Greymere
In hell we live, lament
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Look, if we can build a prison without paying bits, maybe we can get away with just building a really big room instead
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RIP @Silver Swallow
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Esquestria: The House of the Sun - A pony cultist experience
- Thread starter OurLadyOfWires
- Start date
ses
Experienced.
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Look, if we can build a prison without paying bits, maybe we can get away with just building a really big room instead
I'm half expecting our little Minecraft-Terminator pony to go into the Everfree Forest and construct a Factorio-style fortress-base and reclaim a barn sized area from the wilderness.
The Forge Names yearn to play Factorio.
But yeah with Forge 6 I'm sure he can figure out something despite the shoestring budget we plan on offering him. Or he could just sell meth from under our noses to pay for everything we're asking him to do. Unbefriended names are like that.
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Greymere
In hell we live, lament
- Joined
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In Which There Was a Different Beginning
Hello there, Velvet, I see you've brought home a new guest.
…
Have you ever wondered how this History began? Well, I won't tell you. But I'll give you something else instead. Something which didn't happen.
...
Let me tell you a story. Like all stories, it starts like this…
...
Once upon a time, in this History that never was, there was an old stallion. He lived alone, in a tiny corner of the big city above his lonely store, where he built clocks and watches and curious toys. It was his talent you see, that delicate dance of metal and crystal.
He was not an unsuccessful clockmaker, this stallion. But he wasn't happy, either. His mark was that of clockwork, and yet it wasn't enough. No matter how many timepieces he built, there was always that lingering feeling of purpose unfulfilled. Like looking up at a mountain's peak, knowing you could reach it if only given an opportunity that would never come. Like a heavy weight locked to his heart.
Sometimes, in the deep of night, when that heaviness grew unbearable, the stallion would descend into his workshop and simply… build. No mere machines built for crude purpose, but pieces of art that danced to the turning of gears and springs, and it would be enough, for a time. But to the rest of the world they were only curiosities; something that a noble or wealthy merchant would occasionally catch a glimpse of and purchase on a whim to parade in front of their family for a week or a month, before being forgotten in some dusty storage room. And that old stallion wished dearly that he had someone, anyone who he could share his love of these works with, who would see them for what they truly were.
So one day, he decided to make one.
An act of rare whimsy, perhaps. After all, the stallion knew that no matter how lifelike, a clockwork automaton would never truly be something alive. But like any idea, once it had taken root in his mind, it only grew deeper and more entrenched. Almost an obsession, working deep into the night, painstakingly linking together bronze and steel and silver until fatigue grew too great and he fell into slumber upon his workbench, his dreams tinted in blue.
No great work was ever completed in a single night, of course. There would be some times where the old stallion would go months without ever touching his masterwork, even. But, slowly, slowly, it came into shape: from brass bone to steel tendons to clockwork heart, in the shape of a foal. A colt. And with every step, that blue light in his dreams grew brighter, until his masterwork lay finished on his bench.
Though... even complete, it was only a machine. A beautiful one, perhaps, in perfect mimicry of a foal. But there was no spark of life to animate its limbs, only the pre-designed winding of springs and turning of cogs. And in another History, perhaps even in your History, that's all it would have remained as.
But not in this one, of course. It wouldn't be much of a story otherwise, would it?
No, here, in this History-that-wasn't, the old clockmaker once again fell into slumber within his workshop, as had become common. And he awoke on a crossroad, paved in azure and bathed in the cobalt light of Glory.
Before him, stood his creation. The clockwork foal. But not as a mindless automaton, oh no. As a living thing, which moved and marched to its own will, carrying an ancient knowledge which no mortal creation could bear.
I will give you a gift, it said to the clockmaker, and split its false skin from which blood, white and burning, spilled into the stallion's veins so that he may carry its fire into the Wake.
I will give you a secret, it said to the clockmaker, and whispered words which seared themselves into his mind like a brand, of the operations of She Who Ended All Nights.
I will give you a purpose, it said to the clockmaker, who awoke with fire in his veins and his mind, a certainty of what must be done.
It would hurt, of course. In the division of flesh from which the Sun's Blood may enter the Wake, in the fires of knowledge that must draw fuel from memory to allow a humble clockmaker to do what must be done, in that deadly blue which poisons the blood and consumes the marrow. But it would all be worth it, in the end, thought the clockmaker. To receive that purity of purpose, a fulfillment that he could never reach here, in this waking world.
The blue fire is placed into the clockwork's heart. The gears turn, its heart ticks, and the colt opens its eyes.
The world is crooked, says the Name to the clockmaker.
To create is to destroy. To transform is to unmake what is.
You will find others like you, the pieces which do not fit into this new machine.
I will give you purpose, in our Great Work. And together we will fix what has been broken.
Hello there, Velvet, I see you've brought home a new guest.
…
Have you ever wondered how this History began? Well, I won't tell you. But I'll give you something else instead. Something which didn't happen.
...
Let me tell you a story. Like all stories, it starts like this…
...
Once upon a time, in this History that never was, there was an old stallion. He lived alone, in a tiny corner of the big city above his lonely store, where he built clocks and watches and curious toys. It was his talent you see, that delicate dance of metal and crystal.
He was not an unsuccessful clockmaker, this stallion. But he wasn't happy, either. His mark was that of clockwork, and yet it wasn't enough. No matter how many timepieces he built, there was always that lingering feeling of purpose unfulfilled. Like looking up at a mountain's peak, knowing you could reach it if only given an opportunity that would never come. Like a heavy weight locked to his heart.
Sometimes, in the deep of night, when that heaviness grew unbearable, the stallion would descend into his workshop and simply… build. No mere machines built for crude purpose, but pieces of art that danced to the turning of gears and springs, and it would be enough, for a time. But to the rest of the world they were only curiosities; something that a noble or wealthy merchant would occasionally catch a glimpse of and purchase on a whim to parade in front of their family for a week or a month, before being forgotten in some dusty storage room. And that old stallion wished dearly that he had someone, anyone who he could share his love of these works with, who would see them for what they truly were.
So one day, he decided to make one.
An act of rare whimsy, perhaps. After all, the stallion knew that no matter how lifelike, a clockwork automaton would never truly be something alive. But like any idea, once it had taken root in his mind, it only grew deeper and more entrenched. Almost an obsession, working deep into the night, painstakingly linking together bronze and steel and silver until fatigue grew too great and he fell into slumber upon his workbench, his dreams tinted in blue.
No great work was ever completed in a single night, of course. There would be some times where the old stallion would go months without ever touching his masterwork, even. But, slowly, slowly, it came into shape: from brass bone to steel tendons to clockwork heart, in the shape of a foal. A colt. And with every step, that blue light in his dreams grew brighter, until his masterwork lay finished on his bench.
Though... even complete, it was only a machine. A beautiful one, perhaps, in perfect mimicry of a foal. But there was no spark of life to animate its limbs, only the pre-designed winding of springs and turning of cogs. And in another History, perhaps even in your History, that's all it would have remained as.
But not in this one, of course. It wouldn't be much of a story otherwise, would it?
No, here, in this History-that-wasn't, the old clockmaker once again fell into slumber within his workshop, as had become common. And he awoke on a crossroad, paved in azure and bathed in the cobalt light of Glory.
Before him, stood his creation. The clockwork foal. But not as a mindless automaton, oh no. As a living thing, which moved and marched to its own will, carrying an ancient knowledge which no mortal creation could bear.
I will give you a gift, it said to the clockmaker, and split its false skin from which blood, white and burning, spilled into the stallion's veins so that he may carry its fire into the Wake.
I will give you a secret, it said to the clockmaker, and whispered words which seared themselves into his mind like a brand, of the operations of She Who Ended All Nights.
I will give you a purpose, it said to the clockmaker, who awoke with fire in his veins and his mind, a certainty of what must be done.
It would hurt, of course. In the division of flesh from which the Sun's Blood may enter the Wake, in the fires of knowledge that must draw fuel from memory to allow a humble clockmaker to do what must be done, in that deadly blue which poisons the blood and consumes the marrow. But it would all be worth it, in the end, thought the clockmaker. To receive that purity of purpose, a fulfillment that he could never reach here, in this waking world.
The blue fire is placed into the clockwork's heart. The gears turn, its heart ticks, and the colt opens its eyes.
The world is crooked, says the Name to the clockmaker.
To create is to destroy. To transform is to unmake what is.
You will find others like you, the pieces which do not fit into this new machine.
I will give you purpose, in our Great Work. And together we will fix what has been broken.
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Zxzx24
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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I absolutely return the sentiment. I mean no ill and am not upset or anything. I just wished to hear more about your reasoning. So thank you!
Sveta08
Shinning Glimmering and Dangerous
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2023
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Aww, what a sweet history.
Poisonous perhaps, but not the right kind of poison.
Very pretty that. Thank you for sharing!
And thanks!
I... Like the idea for the Moth Grail combo for a reason. Maybe now it makes some sense.
Pittauro
Versed in the lewd.
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oh, definitely. it would be so EASY compared to Biedde, and we'd be able to use that action for something else!
Like more artifact study that can be converted into bits, or another ritual maybe, or searching for the 3-circle location, or the Steppes FO...
Of course Sacraments are NOT just for All In.
Admittedly we still don't have the measure of how useful they are, because the Knock Sacrament has not triggered yet... but we can take the realizations as something of an example.
Lantern Realization adds 1 book OR 1 artifact to our study actions.
Knock realization gave us a free mansus exploration point per turn.
Winter gives us access to the Risen.
SH helped greatly on book searches
Forge gave us reagents.
Grail gave us the Leash
Heart literally saved our life, it's sort of an extra emergency HP.
Edge removed all chances of ambushes (well, maybe someone with higher moth still could, but that's the only way I can think of to get around it), and it narratively informed us of, say, the detective searching our estate.
Moth... ok, it let us see in the dark. it's a bit weird compared to the other ones, in that it's harder to judge it's usefulnes.
It's not quite the same, but many of those can be valued at something like a "focused" half AP worth of benefits. Or maybe a follower action.
as for the knock sacrament... the way it's described, it seems to imply to me it might be triggered on expeditions. Maybe by letting us skip some challenges? I really expect it to apply on All In somehow.
In theory, each sacrament should be MORE useful than the Realization coming before. It would be weird otherwise.
A few guesses for sacrament powers:
Baldomare Lantern: probably skip the translation DCs on books, which potentially saves us multiple "study points". Particularly useful if we actually start getting more books from expeditions. Narratively we should "understand all languages", which could have other uses when dealing with non-ponies.
Forge: ours is probably potions giving bonuses to actions, the other one seems to be about making artifacts instead.
Edge: ...well, it would be weird for it to not be combat-related. Maybe that trait Biedde has that kinda forces 1v1s? It doesn't quite feel like enough.
Mareinette Grail: the mention of organs to extract nutrition makes me think of a way to "store" the sacrifice bonus usable for a ritual inside ourselves, either for later use in a ritual, to boost ourselves directly, or maybe to convert it to temporary health?
I'll stop here, but my point is that their value goes beyond the use in All In directly.
And of course we know that SH and Winter specifically are pre-reqs for mansus areas, and there might be more around.
Just think, we go on All In and we could potentially bring like 5+ Mares (or more!), Selene, Axe, Rare Fabric (best name for a Name!), Baldomare, potentially Mareinette...
from canon I could see Pharinx counting, he seemed a cut above the rest.
isn't it public knowledge that Velvet is the head of the bureau?
I mean, the mayors know, the police heads know, and we have guards and a PRINCESS as guest at least once...
I thought it wasn't a secret.
...that is indeed a perfect excuse to make her disappear.
An excuse Filthy and DIamond would WANT to believe, to justify her bad behaviour.
oh, so a potential beginning to the Forge Cult History? Cool!