Tonight is Luna's night. Well, I mean. Technically every night is Luna night but. Tonight is special Luna's special night.
She is very special. In the head.
Ouch. There is now something large and pointy sticking out of my head.
Happy Nightmare Night, everyone. I will resume the story of Sol, Titan, and Morgan as soon as I can. For tonight, though, well... let's all just enjoy scaring people and eating candy.
~Scrivener Blooms
Friday 31 October 2014
Friday 24 October 2014
The Legend of Sol, Titan, and Morgan: Splinters
The paladin had fled. Of all the things that could have happened, somehow this felt like the worst to Morgan: her paladin had become frightened, and abandoned the battle.
Part of her was outraged. Part of her was ashamed of him, and of herself for having been so adamant that the stallion come with them. And part of her - perhaps the worst and best part of her, she reflected - wanted to forgive and reassure him.To tell him that everything was all right, to bring him back into the fold, to let him know that she did not blame him.
But that would be a lie, in many ways: she found herself seething and stewing, just Sol was disgusted and angry, and had already lectured Morgan on her 'choice of companions.' Titan, meanwhile, tried to be reassuring, and to point out that while they all felt young... they themselves were ponies who had many, many years of experience, while the paladin was a young stallion who had yet to grow strong, who was not yet ready to face the evils it was second nature for they three heroes to endure.
Morgan agreed with this wisdom, for she loved the paladin deeply. She believed he was truly a good pony, and he would be strong, given time and chance... even if part of her was troubled, and angry, and feared that this was only the first in what would prove a long string of disappointments.
She found the paladin back at their camp. He was ashamed and dishonored, doing the duties of an apprentice as one of the elders of his order berated him. For he had carried the weight and nobility of the Templars with him when he had strode into battle... then promptly dishonored them when he'd fled, crying, from the Tyrant Wyrm.
But Morgan came to his defense, asking for her paladin, and telling the elder that he had been brave and strong when they had first entered the battle. That his help had been invaluable and he had faced great evil. The paladin was embarrassed, but grateful, and Morgan smiled to see him happy... even if part of her twisted in shame as she felt that she was deceiving both herself and someone else.
She helped her paladin finish his chore, then took him aside. She meant to chastise him and speak to him; instead, they kissed, and shared romance and intimacy in the privacy of the forest.
She loved him. He loved her.
But love can make the very best of us blind.
Part of her was outraged. Part of her was ashamed of him, and of herself for having been so adamant that the stallion come with them. And part of her - perhaps the worst and best part of her, she reflected - wanted to forgive and reassure him.To tell him that everything was all right, to bring him back into the fold, to let him know that she did not blame him.
But that would be a lie, in many ways: she found herself seething and stewing, just Sol was disgusted and angry, and had already lectured Morgan on her 'choice of companions.' Titan, meanwhile, tried to be reassuring, and to point out that while they all felt young... they themselves were ponies who had many, many years of experience, while the paladin was a young stallion who had yet to grow strong, who was not yet ready to face the evils it was second nature for they three heroes to endure.
Morgan agreed with this wisdom, for she loved the paladin deeply. She believed he was truly a good pony, and he would be strong, given time and chance... even if part of her was troubled, and angry, and feared that this was only the first in what would prove a long string of disappointments.
She found the paladin back at their camp. He was ashamed and dishonored, doing the duties of an apprentice as one of the elders of his order berated him. For he had carried the weight and nobility of the Templars with him when he had strode into battle... then promptly dishonored them when he'd fled, crying, from the Tyrant Wyrm.
But Morgan came to his defense, asking for her paladin, and telling the elder that he had been brave and strong when they had first entered the battle. That his help had been invaluable and he had faced great evil. The paladin was embarrassed, but grateful, and Morgan smiled to see him happy... even if part of her twisted in shame as she felt that she was deceiving both herself and someone else.
She helped her paladin finish his chore, then took him aside. She meant to chastise him and speak to him; instead, they kissed, and shared romance and intimacy in the privacy of the forest.
She loved him. He loved her.
But love can make the very best of us blind.
Friday 17 October 2014
The Legend of Sol, Titan, and Morgan: The Second Encounter
The Tyrant Wyrm was waiting for them.
It reclined upon the mire, stretched out and mocking them, watching as they approached. It grinned, not threatening them, not attacking them, but instead letting them come to it: but it held the advantage here, and it was confident enough to know it. It was arrogant, and yet at the same time, Sol knew their only chance to defeat this beast was to take it by surprise... and hope that she was right about this monster's terrible powers.
They stood before it, and the Tyrant Wyrm looked at them, mocking and cruel. Titan bared his teeth in anger unnatural to him, as the poison beneath his hooves tormented the nature he so loved. Morgan pretended fearlessness, but she could not hide her trembles, and her paladin lover was half-hiding at her side, whimpering and afraid. And Sol stood, not confident, not unafraid... but angry. Filled with bloodlust, and desire for revenge.
There was no exchanging of words, no offers of surrender or parlay. There were only four ponies, facing one foul and terrible beast, before Sol leapt forwards and struck the first blow, blasting it with fearsome holy fire.
The Tyrant Wyrm almost laughed, even as its head was knocked backwards, and then it struck forwards, clawing, and biting, and breathing out terrible poisons. But the ponies were swift, running rings around the Wyrm, pelting it with magic from all angles as they weaved back and forth around it.
But the Wyrm was undaunted: if anything angered it, it was that its prey refused to stay still, refused to fight it directly. The creature clawed and snapped at them, but soon enough lost interest in the game of cat-and-mouse, instead raising its head high and roaring those terrible Black Verses to the sky.
The words reverberated through the air, shocking the ponies, making them stumble... but then, fearlessly, Sol whirled and called upon her magic, bringing great meteors down upon the head of the Tyrant Wyrm. One after another they smashed into the beast, surprising it, halting its cruel recitation: the Wyrm was driven down, and immediately, Morgan and Titan converged upon it, striking without mercy at its neck.
The beast's head was severed, in a great spray of blackness and blue smog... and yet still, the monster climbed back to its claws, gurgling in fury from all that remained of its throat. Its severed head roared soundlessly even as it turned to nothing but slime and porcelain and clay, while the body stomped and stormed back and forth, sightless, and yet the neck already beginning to regenerate.
The Paladin fled in terror from the sight; Morgan fought on, only because of fear of this creature, and fear of her siblings; Titan struck, harder than he had ever dared strike before; Sol called upon every spell she knew, raining hell and destruction upon the creature.
But it was not until a lucky blow tore through the chest of the beast that it finally collapsed: even with most of its back torn to nothing but jagged ruin, even missing a tail and a leg, it had continued to try and regenerate until the fatal arrow of magic pierced its dark heart. But once that struck true through its breast, the creature fell... and yet even then, it seemed to laugh, as it rotted away to nothingness. Even then, it seemed to taste victory, and not defeat and failure, in its own death.
And as Sol removed the plugs from her ears, she could still hear its poisonous words in the air... and found herself wondering if there was any chance to save this land at all.
It reclined upon the mire, stretched out and mocking them, watching as they approached. It grinned, not threatening them, not attacking them, but instead letting them come to it: but it held the advantage here, and it was confident enough to know it. It was arrogant, and yet at the same time, Sol knew their only chance to defeat this beast was to take it by surprise... and hope that she was right about this monster's terrible powers.
They stood before it, and the Tyrant Wyrm looked at them, mocking and cruel. Titan bared his teeth in anger unnatural to him, as the poison beneath his hooves tormented the nature he so loved. Morgan pretended fearlessness, but she could not hide her trembles, and her paladin lover was half-hiding at her side, whimpering and afraid. And Sol stood, not confident, not unafraid... but angry. Filled with bloodlust, and desire for revenge.
There was no exchanging of words, no offers of surrender or parlay. There were only four ponies, facing one foul and terrible beast, before Sol leapt forwards and struck the first blow, blasting it with fearsome holy fire.
The Tyrant Wyrm almost laughed, even as its head was knocked backwards, and then it struck forwards, clawing, and biting, and breathing out terrible poisons. But the ponies were swift, running rings around the Wyrm, pelting it with magic from all angles as they weaved back and forth around it.
But the Wyrm was undaunted: if anything angered it, it was that its prey refused to stay still, refused to fight it directly. The creature clawed and snapped at them, but soon enough lost interest in the game of cat-and-mouse, instead raising its head high and roaring those terrible Black Verses to the sky.
The words reverberated through the air, shocking the ponies, making them stumble... but then, fearlessly, Sol whirled and called upon her magic, bringing great meteors down upon the head of the Tyrant Wyrm. One after another they smashed into the beast, surprising it, halting its cruel recitation: the Wyrm was driven down, and immediately, Morgan and Titan converged upon it, striking without mercy at its neck.
The beast's head was severed, in a great spray of blackness and blue smog... and yet still, the monster climbed back to its claws, gurgling in fury from all that remained of its throat. Its severed head roared soundlessly even as it turned to nothing but slime and porcelain and clay, while the body stomped and stormed back and forth, sightless, and yet the neck already beginning to regenerate.
The Paladin fled in terror from the sight; Morgan fought on, only because of fear of this creature, and fear of her siblings; Titan struck, harder than he had ever dared strike before; Sol called upon every spell she knew, raining hell and destruction upon the creature.
But it was not until a lucky blow tore through the chest of the beast that it finally collapsed: even with most of its back torn to nothing but jagged ruin, even missing a tail and a leg, it had continued to try and regenerate until the fatal arrow of magic pierced its dark heart. But once that struck true through its breast, the creature fell... and yet even then, it seemed to laugh, as it rotted away to nothingness. Even then, it seemed to taste victory, and not defeat and failure, in its own death.
And as Sol removed the plugs from her ears, she could still hear its poisonous words in the air... and found herself wondering if there was any chance to save this land at all.
Friday 10 October 2014
The Legend of Sol, Titan, and Morgan: Hesitations
Sol was determined. But neither Titan nor Morgan knew what to do.
For Titan, it was because of what nature and his own instincts had told him about the beast: he knew that if they attacked too soon, they would have no advantage against the Tyrant Wyrm: it had more weapons at its disposal than just the terrible verses it sang, or the way it rotted and poisoned the earth beneath their hooves.
And Morgan had experienced, for the first time, true fear: never before had she been so afraid of marching into battle. For this beast, this enemy, did not only go far beyond anything they had ever faced before, it also seemed to have no goal except for rampant destruction. It seemed to have no loyalties, no ties to anything on this world... and if it did serve something else, Morgan was afraid of what that must be.
Morgan's fears were not alleviated nor reassured, but instead compounded by the whispers that came from her lover. Her Paladin meant the best for her... but he did not have her warrior's spirit, which wanted to surge forwards in spite of how afraid she had become of the monster. But the young Templar of the Order had never been truly tried in fire: patrolling highways in groups and fighting bandits was far different from fighting the living dead and monstrosities like this.
He spoke to her in fearful tones, assuring her there was no cowardice in hiding from the fight, not when faced with a foe so great and evil. He made her feel guilty over the fallen, and begged not to see any others put at risk. He used his love as a lever, to tilt her convictions into his favor, to make her believe in words that from any other, she would consider to be nothing but foolishness and weakness.
When Sol came to fetch her siblings, she found neither of them wanted to risk the battle, and was infuriated. Her passion knew no restraint, and nor did her anger: all of her blood sang for revenge against the Tyrant Wyrm, and she felt herself more than a match for its raw power on the battlefield, if she was able to block its fearsome verses.
Titan reasoned with her, and pointed out that their soldiers were in no condition for journey and adventure. Many were still wounded, and not their minds, their bodies, nor their hearts had healed as fast as they three warriors had from the battle with the dragon-beast.
Morgan had no reason, no logic: her arguments appealed to the emotions, and to fear. Her few useful points were ones that Titan had already made, but this only served to further infuriate Sol. She was disgusted with Morgan acting like a frightened foal, and more, it only proved the further to her that Morgan's love for her Paladin was weakness.
In spite of anger and bloodlust, however, Sol eventually decided to negotiate with her siblings: she knew they had to strike soon, and Titan agreed. But the three of them would strike together against the beast together, in one coordinated effort, after a day of rest and preparation. Titan and Morgan both didn't think it was enough, but Sol thought it was too late: and as Sol had learned, a true negotiation was left all parties wanting.
And so, their path was set: the next day, they would make their strike against the Tyrant Wyrm.
Friday 3 October 2014
The Legend of Sol, Titan, and Morgan: Words Of Power
Sol had no name for what they were facing, for the evils they were dealing with. It had all the shape and size of a dragon wyrm, but no wyrm had ever been so terrible as this. It had the powers of death and poison, and yet it lived, and drew strength from the corrupted earth. It spoke in a voice that had destroyed the minds of those around it, and yet it itself had stayed whole; but how could such a beast wield all these tools of destruction, and yet itself live?
How could anything be so terrible, so evil, and yet act like it had some sinister, ultimate purpose?
Sol did her best to focus on one thing: that this awful creature had forced her and her siblings to retreat. That this beast had made a mockery of her: it had ruined her plans and her army, it had made her look weak and foolish and arrogant. And with that in mind, and her rage focused, Sol poured all her efforts into discovering how they could deal with this living calamity... especially since the rumors they had heard had not spoken of just one such black terror, but several.
Sol first gathered all those who had survived, and from their number, she culled: she removed not the weak, but those who were strong, and faithful, and obedient. Instead, she looked for the weakest, the cowardly, the most infirm: those who should have died first on the battlefield, and yet for some reason, had not.
All of them, of course, had fled once they saw the foe they were faced with. But then again, not only the weak had fled from the beast, the strong had as well. But in particular, one stallion caught her eye: he was elderly, and he was wounded, but his wounds were purely physical ones. He was stoic and disappointed in himself she saw... but he lacked the trembles, and the lingering fear and anxiety and emotional scarring that many of the others had possessed.
He was deaf, she realized. He had literally not been able to hear these poisonous words. Poisonous words that still echoed in Sol's mind, poisonous words that she knew were still eating away at the spirit and psyche of every soldier around her...
But the solution was simple: if the words could not be heard, they could not hurt. She wondered if the creature, the Tyrant Wyrm, as she had learned it was entitled, was deaf itself, or somehow otherwise protected itself from its own dark language, its... Black Verses.
Still, she had found a way to fight it. And even if Morgan and Titan were both concerned about daring the monster's wrath again so soon, Sol was hellbent on fighting the beast. She didn't care about the innocent lives it had taken, or that it was a threat to Equestria: what she cared about was that it had wounded her pride, more than her body, and she was willing to do anything to prove that she was superior even to this beast.
To prove again that they had not called her the Dragon Slayer for nothing.
How could anything be so terrible, so evil, and yet act like it had some sinister, ultimate purpose?
Sol did her best to focus on one thing: that this awful creature had forced her and her siblings to retreat. That this beast had made a mockery of her: it had ruined her plans and her army, it had made her look weak and foolish and arrogant. And with that in mind, and her rage focused, Sol poured all her efforts into discovering how they could deal with this living calamity... especially since the rumors they had heard had not spoken of just one such black terror, but several.
Sol first gathered all those who had survived, and from their number, she culled: she removed not the weak, but those who were strong, and faithful, and obedient. Instead, she looked for the weakest, the cowardly, the most infirm: those who should have died first on the battlefield, and yet for some reason, had not.
All of them, of course, had fled once they saw the foe they were faced with. But then again, not only the weak had fled from the beast, the strong had as well. But in particular, one stallion caught her eye: he was elderly, and he was wounded, but his wounds were purely physical ones. He was stoic and disappointed in himself she saw... but he lacked the trembles, and the lingering fear and anxiety and emotional scarring that many of the others had possessed.
He was deaf, she realized. He had literally not been able to hear these poisonous words. Poisonous words that still echoed in Sol's mind, poisonous words that she knew were still eating away at the spirit and psyche of every soldier around her...
But the solution was simple: if the words could not be heard, they could not hurt. She wondered if the creature, the Tyrant Wyrm, as she had learned it was entitled, was deaf itself, or somehow otherwise protected itself from its own dark language, its... Black Verses.
Still, she had found a way to fight it. And even if Morgan and Titan were both concerned about daring the monster's wrath again so soon, Sol was hellbent on fighting the beast. She didn't care about the innocent lives it had taken, or that it was a threat to Equestria: what she cared about was that it had wounded her pride, more than her body, and she was willing to do anything to prove that she was superior even to this beast.
To prove again that they had not called her the Dragon Slayer for nothing.
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