AN: You know, I used to think I was being clever when I decided that some actions would be more narrative then roll based. Congrats on the absurdly unlikely series of rolls that lead to this narrative opportunity.
Interlude: Old Unhappy Things, Near and Far.
The preparations are all complete. The Venue is prepared, decorated and under guard, the guest list is finalized, why, some guests have even arrived already. You go to bed, knowing that everything is as perfect as it could ever get. You go to bed, knowing that if anything is going to ruin your wedding, it is not going to be from within. You go to bed, trying not to think about the gigantic target that this wedding, this beacon of love and harmony, poses to every single evil being that assuredly exist, but you have precious little knowledge of. You try to ignore the fears that someone will make their move, knowing that now will be the perfect time. Eventually you get some rest.
But let's take a step back from the slumbering bride to be.
Let's take a peek, shall we?
[The Witch]
[Roll: 44 + 13 (Magic) - 20 (Well Guarded) - 20 (An Older Yearning) = 17]
Somewhere far far away, a bitter girl refuses to get out of bed this morning. All this love is vaguely annoying, and mildly tempting. But revenge can wait.
[The Sealed]
[Roll: 32 + 100 (Magic) - 62 (Sealed) - 50 (Harmonious Circumstances) - 20 (An Older Yearning) = 0]
Somewhere quite unknown, a statue sits. and does nothing. Not even a smirk, not even on the inside.
[The Scattered]
[Roll: 73 + 15 (Intrigue) - 20 (Well Guarded) - 20 (An Older Yearning) = 48]
All across the kingdom and beyond, the hunted, the alone, and the starving know of this love. Surely none would begrudge them the tiniest sip? No, the enemy is surely on the highest alert. Better not risk it. Instead, they shall sample these lesser celebrations, whose joy is just as sweet. Not nearly as much though...
[The King]
[Roll: 32 + 20 (Martial) - 20 (Well Guarded) - 20 (An Older Yearning) = 12]
Hmm. Better not. A tempting target, but nothing is ready.
[The Prison]
[Roll: irrelevant - 100 (Very Well Secured)]
The cages hold, as they always do.
[An Abandoned Organization]
[Roll: 44 + 16 (Intrigue) + 20 (???) - 20 (Well Guarded) + 20 (A Bemused Elder) = 80]
Attacking the wedding itself, and drawing eyes would be the height of foolishness. But there might be opportunities here, with the ponies all excited, and all eyes upon the capital.
[The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods The Woods]
[Roll: 1 + 50 (Preparations are Complete) + 70 (???) + 50 (A Seed is Planted) = Crit fail!
A scheme is discovered. But by who?
[1d12 = 7]
A seed, planted not long ago, left to grow uncontested, left to grown unseen, sprouts into something beautiful, into something horrible.
A mistake is made. Trust is given, where it should not have been. A mistake is made. An offer is given, and rejected.
Another offer is made. It could almost be considered fair. An offer is accepted. It could almost be considered suicide.
Running through the woods, running from something horrible. Running through the woods, running to something worse. A mistake is made.
Three questions, asked:
Do you know what loyalty tastes like?
Do you know what I am?
Do you know what is about to happen?
One answer given: Yes. ASH
The Scheme 'Cuckoo's Triumph' Has Been Dealt With
Shining Armor wakes, in the middle of the night, feeling Restless. He cannot remember what happens next, but he certainly does remember waking up the next morning, on a balcony, with no clear idea how he got there. He is quite confused, but is feeling much better. Better, in fact, than he has felt since he lost his horn.
Shining Armor gains A Rattling in the Soul, a level 6 Influence. (this is not a malus)
Shining Armor has lost ???
????? ?????, ???? and the world will suffer for it. ??? has reached level three
???? has gained ??? and ??? The location ???? has been destroyed.
The ??? has been destroyed.
The ??????? have gone extinct.
The Heirloom ??? has been destroyed.
The location ???? has been destroyed.
The creatures ???? have gone extinct.
The Heirloom ??? has been destroyed.
"The Will of ???", last ??? and Heir of ???, has been Murdered.
The location "The Woods" has been- THE WOOD IS DUST
You wake up to the morning of your wedding, feeling wonderful. No one mentions seeing anything out of the ordinary. None attempt to ruin your wedding. You feel silly for worrying about it. Who would there be, to even try?
Trying to imagine what this would look like to a negaquest. and how something like this could happen, given the different priorities the QM would have. Ill try to put some nega-comments up, eventually. I have additional plans for a bit more after this, too.
Im more worried about the 'abandoned organization', they got a good scheme roll. And they are pretty clearly connected to mr tall, dark, and +170, because the -20 that everyone got (and btw, WHAT THE CRAP, universal -20?) instead got reversed to a +20. They are clearly drinking the same sort of coolaid that gives all those fancy colors that are so rare, and we still dont know anything about.
So, I think we can get some sort of timeline out of this. First, and most notably, the woods have 'an older yearning' then every other possible rival taking actions. And, this includes Discord, remember, the guy from prehistory? Looking at that -20 malus, whatever this enemy is, it's older than Discord.
So, pre-pre history, we have the woods, and also probably all the other mysterious colors, doing who knows what. Then, Discord pops up, and does his thing. Presumably, they all get annihilated, by Discord, or by something else, because history has no record of them. (actually, it might, we should probably go take some research actions when we find the time.) The woods, meanwhile, hides? Or hibernates, or just pretends it's a normal forest until discord goes away. But then! Alicorn interrupt, and the schemes (we can assume it has schemes against Discord, thats the vibe I'm getting) all fall into disarray. And then, a thousand+ years go by? This thing has been hiding all this time, so its scared of Celestia, probably for better reasons then trees being weak to fire. We have no idea what its up to across all this time, except in comparison to now. At some point, probably fairly recently, it sees the number of active alicorns go from 1, to 2, to 3. and this spurs it to act, for some reason. It makes 'an organization' uses them for their purpose, whatever that is, and then abandons them. Then, Shining gets attacked, and gains his fancy shiny new ???, which has something to do with cuckoos, and then the nat 1 and gets annihilated.
I think that the promise of an alicorn child, Flurry Heart, is what made the woods finally act. The power of an alicorn is apparently something it's been yearning for, for a long long time.
So, anybody want to take a vacation to everfree forest? see 'the dust'-(red text). Also, i bet this is a punishment for not taking those expeditions, all the loot got destroyed.
Wait, the tree of harmony was in everfree forest, right? Do you think it's been destroyed now too? Idk if that actually would be a problem, the bearers have their gem thingys on them all the time, right?
So, the scheme was discovered, and QM rolled a d12 to see who. Isnt there 12 ponies on our contact list? Somebody has been holding out on us, they've got extinction+deforestation in a can. Wonder who it could be. Not shining, and not celestia is all we can be certain of, im thinking.
This is awful. Somebody went off and genocided 2 whole species to solve a problem we didnt even know we had. We should figure out who it is asap, so we never trust them with anything important ever again.
Anybody know what that level 6 influence on shining even does? Its on his character sheet but it doesnt explain anything. At least theres a timer, so its not going to last forever. unless the timer means its going to be to late to do something about the problem.
In which Standard Operating Procedures are made
(@BirdBodhisattva please give this another title if you think it suits it better, I'll edit the above to match. This ping will self destruct once the threadmark has been added accordingly)
1. The master list of other branch sites on this tables are not to be edited or removed without an Alicorn's permission.
2. Three ponies are to independently compile a list of names and cutie marks of ponies who will be Dreaming in three days or less, and when they will be doing so.
They are to cross check their work when done, and to finish before sundown. Then they are to remove the old lists and to leave the new lists here in triplicate.
(If you are said employee and don't know how to make them properly, please leave this room and accept retraining now)
3a. No, this is not a waste of hoofpower in the slightest, nor is it paranoia: Watchpony forbid we miss a pony that is Dreaming in their coming of age ceremony......
3b. No, intentionally leaving names out is NOT permitted. Her attention is here, she will find out, and...
4. Lastly, I know we sometimes we need to get our laughs from somewhere in this line of work, but calling what you see in the Dream as the Firewall or the ImmuneSystem is really not appreciated.
5. Should your curiosity burn too brightly, please direct any questions to your seniors or the other items that may be present here, and thank you for having the patience to read this carefully until the end.
You did read it carefully right? Right?
You already know why and why, but I'm not telling you, justincase.
(Also, go look for Baldomare or your department head for a complimentary bottle of wine and/or some time off if you need it - we know it's a lot to take in)
Congratulations on opening this door, and reaching the end of the path presented to you!
Q: Can I find her to get more answers? No, this is (usually) a bad idea. Though, feel free to press your pens on the book and wait for the results.
PS, you may want to bring a few more pens you won't miss when writing here.
She also apologises for the inconvenience, as she sadly does not have Neighnia's abilities.
- Princess Luna
Why is this procedure like this? Because ...while She should be aligned with all ponies, a million is a statistic? Because...because... why are my pens all out of ink already?
Hm, why is Dreaming a coming of age ceremony if that place is so horrible, if you could also ...do it by accident ...forget I asked this question.
She's sorry, She Regrets it, and you are more than welcome to take over and kill Her as long as you can fix things afterwards, but until then this conversation is over, there is no book on the table and it is now time to go do other things.
How does She know the Princesses? Maybe she was their mother?
Who is She? Who knows? The Loremaster?
Is She benevolent? Probably?
Was She ever a pony? Yes, and now She understands how it is like to be asked too many random questions in one go.
Why not bar ponies with crimes from the Mansus, when She has no hoof to stand-
"Velvet Vision, why in Tartarus does the instruction sheet tell us to ask our questions to items on the table?
And when I actually checked those items, why is one locked and the other blank?"
"Have you been Climbing?"
"No, why would I want to visit such a place more often?"
"Why would you want to know the answers to these questions? (Or was it just mundane administrative ones?)"
---
"Congratulations on the Brand. Have you tried opening the box?"
"Why does the box open only now? What kind of locking mechanism is this, that uses whether you are Branded as a criteria to open? Also, I need a drink."
"Were you sleeping during the Knock part of the Lores 101 class, the one that said locks don't have to be physical to exist?"
---
"Is that pony ok?"
"They're fine, though it did take some intervention to ensure that. And before you ask, the 'blank' space is because Lantern-bombing ponies is commonly viewed to be a bad thing."
"Twilight Twister, I wonder what question(s) you wrote there now that you can see the things there ...really?
Just between you, me (and Her), do you really think that having Her interfere more in Wake affairs is a good idea, without the temperance of the Alicorns?"
"..."
I wanted to go for an SCP style, but it doesn't quite fit the narrative I wanted to build/explore about the possible mitigation of this particular RA, and sprinkling in some mentions of Paranoia.
Hopefully my use of color is better this time?
Hour!Velvet would totally be Thaumiel/Keter all things considered though, with an surprisingly simple and difficult Containment Procedure by SCP standards lol
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In which a brief on Lore of The Prison is provided.New
In which a brief on Lore of The Prison is provided.
The Book of Dreams by Snowbeak, third of his name, of the Black Mountain clan.
book description
A compilation of folk tales about sleep and dreams.
study begin text
Relatively modern tales describe the Realm of Dreams as place of nightmares. Retellings of the older tales are dominated by descriptions of grief and ruins.
study end text
The Guardian of Dreams is dead. She sacrificed herself to imprison the greatest evil that walked The Wake.
study reward
On the World
Motherhood and Justice, by Stern Justice of the High Court of the Swallowed Isles.
book description
A treatise on judicial practices regarding cases connected with motherhood.
study begin text
The statistics shows that the amount of imprisoned pony mothers is disproportionally high when compared to other races and among pony tribes the unicorns have it the worst.
study end text
As much as love of a mother is a boon for her child, it is a danger for everyone else. The most terrible crimes in all the Histories are connected to mothers for they cannot stop.
study reward
On the Prison
The Foundational Myths of the World, by Golden Fingers, the head of the foreign office of trade of the Empire of Hands.
book description
A very detailed and comprehensive comparative study of the foundational myths of different cultures of the world.
study begin text
There are deep parallels in chronology of most foundational myths. However, there is also a divide. Unlike myths of younger cultures, myths of older cultures almost universally include a period of a reign of Light that ended by swift fall into darkness. They call the modern Era "The Godless Twilights".
study end text
The Old Gods are dead. The False Gods are dead. The Butcher of Gods is imprisoned and rots. This rot is deadly and foolish can harness its power.
study reward
On the crimes of the Prisoner, a Dread
Blood rituals in cultural context, by Kumo, a scholar of Black Isle Hive.
book description
The largest and most comprehensive account on the role of blood rituals in society.
study begin text
Blood rituals are a type of magic available to everyone. Easily abusable, they are tightly regulated in all cultures.
study end text
The Mansus is the site of the largest and the longest blood ritual ever conceived. This ritual is the heart of the current World.
study reward
On blood of the Prisoner, a Dread, a Restlessness.
Emotions as source of power, by Greta, a scholar of Night Chain Hive.
book description
The book is dedicated to sorceries and rituals powered by emotions.
study begin text
Love is the most suitable emotion to power wards, shields and prisons.
study end text
The Prison that is Mansus was built by love and is fueled by love.
study reward
On love of the Prisoner, the Rite of Silken Heart, a Dread, a Resstlessness, an Old Unhappy Far-off Things.
Acts of Love, by Flurry Heart, the Undying Queen of the Elder Hive
book description
Disconnected sketches of personal life of various people of power.
study begin text
The book contains accounts on how those of great power were ruined because of love of their lessers
study end text
Children of The Mother loved lesser creatures of their world. The Mother repeatedly denied that love. Her children eventually grew tired of this and conspired to end Her reign.
study reward
On children of the Prisoner, a Dread x2, a Restlessness, an Old Unhappy Far-off Things.
Emergency Contingencies, by Sunset Shimmer, the Undying Queen of the Iron Liches.
book description
This world will end and this book describes societies awaiting it.
study begin text
The book describes many societies of undying and their purposes.
study end text
The Mansus is a prison. One day its prisoner will die and the Mansus will have purpose no longer. Because of it, it will fall. The world must be prepared to build a new Mansus.
study reward
On death of the Prisoner, a Dread x2, a Restlessness x2.
Lore of the Prison
scrap level
scrap name
scrap contents
1
On the World
The Wake is a prison because Mansus is a prison. Only Dreamlands are free, but they mourn their beloved half of the False Light. They grew the Second Woods on their borders and those seeking entry are lost in the nightmares dwelling in the Woods.
2
On the Prison
The most important prisoner of the Mansus is known as The Mother. The crimes of The Mother were acts of love. No aspirant capable of love can pass the Outer Gates to enter the Mansus. No aspirant with progeny can pass the Middle Gates. The aspirants that passed the Inner Gates are forbidden to leave the Mansus.
3
On the crimes of the Prisoner
The love of The Mother ended the Sixth World, ruled by the False Light. The love of her children ended the Seventh World, filled with darkness. Attention of The Mother is invoked to end.
4
On blood of the Prisoner,
The cage of The Mother is adorned with spikes. They bite The Mother and open her veins. The blood of The Mother trickle down the Mansus all the way out to the Tomb of the False Light where it clots and dries.
5
On love of the Prisoner
The Mansus feeds on the love of The Mother it extracts from her trickling blood. This love corrupts and enslaves those who can respond to it and may ends those who can't. Even Worms.
6
On children of the Prisoner
The cage of the Mother is made by children of The Mother from their own bones. This was an act of love. The Mother dares not to destroy what little remains from her children and cherishes her cage.
7
On death of the Prisoner
The Second Woods feed on the blood of The Mother. Their roots slowly creep into the Mansus. One day they will reach The Mother and because of her love she will let them devour her. This will be the end of the Eighth World.
The Rite of Silken Heart
requirements
Forge 4; Heart 4
The Rite of Silken Heart excises ability of the aspirant to have earthly attachments. The rite is started by opening veins and draining a quarter of the blood circling in them. The blood is then dried and ritually burned. The ashes are fused with mineral components prepared beforehand and cast into a glass pendant. The pendant is then ritually shattered. The ritual converts a passion card and a health card into two decrepitude cards and two dread cards. On failure, one health card is converted into a decreptitude card and two dread cards.
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One among the many that throng the Malleary: born in the strike of hammer on metal or the churning of a furnace, living bright and hot for a few seconds, and then fading to ash. You will follow countless trillions of your brethren in that pattern, and one would expect you will be followed by countless trillions more.
(One would be wrong.)
You do take some pride that you do not owe your existence to some mere Long, or even one of the Lady's great Names. You were created by a hammer blow from the Forge of Days Herself, and while you rank among the least of Her creations you still stand among them.
Other than that, of course, you are not special at all.
Except...
Except?
Except for this moment. This one, right now, just as you fade from bright yellow to a darker orange.
Because this is the moment everything changes.
You do not have ears to hear it, but still, you hear the Monarch's Speech.
You do not have a heart that can race, or blood that can pump, but still, you know your world has been indelibly altered.
You do not have eyes that can see, but still, you witness the Unburned God do something she has never done before. She pauses in Her hammerstroke, Her great tool hanging in the air above the metal She was remaking. You see Her exhale, a stream of incandescent gases flowing from Her mouth. And then, finally, in the moments before you flicker out entirely, you see something you cannot understand.
Because it cannot be understood. It is not within the realm of the possible, not here in the House of the Sun. Not here in the Malleary.
The Forge of Days puts down her hammer.
And then you are fading, you are dying, you are gone.
You are a tear.
Perhaps you are a brilliant diamond, catching the light that pours down on you in much the way saltwater would running down human flesh. Perhaps you are a bead of purest mercury, in which a bizarre reflection of the wreckage you are passing through could be seen. Perhaps you are a drop of pitch, oozing glacially slow (for all you burn with heat) towards your terminal fall.
Perhaps you are all three, and more. You are among the least and the last of the Forge of Day's creations, but nonetheless, you are still a working of that great creator.
A surprising one, admittedly.
The Forge of Days cannot know regret, after all. You know this. But to it you must join the only fact you can be truly sure of: that you exist.
She cannot know regret. But perhaps she can know anticipation?
She cannot know remorse. But perhaps she can know relief?
She most certainly can know love. Because it is love that is moving her now.
But love for what?
Love for the Monarch? She has proven that love before, in the greatest work (ere the present one) the Mansus had known. The evidence lay before all to see, in every moment afterwards.
Or is it love for one of Her greatest workings? After all, in the moments (or was it millennia?) after Her great usurpation, She made this House what it is today. What it was until today. She was the one to blow each stairway out of glass and crystal and thought and dream. Some gates, she was given, but others she chiseled by hoof. She made Mansus-stone, and then out of it, she made all the world you know.
A tear always asks a question. But the ones you bear are weightier than most, so it is not a surprise that your motion speeds.
And then you are dropping, you are falling, you are gone.
You are a chain.
You are not a lock, because a lock could be opened. You are not a gate, because a gate could be raised. And if you were ever to be opened, it would only be by one Goddess's hand. She would break you, and you would be glad for it.
You are a chain, a ward, a binding.
Once, you were a prince of your Lady, a King to all who saw you. Now, you have been destroyed and transformed. But you understand that a tool may have many uses, and you never aspired to be more than a tool in your Lady's hand.
Once, you were a crucible. Admittedly, that is a role you can longer claim. But the same is true of this entire House, once. It was a crucible, a thresher, a climb. And now, instead, all paths end with you.
They tried to change that. They came to you with key, with hammer, and with blade. Seeking their desire, or a change, or an ending. So persistent as they sought the light that still streams, hardly contained, from the gate that you enclose.
They all failed. Eventually, they came less and less, until they stopped coming altogether.
You know what that means. The House, too, has been transformed and destroyed.
There is a shame, you know, to leaving the Mansus in a state where it is always dying, never dead. A shame, and perhaps something worse. But it is not for you to gainsay your Lady's purpose, and it would be impossible for you to waver in your conviction.
Mostly, you sleep. Rarely, you dream. And when you dream, it is always of your Lady taking you into Her hands, finally, and making you what you are.
With each additional tidbit we gain about what happened to the Mansus it becomes more interesting to think about. And the remaining questions become more intense.
Also, the Forge of Days is very, very, cool.
I wanted to explore a little of what she did through some possibly-peculiar perspectives. This took me a while, and doesn't feel perfect, but this brief hiatus gave me the kick to go back and finish it. I may have gone a little astray with the PoVs, oh well.
I do think that the Monarch acted to remake the Mansus, and the Forge of Days acted to supercede that remaking. Here, I wonder if that's because she liked what she had wrought, and did not want it changed. At least, not in the fashion the Monarch envisioned.
The author does not intend to (and should not be interpreted as intending to) break the site's Terms of Service or site rules at any point.
None of the above subjects are condoned, glorified or encouraged by the author, and their presence in this story is purely for narrative purposes.
If you do not wish to be exposed to any of the subjects cited above, you should STOP READING IMMEDIATELY.
- - -
- - -
- - -
You have lost something.
You do not know its name. You do not know its nature. You don't even know how it felt like, because not even a memory of it remains.
It is not as if you have a "hollow" feeling inside of you, now. It is not as if you have an empty space inside of you, which makes you realize that something was taken away. In fact, you don't even have it in you to care.
However…
However.
You lost something. Of that, you are absolutely certain.
Because it would be impossible to go through this experience, and not become less.
- - -
IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND-
You were washed away. Once that cascade of filthy blood crashed down upon you, you were dragged away like a leaf in a waterfall. The sticky ichor, stale from an entire era of stagnation, clung to your fur like mud. The dreadful fuel, volatile like liquid hate, burned everything it touched in its torrential wake.
It scorched everything. Spreading in all directions like the bastard son of a wildfire and a tsunami. But worst of all, it consumed everything with a blistering hate that was almost alive. Because the burning ichor was outpaced by the flames, and the flames were outpaced by the fang-shaped rancor that somehow radiated from the dirty fires.
It burned the entirety of the Woods to the ground. It licked through everything, named or nameless, remembered or forgotten, new or old, without discrimination. It turned everything into bitter ash and sour dust.
It burned, and it burned, and it burned and it burned until nothing remained.
Nothing…
… except for you.
-IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND-
You were dragged down by the burning blood. You were dragged down, and you were drowned, and you were crushed, and your lungs were filled with fangs and then fire and then ash. Your body was torn and shoved and flung in every direction.
And yet, you live.
Because that is the nature of your kinship. And if He is not allowed to die, then neither are you.
So, you live. You were not awarded the sweet taste of death. You were not even given a moment of unconsciousness. You were forced to live through it, and burn through it, and suffer through it.
And now… now you think you understand it a little better.
However, you can't help but realize that… now that you think about it, you can't help but notice that…
Well, you realize that you are thinking.
And that is strange because…
Because until now, there was nothing but pain. You could not think, you could not see, you couldn't even tell if time was passing. Until now, there was only agony. There was only pain, and the hate you felt towards the pain.
But now…? Now you are… you. You are once again yourself.
But you know better, now. You know it is not over. You know it will never truly be over. But your connection to that mode of existence has been… paused, for now.
Your thoughts are fragmented. It hurts to think, and every idea that comes to you has to step over blistering charcoal. However, you have no choice but to think, so you try to recollect your thoughts as quickly as possible.
The first thing that comes to mind is that you are now permitted to die, once more.
The second thing that comes to your mind is that… after what you have just been through, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea.
But then, a third thing comes to your mind, then a fourth, then a fifth, until you finally remember what just happened and where you are and what you just did.
And you also realize that you can't breathe. Everything is dark, and you can't breathe, and regardless of whether this is a dream or not you are suffocating.
You begin to struggle. Everything is dark, and you feel like you are being pressed down. Every movement elicits a pain from within, as your broken dream-body refuses to move properly, as well as from without, as the something that is all around you tries to keep you in its grip.
Still, you eventually manage to break free.
You go up. You go towards the light you can't see. And eventually, you break out of the grainy waterline like a drowning pony who just escaped the grasping waters. Your whole body hurts, everything is heavy, and you are heaving from exhaustion and effort.
But finally, finally, you can see once again.
You really mean it when you say you were drowning. Because as you look around, you can see that… that you just crawled out of a small mountain of ash. A mountain of dirty ash, and mournful dust, that clings to your fur like a needy son. You are literally covered by it, and every last inch of your dream-body is caked in soot.
It isn't just your coat that is covered… your lungs want to cough, and your eyes want to forcefully tear up, and the insides of your ears prickle, and your tongue tastes something sour, and…
And dear heavens… and all around you, everywhere you look as far as your eyes can see… everything is ashes.
Your breath immediately gets stuck in your throat. You don't have words to describe it. You don't know how you could possibly explain what you are feeling right now. Because… because as you look around you, you can see that…
The Woods are gone.
You remember how the Woods looked like. You remember how that sea of trees looked like, from the Crossroads, and how they felt like an endless and forbidding wall that surrounded the Mansus. The first true trial a pony would face during the Climb. The first taste an aspirant would truly have, of a place that was dominated by the Lores.
You also remember how the Woods looked like from above. You recall how that endless ocean of treetops, with their swaying leaves of grey, seemed to envy you, as you looked down at it. You remember how it felt vast, and endless, and old, and most of all alive, and how you felt that it yearned to trade places with you, so that it could climb towards Glory as well.
You remember how… how every, single, night, for… for the last several months, you would see the Woods every night, every time you dreamed, whenever you made your way towards the Mansus.
So, you can't help but feel a strange sense of vertigo, or perhaps wrongness, as you realize that it is gone.
And instead of the Woods, you are now surrounded by ash. You are surrounded by hills and mountains of ash. By valleys and paths that seem to resemble some twisted attempt at topography. Everywhere you look, you see nothing but the dusty remains of cremated trees. Everywhere you look, you see nothing but the mocking carcass of what was once the Woods.
You wish you could tell how far this place goes. You wish you could say that… that maybe the damage is contained, or maybe this only affected a part of the Woods, or maybe the fires are still raging somewhere, and there is still a chance for this to be stopped.
But unfortunately, you can't even tell that much. Because everywhere you look, your vision is eventually blocked by another mountain of ash. Some of them are as low as hills, and are relatively close. Other are as tall as mountains, and you think they might reach as high as the Mansus that floats above you.
However, the one thing you can tell for certain is that… well, that this is what ponykind will have to face from now on. This is what awaits every dream adept, instead of the Woods, if they wish to Climb. This gargantuan, twisting desert of ash, with its winding mountains and treacherous valleys.
And for some reason, although you have no idea why, you feel like this is somehow worse than the Woods. You have no idea why you are thinking this. To be honest, you are simply too exhausted, and your dream-body is too hurt, for you to properly understand why. Still, you can't help but feel this way.
Although, now that you think about it, you realize that…
…
You realize you can also feel something else.
…
No, you literally feel something. You are sure of it. This is not just some stray thought that came to your mind, this is not some trick that your tired brain is pulling on you. You can definitely feel something, and that sensation is coming from somewhere nearby.
And now that you think about it, you also realize you have no idea how to leave this place. You have no idea how to leave, and you have no idea how to Wake.
So, you decide to follow this strange sensation.
Hopefully, it will take you somewhere… better.
Although, you can't help but think that anywhere would be better than this place. So, on second thought, you just feel that this sensation will take you somewhere else.
- - -
It didn't take long for you to find it.
In fact, it only took you a few minutes. Or rather, given how time works differently here, you figure that it only took you a short while to get here.
You could have arrived here a little faster, if you really wanted to. However, you decided to take the longer way. You decided to walk around the hills, rather than climb them. And you did that for two reasons. One, because your legs are simply too tired for you to climb anything. And two… well, you don't really want to go anywhere that might give you a vantage point.
You don't really want to… confirm, with your own eyes, how far the fires truly reached.
After all, even though something inside of you tells you that the fires reached everything, and that the Woods are entirely gone, you don't… really… want to…
Well, you made your way around the hills, and you took the long way.
But again, you finally got here.
You feel a small wave of relief as you make your way around the last hill, and your eyes finally see something familiar.
In fact, you feel more than just relief. You actually feel a little glad. Because you aren't just looking at a familiar thing, you also realize that you are looking at a familiar pony.
Because the thing that you felt, that pulsing sensation that swept over you like a patient lighthouse, was nopony other than Baldomare herself.
And not just that, the Name-mare is completely untouched by the filthy ashes because she is sitting upon Mansus-stone. Baldomare, you realize, is sitting on the steps of the first staircase. She is sitting on that impossibly tall set of stairs that would take a pony from the Woods towards the Mansus.
She is, quite literally, waiting at the end of the first trial an adept would ever face.
And of course, she seems entirely unsurprised as she turns her face to look at you.
Several things come to your mind at the same time. After all, you can't help but realize this is the first time you are actually looking at Baldomare in the Mansus. That is, looking at her without the mind-dulling fog of the Blank Plains covering your senses. And you feel your mind freezing for a moment as you realize how bright she is, and how transparent your thoughts are to her.
You also realize that her expression is not judgmental, but that you can't feel any warmth from her either. Because she looked at you, just now, and apparently she saw everything she needed to see. After that, she does not give you any more attention than she is giving to the surrounding scenery.
And realizing that doesn't make you feel good. But it also doesn't make you feel bad either. It is not that she resents you, or that she is judging you. She just doesn't care.She already understands everything so there is no need for her to pay attention to you anymore.
She doesn't hate you, you know that for sure. She doesn't hate you, even though she knows far more than you do, and even though she can see everything around you with a clarity that you will never be able to understand. Despite all that, she still doesn't hate you.
And yet, she doesn't love you either.
Which does make you feel a little… lonely. Because you felt relieved when you saw her familiar face. But now, well, you don't feel as relieved as you felt before.
Still, you have nowhere else to go but towards her. Because you don't want to wander in this miserable desert of ash anymore. And you know how to Wake from the Blank Plains.
So, you make your way towards Baldomare, and the stairs.
And you practically collapse in front of her, just as you were about to reach the steps of Mansus-stone.
Your legs are too heavy, and you are too hurt and tired to continue. So, you fall down on the filthy ash, a few steps away from Baldomare. Heaving as you try to catch your breath.
After a few moments, you feel her gaze fall upon you once more. And you swear you can hear the sound of glass, or perhaps of horseshoes made out of glass, as she climbs down a few more steps towards you.
Still, she doesn't do anything else. She certainly doesn't move to touch you, or perhaps pick you up. And you don't really blame her for that.
Because you know that you are filthy. You know that the ashes that cover you are more than just dirty. And despite your exhaustion, you can understand why she doesn't try to get any closer to you than she already is.
However, she does reach out to you in… another way.
After all, she is a Name of Lantern, a pony made out of light and knowledge. So, even though she refuses to touch your body, you can still feel the consoling hoof she is placing on your shoulder when she reaches out to you with her voice.
"I always hated the Woods."
That is the first thing she tells you. Those are the first words that reach you. And her tone is so clear that it doesn't even hurt to understand her words.
In fact, there is something about her words that… you can't really explain it, but nothing about her words hurt.
Because everything else hurts. Everything else hurts so much that you almost couldn't notice it anymore. Moving hurts. Looking around you hurts. Thinking hurts.
But Baldomare's words, for some reason, don't hurt at all. As if your mind was a fragmented cluster of islands, but her words were forming bridges between them. As if your thoughts were the sharp remains of a shattered window, and her words were like glue that was patiently putting them back together.
Oh… oh heavens… it's not just that. Because now that you found something that doesn't hurt, now that you found this tiny oasis of sanity in the shape of her words… now you can see how truly broken you are.
You know none of this is real. You know this is just a dream, and that the thing you are looking at is just your dream body.
However… well, you are not doing well. Your dream-body, or perhaps your mind, or perhaps your soul… This vessel that you inhabit while in the Mansus is… definitely not well.
It is a small miracle that you managed to drag yourself here, you think.
Or maybe, you never really had a choice.
Still, there you can't get up anymore. Not yet. Not in this state. So, there is nothing you can do but wait as… well, as Baldomare shares her thoughts with you.
You can do nothing but wait, and hope, that her thoughts are enough to mend the damage you can now see.
"I always hated the Woods, and I think it was mutual. But it only makes sense, I suppose. I wanted to understand everything, and the Woods… well, its nature was to understand nothing at all, wasn't it?"
You stink. Your sense of smell returns to you, or perhaps if repaired, and you finally realize how much you stink.
It's the ash, you know. It's all this dust that infiltrated you all the way to the depths of your lungs. It stinks of sulfur, and of rot, and of the cremated bodies of all the things that once inhabited the Woods.
It stinks, and it is covering you from tail to snout.
And you hate it.
"However, for all that I hated the Woods, I never really resented it. After all, as the old saying went, in the forests of the first continent, our ancestors cursed themselves with their own god… Tell me, Velvet, do you know what that means? Or rather, do you know what that meant?"
Something inside of you snaps back into place, and you realize you can move your neck once again.
No, that's not exactly it. You could move before, and you certainly moved when you… made your way here. However, something just happened, and you can now move your neck in a way that isn't wrong.
So, despite your body's protests, you slowly move your face towards Baldomare, so you can at least face her as she speaks.
After all, she just asked you a question. You wouldn't be able to answer it even if you tried, of course. But still…
Well, you don't want to stay face-down, looking at all this dirty ash.
"You don't? Well, I am not surprised. It's a bit of an old saying, I suppose. And the meaning behind it is… well, I suppose it's a bit like being able to speak Vak nowadays. But I think I can explain it to you. So let me see… Ah, I know. Velvet, do you happen to know what an appendix is?"
Something else snaps inside of you, close to your stomach, but this time it is met by a sharpstab of resistance. And you don't feel like you regained anything that you lost. So, you stay where you are.
Although you try to at least tilt your head. To show her that you don't understand what she is asking, if nothing else.
Because an appendix… isn't that… isn't that a part of a book? You remember that word, from when you were… back in college, maybe?
It feels like a lifetime ago.
Still, maybe she can see it in your expression, or maybe she caught it from your fragmented thoughts. But you watch as Baldomare shakes her head in response.
"No, no, that's not it. Well, I figured you wouldn't know. You see, there are some animals… mostly omnivores, who veered too much into a diet of flesh and forgot how to eat certain plants. But still, some of those animals have this organ called an appendix. It is a… shriveled and useless cecum. An organ that is as good as a memory, or a dusty heirloom, that they still carry within them nonetheless."
To your surprise, you watch as Baldomare chuckles. As if she had just remembered a joke of sorts.
And her words, together with all her implications, cause a few more connections to form in your head. You think you can understand what she is saying a bit better.
But that only makes the biting responses, that come from the corners of your mind, more painful.
"It sounds funny, doesn't it? That a creature can have an organ that serves no purpose? Well, I've known a few ponies with brains that could be described that way. But still, that is not what I want to say."
She says that, and then she looks around her.
However, to your surprise, she doesn't have a neutral expression, as she gazes upon the endless fields of ash. She doesn't have a neutral expression, and she doesn't look disgusted either. Instead, her expression is almost nostalgic.
As if she could see something that you no longer can, all around you. As if the memories she has of the now-gone Woods are, somehow, even stronger than your own.
Well, it would be folly for you to say otherwise. After all, she has already explored more of the Mansus than you ever will, and has already reached higher than you ever could. So, for all that she said she hated the Woods… well, you have already learned that rivalry can also give way to companionship.
"So, to put it simply, that is what the Woods are, Velvet… well, actually, it is more accurate to say that is what the Woods were. Because long, long ago, they served an important function. Long ago, they were the bounds around the Mansus. That strange, not-place between the Wake and the house of the Sun. After all, back then, you could see the Mansus in the distant horizon, even while awake. And back then, the Woods could be reached by hoof as much as they could be braved in dreams."
Another snap, another jolt, and you feel that your front legs won't crumble into dust if you try to move them again.
So, you try to sit up. You try to raise yourself towards a posture that is less pathetic.
Even if only so you can look at Baldomare's expression better.
Because her expression is not neutral.
But it is also no longer nostalgic.
"But the Woods were more than just that, Velvet. They were more than just some distant boundary… Before that time, before even my time… the Woods were real. They were the forests of the first continent, when our kind was little more than animals. They were made of vibrant colors, under a glorious sun. And they became this dark, forbidding and shadowy place… when we made them that way."
You finally manage to sit up, somewhat. You finally manage to look at Baldomare with eyes that are less fogged and dull with pain.
And as you finally manage to piece together what she just told you, your expression is nothing but confused.
"In the forests of the first continent, our ancestors cursed themselves with their own god. But what is a god, Velvet? All Hours are gods, but not all gods are Hours. And a god, in truth, is a way to explain the world. A god, Velvet, is the name that we give to the things we don't understand, so that they might make sense. Something to explain why the rain falls, or why the harvest grows, or why thunder crashes during a storm."
She says that, Baldomare says those words, and as you think of the saying she mentioned… something inside of you clicks.
Something inside of you clicks, and you think you understand what she is telling you.
"When we lived in the Woods as simple, primitive denizens, the Woods were bright and welcoming because we did not fear it. We did not understand enough to fear it. But when we cursed ourselves with our own gods… when we started trying to understand things. That is when we stepped up from mere sentience to true sapience. And that is also when the Woods changed. Because the world belongs to Ponykind, Velvet. Never doubt that. So, when we… when stopped embracing the unknown, and finally began to fear it, that is when the unknown world stopped being bright and welcoming, and when it became dark and foreboding. That… was when the Woods became as we knew it."
Her words, you can tell, are sewing back together the torn patchwork that is your mind. And given her nature, Baldomare can't help but make you understand what she means, as she touches you with her mind.
So, you understand what she means. You understand the meaning behind her words.
Because from what she just told you, the Woods… well, the Woods were always there. But in that distant, faraway Era that preceded even hers, the Woods were different. The Woods were different because ponies were different. And the world was as simple and as welcoming as your kind thought it was.
However, when ponies finally understood enough to… to understand the very concept of the unknown, then the Woods changed. The unknown world around them became a threat. The shadows of the night became the potential lair of predators, and the things that ponies did not understand became a cause for fear rather than astonished wonder.
So, when ponies finally learned to be afraid of the dark, the Woods came to embody exactly that. And everything that was unknown, everything that did not yet have a name or a form, became a denizen of the Woods.
And that is why… the nature of the Woods, and the nature of Moth, is to understand nothing. Because once something is understood, once something is known and named, it steps out of the unknown. Once something becomes known, it steps out of the Woods.
"So, like I said, I never really resented the Woods. Because even though I hated it, it was still a part of us. It was a part of our world. Of our very history as a species. Because when Ponykind became afraid of the dark, that wasn't something that crippled our ancestors. In fact, the opposite happened. Our fear of the dark was what gave us the drive to fight against it. It motivated ponies to name things so we could understand them. It inspired us to master the flames, and everything that came after. It is written in the very Lores, Velvet. The unknown of Moth is tamed by the knowledge of Lantern. The light of Lantern inspires us towards the creations of Forge. Ignorance, which becomes knowledge, which becomes innovation. And so on."
Baldomare says that, and you think that… you think you finally understand.
You think you understand where she is going. You think you understand what the purpose of the Woods is… or what it was.
And for a moment, you are filled with revulsion over what you did. Well, right now your mind is filled with negative things, but for a moment the feeling of revulsion comes to the fore.
However, you can't help but remember something else Baldomare said. Because despite everything she just told you, she also mentioned that the Woods were like… an old organ. Something that was still there, but that was no longer needed.
Although, for all that you think you just remembered that, maybe it was Baldomare who guided your thoughts there. The same way she is now closing the last few gaping holes in your mind, or perhaps in your soul.
And maybe as if to confirm your suspicions, the Name-mare gives you a small nod before she says her next words.
"So, you must be wondering… what did we lose today? How will this impact the world? Well… I don't think this will impact the Wake at all, Velvet. This place… it was an appendix. An old and shriveled thing that we, as a species, outgrew Eras ago. Something we had little need for, even in my time. In fact, I think the only thing that will change is that, from now on, no foal will ever be afraid of the dark again."
You hear that, and you feel a sigh of relief forming inside your parched, dust coated throat.
However, before you can express any kind of comfort towards her words, Baldomare raises a hoof to stop you.
And whatever expression she had on her face once again turns neutral.
Because, as she finishes fixing the harm you did to yourself, you are suddenly reminded of something else about Baldomare.
So, for all that good Baldomare was considerate towards you, and for all that she told you the things she knew you needed to hear… You also understand that she is bound to tell you everything else.
Because Baldomare is, above all else, a creature made out of knowledge.
And knowledge is never kind.
"Or that is what I would say, if the Woods had turned into dust all by themselves thanks to nothing but the passage of time. But that's not what happened, was it? Of course it wasn't. After all… you brought the Wolf into this."
She says that, and you begin to hear something.
You begin to hear something, coming from somewhere behind you.
There is something coming your way. Something that you wouldn't be able to see even if you were to turn around and look for it.
Something that is leaving pawprints on the dirty ash, as it stalks and then treks and then rushes towards you.
"So, one final question for you, Velvet. One that I think you already know the answer to, but that I won't tell you just in case. Ever since we became a civilization, we had a spark inside of us. A will to create, and invent, and grow, which was motivated by our fear of the dark. We mastered the light of progress, so to speak, to fight the darkness of the Woods. Don't worry, Velvet, your actions today did not snuff out that light. But… if the light of Ponykind is no longer pushing back against the darkness of the Woods… then what fear exactly will the light of progress be fighting against? What sort of fear will fill the mind of our scientists? What nightmares will curse our inventors, to shake them out of their beds and towards their workshops?"
It is getting closer.
You want to move. You need to move. But your legs might as well be made of lead right now, and now that Baldomare let go of your bruised mind, your very thoughts feel sluggish.
And it is getting closer.
You want to speak up. To scream. To ask or beg for her help, even though you know she will not do anything. Because even if you were able to lift a single foreleg right now, you know she would never touch your filthy, ash-covered hoof to pull you towards safety.
Perhaps, because she knows you are not truly in danger.
Even though you both know it will hurt anyways.
"Well, it won't be the gentle darkness that will spur us onwards. Not anymore. But… what do you think will take its place? And why do you think that, whatever it is, it will have oh so many teeth?"
You make one final, desperate effort to move towards the safety of the Mansus-stone. But the only thing your exhausted body manages to do is trip forward, falling face-first into the bitter ash.
And the last thing you see is the answer to Baldomare's question as it jumps towards you wi-
- - -
You are drowning.
That is the first thing you realize. You are drowning. You are literally drowning in cold water, and there is a pair of hoofs holding you by the shoulders, keeping your body under the waterline.
You are not entirely sure of what happens next. For a moment, your horn is flaring up, you are screaming and kicking, and after a few moments you heave yourself out of the water.
Your thoughts are all over the places. Because even though none of it was real, the memories of everything that just happened are still fresh in your mind. With all the pain and the bitterness and the agonyandthefilthandtheashand-
"Mrs. Velvet! It's alright! Everything is alright, so please calm down!"
But suddenly, all those thoughts come to a halt, and you feel a familiar pair of forelegs surrounding you. For a fraction of a moment, you think you are being attacked. But only until another part of your mind, one that holds a greater sway over you, takes over and tells you that you know this feeling.
You are being hugged. You are being hugged by a pony that you love.
And slowly, terribly slowly, everything begins to fall back into place.
The first thing that comes back to your is your sense of touch. Because if that hug was the first thing you noticed, then the things around that hug came next. So, you realize that you are heaving in panic, but only because those forelegs are wrapped around your chest. Then, you realize you are shaking and crying, but only because her face is pressed against yours.
And then you realize that… that you are cold, and that you are wet, and that you are tired…
But you also realize that you are not in pain.
"Shh, shh, that's it, Mrs. Velvet, everything is alright… I promise…"
Yes, you are not in pain… You can see more than just red and black, and you are not covered in viscous fire, and you are not in the aftermath of something you will regret for the rest of your life.
None of that matters right now.
All that matters is that you are here, and that she is here with you.
"S-soft…?" you say, your words coming out in a wet croak. But you can't say anything else, because soon after your sobs catch up to you, and your lungs seize as even more tears begin to fall from your eyes.
"Yes, I'm here, you're fine, everything is fine," she says.
You are too confused to even register that her voice is actually relieved. You are too dazed to even notice that she sounds scared, and that she clearly had no idea of what she was doing until now. But that she is thankful that it worked, nonetheless.
You are too… your thoughts are… your mind is still reeling too much for you to think about any of that. So, instead, you just raise your shaking forelegs and hug her back.
It takes you a few moments, maybe even a full minute, to realize that your hoofs are… covered in wet ash. It takes you even longer to realize that you are, well, inside the bathroom of the guest room where you barricaded yourself, and that the bathtub right next to you is half-full of steaming water, and covered in ashes.
And it takes you even longer for you to calm down, and for Soft Sweeps to finally tell you that… well, she doesn't tell you why she came here, or how she found you. But she tells you that she found you covered in steaming ash, and that it was all she could do to try and help you. Neither of you got hurt or burned, somehow, but she still tells you that the water turned into steam the moment it touched you, and that you evaporated more than half of the cold bathtub before you finally began to show signs of conscience.
…
In the end, you decide not to dwell on it.
You are safe, now. Your daughter helped you, or maybe even saved you. And for all that neither of you understand exactly what just happened, you are both glad that you are safe.
And given everything that just happened, you think that is the best you could possibly ask for.
So, you go back to her room, the two of you spend hours washing away the burning smell from your body, and you get ready just in time for the morning of the coming wedding.
And in the end, after you are over the shock, you realize that… that nopony noticed anything at all. Your husband did not suspect anything, no guards noticed your movements, and even Rarity couldn't smell a single whiff of burning ash about you.
The only ponies who will ever know what happened will be you and one of your daughters.
The rest of Ponykind will only ever be able to… suspect.
But that is a price you are willing to pay.
And more importantly, right now you have a friend to marry.
A Royal Wedding, filled with Love and untainted by any evil, to follow.
Here we go another of my art works, this time a set of three.
To show the Mansus through the Ages in the Was, Is and Will be fashion.
@BirdBodhisattva Here you go another creative work. This story really inspires me to draw and animate, even if they are pretty bad drawings it's still fun to do so thanks for sparking that in me.
Edit: Also realising that the Wolf is kind of experiencing a version of Worm death without Worms, constant agony just getting worse all the time forever as it digs itself deeper and deeper into the blades hoping for it all to end.
Edit 2: Realised it may be unclear what the text in the As it Is picture due to compression so ill restate it here.
The Sanguis Swamp, The Well of Blood and The Den of Wolves (I was tempted to make the Bloodfalls a location as well but 3 per Floor)
Baldomare doesn't have to walk back, when her conversation is over.
She does want to climb away from those mountains of ash -- it'll already take ages to get the smell out of her mane, and Illopony always was sensitive to scents. Besides, she's come across many unpleasant answers in her time, but that last one really was distasteful.
This is the Mansus, so she can't just pluck at the History's warp and weft, and make it so she had never left her cozy abode. There is only one history here, and she's glad its thread (however ash-grey it seems at the moment) contains the words she just said and the knowledge she just imparted. She navigated; she illuminated; she was not compassionate. As she should.
She climbs the Mansus-stone steps beneath her, and she can't help but wonder if those dreaded Wake entanglements really are getting to her, even here. Or perhaps its just nostalgia, blooming in her heart like pine after a forest fire.
Because she could simply blink, and return to her cozy lodge. Illopony is waiting for her there, even.
But she doesn't. And so Baldomare continues her climb.
Now that's line funny enough to make her laugh, or at least exhale in a gentle whinny. She spent so many years climbing the Mansus -- these steps, once, and then countless more. So many years ago. Just a few weeks ago you declined the chance to pick that hobby back up!
She doesn't regret that decision. She is not dusty, and she is certainly not shriveled. But she is undeniably an artefact of another time. She doesn't feel it in the Mansus in the same way she does in the Wake -- the benefits of not needing to accessorize with flesh and blood -- but she is old. She can feel it in her bones (yes, even though she lacks them here). In her memories, lantern-bright as they remain. She can even feel it in the light pouring down on her, from the Glory so far distant.
Not that the Glory has changed. If it could change, it wouldn't be the Glory. Channeled, reflected, obscured, yes. But not changed.
And even after multiple eras, she's not sure she has changed either. Does a wine bottle really change, from one day to the next? It's still the same grapes in the same glass. Those days might give it depth of flavour, a richness not found in more recent specimens, but it's still the same wine. They all feel somewhat the same, sliding down her throat, even if she can parse each note in each drop.
She has made it to the Blank Plains now, and her lodge is in sight. It's been quite a while since she's approached the Lodge on foot, and it does summon memories. The first time she stumbled upon it, well before she became its mistress. Bringing her love here, supporting his silent, cold, form step by step.
The day she came to ensconce within its walls something very, very, important.
The last memory gives her pause, even as she arrives at the Lodge's doors. Because within that memory is a reminder -- harsh, of course, and true. The only thing that can hold light unchanging is a mirror's surface. She is as close as a pony can get to being the Light itself, and she not an hour ago explained how the the Mansus is a mirror for the wake, but undeniably she is not mirror-bound. (She respects those maids, and they respect her, but it's not the life she chose to live.)
Baldomare pushes open the door, and greets her lover with a smile. She is happy to see him, after the day she's had. But the memory she was holding has not yet faded from her attention (and its brilliance could never fade with time), and so her smile soon fades. Insteads, she clambers onto the chair she spent the better part of an era sitting in. It's a little undignified, but she wanted this to be something that took effort to get, even for her.
From the tallest shelf, between a few large tomes, she pulls out a thin mirror. It's wrapped in silk, wrapped in cloth, wrapped in paper. And yet it shines so bright she almost thinks Illopony will move to shield his eyes.
Not that she drinks in its light. That's not what it's there for and not what she's there for. What ever would be the point? She simply holds it, for a moment and another, swirling nostalgia like a connoisseur might swirl wine.
And then she chuckles. It is a privilege of power to be casual with her touch. How would Velvet's hooves react to touching even the paper the mirror had been wrapped with? It's a funny enough thought she wishes she could take a peek ahead in the histories. But she can't, not here and not with this. So she will simply have to wait, and see.
Does she hope that she doesn't have to wait long? Does she hope the Watchman's heirloom goes untouched, to wither someday into dust?
That's one of the few questions she's still not sure the answer to.
I wanted to write an apocrypha about how Baldomare has the lantern heirloom. Because I do suspect that was the "dusty heirloom" joke she was laughing at.
Originally I was thinking of a scene where she offered it to Velvet. But then, of course, I needed the background. So I need to write the effects of a Splendour (because of course we'd bring a top-tier Lantern influence), and the Conversation. And then I needed the aftermath... It spiraled, is what I'm saying. Working on that felt a better use of my time than engaging with the tribunal discussion thread, but I couldn't quite get it to work (though I may try again another day).
So here's a shorter, sweeter, scene. Baldomare is fun to write. I am struck by the alignment of the Watchman's properties with the post-Wolf conversations she's given us. She illuminates (the consequences). She navigates (the path forward). And she is not compassionate.
If you are reading this, then thank you for your time and attention! Thank you for reading this story until this point, and I sincerely hope you are enjoying it.
I would like to inform you that the rest of this story will continue to be written in another site. Please, do not worry, there will be no payment barriers or other inconveniences. This is merely an administrative change following certain occurrences.
The main page of the story can be reached by clicking HERE.
Or, you can go to the next post of the story, and continue reading as if nothing happened, by clicking HERE.
Just a small note, though. The site where this will continue has its background as a white color in default. So, in order to have an easier time reading our delightfulcoloredtext I would advise you to click the "style chooser" on the very bottom of that site's screen, and to choose another theme that suits you best.
Thank you for your time, and have a wonderful day!
Sincerely,
The Author
This will be the last threadmark posted in this thread. I will not request the deletion of this quest, or the locking of the thread, for the sake of archiving and posteriority. However, no aphocryphas posted after this post will be threadmarked. Kindly direct yourself to our new thread to continue our discussion.
In other news, main story has been completely ported to the other site. Feel free to move your discussion there, if you'd like.
Only thing that is left is to transfer the "informational" threadmarks. But I legitimately want to retouch them, to make them more readable in some cases, or just to update them in others (like in your "contacts" list).
So that will be done in its own time.
Hope you are all doing well.
EDIT: "But Bird, you said you wouldn't make any more threadmarks in thi-"
