Esquestria: The House of the Sun - A pony cultist experience

[OurLadyOfWires]

Oh, no. Yeah. Baldomare is definitely avoiding you. Let me find something real quick...

EDIT:
Here it is. What were her words, again?

"Velvet Covers," she says, her voice crystal clear, and her tone as calm as ever. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. I know what you are thinking. I know what you are doing. And I already know where your thoughts are going to take you. So, let me be very clear. I. Don't. Want. You. To. Do. This."

Click to shrink...

As far as she is concerned, your current course of action is being very rude to her explicit wishes.

 

[ses]

Not surprising. Sad though. Hopefully everything works out for the best after we get her that book.

 

[DelightedOne]

How else do you think Silky would recruit her?

Angry with the mom, but likes the child enough to focus on her instead of going full cold barrier of profissionalism.

 

[Sveta08]

How else do you think Silky would recruit her?

Angry with the mom, but likes the child enough to focus on her instead of going full cold barrier of profissionalism.

Click to shrink...

Velvet thinks she can fix the world.That she, in her infinite novel experience, could change it.
Velvet, and most of the poll and votes by extention, think they know Right, Absolute.

Silky doesn't do that. Silky didn't do that.

 

[spiderhellian]

Not surprising. Sad though. Hopefully everything works out for the best after we get her that book.

Click to shrink...

It might end her beloved, right.

If Velvet had to choose between Stormchaser being present for eternity at the cost of an ever-bleeding wound, and staunching that wound…

That's not really a choice at all, is it?

 

[DelightedOne]

If Velvet had to choose between Stormchaser being present for eternity at the cost of an ever-bleeding wound, and staunching that wound…

That's not really a choice at all, is it?

Click to shrink...

If my "The House is no place for lovers" theory is right it might be a choice, in a different way.

Edit: And that is Mother of Wolves territory too, I guess.

 

[Talon Tiger Dino]

Sorry Baldomare old gal, but new age, new rules. Get Friendshipped, Nerd.

 

[Sveta08]

It might end her beloved, right.

If Velvet had to choose between Stormchaser being present for eternity at the cost of an ever-bleeding wound, and staunching that wound…

That's not really a choice at all, is it?

Click to shrink...

Ah-ah-ah! No no no.
Much as I appreciate the thought and snagging the writing I made, be well aware!

We have no confirmation nor certainty that the wound Baldomare experiences is related to Illopony or could cause his dissapearance, or is beholden to Glory's rules.

Much as I enjoyed and hated making that writing, it is still as we speak, not-canon. Confirmed nor unconfirmed. It is merely my speculation on the wound.

 

[spiderhellian]

Ah-ah-ah! No no no.
Much as I appreciate the thought and snagging the writing I made, be well aware!

We have no confirmation nor certainty that the wound Baldomare experiences is related to Illopony or could cause his dissapearance, or is beholden to Glory's rules.

Much as I enjoyed and hated making that writing, it is still as we speak, not-canon. Confirmed nor unconfirmed. It is merely my speculation on the wound.

Click to shrink...

To me it's canon

Because it feels so right I refuse to believe it is wrong!

Blood is always the price...

 

[Sveta08]

Harrumph! Well, regardless!
Have you here my latest musing that changes nothing but the eyes seeing.


In which a Wolf Sings

---

It's beautiful.

Before you is a bowl. A dish. Not perhaps for eating, at least not food in the way most do. Though, it consumes still.
In quiet. In pain. In heat like a wound enflamed.


I name you Evil, the first Son.


A bowl piled high with ash.
Bones and bodies of the dead and damned made no more than embers to a fledgling. Before even your youngest brothers' birth, this was yet born. A great conflagration, the dust and remains of so much and so much more burnt by fire of the sun itself. Ever warmed, ever silenced, ever bleeding.

Is it any wonder you so often see your baby brothers' smile here?
Is it any wonder how often Mother finds herself beside this vessel? Never looking, never seeing, but always knowing. Knowing in the way that every mother does.

Stil, you do not linger.
Beautiful as it is, there is work to do. And if nothing else was inherited from Mother, it was a work ethic.

So you begin your rounds.

---

Heavy paws not felt and not seen near crack the marble.
Pressure like malice follows you. Withering the expression of the guard as you pass by. Every one feeling but the faintest brush of your fur. What cruelty would it be to not offer each and every one a measure, however small, of your attention?

The shiver down their spine. The shift in ill fitting armor. The potential and the threat.

You are not so deft of paw as your younger brother. Paranoia is a master here, where you are merely indulgent. He would know to whisper to their ears and eyes. The heat addling the senses. The whisper of a dragonfly wing taken for so much more. The exhaustion in a close friends eye seen as far worse. The gentle, quiet agony he could bring with mere questions.

You would have to thank him if you see him next.

But it is merely in passing that the staff of Castle feel your presence. For they do not have your eyes or teeth or tongue.

The first is, perhaps, more important.
Such curious things that thought. Maybe more than a sense of work inherited from Mother. But a sense of perspective. Of Scale.

The first stop is deep. Is dark. Is lower than low. The children who brush against the bones of this world.

No sooner than you remember it do you stand before the door. Great and quiet, enscribed with an eclipse of the sun.
To their eyes at least. You always thought it looked like a closed mouth.
Findings for a future...

As you are though, it is with ease that you walk through the door.
No lock, no enchantment, no mastery of magic or ageless insight is enough to bar your passage. And here is no exception.

Children who brush against your brothers both. Wounds still slow in growing mount. Nips from Ash, a living shiver from Paranoia. And of course, a blessing too from you.

For here they find Power. Here, they find Hunger. Here they find
You.



Hours.

Hours you spend. Whispering nothing to their ears. Offering temptations.
How diligently they write them down. How carefully they enscribed and enshrine their fears. Their horrors. And their learning.

Every graze of your teeth draws from these children a shiver of worry. A fretful glance to the others. Wondering if they felt the same. If they could consider such an act... Such a maiming. Such a wound. Wouldn't that help?

Wouldn't that be good?

Doubt in others is Paranoia 's game. But you.... You hunger for a simpler, easier kind of fear.

Corrupted good

---

Alas, Mother approached. And there is still a changing of the guard to take place. Ash is too young and too focused. Paranoia is too broad and too far in his touch. He cannot walk as you do.

Eventually the work is done, and those dark quiet doors are left alone. From sequestered secrets to well known ones.

Earth and stone seem to shift beneath your paw as you climb the many steps. Rising high.
Chasing Mother, if on another way.

She is sweet, and kind, and gentle, and no more do you haunt her visions. How rare do you whisper word to her. And every time she lashes out in anger and frustration. But...

Your steps land on stones warm to even your senses.
For Mother is not in your sights today.



Up
Up
Up to the highest tower.
Up to where the air boils and the world churns.
Here where magic not of your ways or the new is worked.
Here, the only door you have found that can dream of barring your way.

But it only dreams of it.
And dreams are nothing but passages themselves.

And so, you walk through the Seal of the Sun.
Into her chambers.

"Hello my friend."


No words pass by between you and the Monarch of the Sun. She does not know you, even if she feels you.
For here has been your quiet home.
Here has been an Agony savored like the finest wine.

You walk over, gentle and slow. Not circling her as prey, though to be certain, Wolf will devour the Sun. But you walk slowly all the same.

And

You

Rest



Draped around her withers like a neckpiece. Hanging heavy on her back. Paws falling down across her chest not in hunger. But an embrace.

Your muzzle finds her. Teeth so slowly. So gently parting the fur at her belly. Teething the wound so very long kept secret. Resting over her heart.

"... They don't deserve you."


"After all you have done. After all you have given. How many generations?"


"And to hurt your dearest Sister not years, not months, but a smattering of weeks after her return?"


"It hurts, doesn't it?"


She fights. Oh how she fights.
Every fiber. Every strand. Even more of her than there is buckles and breaks and strains against your words. Your words

Of comfort
Of commiseration
Of understanding


It matters not if she bends or if she breaks. It matters not if Mother rescues her from herself.
What pain could be sweeter?


"You remember her voice. Her touch. Her innocent smile."


"They stole that, didn't they?"


"A thousand years of peace. Of gentleness. Of kindness. And you ask for them to simply love her..."


"And they couldn't "

---

The sun is slow in setting these days.
And all who look to it know of something they never once felt before when witnessing it.

An uncertainty.
An... Agony. One without end. One held ever and always at the cusp of boiling over. Just ever so carefully constrained.




The sun burned.
And all held their breath
Save singer of song

 

[Uruguayan spider]

As far as she is concerned, your current course of action is being very rude to her explicit wishes.

Click to shrink...

Your friend is hurting. And she is your friend, even if she never said it with words. Because you have already seen her kinder side, and you have already heard from her that this Wake can't help but make ponies care. So, she is your friend, even if she has not yet learned what that word means in this Era.

Click to shrink...

Baldomare: Ah, the ponies of this era... Harmony really brought something here