hours, Princess Fartsock would lie deep in thought, barely even touching her Hidden Radish Surprise – a delicious dinner cooked for her by a legion of angry chefs, for everyone knew that the angrier the chef, the more delicious the dinner.
The princess would mull over this problem like any other problem, for all problems were of equal importance, especially more so the ones that threatened to engulf the lands in a swathe of water.
Not even her crown would be able to absorb all the moisture in time, and she was left to think of alternative solutions for this very terrible problem.
But the answer was clear, and was obvious. She would use her powers, the ones bestowed upon her as one of the three constants of the universe, to fix this problem in a snap and not condemn precious villagers to a liquidy ending.
Travelling North, Princess Fartsock took to the sky and flew East toward Braünstein Castle, squeezing rainbows out her fanny all the way, her mane leaving sun-shimmered bubbles of green sick along her trail.
When she finally got there, she landed upon the tallest parapet and gazed out into the sunset, and gave it a stern consideration.
She looked at the skies, and saw the clouds rolly-polling in overhead, bundling up like all the silly sheep and thundering like beaver tails, and she knew that a horrendous beast was about to be born on the Plains of Sapphire, between the Tresses of Willow and the oddly-named Men’s Dining Jacket #6, because not all geographical locations had reasonable nicknames.
And with a great focus, Princess Fartsock turned to the stars, and her body tuned aglow with the powers of Star Magic.
For her sisters held the power of the sun and the moon, two forces which bestowed them with the great universal magics, but Princess Fartsock had a power far greater, for her magic came from the collective cosmic gas, an entity that was as spiritual as it was fish-scented.
It was the body of the aether, the fruit of Shangri-La, and the flow of the River Styx.
It sloughed off every new-born star and every dying planet, and was found hiding in the places between things.
It went great with a little cheese on a garlic crunch toast.
She summoned the will of the planet so that she might speak to the clouds.
HELLO, boomed the clouds. YOU HAVE REACHED THE CLOUDS. MAY WE HELP YOU?
“Yes,” she said, aloud, to the crackling thunder. “You threaten to flood the lands. Why?”
A moment passed without a single crack of lightning.
PLEASE HOLD, the clouds rumbled back.
A moment later, a softer, more feminine voice came calling through, orbs of light playing through the sky, resonating with the voice.
“Ah, hello?” the voice said, squeaking across the lands.
“Clouds?” Princess Fartsock asked. "The thundery ones?"
“Ah… yes. This is she. C-can I help you?”
“Yes, why are you flooding the lands?”
The clouds scratched themselves on the back of the head. “O-oh. Yeah, about that.”
“Please stop! These farmers need their air to live! They can’t breathe underwater!” pleaded Princess Fartsock.
“Um… sorry. Really sorry about that. But, can’t help it.”
“What do you mean you can’t help it?”
“Um… it’s like… an itch. You gotta scratch. Surely you understand, don’t you?”
The princess understood. She understood itches.
“So… yeah,” the cloud said. “Um… sorry again!”
Princess Fartsock hung up the receiver, retrieving her quarter bit from the slot. But she had what she needed. She furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes.
Stepping off the side of the parapet, she lowered herself like a deflating balloon to the front of the castle, where she gave the front door two large raps with the in-built knocker.
“Yes?” came the voice of the one who had answered the door.
“Whizzard!” she cried, pulling him through the door frame.
“Yes!” he cried. “You are here, Princess! Then, you can do something about the clouds!”
“No!”
“No?”
“It was you all along, Whizzard! It was you who cursed the clouds!” Princess Fartsock declared, pointing a hoof at the Whizzard’s nose.
“Drat! And I was so close to getting away with it, too!” The Whizzard stamped the ground. “How did you figure out it was me?”
“This little guy told me,” Princess Fartsock said, twisting her neck down to look at a little butterfly that sat perched on the tip of her hoof like a glowing jewel, iridescent scales sparkling in the sunlight, glints of greens and blues radiating from his wings.
Slowly, she raised the hoof to her face, gently placing the butterfly into her mouth.
“Curses!” yelled the Whizzard.
“Guards! Sieze him!” Princess Fartsock cried, pointing a hoof.
The guards took him by the legs, hoisting him up and holding him firm, like the opposite of a jelly.
“There is one thing I do not understand,” Princess Fartsock said, looking him in the eye.
“What? What is it?” The Whizzard growled. “I will grant you one answer! But only one!”
“And now you die!” Princess Fartsock roared, firing a deadly laser beam at him from the middle of her paper roll.
He was incinerated in an instant.
Once again, peace returned to the land, and all was well. No longer did the clouds itch and curse the world with a dangerous outpouring. Once more did the wombats frolic with the snakes.
Princess Fartsock returned to her castle to look upon her fiefdom, a job well done.
For she had learned that day a most valuable lesson.
“The End,” Princess Celestia said, closing the flaps of paper.
“Terrible. Absolutely terrible,” mumbled Luna, rocking back and forth in her little corner of the library.
Twilight nodded furiously.
“So, do you see, my student?” Celestia asked.
“Yes! I do!” Twilight said. “Oh, do read me another one, please!”
“Ah, well,” Celestia mumbled, waving the sheets of paper around. “Perhaps tomorrow. The pages. They stick, you see. Sometimes.”
“Awww,” whined Twilight, like a little babby. “But it is fine. I have learnt from this story the moral – the sun will come up tomorrow.”
“Yes. Tomorrow there will be sun,” Celestia reasserted. “But for now, I wish for you to reflect upon the lessons of Princess Fartsock.”
“I will. She has much to teach me, I can see!”
“Good. Then return tomorrow, and I will have a new tale for you.”
“Do you think…” Twilight said, a hint of trepidation dribbling from her lips, “... I’ll ever get to meet Princess Fartsock one day?”
“One day.” Princess Celestia smiled.
END