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Brony Number 42

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  1. Brony Number 42

    rant
    You know what putrifies my punch? End of the year “best of” lists. They always come out before the year is done. How can you have a Person of the Year in November? What if someone cures cancer on December 31? What about best movies? What if there is a great movie that comes out at the end of December? There’s countless end of year lists of best ofs. People want to relax at the end of the year. When the new year starts, people go back to work. Nobody is in the mood for “best of” lists. But that doesn’t change the fact that it doesn’t make sense.
  2. Brony Number 42

    rant
    You know what  flattens my cola? Subverting expectations. This trope needs to stop. Why is subverting expectations a good thing? What is wrong with getting what you expect? This idea is popular in entertainment and it usually spoils what you are watching/reading. Sometimes, or actually most of the time, it is good to get what you expect. Imagine you go to a restaurant and order a hamburger, but the waiter comes to your table and slaps you in the face. Wow, you didn’t expect that, did you? What a pleasant surprise. 

    Having something unexpected just for the sake of “subverting expectations” is not good. And most of the time you see it coming, because you are expecting to get the unexpected. The twist ending itself has become cliche. A strong female protagonist? Bet you didn’t expect that except for every single time that you did. You know what would really be unexpected, sorry, I mean “subvert expectations” (have to stay on brand): Getting a straight forward story. What’s wrong with seeing something we have seen before? If we like it, then of course we want to see it again. 

    My biggest problem isn’t getting the unexpected, but rather the fact that it is praised and repeated as a talking point. What’s your movie about? “Blah blah subverts expectations blah blah.” Oh, wonderful. I can’t wait to predict the ending in 5 minutes. You can tell this is nonsense by the fact that people use that exact phrasing: “subvert expectations.” It’s a buzz word. I’m sick of it. Just give me what I expect. Or make good movies, because that would be unexpected.
  3. Brony Number 42

    thoughts
    I have decided it is time to grow up and put away the toys. Therefore, I am selling all of my stuff.
    I’m selling my 3,000 video games, my 2,000 dvds, my Star Trek books and toys, my D&D collection, my board games, my pony merchandise.
    I have wasted decades of my life playing games, watching cartoons, playing with toys and having fun. I hope it is not too late to start a family and get on with the drudgery of adult life. Better late than never, I supposed.
  4. Brony Number 42

    fiction
    It bothers me when people are imprecise with their writing. Consider the use of the conjunctions OR and AND. You will see sentences of the form: A or B and C or D. Without parentheses this is ambiguous. Let’s examine the various possible interpretations.
    Let the circle with a cross represent a logic bit that can be true or false. I like to think of it as a normally-open contact, as in a motor control logic. The lines are a flow path. Think of them like a wire in a circuit. Reading from left to right.

    We also need to consider how adjectives modify (nouns or verbs) that are conjoined. Using a negation, such as not or don’t, makes it even worse.
    The NOT distributes into parentheses thusly:
    not (A and B )= not A or not B
    not (A or B )= not A and not B
    For example, “I don’t like warm soda or milk.” Does “warm” distribute to milk, or just soda? Let us assume that it does distribute to “milk.” Therefore, the example sentence would be:
    don’t like warm (soda or milk) = don’t like (warm soda or warm milk) = don’t (like warm soda or like warm milk) = don’t like warm soda and don’t like warm milk
    But what about this: “Hunters wear orange vests and boots.” Orange is not intended to distribute to “boots.”
    I suggest we insert more parentheses into our writing.
     
  5. Brony Number 42
    I just finished Beauty and The Beast, the animated adaptation from Burbank Animation, Australia. This story is a textbook case of Stockholm Syndrome. The Beast attempts to murder Beauty’s father until the father mentions that he has a daughter. Suddenly, the lecherous Beast decides to spare the father’s life if the father gives his daughter over to Beast. So the daughter has to become a hostage in order to save her father.
     
    As Beauty is kept prisoner, Beast manipulates her by going into fits of rage if she doesn’t marry him. This truly is the definition of emotional manipulation. Beast allows Beauty to visit her family, and he threatens “catastrophe” if she doesn’t return. It turns out that this alleged catastrophe is just Beast literally dying of loneliness. Ironically, Beauty’s father was also literally dying of loneliness due to missing his daughter. Thankfully, her visit cured him. Beauty eventually agrees to marry Beast because she feels sorry for him.
     
    The lesson of the story is supposed to be to not judge someone by their appearance. I agree. Judge Beast by his evil actions. He is a monster. Note that he becomes infatuated with Beauty even before he saw her. Would he have felt the same if she were ugly? I have no sympathy for such an evil creature.
  6. Brony Number 42

    fiction
    The smell of freshly baked bread gently tickled Sandbar’s nose as he opened the door to Sugarcube Corner. The warmth of the store felt good compared to the chill winter air outside. He wiped the snow off his hooves on the wet welcome mat. The jingle of the bell let the staff know there was a customer.
    A bushy-haired pink pony popped up from behind the counter. “Oh boy, a customer. Oh, hi Sandbar. What brings you here today? Looking for some delicious holiday cookies? Here, try one.” Pinkie Pie offered a tray of sugar cookies to Sandbar.
    The cookies were shaped like holly, trees, and apples. They were covered with red or green frosting and sprinkles. Sandbar tried one and he liked the way that the sprinkles crunched between his teeth. “Mmm, thank you, Miss Pie.”
    “Oh please, we’re not in school now. You don’t have to call me Miss Pie. Call me Pinkie.” Then Pinkie got an inquisitive look on her face. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that you miss pie! Do you miss pie, Sandbar? Because I miss pie too sometimes. But I usually keep a spare pie around, just in case. Here, let me find you a pie.” She was about to turn to go into the kitchen, but Sandbar stopped her.
    “Oh, no, uh, Miss Pinkie. I’m not here for pie. Actually, I need a cake.”
    “Ooo, a cake! What kind of cake? We have chocolate, double chocolate, half double chocolate, which is a lot like regular chocolate.” Pinkie put her hoof to her chin in thought. Luckily, this distraction stopped her from listing every cake in the bakery.
    “Well, actually, it’s kind of for a special occasion,” Sandbar replied.
    “Oh, special occasions are my specialty! What is it, a birthday, a cute-ceañera? Oh, how about a first-time-buying-a-special-occasion-cake cake? Those are almost as fun as a second-time-buying-a-special-occasion-cake cake.”
    Sandbar looked at the floor and rubbed his neck, like he was embarrassed. “Actually, it’s for a special some...one. Someone I like. Like, like like.”
    Pinkie got a twinkle in her eye. “Oh my gosh, those are the most special of all! A like like cake has to be just right. We can customize it so your special someone knows it’s just for them.” Pinkie got a note pad and pencil. “Now, tell me about this special someone.”
    Sandbar was beginning to feel more comfortable. “Her name is...”
    Pinkie held up a hoof. “Bup bup bup! Don’t tell me who it is! You have to keep it a secret. It’s just between you and her. I just need to know some things about her. Her good qualities, what you like about her.” Pinkie was an expert at making like like cakes. In fact, Rainbow Dash had come in last week for one. Although it was pretty obvious who it was for the moment Dash mentioned what her special somepony liked.
    Sandbar thought for a moment. “Well, she’s kind, strong. You can always count on her. She has a big heart.”
    Pinkie was scribbling notes. “Mm hm, right, got it. Ok, I will get started on this right away.” She hopped away, going into the kitchen. “It should be ready tomorrow morning, if that’s ok. These things take time.”
    “Oh, that’s fine. I’ll be back then. Thank you!” Sandbar called to her as she disappeared into the other room. He stood alone in the front area, looking around at the various pastries on display. He sighed and turned to leave. That was one item off his list.
    He went back outside, the bell jingling again. He inhaled the cold air. The sky was clear and the sun felt warm on his skin. Even though it was cold enough to see his breath the sun felt good and Sandbar loosened his coat. His next stop was Carousel Boutique. It was a nice walk, with the snow crunching under his hooves. The walk gave him more time to think. He had been planning this for months, waiting for the winter break. But now he was actually implementing his plan, and he felt nervous and excited at the same time.
    The boutique was decorated in traditional holiday trappings, with green garland hanging around the roof and red bows on the corners. The sidewalk was newly cleared and his hooves clacked on the cold pavement. He opened the door and entered.
    There was holiday music quietly playing, and the smell of incense was a contrast to the smell of baked goods he had smelled earlier. He felt a little uncomfortable because he wasn’t particularly into fashion. He couldn’t tell the difference between cheap clothes and high fashion.
    From the back room he heard the sing-song voice of Rarity, “Be right there, dear!” He did his best to wipe his hooves on the rug. After a moment an elegant unicorn came out of the back room. She was wearing her glasses and had a measuring tape around her neck. “Oh, well hello Sandbar. What brings you here this afternoon?”
    He stammered a little, “Well, uh, I’m looking for a gift for someone.”
    “Oooh, a gift? How wonderful. What do you have in mind? And please, make yourself comfortable. You can hang your coat there on the rack.” She pointed to a coat rack.
    Sandbar took his coat off and hung it on the rack. “Well, I was thinking something like a scarf.”
    “Oh, that sounds like a good idea. A lovely scarf is perfect for this time of year. Let me show you what we have to work with.” She went to a section of her shop where there were scarves and mittens hanging on some racks and shelves. “These are just the base. We can modify these to make a perfect, personalized gift. Let’s start with colors. What color is her coat, mane, and eyes?”
    “Well, light brown, dark brown, and gray.” Sandbar smiled.
    Rarity went to a desk that was littered with ribbons, gems, and various other bits and bobs. She picked up some ribbon. “Maybe some blue. Hmm.”
    Sandbar followed her. “I’m sure anything you come up with is fine.”
    She turned to him, “Oh, darling, it’s not just a matter of throwing some random things together. It has to be crafted, created! Each piece is custom made.”
    Sandbar wondered if his gift would be ready in time. “Uh, yeah. Well, I trust your decision.”
    Rarity was already comparing fabrics and getting lost in her work. “Hmm? Oh, yes, right. Don’t worry, dear, leave everything to me.”
    “Great. Uh, when will it be ready?”
    Rarity thought for a moment. “Oh, this should be ready tomorrow afternoon. How does that sound?”
    Sandbar smiled. “Perfect! I’ll be back tomorrow. Thanks Rarity.”
    “Don’t mention it. Now, off with you! I have work to do!” She giddily got to work on her latest project. Sandbar retrieved his coat and left the boutique.
    He had accomplished his tasks for the day. The school Hearths Warming party was in two days. He planned to give the gift then. Now he had to think of what to say and build his courage. He inhaled the brisk air. He had some thinking to do.
     
    The next day passed without incident. Sandbar picked up his cake from Sugarcube Corner. Pinkie Pie had put it in a box tied up with a ribbon. “Don’t worry,” she explained, “she will like it. You might say like like it, hehehe!”
    Rarity put the scarf in a package, also tied with a ribbon. “Magnificent, simply wonderful,” she explained. “I’m sure she will adore it.” Sandbar took the items home.
    The party was tomorrow, but he was too nervous to sleep. He decided to go for a walk. It was now dark, but he liked the night. The temperature had fallen, but there was no breeze so it didn’t feel so cold.
    Sandbar zipped up his coat and pulled his hat tight. The night was cold and quiet. He started walking toward the edge of town, where the lights couldn’t quite breach the darkness of the woods. He followed a walking trail into a copse of trees. The trail led to a small ledge with a good view of town.
    There was minimal cloud cover and the sky held a half moon. There was just enough light for him to find his way. His breath formed clouds that quickly dissipated. The dark was inviting. He felt secure in his coat, a barrier from the outside. It was quiet, except for the crunch of snow under his hooves. Though it was cold, the walk warmed him. He even loosened his coat.
    He found a rock to sit on. It was a nice place to be alone with one’s thoughts. The lights of the houses twinkled and smoke floated out of a few chimneys. There was a lot on his mind, yet he couldn’t form a thought. He just wanted to relax.
    A shadow flew over him, silently, yet conspicuously. He looked up to his right and the figure silently came to a rest next to him.
    “Dost thou wish to be alone on this lovely night, or wouldest thou deign to share thine thoughts?”
    Sandbar gasped and stammered, “Princess Luna! No, uh, yes, uh, I mean, please, sit down. I mean, if you want to.”
    “Please, young pony, relax,” Luna sat next to him. She was wearing a dark purple hood with white fur lining. She exuded a regal air. “I do so love the night in winter.” She stared into the sky.
    Sandbar wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond to that comment, so he said simply, “Yeah, it’s pretty.”
    They sat quietly for a moment, then Luna looked to him, “What troubles you, my young pony?”
    He felt a little nervous. “What makes you think something is troubling me?”
    She smiled, “I’ve watched your dreams lately.” He felt embarrassed. She placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Do not worry. I only get impressions. Only on important situations do I enter one’s dreams. I respect your privacy.”
    Sandbar felt better. “Well, nothing. I mean, just this Hearths Warming party tomorrow.”
    “And what about this party makes your so nervous?” She asked.
    “Well, it’s not the party, it’s about who’s going to be at the party.” He felt foolish talking about such things with a Princess. He felt like a foal talking about trivial problems with somepony who bore the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. He thought that he should be using more sophisticated language. But what was he going to say? “There is one fair maiden who hath caught mine fancy. Words fail even the world-weary poets. Oh, my dearest Princess, I am at a loss and my soul aches.” Instead, all he could muster was: “There’s a girl I like. Like like.” His face flushed in embarrassment. “I don’t know if I can tell her how I feel. I might just not even go to the party.”
    Luna responded softly, her voice comforting. “The dream realm is my domain, but I am no stranger to matters of the heart. My young pony, listen to your heart and have no fear. Just tell her how you feel.”
    Sandbar shrugged. “Sure, but what if she doesn’t feel the same way? I can’t handle that.”
    Luna replied, “Do not let fear block your path. I can tell you that living with regret is one of the hardest things. Tis far better to live with rejection than to live with the doubt of not knowing what might have been.”
    He thought about that for a moment and his mood changed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
    “Approach everything with confidence. You will fail, many times. Even I have failed at times. But you will learn. Your failures will make you stronger, but your successes will set you on a path to even greater things.”
    He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I have nothing to lose. And maybe she’ll like me back.”
    Luna smiled. “You have much to think about and look forward to. I shall take my leave of you tonight. Good luck, my young friend.” She spread her wings and lifted into the air. Sandbar watched her disappear into the night.
    He decided it was time to go home. He was now more excited than anxious for the party.
     
    The school’s cafeteria was decorated with some balloons and streamers. Those were a requirement with any party that Pinkie Pie planned. But in comparison to other events, this one was more subdued. The tone of the party was more relaxed and calm. Hearths Warming was a holiday where ponies spent a nice time with friends and family; it was not typically a time to part-tay, as such.
    There were tables with food and drinks. The students had decorated a tree with baubles and lights. Ponies mingled with family and friends from outside of Equestria. They swapped stories, told anecdotes, and generally enjoyed the afternoon as it turned into evening. Sandbar had brought his gifts and placed them on a table with other gifts. Traditionally ponies would trade gifts later in the evening. It was getting late and some ponies had already done so with friends and family.
    Sandbar spent much of the party trying to build his courage. He would see the target of his affection chatting with a group. He would attempt to join the conversation, but would slink away. He had almost told himself that his endeavor was a bust. Some ponies were even starting to leave as the party was winding down.
    He began to lose confidence. He felt a fool for buying gifts that wouldn’t be given. He went to the snack table and poured himself some cider. Tilting his head back, he downed it in one gulp. But as he was swallowing the tart drink, he glanced at a mural painted high on the wall. It was a stylized picture of Princesses Celestia and Luna. The memory of the previous night flashed into his mind.
    Suddenly, his mood changed. Confidence flooded back into him. Luna’s words echoed in his mind: that living with regret is one of the hardest things. He put the cup down, retrieved his packages from the table, and searched the room for who he had tried to avoid much of the evening.
    There she was, talking to a classmate. His heart was racing as he strode to her. She and the classmate noticed him. “Hi Sandbar,” she said.
    “Hello,” he replied. He looked at the classmate, whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. He smiled and politely said, “Hi, would you mind if I spoke to Yona privately? Thank you.” The classmate nodded and waved goodbye to her friend.
    When he was alone with her, he spoke with confidence. “Hello Yona. I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you tonight. But I’m glad we can talk now.”
    “Yona also is sorry she didn’t see much of you tonight,” she said in her charming accent.
    He held out the gifts. “These are for you,” she took the package with the scarf and opened it.
    She smiled. “Oh, Yona likes. It’s a, a. What is it?”
    Sandbar laughed. “It’s a scarf. Here, let me show you.” He wrapped the scarf around her neck. Being that close to her made his heart skip a beat. “It keeps you warm in the cold, see?”
    Yona was happy. “Oh, Sandbar is thinking about Yona’s well-being in the cold. That means so much. In Yakyakistan, giving someone clothing means you are very close friends.”
    Sandbar beamed at that. “That’s good. I feel that we are very close friends.” Their eyes met for a moment, then they both blushed and turned away. “Oh, and I have a cake for you.”
    “Yona likes cake too,” Yona said and they both laughed. He placed the cake on a nearby table and opened the box. “It looks yummy.”
    Sandbar retrieved forks and gave one to Yona. “It’s a special cake. It’s a, um.” He hesitated. Yona gave him a questioning look. He took a deep breath. “It’s a like like cake. A Pinkie Pie specialty.”
    Yona was confused. “What means this like like cake?”
    Sandbar looked at her and said confidently. “It’s made for someone that you like like. You know? That special person that you want to be your close friend. Yona, I like like you. I hope you feel the same way.” Saying it out loud was a surreal experience. He couldn’t believe he actually said it. But at the same time, it was a huge weight off of him. He said it and it was done. It was out there and now it was Yona’s turn to respond. If she rejected him, then what was lost? If she felt the same way, well, that was an even scarier prospect.
    Yona was not completely familiar with all pony customs and idioms. At first, she didn’t know what like like meant, but as she looked at Sandbar it began to dawn on her what he meant. Her expression went from confusion to mild embarrassment. She blushed and smiled, looking down at the floor. She was quiet when she spoke. “Nobody ever like liked Yona before. It makes Yona feel special.”
    “You are special to me, Yona.” Sandbar replied.
    “Yona not know how to respond.”
    “Just say what’s in your heart.”
    She looked up at him, “Yona’s heart says she also likes Sandbar.”
    No other phrase in history was so ambiguous. It could be taken in two completely different directions. Did she like Sandbar, or did she like like him? She didn’t say like like, but that didn’t preclude the possibility. He began to stammer, “Um, that’s good. I mean, like I said, I like you too, and…”
    Yona put her hoof to his mouth to silence him. “Yona like like you too, you silly pony.” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “Even if you talk too much sometimes, or not enough other times. Yona will teach you how to talk just the right amount.”
    Sandbar was stunned. He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to melt into the floor and explode through the ceiling. Fortunately, his body maintained its integrity. “Would you like to go for a walk? The night is lovely in the winter.”
    “Yona would like very much to walk with pony.” She kissed him again and they went out for a walk.
  7. Brony Number 42
    Here is my entry. I hope everypony likes it.
    ---------------------------------------------------------------
                   Sixty four years ago my grandfather, Golden Nugget, was a gold prospector in the Whispering Woods mountains. The mines and town no longer exist, officially being abandoned only twelve years after it was settled. The official story is that the gold and silver ran out, but many believe the mountains were cursed or haunted. There are many stories of strange activities, some more believable than others. I had the pleasure of interviewing my grandfather to document what he had witnessed.
                   My grandfather is a no-nonsense, hard-working pony, who came from a generation of serious ponies. He is kind hearted, loving, and funny at times, but he is not the kind of pony to make up a story for the sake of attention. When he said something happened, it happened. Please listen to the interview with an open mind.
    B: Hello Grandpa, thank you for taking the time to tell your story.
    GN: I’m glad to.
    B: So, you’ve told me this story, parts of it, at different times. You’d tell it to me and dad, or me when I was a foal. I wasn’t sure if they were true at first.
    GN: But these stories are absolutely true.
    B: Let’s start at the beginning. Tell us about your time in Whispering Woods. Remember this is for everypony, so pretend I don’t know any of this story.
    GN: Right. Well, this was…sixty…four years ago. They had found gold a few years before that. Seemed like everypony was some way or another involved in the mining business. The government was handing out claims. I, along with three others, got ourselves a claim.
    B: Tell us about those other ponies you worked with.
    GN: There was Smokey, Twitchy, and Red. We was all about the same age. Young ponies looking to make a fortune prospecting. Anyway, we got ourselves a claim about a day’s hike down river from Washaway.
    B: That was the name of the town. Why did they call it Washaway?
    GN: Because the town was so slapdash that they said one good flood and it would get washed away. You see, you build your town close to the river and up stream. You use the river for water and transport, and as far upstream as possible so that any other camps are made downstream, so that you get the freshest water.
    B: What was the town like?
    GN: Not much to it. You had a couple stores for your food and supplies. Workshops, couple places to eat and drink, assayer’s office, post office, black smiths, a few rooms you could rent, and some offices and houses for officials and the more permanent residents. All wood shacks with mostly dirt floors. The café with the wood floor was considered the upscale establishment.
    B: What was it like to first get there and stake your claim?
    GN: It took us two days to haul our wagons up the dirt road. We was from Little Seed [a small settlement about forty miles from Ponyville], but I think Red was actually from Ponyville. First thing we did was take our paperwork to the town hall and register our claim. They gave us a map to our area. We had about twelve acres a day’s travel from town.
    B: Is that a long way from town?
    GN: Not as far as you’d think. That’s a day hiking through essentially a rabbit trail. Heavily wooded areas. But over time the trail got bigger and more worn, which made it easier. In our twelve acres there was about one of it that you could actually set up a cabin. So, we spent a few days just building that cabin, clearing brush and kind of settling in.
    B: Not to give away the story, but did you notice anything strange in those first few days?
    GN: No, nothing. Was just like camping, except more work. We had a couple tents until the cabin was built. Rough wood, stove, bought some old tables and stools. The plan was we would take turns going back to town for supplies.
    B: You were there how long, total?
    GN: Let’s see, the whole ordeal was maybe two and a half years.
    B: Tell us what it was like prospecting for gold. Give us a day-to-day picture. Was it hard work? It sounds rough.
    GN: Nah, not so bad really. Once the sluice was going, the day-to-day work was routine. You start digging your way inward from the river. You haul the dirt to the sluice and check for nuggets.
    B: And a sluice is basically a water powered device that separates gold from rocks?
    GN: Yes, pretty much. It has a shaker that settles out the heavier gold.
    B: And the idea is to find a rich vein of gold, and then bring in more serious digging equipment?
    GN: Yes. If you found gold, you would usually contract out a company with the equipment to mine it. Or you could just get smaller nuggets yourself, if there wasn’t enough to dig for. Or you could sell your claim.
    B: Sell it once you found gold, and let somepony else do the work?
    GN: Essentially, yes. You have all these small-time prospectors doing the initial exploratory work, which is time consuming. Then you cash out and sell a good claim to a bigger company. But that’s also a risk, because you don’t know how much you really have. You could think you have a small amount, sell it for a modest profit, and the big company could come in, dig, and find a whole lot more than expected. You missed out on selling for a lot more.
    B: But the flip side is, the big company can’t risk spending a lot on what could be a bust. And you don’t want to risk spending too much to dig yourself, if there’s nothing there.
    GN: Exactly. It’s all a gamble. I mean, if it were easy then everypony would do it.
    B: Right. Tell us what was the first indication of something odd happening there.
    GN: It was about a month after we got there. Apparently, somepony’s camp had been ransacked. His cabin had been raided and his gear broken. We thought there was a saboteur, trying to hurt other ponies’ work.
    B: Why might somepony do that?

    GN: Who knows. Jealousy, maybe try to scare ponies off their claims so they could take over.
    B: What was the conclusion on that case?
    GN: As far as I know, nothing was determined. It’s really hard to prove anything. We had to watch out for each other. You make friends and form alliances, in a way. There were some unwritten rules. Don’t tell ponies how successful you were, don’t go onto another claim, just be nice.
    B: Was there much crime otherwise?
    GN: Not a whole lot. We was all too busy to be causing trouble. Sometimes ponies would hit the cider too hard and spend a night in the pokey.
    B: But there was an old legend about the mountains.
    GN: Yes, the old legend. That’s how Whispering Woods got its name. They say that sometimes, when you’re alone in the woods, you hear whispers, like you was being watched. They said the spirits didn’t want you there messing with their mountains. I suppose they didn’t take kindly to us digging up half their mountain.
    B: Tell us about some of the stories that happened before your first strange occurrence.
    GN: A few of the same kinds of things, ponies’ camps getting trashed. Ponies would say they was being followed in the woods. Felt like they were being watched. Ponies started getting nervous after a while.
    B: What happened to you?
    GN: This was about two months in. We had everything running smooth, finding a few bits each day, nothing big. Enough to keep the operation going and make it worthwhile to stay. One night we were in the cabin eating and we heard something outside. We thought it was an animal, but it got real close to the cabin. It sounded like a pony walking around it, circling. We got all quiet and covered up the lamp. We had a couple open windows, and Red went to go look out. We could hear the hoofsteps, but didn’t see anything.
                   The steps circled around once and stopped at the door. I thought maybe somepony had come to visit us for some reason, although that would have been very strange, especially at night. We just sat there, waiting for a knock on the door, but there never was. After a minute we looked at each other. Twitchy shrugged and went to the door. I grabbed the frying pan. I just had this bad feeling. He opened the door but there was nothing there. He stepped out, look around, but there was nothing.
    B: And no sound of hoofsteps leaving?
    GN: No, none. I tell you, I am one hundred percent certain we heard hoofsteps stop at that door. The ground is covered with branches, you’d have to be very careful to tip toe away without making a sound. And why bother being quiet then, if you’d already stomped your way up to the door. He closed the door and we all just stared at each other.
    B: What did you do then?
    GN: We talked about it for a bit, like, “You heard that, right?” “Yeah, there was definitely something out there.” “Did you heard him leave?” “No, I didn’t hear nothing.” Then we just finished our meal. For a while after that, we kept the doors and windows locked when we were there at night.
    B: Did you tell other ponies about this?
    GN: I think it was Red who was the next to go back to town, and he tried to get some information. He asked around, told our story. Apparently, a few others had similar experiences.
                   At this point we all had figured there was some ponies trying to spook everypony. Like I said, maybe trying to scare somepony off their claim, maybe try to rob them. But nopony had gotten a look at anything. Not yet, anyway.
    B: What else happened, before the next big event?
    GN: Over the next few weeks, we would hear the hoofsteps almost every night. We tried looking out the window, opening the door right when the steps stopped there, but nothing. A couple times we called out, “Who’s there?” or, “You’d best leave. We got weapons. You’re looking for a heap of trouble.” But that didn’t seem to stop them.
                   Then we started seeing lights outside. They were white balls, not orange like a lantern light.
    B: Will o’ the whisps?
    GN: Yeah, could be. We’d see three or four in a cluster, bobbing up and down in the woods at night. One night they’d be on the east side, the next night on the west. Different places each night. Four, five nights in a row. About a hundred feet into the woods. They would bob around, then go into the woods, like they were beckoning us to follow. Once, Red said he was going to see what they were, but I told him no. I just knew that if he went into those woods, we’d never see him again. He didn’t go, thank Celestia.
    B: Did you ever see the lights and hear the hoofsteps in the same night?
    GN: Hmm, yes, we did a few times. I don’t know what the connection was. Sometimes we heard the steps, sometimes saw the lights, sometimes both, but usually just one or the other.
    B: How long did this go on?
    GN: It lessened up a little, but it continued from then on, until the time I left. It would happen every few nights. Sometimes longer stretches with nothing. We kind of just got used to it.
    B: What did you see during the day?
    GN: During the day sometimes we would hear things. One time, I went into the woods to get some fire wood or something. I had lost sight of the cabin, due to the trees, but I knew where I was, not too far away. I heard somepony call my name, “Gold Nugget.” It was quiet, like maybe I didn’t hear right, you know? I looked around, didn’t see nothing. The others were back at the cabin, I think maybe somepony had even gone back to town that day. I went back to picking up wood and I heard it again. But this time the voice was deeper, darker. “Nugget!” like it was angry, and it was closer. I looked up quickly, but saw nothing. But it was quiet, too quiet. There were no sounds from animals. Anypony who’s spent time in the woods knows that when the animals stop making noise, something’s wrong.
                   I stood there quietly. I had this intense feeling that I was being watched. I was starting to get scared. I slowly looked around. Did I see something in the trees, or was it my imagination? I took the bundle of wood that I had and quickly made my way back to camp. But when I tried to orient myself, I couldn’t figure out where I was. Now understand, I had been around this area a hundred times. I wasn’t that far from the cabin. I knew the trails we had cut, all I had to do was follow them, but for some reason I felt lost. I started to panic, I had this overwhelming urge to run, but I knew I couldn’t just take off in a random directly.
    So, I started walking back the way I had come, best I could figure, and hoped it was the right way. I kept looking behind me because I just had this feeling I was being followed. I started trotting as fast as I could without breaking into a full sprint. Thankfully, I found the campsite. Smokey was there, cutting wood or something. He asked me, “what’s wrong? You look like you were being chased by timber wolves.” I told him I just panicked and I don’t know why, like I felt like I was being chased. He looked at me serious like and said he had the same experience some time before. We told the others, and we decided not to go into the woods farther than we could see the cabin.
    B: Ponies seem to have an extra sense about certain things, don’t they? Some ponies would say it’s superstition, but you don’t think so?
    GN: No, it’s definitely real. I think we’ve all felt it one time or another. A pony doesn’t just panic for no reason. Not when you weigh in all the other factors.
    B: When things started to get strange, how did this affect your trips back to town? You were a day’s hike away?
    GN: By this point we had established a somewhat passable road. It followed the river bank, and it led to other claims, so other ponies would travel it. It was a stone’s throw from the cabin. Sometimes we would see ponies walking the road, say hello, stop to chat. We nailed signs to trees, pointing the way. For us, we could leave in the morning, get to town by late afternoon, spend the night, then come back.
                   Sometimes we would let ponies stay with us if they were coming from farther away and didn’t want to make the trip at night. That became pretty common as time went on, because other ponies would report feeling the same thing. In a way, it brought us all closer together as a community. We would talk more, check in on each other, trade stories.
    B: So everypony was experiencing this? What other things did they report?
    GN: A lot of the same. Hoofsteps at night, most ponies saw the lights too. A couple ponies claimed they saw a figure in the woods. Supposedly a dark figure, but it’s hard to say for sure.
    B: Every year, ponies go missing in the forests under inexplicable circumstances. This happened to one of your group, didn’t it?
    GN: Yeah, it did. It was three of us: Me, Smokey, and Red. Twitchy was in camp or gone to town. We needed some logs to add onto our cabin. We were starting to get more successful with our mining. We had more equipment and needed to build a shed for it. We took some axes and rope and went looking for logs.
                   Normally we wouldn’t leave sight of the cabin, but we needed to find some good logs. So, we tied some rags to some trees to guide us back. I mean, normally we wouldn’t need to do that because we weren’t going that far, but in these woods we just wanted to be safe. We found a few good logs, not too big. We chopped off some of their branches, tied them up, and started dragging them back. Red was in front, I was behind him, and Smokey was behind me, each of us dragging a log. It was going to take us probably a half hour to get back to the cabin. About half way back I called to Red to stop so we could rest. He stops, drops his rope, but doesn’t turn around. I do the same thing, but I turn around to look at Smokey, and he wasn’t there.
    B: He’s just gone?
    GN: Without a trace! We had been walking fifteen, twenty minutes, dragging these logs, making all kinds of noise, but I think I had lost track of the noise he was making on account of the noise I was making. I never noticed him missing.
    B: He wasn’t just farther down the trail, maybe behind some trees or something?
    GN: There was a clear trail of where we were dragging the logs. I could see for several hundred feet. He would have to be about where we started if he hadn’t left the trail, and he would have called out to us. I turned to look at Red, afraid that maybe he would have disappeared too. He was still there, but when he saw Smokey was gone, he about panicked himself. “Where did he go?” he asked. At this point, I was scared and mad. “Red, I have no idea where he went! He’s just gone!”
    B: Why were you mad?
    GN: I was mad at those woods! I was getting sick of the whole thing. I wanted to tear down every tree, burn the place to the ground! Red and I back tracked all the way back to our starting point, calling for Smokey. We found his log, about a hundred feed behind me. His rope was there, like he’d just dropped it. There was no sign that he’d left the trail. He just disappeared.
                   We searched until it started to get dark, then we had to go back. But you know what else is crazy? The rags that we tied to the trees were gone. We didn’t notice at first because we weren’t really needing them. But they were all gone.
    We decided to go to town the next day to get a search party. We met Twitchy halfway coming back, and so we all went back to town. We got some pegasi to do a fly over, and Twitchy tried some locate spell, but we didn’t find anything. We spent that next night in the cabin, barely sleeping. But the next morning I went outside and there was Smokey, sitting on the stump by the fire pit.
                   I said, “Smokey! Where have you been?” He looked at me like he didn’t know what was going on. He looked around, and then he asked me, “What’s going on?” I said, “Smokey, you tell me. You’ve been missing for almost two days.” He said, “Two days? No, I just wandered into camp. I don’t know what’s going on.”
                   I asked him what he remembered. He said he was pulling the log and just suddenly felt lost. He looked up and I was gone, so he dropped the log and tried to make his way back to camp. But he didn’t know where he was, so he stumbled around for a few hours and then stumbled into camp.
    B: But he was gone for two nights? How does that make sense?
    GN: It doesn’t! He was gone for two nights, but said he was walking for a few hours. So, we all went back to town to report the incident, have the doctor look at him. But they didn’t find anything wrong. It makes no sense.
    B: Over the years there have been numerous cases of ponies going missing in the area there. Sometimes their belongings are found, sometimes not. Sometimes they are found a couple days later and they don’t remember where they were. Did this happen to others while you were there?
    GN: Yes, it happened a couple times, as I recall. There was a story about sompepony going missing for a couple days—this was after what happened to Smokey—and he showed up in town not knowing where he was. Said he was being chased by something in the trees, but said he never got a good look at it.
                   They said he kept babbling about the whispers in the woods, and seeing creatures watching him. He wasn’t sure if it was ponies or something else, but he said they would follow him but wouldn’t get too close. It took a couple days for him to calm down and he decided to leave the town and go home, never to return.
                   But the creepiest event, so far, was a camp that went abandoned, and me and Twitchy went to go investigate it. We were in town one day, and somepony at the shop had said that an entire camp had gone missing. I remember it was three ponies. Anyway, the sheriff was looking for volunteers to go investigate.
                   At that point, it was hard to find volunteers because, for one, ponies didn’t want to lose money by not working their claim for a few days. And two, a lot were scared to wander too far from town or their camps. The constant events were starting to wear us down, and erode the comradery that we felt earlier. But Twitchy and me decided to volunteer, because we had experienced enough of the strange goings on, we wanted to get to the bottom of it.
                   So, we left a note with one of the ponies who was down stream from us. Remember I told you how other ponies might pass by our camp?
    B: Yeah.
    GN: There was a messaging system, where you could leave notes and stuff in mail boxes. So somepony would deliver a note to our camp that me and Smokey were gonna be gone for a couple days more.
                   So anyway, we went to the sheriff’s office. He said he needed the two of us to go on over to this other camp since nopony had seen them in a few days, and letters from their family had arrived and they hadn’t come to get them, so ponies were getting worried.
                   This camp was down a side branch to the main river, so it was out of our way. And it was too far to get to in one day, so the plan was to leave in the morning, investigate, spend the night there, and come back the next day.
    B: Wasn’t there any other camps nearby?
    GN: I don’t think so. Sometimes claims were too spread out, and you might not have ponies crossing paths. This was especially true for bigger claims, or ones on the edge of the area.
                   Anyway, we got some supplies for over night and took a canoe down this branch. The day was overcast and damp. It must have been fall by that point, because I remember it being cool and the leaves were falling. The river was calm and slow, and we used the motor to get us there quicker. Took a few hours. Of course, going back up stream takes a lot longer, so you have to plan for that.
                   We followed the directions. Ponies would nail signs to trees, or place them on posts at certain spots on the shore. That way, you would keep track of where you were. And sometimes they would make a note of certain land marks, like big boulders or big trees.
                   I remember coming around a bend in the river and seeing the shore. What you did was find spots where the river bank was low, so you could beach your boats and get access to the water. That’s where you typically built camps, but you had to make sure to go up hill just in case the river flooded.
                   So, we see the bank and we see some signs of a camp. Logs arranged around a fire pit, some buckets, then I saw the sluice. It was smashed, like something had pushed it over and broken it.
    B: Could it have been an accident?
    GN: I doubt it. For one, it would take two or three ponies to push it over. And the cross beams were broken. And the chutes that go up to the top of it were about ten feet away, like they was tossed aside.
    B: How heavy are those chutes?
    GN: All in one piece like that, a couple hundred pounds. You’re not just tossing those that far, and not in one piece. If you want to take it apart, you take off a section. You don’t take the whole thing.
    B: So, in your assessment, that wasn’t done by a pony?
    GN: Maybe a group of ponies, maybe a unicorn used magic to break it. Hard to say for sure, but I can tell you that it was not disassembled carefully.
    B: So right away, you know something is wrong?
    GN: Yeah, definitely. I kind of expected something like this, I just had a feeling. And it was real quiet, which is never a good sign. We beach the canoe and pull it up on shore. I then tied the canoe to a tree. Twitchy gets an axe and gives it to me. He takes a shovel. We look at each other and we know to be quiet. So we make our way up the bank.
                   I notice the fire pit is kicked around. Something had kicked the logs out and kicked dirt into it. There were some stumps knocked over. Some pots and pans lying about. They had leaves and dirt on them, like they had been there a few days at least.
                   Farther up we see the cabin and a shed. I look at Twitchy and I point to the shack. He nods and we start walking slowly. The sound of the cracking leaves and branches under out hooves was so loud. The door to the cabin was closed, we could see that much. And I remember it started to drizzle a bit. We got close to the front door and I pointed for Twitchy to look into the window that was on the front of the cabin, while I went to the door.
                   He peeks in, looks around, then shakes his head at me. I lift the lever on the door and push it in. Nopony there.
     B: Tell us what it looked like.
    GN: Oh gosh, most of these cabins were so similar. As I recall, there was a table in the middle, a stove off to the right, a cot against the other wall, and some chairs and smaller tables, shelves, a cabinet, and there was a bedroom past the main room.
                   But here’s the kicker: there was food on the table, not finished.
    B: You mean food on plates, not eaten?
    GN: Yeah. It was cold. There was a pot of stew or something on the table, and it was cold. Glasses of water, bread that had gone stale. All set out, and I could see that they had started eating but stopped. I remember we were looking for three ponies and I counted three places. It was like something had caused all of them to get up and leave. But why was the door closed?
                   Twitchy and I looked around. We found a coat on hooks by the door, and one set of boots. So, did two of them get dressed to go outside while the other stayed inside? Or did they have a spare set of boots? Impossible to say. The stove was long cold. I remember the sound of the rain tapping on the roof, and I remember just feeling confused and anxious.
                   Twitchy pointed to the bedroom, and I went to follow him. He pushed the door slowly open with his shovel. He lit up his horn to give some light. He stuck his head in, looked around, then looked at me and shook his head. Nothing.
                   He steps in, looks around a bit more, pulls the bed sheets back, and there was a giant monster that lunges at him!
    B: What!? Really?
    GN: Ha ha, no! There was nothing. Not a darn thing anywhere in the cabin. They had just disappeared. We looked at each other, and I nodded my head, indicating the shed that we hadn’t checked yet.
                   We went back outside. It was raining a bit more now, and the shed was maybe two hundred feet away. I whispered to Twitchy, “You want to check the shed while I circle around the cabin.” He gave me this look like, heck no! So I nodded, “you’re right, let’s stick together.” We walked around the cabin. There was a window in the back, which was where the bedroom was. I saw in the dirt some indentations, like something was been standing there by the window. Then on the window pane there was some dirt streaks, like something had wiped muddy hooves on the glass. I pointed it out to Twitchy, and he shrugged. “Let’s check the shed,” I whispered.
                   We walked over to the shed and we could see the door was open on it. Then I noticed marks on the ground. Deep gouges, like something had been dragged away from it. I tried to follow the trail. It went off into the woods, but I couldn’t follow it more than a little way. I got a closer look at the ground in the shed, and I saw large imprints.
    B: Like hoof prints?
    GN: But bigger.
    B: Bear, timber wolf?
    GN: Could be. I’m not an expert on that. But they were big. And the drag marks were next to them. Like something was dragging something—or some pony. Because I then found a button and some fabric.
    B: Like it had been torn off?
    GN: Exactly. And just inside the shed I found a pry bar on the ground. There was a bench in the shed with some tools on it.
    B: What’s your best guess as to what happened?
    GN: My best guess is the pony went to the shed to grab a pry bar, but he was dragged away by something and he dropped it. Twitchy had looked around the shed and said he didn’t find anything else.
    B: So, you think the ponies were having dinner, heard something, one of them went to the shed to get a weapon, and he didn’t make it. But no signs of struggle anywhere else? Wouldn’t the other two have fought too?
    GN: Well, that’s the thing. Things never make sense like they’re supposed to. You watch too many shows where there’s a crime, clues, motive, and the detective pieces everything together perfectly. But in the real world there’s so much that doesn’t make any sense.
    And you know, that was the scary part. I mean, if they had been attacked by timber wolves or something, we would have seen signs of that. I wish we had found them, even if it was just their bodies, you know?
    B: The not knowing is the worst part?
    GN: Yeah, exactly. At this point, Twitchy says to me, “I don’t want to stay here tonight.” And I said that it would be really late if we tried to take the boat back. He said he’d rather take his chances on the river at night. He said, “If three ponies couldn’t face what was here, what chance do we have?”
                   I thought for a minute and agreed. We went back to the shore, and we immediately saw that our canoe had been moved. It had been tied up to a tree, but the rope had been snapped.
    B: Snapped, not a clean cut?
    GN: That’s right. Like if you’d pulled it too hard and it snapped. The canoe was pushed back into the water, like someopony was trying to send it off into the river. But it was still partly on the shore and the water hadn’t pulled it all the way into the river.
                   I said to Twitchy, “Let’s get the heck out of here.” We tossed our tools in and pushed the canoe in, facing it up river. As I was about to get into the canoe I looked back up toward the cabin, and I swear to you, I saw a face in the window. The cabin is far away, and it was late in the day, but I saw a face in the window. I turned to Twitchy, grabbed his shirt, and pointed toward the cabin. “Somepony’s up there! In the window.” But when we both looked back, the face was gone.
    B: What did he look like? Was he one of the missing ponies?
    GN: I don’t know, I’d never met the ponies from this camp. I might have passed by him in town without knowing. You lose track of faces after a while, and I didn’t get a good enough look at this face to say I could recognize him or not. And, to be honest, I’m not even sure the face was a pony’s.
                   Twitchy looked at me and said, “You sure you saw somepony?” I said, “Yeah, absolutely positive. There’s some pony up there.” “Should we go back and look?” Twitchy asked. I thought for a moment, but said, “No way, let’s get out of here, right now.” He started the motor and we headed back.
    B: You didn’t go back and look? What if it was one of the missing ponies?
    GN: And what if it wasn’t? We talked about that. We searched that cabin thoroughly. There is no way somepony was hiding in the cabin. Which means he was hiding somewhere in the woods. Which means he didn’t want to be found. As far as I’m concerned, if he didn’t want to talk to us then I didn’t want to talk to him.
    I barely got a glimpse of him, but there was something in his eyes. He had a blank stare. I had the strongest feeling that he didn’t want us to be there, and I was happy to oblige.
    B: That’s creepy. How was the trip back?
    GN: Frightening. We were both scared. We talked to ease the fear. We speculated on what could have happened at the camp. Did they hear something and one of them go out to investigate, disappear, and then the next went out, disappear, and then the third?
    B: Seems an obvious theory was that one pony went crazy and killed the other two. Maybe to steal all the gold for himself.
    GN: Could be, but there was just something about that face that I’m not sure it was a pony. And if that theory was true, then that pony was there for a few days. Why was the food still there, uneaten? Think about it. If that was the motive, then he would still be living there for those few days. And he would have come back to town to claim that his group had gone missing, you know, to create a cover story.
    B: Maybe he just went crazy, maybe there was no motive.
    GN: Could be. Our favorite theory was that one pony went out to the shed and got taken. Then the second pony went out and got taken. Then the third tried to stay inside, which is why his boots were still there. And that figure we saw was something else entirely.
    B: But then why wasn’t the door locked from inside?
    GN: Like I said, boy, things don’t always make sense like that. I don’t know. But that trip back up the river was frightening, as I said. It started to get dark so Twitchy tried to give us some light. The entire trip, we heard rustling in the woods, on both sides of the river.
                   Then after the sun went down, we started to hear other things. We heard whoops and hollers from close to the shore and deeper in the woods, again, on both sides.
    B: What were the sounds like? Were they pony, animal?
    GN: I don’t know. Didn’t sound like an animal either. It could have been pony, but it wasn’t like normal talking. It was more like, “Woop! Woop!” and then something else would respond, “Ahh! Ahh!” or “Woo oop!” And sometimes it was more structured, like a language. Like a, “Ooga googa!” I can’t reproduce it exactly, but it had an intelligence behind it. And it was deeper than any pony I’d ever heard. We were terrified. They started throwing rocks or something into the river. We would hear splashes, and we would catch glimpses of the rocks in the light of Twitchy’s horn. It was odd that they never actually hit us. I don’t know if that was intentional or not.
                   After a few hours, but felt like forever, we made it back to town. It was late, like one or two in the morning I’d say. The rocks and sounds stopped about a half hour before we saw the lights of the town. We were so relieved. We docked the boat and tied it up. We were so tired, we went to the inn, which was part of one of the shops.
                   The town is eerie at night. The saloon usually has ponies there all night, but other than that, the stores are closed up. There are lanterns that stay lit all night, which cast an eerie orange glow.
    B: You didn’t go to the saloon to tell ponies what you saw?
    GN: No, we was too tired. We just went to the inn and knocked on the owner’s door. He was annoyed to be awoken at the hour, but we asked for a room. So, we paid him, he gave us a key, and we went to the room and pretty much collapsed on the floor.
                   Next day, we told the sheriff what happened. I remember he scowled and shook his head, like he wasn’t surprised at our story. He said something about writing a letter to the families, telling them that the three ponies had gone missing. And he would have to eventually get a group together to go clear the site. He thanked us and we went back to our cabin.
    B: Did you learn what happened to the site?
    GN: No, I never followed up on it. But the next day Twitchy told us he was going home. He done had enough of the nonsense. As soon as he mentioned it, Smokey said he was leaving too.
    B: So that was leaving you and Red?
    GN: That’s right. Twitchy and Smokey spent one more night with us, and it was one of the worst, let me tell you.
    B: This was, what, just a couple nights after you came back?
    GN: Yeah, one or two. They packed up what they could carry. We tried to convince them to stay, but there was no changing their minds. So that last night it started to rain, pretty hard too. The wind started picking up, and it was knocking branches and whatnot against the windows.
                   Red jokingly said, “See, the woods don’t want you to leave.” And old Smokey said, “No, it wants us all to leave.” We was eating dinner and we heard something making a ruckus outside, by our supply shed. At first, we thought it was the wind blowing stuff around. But we heard the wood pile collapse, all the logs tumbling over themselves. The wind wasn’t strong enough to knock those logs down.
                   We froze and looked at each other. We started reaching for weapons. Somepony got the fire poker, I had a knife, the others were grabbing pans and clubs. We sat there listening. Every few minutes there was something.
                   Sounded like stuff getting thrown against trees. Thud, thud. We heard splashes of hoof steps right outside. Then we heard those whoops. Not as many as we heard on the river, just a few. Whoop, whoop! Had to be just twenty feet from the cabin. Then on the other side, a response: Whooooo!
                   Then stuff started slamming against the walls. Thud! My fear turned into anger. I felt like if something had a bone to pick with me, then just come out with it. I said to the group something like, “I’ve had about enough of this.”
                   The others nodded. Red said, “What do you want to do, go out there?” I wasn’t sure, but then Red went to the door and flung it open and yelled out into the rain, “Hey you cowards! You come in here and fight like a pony! Huh? Come on!”
    B: What happened?
    GN: Nothing. The hollering stopped; the logs stopped getting thrown at the walls. He closed the door and locked it. He was scared, I could tell. But he was mad too. We all were. We sat around the rest of the night, eventually falling asleep.
                   The next morning, we went out to investigate. We found the logs and branches that got thrown at the cabin. The stuff in the supply shed had been tossed around, the door was hanging off the hinges. And I don’t think the wind would have done that.
                   So, Smokey and Twitchy were more than eager to leave. We said goodbye to them and they were off. The rest of the day, me and Red talked about calling it quits too. But we were in the middle of a good gold vein. We were pretty confident at that point that we could sell the claim. Well, I should rephrase that. Under normal circumstances, we would have been able to sell it. But with the strangeness going on, we didn’t know what was going to happen.
                   We decided to spend a couple more weeks tapping out the vein, register our findings at the assayer’s office, and put our claim up for sale. If it got bought, good, if not, then we’d let it lapse.
    B: Explain that, please.
    GN: The government hands out the claims. If you don’t sell them to a contractor or continue to work them, then they revert back to the government. Then they can give them back out to somepony else, or sell them for development, or whatever they want. We had made decent profit, and we were ready to go.
                   So, we fortified our cabin. Added a bar to the door, reinforced the shutters on the windows. We didn’t experience anything for the next week. Then we saw the lights again, but that was a welcome relief compared to the madness of that one night.
    B: You had one final experience. Tell us about that.
    GN: Yeah, that last one. And that was enough for me. Let me gather my thoughts on this.
    B: How long had you been there by this point?
    GN: This was a couple days before we left. So, two and a half years. I went up river to town to sell our latest batch of gold. Was a pretty good haul.
                   I was going back down river on the boat. It’s much faster than walking and I expected to find our camp quickly. But after an hour, things didn’t look familiar. I had gotten used to the land marks and signs, and I didn’t recognize anything. I thought I had gone past the camp, but there’s no way I would have missed it. I decided to go on a bit farther before turning around. But something compelled me to keep going. I don’t know why, but I felt curious to see what was ahead.
                   I came to site, a much bigger dig site. I’d never seen it before, and I don’t think I’d even heard of it. This would have been past the last camp in our area. The shore was wide in this spot, and there was a dock. Curious, I tied the boat to the dock and disembarked. I got a good look around. There area was clear, whether naturally or not, I’m not sure. It was early afternoon, and sunny, so I decided to explore.
                   I noticed right away that this site was abandoned. There were a couple buildings to my left and a couple more to my right, and in the center was a mine. The buildings were bigger and better built than most cabins. This was a big operation, when it was running. There was a track running into the mine, which looked like it had started as a natural cave and had been expanded. The dark opening beckoned to me.
                   But first I decided to explore the structures. The first building was some kind of dormitory. There was a common room, with tables and couches. The place had been abandoned for years. It was probably one of the first mines in the area. Most of the windows were broken. There were some dishes scattered about. An old boot, cans, junk like that. There was a kitchen area. The stoves and cookware were rusted.
                   The room beyond the common area had bunks. I’d say about ten or so. The beds were rusted, the mattress all rotting. There were empty lockers and boxes, bits of clothing and bedding.
    B: You weren’t scared?
    GN: No, strangely. Like I said, I felt compelled to explore. The next building was a work shop. There were benches, a few rusted tools, some mine carts. The whole place appeared to have been cleared in an orderly fashion, which is to say they didn’t all run away at once. Most likely the ore had run out and the place was shut down.
    B: So, not like the camp you had seen before, where the three ponies had disappeared suddenly?
    GN: Right. This place was not like that. The other buildings held an office, with some desks and filing cabinets. There was scattered note books, but not enough remaining to read or make sense of. Probably just work orders or something like that.
                   Next to the office was another storage shed with some barrels and crates. Closer to the mine entrance there was a processing building. There was a crusher, which is this steam powered machine that takes ore on a conveyor and drops it into this big box that has grinding wheels. The boiler was in the room next to it. It was completely rusted and worthless. There was nothing of value in this whole site.
                   Now that left the mine itself. I went back to my boat to get a lantern, some matches, and a knife. I picked up an iron bar from the workshop. I lit the lantern and went into the mine. The tunnels were big enough to walk upright. The cart tracks went straight into the main shaft, and there was a branch in the tracks going to a side tunnel to the left. There were smaller tunnels going to the right and left, as well.
                   I picked the first tunnel on the right, which had no tracks. Not too far in, and the sunlight didn’t reach, but it was not a deep tunnel. They were probably following a vein and it ran out. So, I went back and picked the tunnel on the left, the other one without the tracks. This one went deeper and got smaller. There were a couple short branches off this one, but eventually it came to an end, too.
                   Back out to the main tunnel. I had two more paths to pick, each with tracks. This was good, because I figured I could just follow the tracks out. I went first into the smaller of these two remaining tunnels.
                   Now this is where things get eerie. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard something down in the tunnels. Whispering. Boy, as I sit here and tell you this, I don’t know why I didn’t turn and run out of there as fast as I could. But for whatever dang blasted stupid reason, I just felt compelled to keep going.
                   I think I had convinced myself that it was just the wind blowing outside, or maybe an airway in the tunnels. It’s common to cut air shafts into the ceilings of mines. But the sound had structure to it, like whispering. And on a few occasions, it sounded more substantial, like a real word or two. I couldn’t make them out, it was like a “ha” or “blah” kind of sound.
                   The tracks came to an end and the tunnel didn’t go much farther beyond that. There were some rusted shovel heads, tin cans, gloves, trash like that lying about. That left one last tunnel to explore.
                   I made my way back to the main branch, and I noticed the daylight getting weaker, as the sun was getting low. For whatever reason, I decided to keep exploring. The main tunnel went deep into the mountain. I must have explored for a couple hours. There was more trash. The sounds of whispers got louder. I would turn around, trying to catch somepony, but there was never anything there.
                   I guess my curiosity and stupidity got the better of my fear, because I kept going. At the end of the tracks there was a mine cart, half full of ore. On the ground there were some pick axes and drills. They would use these drills to bore holes into the rock, where they would place explosives. But these tools were scattered about, like they had been dropped. You wouldn’t just drop your tools there and leave. I didn’t register these clues at the time, because it was like I was in a trance. I had to keep going.
                   At this point, the tracks had ended and I went into a side tunnel. I found this wooden box. Maybe it was a dynamite box. I used my rod to lift the lid. When the lid hid the ground, at that exact moment, there was a crash behind me, back in the tunnel the direction I had come. I jumped! I turned around but I didn’t see anything.
                   At this point, my fear overcame my stupidity and I made my way back out. But in my haste, I had lost track of which tunnel was out. I took some deep breaths to calm myself and thought. I tried to remember my turns: left, right, right, or whatever it was. I had settled on what I thought was the right way out.
                   As I was making my way out, I heard more banging and crashing from the tunnels behind me. This was more motivation to push me in the direction I had chosen, which was away from the sounds. My heart was beating so hard, I’m sure that it was making as much noise as whatever was down in those tunnels.
    B: Was the sound coming from one or multiple tunnels?
    GN: Multiple directions. Like two or three directions. Eventually, I found the cart tracks and I booked it! But I tripped over a rock and crashed into the ground, my lantern tumbling out of my reach. At this moment I heard more sounds from behind me, like they were getting closer. I got back up, went to retrieve the lantern, and kept running.
                   I finally made it to the tunnel entrance. By this time, the sun was almost set, so there wasn’t much light. The camp was so much creepier in the twilight. The black windows, the deep shadows around the buildings. Darn if I wasn’t scared stiff. What was I thinking? I ran toward the dock, and take a guess at what I had found.
    B: Your boat was gone.
    GN: My…boat…was…gone! Of course, it was at that point that I remembered what had happened to us back at that other camp. Again, I can’t explain to you how I was so stupid, except to again reiterate my compulsion to explore the camp.
                   I panicked; I didn’t know what to do. I contemplated my options. Run up river along the bank? No, it was too dark and there wasn’t a trail. I would get lost or stumble into the river. I almost broke down in tears. Thankfully, I still had my lantern. I shook it to get an idea of how much fuel I still had. Not enough to last the whole night, I concluded. I cursed my stupidity; I cursed the fact that I was an earth pony and not a pegasus. I cursed the damned forest, the mine, Washaway, and everything I could think of.
                   That left me the only other option: To hunker down for the night. It seemed the noises had stopped, at least for the moment. I decided upon the best spot to hole up, which was the office. It had one door in and only a couple windows. I ran to it and went inside. I closed the door, which was old and warped. It didn’t close as well as I’d hoped.
                   I set the lantern on the floor. The desk, which was large and heavy, I shoved against the door. I pushed the filing cabinets against the windows. There was a table that I leaned against the other window, and I reinforced that with the chairs. The whole set up was not ideal, but it would have to do. I reached into my pockets and breathed a sigh of relief when I found my matches. I could then safely turn off the lantern. I figured this would conserve my fuel and also maybe the darkness would keep me hidden from whatever was out there.
                   I sat there, in complete darkness, and waited. The sun had long gone down by this point. I tried to doze off, thinking that if something did come in, the noise would wake me, but I just couldn’t sleep. I sat there for probably a couple hours before I heard the first noise. Hoofsteps from outside. I could hear the walking in the gravel, like whatever it was, was searching the camp. My heart wanted to leave my chest, but I tried to take deep, calming breaths.
                   The steps came my way. Thump, thump, then up onto the wooden porch. Clack, clack, on the wood. It pushed at the door. The door jiggled but the desk didn’t move, thankfully. I still had my knife, and I gripped it. The steps moved around the front of the building. It pushed on the window. The table moved a little, but didn’t fall over. I’m pretty sure that if that thing outside pushed hard enough, it could have knocked that table over and cleared the window.
                   The figure then went back out to the middle of the camp and whooped. Whoop! Whoop! Then, a few moments later, an answer from deeper in the woods. Whoooo! I had never been so scared. The figure wandered around the camp more. It tried again to get through the door. It banged and pushed, but the desk held.
                   I came to a decision at that point: I didn’t want to cower all night, because I thought eventually that thing would get in. So, this is what I did. I took my lantern and unscrewed the top, leaving me with just the can of fuel. I tore off some of my shirt and wrapped it around a piece of wood. I then went to the side window, which looked out onto the building next to me, which was a storage shed.
                   I pulled the filing cabinet away from the window as quietly as I could. Then I poured the fuel onto my makeshift torch, lit it, and tossed it at the building next to me, which was really close. I then splashed the fuel as best I could onto the wall of the other building.
                   My plan worked, and the building caught aflame. The flames grew until the entire structure was ablaze. That fire was my salvation. I heard the creature whoop, but it ran away from the fire. There was more whooping, but it was farther away. I prayed the fire would last all night. I even tossed the chairs into it. I told myself that if it died down, I would try to set my office alight too, but luckily that wasn’t necessary.
                   I sat there until dawn as the remains of that building smoldered. Finally, as the sun came up, I pulled the desk away from the door and went outside. Glorious sun and freedom!
    B: Obviously you made it back.
    GN: Yes. In the light of day, I was able to follow the river bank. It took me all day, but I came to my camp. Red was so happy to see me. He said he heard the creatures by the cabin that night. I told him my story and he embraced me. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”
                   Needless to say, that was our last night there. We packed what we could carry and left the rest. We put our claim up for sale. It was purchased, and we made a nice profit.
    B: The mining operation in Whispering Woods eventually petered out and now everything is abandoned.
    GN: Yes, it’s been years since anypony has been there, and I hope it stays that way. As I understand, there were a few stories since the time I left, but not enough to scare every pony away. It was the gold running out that really shut it down, I think.
    B: Most ponies have heard that Whispering Woods is haunted, but I think most just take those as stories.
    GN: I tell you this: There is something in those mountains. The word haunted implies ghosts or spirits. I don’t know what it is that’s there, but it doesn’t want us there, and I’m more than happy to leave it well enough alone. Modern civilization thinks it has everything figured out, but we don’t know half of what’s going on in this crazy world. Our greed for gold and resources pushes us into places we best leave alone.
                   The old folk—well, back when I was young, they was the older folk—would tell us to respect the old legends. As I got older, I came to respect those legends, and I suggest you all do the same.
    B: Well, Grandpa, I thank you for sharing your story with the readers. Your experiences will live on as lessons to the younger generation.
    GN: Glad to be of help.
  8. Brony Number 42

    thoughts
    Here is a companion piece to @PawelS ‘s blog on time paradoxes
     
    He mentions the idea of a consistent time loop. This is the idea that if you go back in time and perform an action, that action was “destined to happen,” and therefore isn’t a paradox. The opposite of this is, of course, a paradox. The classic example being that you kill your grandfather before you are born, so how can you be born to go back in time to kill your grandfather?
                                  One solution to this paradox is to say that when you go back in time you are jumping to an alternate universe. You can kill your grandfather, and you can stay in that time period and watch it play out. You will be a stranger that nobody knows because you came out of nowhere. But this, in itself, is not a logical paradox. Or you can go back to your “own time” and you will see that you were never born and the world went on as you would expect. You check the newspaper archives and find that your would-be-grandfather was killed by some stranger who just showed up out of nowhere and then disappeared. Again, in your “own time” you will be a stranger that nobody knows. This also presents no logical paradox.
                   Here is where I have a problem with how these paradoxes are presented. Most people will say that it is ok to go back in time as long as you don’t do anything that would create a paradox. But technically everything you do creates a paradox. Merely displacing air molecules changes history and creates a paradox. History “recorded” that space-time location R(x1,t1) contained air molecules. Then you go back in time and stand in that spot, now location R(x1,t1) contains you! No matter what you do, things are not as they were, and history plays out differently. I believe that this implies that the only solution is the one mentioned above. If you go back to your own time then you are in an alternate timeline, even if it appears to be very similar to where you left.
  9. Brony Number 42
    I hate meeting people who say "How are you?" It is so stupid. I saw a doctor and she said "how are you" so I said "I wouldn't be here if I was fine."
    Every day at work it's the same thing. "How are you today?" You see me 14 days every 28. You see me more than my family does. Why do you need to ask me the same pointless question every day? What do you expect me to say? Or sometimes it's "What's going on?" What the hell do you think is going on? I'm at work, I'm doing the same thing that I do every day. I will let you know if things change. There was some movie where some (crazy) guy would only say "hello" and he would hand out pieces of paper that said "hello." I should do that.
    Why has our culture chosen a pointless question as a greeting? You don't really care how I am. You say "how are you?" and I say "I'm fine, how are you?" and you say "I'm fine, thanks for asking" and I say "You're welcome" and then I throw a chair through a window and jump out because I can't stand this situation and your inane chatter.
    If you ask me a question then I assume you want an honest answer. Crazy concept, right? So maybe I answer honestly. Maybe I say "For starters, this anitbiotic I'm on is giving me diarrhea. I wish I was at home playing video games and not talking to you right now. How are you?"
    How about we come up with a new greeting system.
    Standard greeting # 1: I am operating within acceptable parameters. No assistance is requested. I desire that you, too, are operating within acceptable parameters. 
    Standard response # 2. Situation not optimal. Reasonable assistance is requested. Standby for further information.
    Standard response # 3: Fuck you, fuck your family, fuck your pets, and fuck anybody who shares 90% of your DNA.
  10. Brony Number 42
    Here is something annoying. Hidden buttons on devices. What is the obsession with hiding buttons? Here are some examples:
    I rarely use Mac computers. One time I was using a Mac and it had a mouse with no visible buttons. I knew it had at least one button. Then my friend told me it had a left and right click. How was I supposed to know? It was one solid piece of plastic. There was no indication that there was a left and right button.
    I had a Sansa mp3 player. It had a rotating wheel to scroll through the menus and you could click the wheel to select. This was good because I could pause and play by feeling the button in my pocket. Then I got a new model that had touch sensitive buttons. This sucked for multiple reasons. 1: There was a major delay in response. 2: Sometimes touching the button didn’t even work. 3: I couldn’t feel where to touch without looking, so I couldn’t operate it from my pocket.
    I have a lamp with a turn knob to turn it on and off. The knob is a hemisphere just behind the bulb, so that the knob is not obvious. The worst part is that it is hard to get a grip on the knob. It is a half sphere, and sometimes my fingers would slip off. Imagine trying to pick up a golf ball by pinching the top part of it. Finally, I glued a bottle cap to it so that I had something to grab.
    Televisions. Why do the buttons have to be hidden behind or under the screen? God forbid people see buttons! I have a Samsung TV with touch buttons on the front, but they are almost invisible. If you shine a light at the correct angle you can just make out where to touch. So I put a sticker on the TV and wrote where to touch.
    Then there is the PS3 original model. This is not terrible. You can clearly see where the power and eject buttons are, but you still have to hold until it beeps and works. Then there is the damn PS4. I hate the invisible buttons on the PS4 Pro. I can never remember which is the power and which is the eject. What is next, invisible buttons on game controllers?
    Why are companies so afraid to show buttons? Buttons are important.
  11. Brony Number 42
    I start by saying that I am a fan of AVGN. However, I have not seen the movie. From what I have seen of it, it does not look like the kind of thing I would pay money for. In general, I do not buy content from internet reviewers. I believe that I could spend my money on better entertainment. My level of enjoyment of reviewer content ends at watching their videos on line.
                    Since I have not seen the movie I cannot offer a scene by scene review, not that I would have a desire to do such a thing anyway. But I have seen enough and heard enough of it to give my opinions on why it has gotten bad reviews. My critique will come in two parts. The first part is more speculation on how and why the movie was made. The second part is an insight into the movie that I have not heard anyone else mention.
                    James is a fan of movies, that is no secret. He went to school to study film. My suspicion is that he wanted to make a movie but could not fund it. He knew he could only get crowd funding if he made an AVGN movie, so he put that label on it.
                    The movie turned out to be a disjoined mess of different genres, all put into one pile and mixed together. Just like you might enjoy individual meals but wouldn’t eat a blended stew of various entrees, mixing together different types of movies does not work. This is a combination of sci fi, zombie, monster, action, and fighting movies. Furthermore, it is all done on a low budget. People have said it is an homage to B movies. But that is just an excuse to make a crappy movie. If you want to make a cheap movie, then stick to one kind of movie. Or if you can’t afford to make a certain movie, then don’t do it.
                    Here is the second part, and the big reason, I think, that the movie fails. The movie has nothing to do with video games. The basic premise is a spoof on the E.T. Atari 2600 game that was buried in the desert. (This is a true story, in case you didn’t know.) In the movie, of course they can’t use the licensed property, so they make a spoof Eee Tee game. I can’t fault that limitation except to say that a different plot would not have hinged on one game.
                    This game, obviously, features an alien. In the movie, they discover that there is a real alien and the military chases them. What does a real alien and the military have to do with video games? That would be like making an action hero movie because there was a game based on Die Hard, and claiming it was a video game movie.
                    So this isn’t a video game movie, but instead a collection of goofy, surrealistic, cartoonish events. Which brings me to the main problem with the movie. Understanding this point requires a few definitions. We have, at first, our real world. In our real world we have the AVGN internet skits. These skits exist in some kind of surreal world, where bizarre, cartoonish things happen. This is fine. This is why the show is funny.
                    Then we have the universe of the movie, but this is tricky. We have the “real” world of the movie, where AVGN is a “real” person who makes internet skits. This, by itself, is not the problem. In fact, you could hardly make a story otherwise. But here is the problem. There is the “real” world of the movie, which is the world that AVGN/James lives in. Then there is the “internet skit” world of the movie, which takes us a level deeper. In the “internet skit” of the movie world, AVGN does his goofy stuff. But the “real” world of the movie has those very same surreal, cartoonish things! Is the real world AVGN skit world the same as the movie “real” world “internet skit” world? I guess it has to be. Are you confused yet?
                    The reason the real world AVGN skits are funny is that we contrast the surrealism with our every day world. It would be perfectly fine to have a movie where we explore this surreal AVGN world. A 1.5 hour AVGN skit. This movie might not work, because AVGN would break the fourth wall and talk to the camera the whole time. This might or might not work.
                    But the AVGN skits are merely “internet skits” in the movie world, but at the same time the movie world is surreal. This, essential, makes the movie “internet skits” not surreal because they exist in a world where that is mundane. This removes the very thing that makes his skits funny and disconnects the fan base and tries to set them into something totally different, yet seemingly the same.
                    We see AVGN as a strange character living in a bizarre world where Buggs Bunny breaks into his house and fights him. It makes no sense to say that this world exists as a fiction on the internet in a movie world, but the movie world itself is just as surreal. This makes the AVGN skits merely a documentary of the “real” movie world. And now we are watching this movie world with surreal things happening. That’s not what I want to see. I don’t care about some goofy, cartoony adventure with cheesy fight scenes where the military is trying to catch an alien. This is not a movie about video games, and this is not the world I imagine AVGN living in.
                    Perhaps the movie would have been successful if it were either 1) a 1.5 hour skit (which is not what it was) or 2) not surreal. This second option might work with what the movie was partly doing. Part of the premise is that some game company is purposely making bad games just so AVGN will review it and make it popular. What if this was the plot, but nothing surreal happened? I suppose people would complain that it wasn’t funny because it had not AVGN jokes. But, as I have argued, that is inherently flawed.
                    I hope this explanation makes sense. I have not seen anyone offer that view point on the movie.
  12. Brony Number 42
    Something has been bothering me for a while. This whole idea of the “nerd” sub culture. It used to be that a nerd was someone who worked with computers and math, and participated in a few obscure hobbies in some dank room on Friday nights. But now “nerd” is the new hipster. Everyone is a nerd now. I've seen people call themselves a nerd because they watch the History channel. The term is meaningless. If everyone is a nerd then no one is.
     
    I'd like to focus the term down to describe people who might go to something like Comicon. There was a convention in Calgary a few weeks ago. I didn't go, but I was talking to someone about it and I looked up what events were happening there. Basically, the only thing that was remotely interesting to me was that a couple of Star Trek actors were there. There was nothing else I would even want to see.
     
    Basically what I'm saying is that the “nerd” or “geek” culture has so much stuff in it that it is pointless to classify it as a sub culture. There are a few branches in this conversation I want to explore.
     
    For one thing, the way that stuff is merchandised these days seems really stupid to me. When I lived in Los Angeles I went to the Star Trek rides at the Hilton. The rides were fine, but the gift shops were disappointing. They had teddy bears with red, gold, or blue Starfleet shirts and drinking cups with plastic borg heads on them. What does this have to do with Star Trek? I was at the comic book store for free comic book day and I got the latest My Little Pony comic. I saw bobble headed toys with Marvel characters. What does a bobble headed toy have to do with Marvel?
     
    We see this kind of merchandising all over the place. Let's stick with the Star Trek example. As a Star Trek fan, I would appreciate tshirts, bumper stickers, posters, action figures, models, and maybe Vulcan ears. But why would I want a pizza cutter shaped like Enterprise? Why would I want a Kirk toy cross-branded with some Lego knock-off?
     
    I can understand someone being a fan of comic books. Maybe they really like Thor. But why would they buy a bobble head doll that is shaped like every other bobble head, with just a different paint scheme? Why would a Star Wars fan want a Pez dispenser with a Yoda head?
     
    My second point has to do with the parsing of the nerd culture. How many sub categories of this culture could you name? Let's just keep it simple and break it down into a few of the major ones: science fiction, fantasy, and comics. You might put video games in there, but I think that video games are so broadly played that it is it's own category.
     
    These categories can be split even more and listed by media: movie, book, comic, or game. So the question is, does one category over lap much with another? You might be tempted to say yes, but I assert that the answer is no. At least, the over lap isn't that big.
     
    If someone likes sci fi TV shows, do they read comics? If someone likes fantasy novels, do they like Star Wars? Now of course you can claim that there are a lot of people who have multiple interests. And for just a few categories, it might be easy to find that over lap. But imagine if someone was a big fan of DC comics, but had no interest in Star Trek or science fiction or fantasy or anything else. If that person were to go to a convention, he would look for the DC booths but would ignore everything else.
     
    Now consider how each of the listed categories can be split even finer. Science fiction can include hundreds of novel lines, TV shows, and movies. How many hundreds of fantasy novels are there? Where do role players fit into this? There are thousands of comic book issues, with a lot of popular characters being created decades ago. What about horror movies? What about the movie adaptations of all of these things?
     
    Let's consider a sci fi fan. How many TV shows and movies has he seen? Does he read sci fi novels? So even in the sub category of sci fi, it is hard to find people who share the same interest. So do we make more sub categories? Science fiction → tv shows → Battlestar Galactica → classic series. The number of interests grows exponentially.
     
    So what would you expect to see at a convention? Hundreds of booths with nothing to do with each other? In practice, you will only see franchises that are currently making money. That means if you are a fan of something that is no longer on air or in print, then there is no point in going.
     
    Which would be my situation. I finally came to the conclusion that I am not a nerd or a geek or whatever the term is. I am Star Trek fan, I am not a science fiction fan. I've seen other sci fi movies and shows, but I am not a fan of anything else. So in the vast category of science fiction, I am only a fan of Star Trek.
     
    I am a fan of Dungeons and Dragons, but only old, TSR branded editions. 2 nd edition and older. I have a lot of the D&D branded novels, but I have never read any other fantasy novel. No, I've never read Lord of the Rings, and no, I've never seen the movies. I have no desire to see them. Therefore, I am not a fantasy fan. I have played a couple of rpgs besides D&D, but I am a fan of only D&D. Following my logic, I am not a rpg fan.
     
    I collect video games. I have 1500 on 40 consoles. But I am too busy to really play them much any more. And when I do play, I finish a game and move on to the next, and I don't really get into them that much. So I am not a video game fan.
     
    I do love cartoons. I have 600 dvd sets worth. However, I hate cgi movies. I do enjoy a wide range of cartoon shows. So I do consider myself a cartoon fan.
     
    In conclusion, I have come to the realization that I am not really a “fan” of anything, other than cartoons. People will ask me if I watch this show or read that book, and the answer I keep giving is “no.” I've never seen or read Lord of The Rings. I don't watch Dr Who or Game of Thrones. The only non cartoon TV show I like is Star Trek. The comic book universes of Marvel and DC seem too bloated and nonsensical. On average, I go to the movies less than once per year.
     
    What do you think?
  13. Brony Number 42
    I came up with a pi based counting system. The place holders are thus
     
    ... pi^3, pi^2, pi^1, pi^0, pi^-1, pi^-2 ...
     
    The digits are 0, 1, 2, 3. So you count 1, 2, 3, 10, 11, 12, 13, 20, 21, etc just like you would count in a four based system. Note, however, that 10 etc are irrational, because they contain multiples of pi. It's a lot like a four based but pi instead. Since pi is irrational, the only "rational" numbers in this system are integer numbers of pi, and 1, 2, 3 themselves. But all other numbers come out irrational. Thus 4 (base decimal) is
     
    4 => 10.2201..... and it goes on forever
     
    I don't think it's possible to really count in this system. For example, you can't easily count the fingers on your hand because beyond 3, the numbers become irrational. So to you the number of fingers on your hand
     
    => in pi base 1, 2, 3, 10.2201..., 11.2201..., 12.2201..., 13.2201..., 21.201...
    => in decimal 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
     
    I had to calculate the conversion each time. In any case, I think it's interesting.
  14. Brony Number 42
    Just stop! If you think you need to use it, you are probably wrong. The incorrect use of the word “literally” has become an epidemic. It keeps getting worse. I seem to hear it every day. I have started keeping track each time I hear it. It is 11:30 am and I have heard it 4 times today! I listen to a couple of radio programs, and I know one of the guys I listen to uses it a lot. I know that biases my sample, but I still hear it from others as well.
     
    The site www.dictionary.com has 4 definitions. One of which is “actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy.” However, the 4th definition contradicts this and says “very nearly; virtually.” But a note does mention the controversial misuse of the word.
     
    Basically, the word is meant only to indicate that what you have said is not to be taken as a metaphor or exaggeration. There are 2 ways in which the word is misused.
     
    1: It is incorrect to say “literally” as part of what is actually meant to be a metaphor or exaggeration. Here are some misuses I have heard.
    “My jaw literally hit the floor.” If that is so, you need to go to the hospital.
    “I literally died laughing.” Really? You had a heart attack and died? I know it’s possible, so I have to believe it.
    “The media is literally on the war path.” No, they are not literally picking up weapons and marching to a fight.
     
    The whole point of exaggeration is to emphasize the magnitude of the situation. A metaphor is meant to help us understand something in a colorful way. Using “literally” as a modifier is not just unnecessary, it is also incorrect.
     
    2: The use of “literally” to add emphasis when none is needed. Here are some real examples I have heard.
    “You literally can’t not like the guy.” No, I’m sure it is possible that someone can not like him.
    “I literally have no idea.” Oh, I’m glad you clarified that, because if you were to simply say “I have no idea” I wouldn't have believed you.
    This use of the word might technically be correct, in the sense that the statement is true. But adding “literally” doesn't make it any more true. This is not the intended use of the word.
     
    The word is meant to tell the listener or reader that the statement is to be taken at face value. It should be used only if there is a possibility that the listener might mistake what you have said to be an exaggeration. This does not mean, however, that you can merely use the word because you really want the person to believe you. The person will believe you, don’t worry. But if you do want to add emphasis, choose a correct word, such as “really” or “very.” Let’s work some examples.
     
    “That was literally the first concert I ever went to.” This is a type 2 misuse. It might be true that it was your first concert, but using “literally” does not add anything. There is no reasonable expectation that I wouldn't believe you. Even if you wanted to add emphasis, a correct way might be: “That was really the first concert I ever went to.”
     
    “The amusement park is literally in my back yard.” The person meant that the park was close to his house, not literally, actually on his property.
     
    Let’s say a man is proposing to his fiancé. Maybe he tries to jump over a bench but he trips and falls. You might then legitimately say, “He literally fell head over heels in love. “
     
    If you were attending a boring lecture or speech and you fell asleep, you could then say, “The speech literally put me to sleep.”
     
    Simply try to avoid using the word. Do not use it to emphasize your point. When those rare instances when it is appropriate come up, you will know. If you aren't sure if it is appropriate then chances are that it is not.
  15. Brony Number 42
    My entry for the writing contest. It is not a complete story, but I am too busy to finish it. So it is a short story which can turn into something longer. I hope you like it.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Daring Do pulled the aged lever and gasped. The layers of dust and dirt coating the slab fell in a cascade of fog as it began to move, withdrawing into the wall like a door. Through the dark hallway beyond, a single light shown down on her prize—the Mask Of Gymkhana. Its surface silver and its eyes black and cold, it stared back at Daring with a haunting expression. The longer she stared, the more it seemed to beckon her, encouraging her to traverse the dark and take it. But as Daring took a step, her breath left her body in a frantic heartbeat. The mask began to move, and out from the darkness did two massive claws emerge, gripping the edges of the doorway.
    A beast, with five centimeter long claws, stepped into the beam of light that had illuminated the mask. The creature was standing upright and was twice Daring’s height and easily three times her mass. It was covered with fluffy brown feathers on the top half of its body, which became more fur-like on its lower half. It had giant bird eyes and a beak, upon which the Mask did not fit well, having been made to fit a pony. Daring recognized the creature as an owlbear. It was not intelligent and therefore would have no desire or ability to communicate. If owlbears weren’t sleeping then they were hungry.
    Daring’s blood ran cold and she swallowed the lump in her throat. The owlbear growled and took a slow step toward her, while Daring began to take a step back. The beast lunged and Daring dived to her left. The frame of the entrance offered just enough cover as the owlbear landed on all fours next to her. The hungry beast’s claw scraped into the stone floor. Thinking fast and moving faster, Daring snatched the Mask off the beast’s face, stepped onto its back, and darted for the stairs that she had recently came down.
    Her hooves kicked up dust as she made her way to the stone steps. She took them two at a time. The passage was too narrow to use her wings. The owlbear lumbered behind her with the thud-thud of its steps. The stairs turned to the right and ended in a stone passage. The light from her helmet lamp cut a beam through the dusty air. The entrance was only a few seconds away. She had uncovered the stone doorway, which had been buried under vines and dirt for untold years. Her lungs burned and she coughed on the dusty air. She skidded to a stop and almost slipped on the wet floor.
    But where was the entrance? It must be right here! The thumping of the owlbear’s footsteps got louder as it reached the top of the stairs. Daring looked down the passageway and saw her lamp light reflect in the creature’s eyes. Turning back to the wall she searched frantically for the entrance. Here it was! The stone slab had been replaced! Some one had sealed the door.
    “No,” she said between gulps of air. She had been followed, most likely by Dr. Caballeron’s goons. She had thought she had lost them back in the village. But there was no time to worry about that now, there was an owlbear making its way to its dinner.
    Daring tried to push on the stone slab but her muscles were strained and the stone wouldn’t budge. She ran her hoof down the side of the wall and felt mud. Of course! She remembered a small river nearby; the water must run underground here. There was a tree root that had worked its way through the stone ceiling, following the path of the water. She pulled on the root and it came loose, knocking down stone and rocks.
    Behind the wall was a natural tunnel. Daring stuffed the Mask into her satchel and pushed her way into the tunnel. She managed to get her hind hooves in just as the owlbear slashed at them, leaving a painful cut on her ankle. Pushing, pulling, and digging, Daring crawled into the tight space. The water had carved out an underground stream. The tunnel became larger. There were tree roots dangling down into the water. She managed to pull a knife from her belt and cut her way through the roots.
    The light on her helmet became covered in mud so she was crawling in darkness. The water got deeper and at this point she was wading. The current also became stronger, as other streams converged. The current became strong enough to pull her, but she had to tread water to keep herself from going under.
    From time to time, she was able to hold onto a large root and rest, using her other hoof to feel that the Mask was still in her satchel. She contemplated her options: go back and hope the owlbear had forgotten about her, or let the underground water take her to its destination. She even laughed at her predicament. “What have you gotten yourself into now?” She decided to follow the water.
    It was probably only about an hour from the time she entered the tunnel to the point where she thought she saw light. The current carried her to an exit. Some ponies pay money for a ride like this, she thought. She grabbed for the sides of the tunnel, but her hooves found no hold. She held her nose as the water ejected her into a pool some four meters below. She went under and kicked her legs, swimming to the surface. Breaching the surface, she gasped for air. She then paddled her way to the shore.
    She was at the bottom of a rocky cliff, perhaps six meters high. The water was pouring into a small pond that fed a river. Around her was the jungle of Moo Forest, part of the Farasia region. She crawled up onto the muddy shore and flopped on her back. She took in lungfuls of air and stared up at the blue sky. There were a few clouds and the sun was high. Her heart began to return to a normal rhythm and she could hear more than just the flow of her blood. The chatter of insects and the flow of the waterfall filled the air.
    Her helmet floated beside her. She put it on and sat up on the shore. She checked her satchel once more to make sure the Mask was still there. She retrieved a compass from her pack and tried to orient herself. Judging from the direction of north, the time of day, and the time she spent crawling through the tunnel, she estimated that she was just south of the village.
    Five days prior, she had come into the large sized village by boat. The native ponies of the region lived a simple life. There were no paved roads, no air strips, and no fast ways to communicate with the outside. Her search for the Mask Of Gymkhana had led her to this land, to this jungle, to this village. She was able to get a boat to take her there, where she stayed with a nice family. She didn’t know she was followed by somepony, who must have snuck into the village by night. There was no way that stone door moved itself.
    This meant that she wasn’t sure if it was safe for her to return. Mostly likely, whoever was after her expected that owlbear to finish her off. They would then open the tomb, allow the owlbear to escape, and pick the Mask from among her bones. She shuddered at the thought. How many times had she come close to death? This week alone? One of these days her luck would run out, she feared.
    She started her trek back to the village. It would take her a couple hours to return, and by that point she hoped she would have a plan. As it was, her initial plan was to take the Mask back to Professor Joneshoof at the School Of Antiquities, part of the University Of Manehatten. Joneshoof had gotten a lead on the old relic. His contacts had lead Daring across the ocean to Saddle Arabia, then to Farasia. And, as usual, she was trailed by somepony else who wanted the treasure for their own profits. Standard affair, really. Even so, she wished she could retrieve one lost artifact without having to fight off a giant monster or a group of evil henchponies.
    She sat on a fallen tree to take a break in the shade. The air was humid and insects buzzed around her. What was it that Professor Joneshoof had said? The Mask had the power to bring great prosperity to whomever could unlock its powers. Undoubtably somepony wanted to use it to get rich.
    Standing up and wiping the sweat from her eyes, she continued. Flies buzzed around her and birds would circle overhead. The village was built on the river, which was easy to find. It was just a matter of walking up stream until she came to the village. After a couple hours of walking, she estimated that she had to be close. Indeed, she spotted the first hut on the outskirts of town.
    Overall the community had about 1000 residents, some of whom were farmers who lived away from the main part of town. This was the kind of house she now saw. Obviously Daring was not able to meet everypony who lived there, but everypony did know of her, and all seemed friendly to her.
    The house was wooden with a grass roof. It was surrounded by rice patties. A farmer was walking one of the paths between the patties. Daring approached him. “Greetings, friend.” She had learned their language before her trip.
    The farmer, an elderly pony, squinted at her under his wide, straw hat. He leaned on his hoe. “Oh my, you must be the one they are looking for.” He became nervous and looked around. Looking back to her he said, “Come with me.”
    The old farmer led her into his small house and closed the door. He led her to a simple wooden chair, then proceeded to close the shutters on the windows. When that was done he spoke to her, “Some outsiders came into the village this morning. They were big, ten of them. They asked about you. They said you were a wanted criminal and that there was a reward.”
    Daring stood up, “What? What outsiders?”
    The farmer tried to calm her, “You will be safe here. I know of you, co Do,” he used his native dialect. “My wife will be home soon. We will help you.”
    “Thank you, uh..”
    The pony smiled. “My name is Tran Buu. Now you sit here and I will fix you something to eat.”
    It was then that Daring realized how hungry she was, “That sounds wonderful, thank you ong Tran.”
    “Please, call me Buu,” he said from the kitchen area. “We don’t get many outsiders. I mean, ponies from such far away. Visitors from the city are common enough. I had heard you were searching for something, is that right?” He had prepared a bowl of steamed rice and vegetables for her and placed the dish on the table. He also got her a cup of water.
    Daring instinctively grabbed her satchel. “Oh, uh, just doing a little exploring.” She had been told by Professor Joneshoof that he had been in collaboration with a local university in Farasia. She had the proper documentation to search the jungle and export the Mask as a historical relic. However, often locals did not like foreigners taking items from ancient, often sacred, sites. She had to be careful for the time being.
    She ate the meal and thanked Buu again. She yawned, “I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I take a nap?”
    “Not at all,” Buu replied. “There is a mat in my room. I will wake you when my wife Chi returns.”
    “Thank you,” she said and went to the back room. There was no door but there was a curtain, which offered some amount of privacy. The mattress looked comfortable but Daring realized that she was dirty from her swim and walk through the jungle. Instead of getting the bed dirty she decided to lie on the floor next to it. She placed her satchel by her head and closed her eyes.
    “Co Do?” the farmer’s voice woke her. “My wife Chi has returned from the village.”
    Daring stretched her sore legs and yawned. “Oh, how long has it been?”
    “Oh, I’d say an hour,” Buu said.
    Daring entered the front room to meet the farmer’s wife: a short pony with a pleasant smile. “Oh my,” she said upon seeing the dirty explorer, “you look like a mess. Please, get cleaned up and I will find you something to wear.” She led Daring to a small washroom. “I’m sorry there is no hot water prepared.”
    “It will do.” The older pony left Daring alone to clean up. When she was done, Chi placed a bundle of clothes on the counter. “These are my husband’s. I’m afraid my clothes wouldn’t fit you.”
    Daring examined the pants and robe. “These will work just fine.”
    “You must stay for dinner, I insist.”
    “Yes, I am still hungry. I believe that I will.” Daring went to sit at the table in the main room, not knowing what else to do.
    “Buu will prepare the food while I clean your clothes.”
    “You are both too kind,” Daring responded. She was uneasy. She needed a plan. She had to get back to the village and get on a boat headed up river to the city. From there she could get another boat north to Maretania. And from there a boat to Equestria. But for now, food.
    “What brings you to our village?” Chi asked.
    “Oh, just research,” Daring replied.
    “You’re from one of the schools, then?” Chi said.
    “Yes, the University Of Manehatten.” She supposed it was true, even if she technically wasn’t a student or member of the faculty.
    “Must be nice,” said Chi. “Your clothes should be dry enough now. I will get them for you.” The pony left the table and returned with Daring’s clothes neatly folded on top of her satchel. But Chi stumbled on a loose floorboard and dropped the bag. “Oops!”
    The bag slid across the floor and the Mask fell out. The older ponies both stared at it. Daring’s heart stopped. Chi looked at her while Buu bent down to pick up the Mask.
    “What is this?” he asked. He was not angry, but had a genuine sense of curiosity.
    “Oh, uh, just a souvenir from a gift shop,” Daring dissembled.
    Buu examined the Mask, then recognition came to him. “No, it can’t be! The Mask Of Gymkhana! It has been lost for centuries.” He turned the mask over and examined the inside. “Legend says that a pony of virtue can bring prosperity to his village. Where did you find this?”
    It looked like the jig was up. Surely now the couple would turn her over to the goons that were after her. She decided to come clean. She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m an explorer, working for the University, like I said earlier. But those ponies who came to your village, they’re the bad guys. They want the mask for their own greed. You have to believe me!”
    Chi smiled and patted Daring on the shoulder. “Relax, child. We just want to know where you got it and what you plan to do with it.”
    Daring looked into the eyes of the couple and relaxed. “I’m going to bring it to Goc Cay City, where I’m to meet with an archaeologist there.”
    Buu and Chi relaxed. “For the past year,” Buu said, “foreign ponies have been coming to this region looking for something in the jungle. Some of the rumors said they were looking for the Mask. They definitely weren’t from any university. This morning when I was at the market, somepony told me about our recent visitors.”
    “When I was in town,” said Chi, “these foreigners were questioning ponies, offering a reward for you. Here,” she pulled the hood over Daring’s face, “Stay safe.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Daring, “I have been staying with a family.” She slung the satchel over her neck. “Thank you. But now I really must be going.”
    “Take care, co Do,” Buu said.
    By this time the sun was below the tree lines and the forest was full of shadows. The air was a bit cooler and less humid. Nocturnal insects were now adding their cacophony. The village was only 30 minutes away and Daring soon saw the torchlights that were set up along the roads. The smell of jungle gave way to the smell of smoke from heating and cooking fires. The sounds of insects were replaced by the bustle of a town winding down its day. Though this town was not very big, it was busy at night. Boats would arrive almost daily and it took most of the evening to unload cargo and prepare new cargo for the outgoing ship.
    She felt that it was unlikely that she would encounter these goons, but she kept to the shadows as much as possible. The streets were hard packed dirt or stone. The buildings were mostly one-story and wooden with grass or wooden roofs. There were a few two-story buildings near the docks. Crates and barrels were stacked outside of shops.
    Ponies passed her in the street and didn’t seem to notice her. She had been staying with a family who had a house in an area that was a short walk away. Professor Joneshoof had set up the arrangement. They knew she was working for the University and they had hosted researchers before.
    The houses in this area had modest yards with trees and gardens. Most of the homes had light leaking through shuttered windows. Some had screens over the windows, which kept out the bugs and allowed the homeowner to keep the shutters open. Luckily for Daring, she didn’t encounter anypony.
    It was not long before she found the house she was looking for. By this time the sun had set and the only light in the neighborhood came from the homes. The house she went to had its shutters closed. She followed the gravel path to the front door and knocked. A few moments later the door opened and Daring met her filly friend Hoa.
    “Ba Do!” the small pony said.
    Daring put her hoof to her lips, “Shhh!” She stepped inside and closed the door. “Are your parents home?”
    The filly’s father Minh came from the kitchen to the living room. “Daring, where have you been? What’s going on?”
    Daring took off her cloak and sat on the couch, a wooden seat with cushions. The small home had framed pictures of friends and family hanging on the walls. There was a well-worn rug on the wood floor. The smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen. “I need to get back to Goc Cay,”
    Hoa sat on the couch. She was in her last year of school and was exploring her new talent in botany. “What did you find, ba Do?”
    Minh saw that Daring was tired and upset, “Hoa, go see your mother in the back. Ba Do and I need to talk.” The filly pouted but did as she was told. “Co Do, what is going on? There are ponies asking for you.”
    Daring took a deep breath. “Yes, I had heard. I need to get a boat to Goc Cay as soon as possible.”
    “The next boat leaves tomorrow morning. But these ponies are hanging around the docks. When I knew they were looking for you I followed them for a bit. They want you and are willing to pay. Why are they after you?
    “Well,” Daring said, “everywhere I go there is somepony right behind me, wanting to take my archeological discoveries for their own gain.”
    “What did you find?” Minh asked.
    Daring didn’t want to put this family in danger. The less they knew, the safer they would be. “Just a small bag of coins. Nothing significant,” she lied. “I’m taking it to the university in Goc Cay.”
    Minh frowned but decided not to question it further. Daring had spent a few days with the family. What’s more, this family had sponsored students from the university before, and they trusted Professor Joneshoof and his associates in Goc Cay. A friend of his was a friend of theirs. “Fine. Rest here. We will find a way to get you to the city tomorrow.” Daring nodded and yawned as she stretched out on the couch. Minh pulled a blanket over her, while Hoa peeked around the door frame.
     
    Daring awoke to the smell of cooking breakfast. “Good morning, Daring,” said Thu, Minh’s wife. Daring stretched and pulled the blanket off of her.
    “What time is it? Did I miss the boat?” Daring asked.
    “No, it won’t leave for a couple more hours,” answered Thu. “That leaves you enough time to eat and get cleaned up.”
    That sounded like a good idea. Daring stood up, stretched again, and went into the kitchen. “Mm, that looks good,” she said of the plates of food on the table.
    “I have some clothes for you in the washroom.”
    “Thank you, Thu.” Daring availed herself of the washroom and then returned to the kitchen. Minh and Hoa were already eating the rice and fruit that Thu had prepared. “I should get going soon,” Daring said.
    “I hope you make it back to the city. Send us a letter letting us know that you are safe,” Minh said.
    “I will,” Daring promised. She finished her breakfast. “I will collect my things.”
    “I will pack you some food for the road,” Thu said.
    “I also put some items in your pack,” Minh said. “Some things that might be useful.”
    “Thank you, Minh. I’m sure I will be fine. I’ve dealt with far worse than a few tugs,” Daring said as she went to the back room where her few belongings were. She decided to leave her extra clothes behind since she had to travel light.
    “Your life is so exciting,” Hoa said quietly from the doorway. Daring looked over her shoulder at the girl. “Sometimes I wish it were more boring. It can be too dangerous at times.” She turned back to her packing. Minh had packed some tools in a pouch. Daring was able to fit her important items in her side bag, keeping the Mask safely tucked in at the bottom. She pointed to her other clothes and a few small trinkets. “You can have these,” she said to Hoa. “I promise to come back and visit. But for now, I must leave.” She turned to Hoa and gave her a hug.
    “I’m coming with you,” The filly said.
    Daring pushed her away and looked at her, “No, you’re not.”
    “You need my help,” Hoa countered.
    “I need you to stay here. Next year, you can enter the university in Goc Cay. But this is too dangerous for you.
    Hoa looked at Daring for a few moments, then looked away and sighed. “You get to have all the fun.”
    Daring patted her on the head. “It’s not always fun. Now, I have to go.” She left the room to say goodbye to Minh and Thu, who were sitting at the table. “I must be leaving. Thank you for your hospitality. I promise to write when I get the city.”
    “Good bye co Do,” “Good luck.”
    Daring was wearing local clothing so as not to stand out. She pulled the hood over her head and stepped outside. The sky was clear and it promised to be another humid day. The sunlight filtering through the trees created a dappled pattern on the hard packed street. There were a few locals wandering about, but nopony suspicious.
    Daring kept her head low and took the back streets toward the docks. A few blocks and she was into a more commercial area. The homes gave way to businesses. There were trees and a few fences that provided a buffer between the residential and commercial parts of the village. The part of town she was going to was downhill from where she was coming from. The streets snaked back and forth, rather thang going straight, so as to make the path up the hill easier.
    She slipped into an alley between buildings. There were boxes and trash cans, but no sign of anypony suspicious, except herself, she supposed. The docks were one more block away, just on the other side of the row of buildings she was looking at. She looked down the street as she was exiting the alley. So far so good, no goons.
    She moved quickly down the street to the cross street and turned left. This short street lead down to the docks. It was fairly busy and Daring spotted a pony that clearly didn’t belong. Foreign ponies, such as herself, stuck out. Not just their looks but their dress. They didn’t wear the local loose pants or cloaks. Instead, this pony was wearing military style fatigues, which were more practical for hiking in the jungle. What’s more, he was looking around and not busy moving crates.
    Daring ducked behind some boxes. She crawled behind a stack of crates and peeked over. The boat for the day was at the dock. Some ponies were moving crates off while others were moving crates on. She made note of which stack of boxes was for onloading. She needed to crawl a few meters to that stack, but she noticed two more goons patrolling the area.
    They were farther away. She waited for all of them to be not looking in her direction and she quickly moved to the other stack of boxes. A label on the side of the box indicated that it was full of fruit. She slowly pulled off the lid and began removing bags of the fruit. She tossed the bags over behind some other crates. When there was enough room, she crawled inside and pulled the lid over herself. She could see through the spaces between the boards.
    Now she would play the waiting game. It would be several minutes before the dock worker got to her crate. She watched the activity through the cracks. Then she noticed that another pony was on the boat opening boxes. One of the boat’s crew noticed this foreigner going through the cargo and he began to yell at him. But the goon pulled some money from his pocket and offered it to the crewpony, who pondered the bribe, then took it.
    Daring was about to get out of the crate and change plans when it started to move. While she wasn’t paying attention, a dock worker had picked up the crate with a cart and was moving it toward the boat. By this point, the goon on the boat had searched all of the cargo already on the boat and was now waiting at the gang plank, ready to search each box as it came on board.
    It looked like Daring was going to have to fight her way out, when she heard somepony yelling from up the street.
    “There she is! I see Daring Do! She’s running this way! I found her; I want that reward!” All of the goons ran toward the sound of the yelling. Meanwhile, the dockworkers continued their work, and the crate Daring was in was taken aboard and secured next to the others.
    She was still confused. Had somepony mistook a local for her? She decided to not question her good fortune. Peeking through the cracks, she waited for an opportunity to slip the lid off the crate and crawl out. She went to the back of the boat and sat down. It appeared that she was safe, for now. She had taken one of the citrus fruits from the crate and began to eat it. It would be perhaps another hour before the boat was ready to leave. She just hoped the goons were satisfied with their search of the boat.
    After what seemed like forever, the dock workers pulled up the gangplank and began untying the boat. The boat was flat bottomed with an open deck. The fore section had a large cabin that was meant for passengers. The boat pulled away from the dock and Daring sighed with relief. She sat back down and closed her eyes.
    Before she could nap, she was startled by a gruff voice. “Ah ha! Think you’re pretty clever, eh Daring Do?” One of the goons was standing over her. He had stayed aboard to check the passengers. He was too thorough at his job and had decided to check the rest of the boat. “Just hoof over the mask and I’ll let you go.” He held a club in one hoof.
    “Why do we have to do things the hard way?” Daring said quietly and stood up.
    “Eh?” the good said, not hearing her clearly.
    “Fine, you win.” Daring began to take off her pack.
    “Slowly,” the pony said. “Place it on the deck and back away.”
    Daring slowly placed the pack on the deck, but instead of letting go of the strap, she pulled up her other hoof, which was still holding the fruit. She held it toward the goon’s face and squeezed. Juice squirted into his eyes.
    “Ahh!” he screamed, stumbling back and rubbing his eyes. Daring put the pack over her shoulder and rushed into the goon, knocking him down.
    But this move also knocked her off balance. She stumbled and grabbed a crate to steady herself. By this point, the goon had recovered and was coming at her. He swung his club but Daring was able to duck it. Daring took a swing at the goon but he caught her hoof. She tried to swing the pack at him, but he dropped his club and grabbed the pack.
    “Ha ha ha,” he laughed. He was about to pull the pack from her when he was hit in the face with another fruit. Then another. Then a few more. “Oof. Oof oof oof.” He stumbled back as the barrage of fruit continued.
    Then there was a “Hiyah!” as a small pony jumped up from behind the crate, onto it, and then into the goon. He dropped the pack and was knocked overboard, splashing into the water. He cursed as the current took him back down river.
    Daring picked up her pack and looked at her rescuer. “Hoa! What are you doing here?”
    “Saving your flank,” Hoa said and laughed. “This really is exciting!”
    Daring frowned. “I appreciate the help, but I had everything under control.”
    “Sure you did. Face it, ba Do, you need my help.” She looked at Daring’s frowning face. “Please!”
    Daring’s frown turned into a laugh. “Ha ha, fine. But only if you follow some rules, ok?”
    Hoa almost jumped with joy. “Ok, whatever you say.”
    “First,” Daring said, “Call me Daring.” Daring felt that it was unnecessary for younger Hoa to refer to her by the respectful ba, and instead wanted Hoa to treat her as an equal. “Second, you do what I say. I’m the seasoned professional, and your parents would kill me if something happened to you.”
    “Deal,” Hoa said.
    “Speaking of, won’t your parents be worried?” Daring asked.
    “I left them a letter. They will be mad, but I decided to make the decision to help a friend. I will deal with the consequences later.”
    “That’s not a wise way to make decisions,” Daring chastised. “It sounds just like me,” she grinned and patted Hoa on the shoulder. “Now,” she brushed herself off, “It will be a few hours before this boat gets to Goc Cay. Let’s relax.”
    They spent slept on the deck, hidden behind some cargo crates.
  16. Brony Number 42
    The goal of the radical woke SJWs RWSJW is control. It is a radical cult that uses mind control tactics to dictate what you can, what you must, say and think. Noelle Stevenson made an innocent comment that any reasonable person would think nothing of. But the RWSJW needed to put her in her place. Even if you are part of the woke cult, you are not immune. In fact, you are a bigger sinner. In an evangelical church, the preacher reminds the congregation the biggest sinners are the people in the pews. Just like a cult, the RWSJW constantly tell everyone around them how awful people are, and they tell themselves how awful they themselves are. Just like the Church of old kept people controlled by telling them that they were on a razor’s edge, teetering on the brink of eternal damnation. The RWSJW constantly think about how their thoughts and actions are sinful. The sin being non inclusionary, Xphobic, privileged, etc.
     
    The RWSJW culture is a very stratified, class-based system. There are victims and aggressors. The goal of a person is to get themselves into as many victim groups as possible. Being non white gets you victim points. So does being gay. If you’re not gay, then you can be transgender. If you’re not transgender then you can be “non binary,” which gets you almost as many points as being gay, but you don’t have to actually do anything. Just call yourself non binary.
     
    And every so often the mob needs fresh blood, metaphorically (usually). Someone needs to be taken down and chastised. And this time around it was Noelle Stevenson’s turn in the barrel. She needed to grovel before the mob and say the proper apologies. Then, when the mob has had their fill, she would be granted forgiveness. Stevenson, being a member in good standing of the RW, will be forgiven and she will return to her normal life.
     
    Refugees from the socialist paradise of North Korea’s prison camps tell stories of having to confess their sins to the group. They must talk about how they have failed and promise to do better in the future. In former soviet utopias, citizens were encouraged to spy and rat on each other. Better to turn your neighbor in to the secret police before he turns you in. Today, the Blue Check Brigade on Twitter are the secret police. The arbiters of right and wrong. But you can never be good enough. In cults like that, and the RWSJW cult, nothing is good enough. You keep your head down, repeat the talking points, and hope you don’t get singled out by the mob.
     
    The RWSJW do not want equality. They do not want everyone living together in peace. They need chaos in order to function. They need a boogey man to blame. They must find “injustice” everywhere. They will continue to pick at the scabs of past wrongs and go on endlessly about injustices done to people who have been dead for 150 years. But you are forever guilty for something that happened long before your great grandfather was born. They create classes and put you in them. There are no individuals. You are only a member of a group. Racial, sexual, age, everything. Everyone is a victim, but some groups are more victims than others. They want you to constantly second guess everything you do so that you aren’t free to think or speak your mind. They want to make you prisoners in your own head. Their goal is complete control of society by making you police your own thoughts. A very insidious method. George Orwell would be jealous.
  17. Brony Number 42
    Happy birthday to the greatest country in the world. Here is a thought experiment. Imagine you are not perfect, and you made some mistakes in your life. Not hard to imagine, right? Imagine you have a friend who found out about your mistakes, and every single day they bring them up. At first, you apologize, acknowledge your mistakes, and talk about how you are a better person now because you have learned. But this is not good enough for your friend. He continues to bring up your past transgressions, over and over. And heaven help you if you make another mistake, even the smallest, because your friend will use that as an excuse to talk about how horrible you are, and you’ve always been horrible, nothing you can every say or do will ever make up for that. You are irredeemable, unforgiveable. This person wouldn’t be your friend for long.
    There are many who like to deride America. This is a form of pseudo intellectualism. Why do people like to blame America first, and find the worst in America? If you were to praise America, these are the people who like to say, “yes, but…” You’ve met these people. You might say, “The Nazis were awful,” and these people say, “yes, but America…” You know right away that there is no point in continuing to talk to these people. If America is so bad then why does everyone want to come here? You never hear about people “fleeing” America, unless they are on the run from the law. If you had the choice to live in any country, anyone would choose a Western country, if not America itself. This is because Western civilization is better, and America represents the pinnacle of those ideas. No, it has not achieved that ideal, but it has, is, and always will strive for it.
    There is something about criticizing everything that makes some people feel better. I think I know why this is. Back in the 1960s it was popular among radial professors to criticize American history. Not an honest analysis with an acknowledgment of history. Rather, it was a campaign to undermine everything that America stands for, and thus everything Western civilization has achieved. People like to sound smart, and saying something new sounds a lot like saying something smart. If you say something that someone else hasn’t heard before, you sound smart. Further, saying something controversial sounds new (or it used to), and therefore sounds smart. Therefore, going as radical as possible makes you sound super smart. These are the kind of people that dump on everything because they don’t have any ideas themselves. They like to point out the flaws of others, yet get angry when you point out their problems. They are a major downer to be around. They don’t have any friends and have no real accomplishments.
    You will find that these people always have radical, Marxist beliefs. They want to erase history and destroy everything that the Western world has built, rather than learn from history. But history has shown that when humans try to erase history and build a utopia then disaster inevitably ensues. It is the height of arrogance to believe that you have all the answers, and that you can build a perfect society from the ground up, without having to reference anything that has come before. After all, everything that came before is evil, patriarchy, capitalistic, blah blah blah. But we today are woke, enlightened, have never made a mistake, and will build the perfect society. Yes, where better to get your ideas than from people who have spent their lives in academia and have no concept of how the real world works?
    They want to destroy history and start with a blank slate. Except it’s not really a blank slate. Quite the opposite. Because everyone will be tainted by whatever group they belong to. You’re white? God have mercy on you, because you are forever unforgivable. You’re male? You must forever repent and ask forgiveness for your toxic masculinity. This society creates a purity test that nobody can pass. Instead, the best you can do is make yourself a victim and to grovel at the feet of the social mob for forgiveness for past transgressions, real or imagined.
    It is a hallmark of all communist societies. You must not question the State. In this modern society the State is social media, being woke, and cancel culture. You won’t be marched into a court and tried by a government a la 1984. Instead, the Blue Check Brigade will descend upon you with keyboard pitch forks. The angry mob needs blood. Your best chance for survival, should you run afoul of the New Woke Order, is to grovel, apologize, go on about how you were wrong for having an independent thought, and you promise it won’t happen again. Escapees from North Korea talk about how, in school, they would be required to criticize themselves and talk about how they can do better. In East Germany of the past and China of today, criticism of the Party is forbidden. And in the West, you aren’t allowed to question the Woke ideology. Conform, agree, and shut up, and pin some kind of multi colored flag to your chest to show how Woke you are. But be ready to hate those who have been deemed wrong thinkers.
    The currency in this society is victim hood. The person with the most victim points gets the highest social status. Rather than seeking to better yourself, you need to find out how you are a victim. Either you personally are a victim, or you belong to a group that has been “historically” victimized. It only stands to reason that if a person can be guilty of a crime that someone who looked like them committed 150 years ago, then someone can inherit the victim hood of a person who looked like them 150 years ago.
    Things have a historical context. Not everything or everyone was 100% good or 100% bad. And given the Woke Culture’s purity test, everything must be bad because nothing can be 100% good. Making judgments about anything, including history, requires a foundation upon which to base your ideas. A moral person knows the difference between right and wrong and can discuss the philosophical underpinnings of his beliefs. A wise person has discernment, and is able to separate the good from the bad. Whereas a Woke person’s goal is to dump on everything that isn’t at the extreme end of their ill-founded beliefs. This is a Woke, nihilistic philosophy. Let us call it “Wokehilist.” If everything is as bad as bad can be, then you don’t have to spend the effort to think about how some things might actually be better than other things. Rather than looking at a figure from history, talking about what good this person did, and acknowledging the bad, the Wokehilist will declare that the figure is tainted by his flaws and is therefore as evil as can be. There was a story about a man and woman who were fascinated by Victorian era culture. They dressed and decorated their house in that style. To them it was interesting and fun. But during an interview someone brought up the fact that women weren’t allowed to vote at that time. The woman said something to the effect of voting not being that important. This was the wrong answer. A reasonable person would look at their story and say, “oh, how interesting. They must like history.” A Wokehilist would say, “The Victorian era was not perfect. Therefore we should hate everything about it and destroy it completely! And no mercy to anyone who dares to have a kind word for it.” As I said, it is a purity test that nobody can pass.
    A Wokehilist has a childish mode of thinking. Children are first taught what to think, and then as they mature they are taught how to think. Hopefully, a child develops their ability to think critically, applying facts, moral foundations, and logic. But a Wokehilist doesn’t get to that next step. Children are taught to not judge a person merely for their race, sex, origin, etc. In the past, white people mistreated black people. A Wokehilist, who is not taught critical thinking, then takes this to mean that all white people always mistreat all black people all the time, now and forever. Then the Wokehilist virtue signals and tries to earn woke points by declaring how evil they themselves are. They spout catch phrases and buzz words. When you ask a child for an answer to a complex problem, you get a childish answer. You are not allowed to study the complexities of history, with the good and bad, in the context of the time, and how that has shaped out current society, and what we can learn from it. Nope, it’s all evil and everything that can somehow be associated with it is evil. It is a lot easier to put things into one of two categories: evil, and woke. But nothing is woke enough.
    How would a child solve all of the world’s complex problems? Poverty? Just give poor people money. War? Just stop fighting, and our enemies will stop too. Environmental damage? Just shut down factories. The consequences do not matter. All that matters is that we “do something.” It is enough to say that we have the solutions on paper, the realities don’t matter. Nor do the moral implications, or the philosophical underpinnings. What is the ethical implications of taking money (by force, using people with badges and guns) from one group and just giving it to another? What are the economic implications of taxing the air itself? Not to mention the massive bureaucracy and money needed to manage such schemes, thus giving more power to the people in charge, and making the poor poorer. Again, all the better for the Wokehilist leadership.
    Eventually the Wokehilists begin to turn on themselves, just like members of Communist regimes do. When they have destroyed their enemies, they destroy each other, outing each other for not being woke enough. The Woke “philosophy” is a monster that has gotten out of control and is self-sustaining. It is not based on any moral foundation, unless you count Marx, whose teachings have led to the deaths of hundreds of millions. They take thousands of years of human history, throw it away, and start from scratch. We know what the early days of human civilization were like, so why would we want to keep reliving them? Western thought is based on enlightenment, which can be argued logically. It is possible to have a debate and think things through. We can say one idea has become outdated, and we can replace it with a better idea. But Wokehilist ideology is not based on reason, just raw emotion, namely hate. You can’t argue with someone who just wants to hate. They don’t have a coherent foundation that they refer to. Instead, they are lead like sheep by whichever “thought” leader has the best charisma. Think of how often a Wokehilist admires someone for how cool, funny, or charismatic they are. The politicians, celebrities, movie stars, or comedians. They vote for people with the best smiles or loudest rhetoric, not the best ideas. All the better for these leaders. They spew empty slogans, and let the Wokehilist fill in the gaps.
    A person with a moral foundation and discernment can say of history, “this event was not perfect, but there was some good there.” A Wokehilist will say, “burn it down, for it is not perfect. We shall not learn anything from this.” I choose to learn from history, while contributing to the improvement of human kind. I love America, because I love humanity and what we are capable of achieving. I love Western civilization because it, with all its flaws and horrors, has given human kind the freest, most prosperous societies history has ever seen. We can stumble around in the dark ages and destroy everything that came before us, and try to start from scratch every time, as the Wokehilists are wont to do. Or we can accept our flaws and glory in our accomplishments. The founding ideas are a major mile stone in human history. Ideas like “all men are created equal,” of course taken today to include men, women, or whatever you want to call yourself. Freedom of speech, which the Wokehilist abhor. Freedom of or from religion. The right to own property. Have we lived up to those ideas? Not 100%, but we are getting better. And that’s all you can ask from we flawed humans: Improvement. Nothing is created perfectly. Perhaps the best we can do is try to improve an imperfect world. So here’s to you Western civilization, and to America. God bless you.
  18. Brony Number 42
    I organized my CD collection today, which is over 600. They are in boxes in my shed, as is usual for my collections. I had some thoughts about it. It is mostly Euro style heavy metal, with just a few other things. I like special editions and imports. Usually, the Japanese prints have bonus tracks. So there are a lot of CDs where I have multiple copies of the same album. I might have a US, Japanese, Korean, or Russian copy. I think Iron Maiden is the biggest part of my collection, with over 50 CDs. I have an album from Dragon Lord that I ordered from Germany. I was scouring the internet for a couple years looking for that album, and found it in the inventory of some store in Germany. There is a band called Aethra which does not have a label. But they self published an album and made 300 copies. I got a personalized autographed copy. That's my proudest CD. I have every Gwar album. Last year I got a back stage pass to see them. I got all their autographs. I like going to concerts and getting autographs. Most of my collection comes from Napalm Records or Nuclear Blast. They have special box sets and LPs. I'm a sucker for special edition stuff. Why do bands make live albums? Some of the live albums I have are pretty good, but for the most part I'd rather listen to the studio version. 
    Maybe some day I will lay everything out and take pictures. That's about all the rambling I have for now.
  19. Brony Number 42
    The alarm sounded and Pinkie Pie threw off her blankets. “Today’s the day! Today’s the day!” She slapped the clock, silencing the alarm. In a flurry, she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and ran out the door. She would have greeted every pony she passed on the street, but it was too early for most ponies to be awake. She bounced all the way to Twilight’s castle singing “Today’s the day!”
        She pulled the chord that rang the doorbell. Several minutes later, a sleepy-eyed Twilight answered. “Pinkie? Do you know what time it is?”
        “It is 6:43 am on the day that Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo return from their first semester at Canterlot University!” She bounced up and down a few more times.
        Twilight yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Yes, but their train doesn’t arrive until 8:15. So come back later.” She tried to close the door, then stopped and looked at Pinkie Pie. “And five minutes is not later enough.” She knew how Pinkie Pie thought, and that coming back five minutes later is the kind of thing she would do.
        “Okie dokie. I’ll come back at 8. That will give us enough time to get to the train station and greet them.” She bounced away, leaving Twilight to grab another hour of sleep.
        All across town Pinkie Pie woke her friends. Applejack was the only one already up, probably up before Pinkie herself. “Oh, hi Applejack,” Pinkie said as she saw the orange earth pony pulling a cart. Pinkie was bouncing up the driveway.
        “Howdy, Pinkie. What’s got you in such a bounce today?” Applejack asked.
        “What? You mean you don’t remember? Today is the day that your sister comes back for her semester break.”
        Applejack stopped. “Oh, I guess that’s today. I plum forgot. I better get some food ready for her. I know that college food ain’t no good.” She disconnected the cart and made her way to the house.
        “Oh, ok. I was thinking we could go meet her at the train station.” Pinkie said.
        “Uh, yeah. That sounds good, I guess.” Applejack wasn’t sure what to do. “How about I make breakfast and you go get Big Mac to meet her at the station?”
        “That sounds great!” Pinkie exclaimed, as if it was the greatest idea any pony had ever had. She bounced up to the house and went inside. “Big Mac? Are you here?”
        “Good morning, Pinkie.” It was not Big Mac, but Sugar Belle. She had moved in to the Apple house when she married Big Mac. She was in the living room sitting on a rocking chair. “Big Mac is out back. What can I do for you?” 
        “Oh, hello Sugar Belle. Wow, you look like you’re about the burst! That baby should be due any day now, huh?” Sugar Belle smiled and nodded. “Well, I was just looking for him so he can go meet his sister and her friends at the train station because today is the day that they come back from their first semester at Canterlot University and I wanted everypony to meet them….” The sound of her voice trailed off as she went through the house and exited the back door. Sugar Belle just smiled.
        It was 8:15 as the train came to a stop, steam billowing and brakes screeching. Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle, and Big Mac waited on the platform. They were scanning the crowd of ponies that exited the cars.
        “Oh, oh, I see them! There they are!” Pinkie pointed to a group of young adult mares.
        “Cutie Mark Crusaders, over here!” Pinkie waved.
        Sweetie Belle blushed. “Pinkie, please don’t call us that. We aren’t fillies anymore,” Still, she gave Pinkie a big hug.
        There were hugs all around. “Well,” said Rarity, “You’ll always be the Cutie Mark Crusaders to us.”
        “And you’ll always be my big sister,” Sweetie Belle said, hugging Rarity.
        “How’s my champ?” Rainbow Dash gave Scootaloo a soft punch in the shoulder. “Kicking flank and taking names?”
        Scootaloo smiled, “Uh, yeah, something like that. I missed you, Rainbow Dash.”
        “That’s Lieutenant Rainbow Dash, cadet,” Rainbow Dash puffed up her chest.
        Scootaloo gave a mock salute. “Yes sir, Lieutenant. Is it true you saved your Commander’s life during the Border Wars?”
        Rainbow Dash nodded and looked to her rear, right leg, which was noticeably scarred. “Yep, it’s true. That’s where I got this.”
        “Come on, everypony,” Pinkie Pie said to the group. “There’s food at Applejack’s place. Everypony else is there waiting for us.”
        At the farm Applejack, Fluttershy, Twilight, and Sugar Belle had set up some tables where upon they had placed food. The group that had met at the train station was now gathering around the table. More hugs and greetings were exchanged.
        “How are your studies going?” Twilight asked Sweetie Belle. “Is professor Pedantic Pants giving you a hard time?”
        “Oh, a little. I think he has it in for me because I know you,” Sweetie Belle said.
        “He’s always like that,” Twilight said. “Robotics engineering is a difficult subject, and he wants to challenge his students.”
        “Say, where’s Spike?” Sweetie Belle asked.
        “Oh, he’s off on some super secret dragon adventure,” Twilight said.
        Meanwhile, “Now Apple Bloom,” Applejack said, “you said you were only taking a year’s worth of classes at Canterlot U before transferring to Ponyville Tech to study agriculture.”
        Apple Bloom looked down, “Yeah, about that. I kind of want to study literature and history. Canterlot U has such amazing professors and subjects. Everything is so interesting there. Plus the night life in Canterlot is amazing.”
        Applejack frowned. “I don’t know what is so appealing about a big city. You know Granny Smith would want you to stay in Ponyville if she were still here.”
        The guilt struck Apple Bloom. Applejack had taken over as head of the family when Granny Smith passed. But Apple Bloom felt that Applejack had become over bearing and didn’t want her younger sister to choose her own path in life.
        “Can we talk about this tonight?” Apple Bloom asked. Applejack nodded
        Meanwhile, Rainbow Dash was talking to Scootaloo off to the side. “And how is the Wonderbolt Prep courses treating you, Scoots?”
        Scootaloo avoided eye contact. “Yeah, I kind of don’t want to do that anymore.”
        Rainbow Dash was shocked. “What do you mean? You’ve always wanted to be a wonderbolt. Why are you changing your mind?”
        Scootaloo took a deep breath. It was hard for her to say, but she knew Rainbow Dash would understand, “I’ve met some pony.”
        Rainbow Dash was speechless for a moment, then she grinned. “Ah, I get it. That’s awesome. So, what’s his name?” She nudged Scootaloo.
        “Yeah, ‘his’ name. Um, you see…”
        Fluttershy was watching Rainbow Dash talk to Scootaloo. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, she could only observe their reactions. Rainbow Dash was first shocked and Scootaloo was really embarrassed and almost started to cry. Then Rainbow gave her a big hug and held her. Scootaloo returned the hug and started to smile. Rainbow wiped away a tear from Scootaloo’s cheek. 
        That night, Twilight wrote a letter. “Dear Princess Celestia. Today I learned that as years pass ponies can change. Sometimes they don’t turn out the way you expected. But you should love them no matter what. I look forward to what the years ahead have in store for us.” 
     
  20. Brony Number 42
    Here is something I have started. I don't know when I will have time to work on it. 
     
    Down by the dock, the fog rolled in thick off the water. It was night and the temperature was dropping, which caused the humidity in the air to condense into water. The ports of Manehatten were often busy late at night. After all, ships might come into port at any hour. However, ships usually waited until morning to unload or leave port. Therefore, while it wasn’t unheard of to see ponies at the docks at night, it was not common either. Most ponies avoided the docks at night in any case, due to the underhooved activities that went on there.
     
    Daring Do pulled her trench coat collar higher and her large fedora hat lower. Not that any pony would recognize her. She was supposed to inspect some incoming cargo, keeping in mind that “cargo” didn’t have to be legal. That was why it was best to not ask too many questions. Do learned early in her career as a freelance archeologist that sometimes knowing too much was a bad thing. Some of her contacts had informed her that a certain object was arriving and that she could purchase it.
                   
    Do tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible, avoiding the street lamps. She listened to the waves lap against the dock, the creaking of the ropes that kept the boats tethered, and, in the distance, the occasional late night delivery truck. She took a circuitous path between warehouses, eventually coming to a port near the end of the dock. Sticking close to the corner of a building, Do watched the shadowy figures as they unloaded crates from the docked ship. Two ponies carried the crates from the gangplank while another pony took inventory.
                   
    She slowly approached the figures. When she stepped into the circle of light cast by a nearby street lamp, the pony taking inventory saw her and called to the others. The other two ponies put down the crate they were carrying and all three came to her. “Who’s that?” the first one said, as he hefted a pry bar in this forehooves.
                   
    Never one to show fear, Do stopped and cleared her throat, “I was told you ponies might have an item for sale.”
                   
    “These items aren’t for sale. Check one of the shops in the morning,” the first pony said. The other two ponies tried to flank Do, trying to be intimidating without looking like they wanted to attack her. They wanted merely to scare her off.
                   
    Daring Do slowly pulled a small bag from inside her coat and showed it to the characters. She opened the bag and revealed a wad of money. The first pony came up to her, stepping into the light as well. He was certainly a rough looking pony, with a few days’ worth of beard and a tooth pick in his mouth. He looked at the bank notes, then at Do, trying to see her face hidden under her hat. “Mm, yes, perhaps we can make a deal here.” He motioned for the other ponies to keep an eye out for others while he directed Do to step up to the crate. “Looking for anything specific?”
                   
    “Yes,” Do said, keeping her voice low, “A map.”
                   
    “Yes,” the pony harrumphed. “You were the one I was to meet. Here,” he took his pry bar and opened one of the crates. Inside, on top of the other items, was a wooden case. He opened the case and showed it to Do. Inside the case was a stack of old papers, specifically, maps. She reached out to examine them but the pony that showed them to her snapped the case shut. “This isn’t a library. Take it or leave it. I ain’t got all night.”
                   
    “Fine,” she said and hoofed the bag of money to the pony. He quickly counted the money and nodded. Daring Do was about the take the case when she was stopped by a shout from somepony.
                   
    “Everypony freeze! Keep your hooves where we can see them!”
                   
    “The police! We’ve been had,” said one of the ponies who had been moving the crates.
                   
    “Relax,” said the first pony, as four officers surrounded the group. “There ain’t no crime in moving cargo at night.”
                   
    “But there is a crime against smuggling ancient relics without going through official channels,” said the lead officer as he produced a badge. “Now everypony back away from the crates and sit down.”
                   
    Daring Do didn’t like the situation. She could plead ignorance. She could simply deny any involvement. There was no evidence against her. The maps weren’t yet in her possession. On the other hoof, these alleged smugglers would probably implicate her in their activities. Would they confess to taking her money, thus admitting to selling contraband? Did they have more to lose or more to gain by admitting that? Do didn’t want to take any chances. She saw the pry bar on the dock and stomped on it as hard as she could. Like stepping on a rake, the pry bar flipped up into the air. Do’s aim was perfect. The pry bar flipped end over end and struck the light above them, breaking it and casting the area into shadow.
                   
    The other ponies began speaking all at once. The police were yelling orders and the alleged smugglers were scrambling to escape. Working on the memory of where the crate was, Daring Do ran to it, opened it, felt inside for the wooden case, grabbed it, and attempted her escape. As she ran, she placed the case in her bag and snapped it shut. Somepony, presumably one of the police, made a grab for her. She slipped out of her coat leaving the officer with a hoof full of empty jacket.
                   
    Luckily for Do, the police were too busy trying to apprehend the others. Perhaps they were expecting only the three alleged smugglers and weren’t prepared for her arrival. In any case, she ran to the edge of the dock and jumped off. She could only guess at how far the surface of the water was. She spread her wings and glided above the water. It was too risky to go higher, in case there were pegasi covering the air. She heard the police shout after her.
     
    A pegasus pony took off after her. Do could hear the officer’s flapping wings. She flew around the back of a ship and then circled around to its front. When she got there, she circled around the front of the next one. This was the last ship on this end of the pier. She flew out over the open water, hoping to get lost in the dark. She flew as fast as she could and didn’t look back. It felt like she was flying for hours, but it was probably just a few minutes. To her left, off in the distance, she saw the lights of the city. She pulled up and stopped, hovering in the air.
     
    Panting heavily, Daring Do caught her breath. She had no idea that she had flown so far away from land. Looking around, she couldn’t see anypony following her. It seemed that she had shaken the police. She felt her bag to make sure the wooden case was still with her. Sighing in relief when she felt the bulge of the case, she started flying back toward the shore.
     
    Despite the cool night, Do had worked up a sweat. Now that her pulse was slowing, she began to feel chilly. She was exhausted by the time she made it to the shore. This part of the shore was near the edge of town. Do found a road to land on. At this hour, there was no traffic.
     
    She walked back into the city to her hotel. Lucky for her there were no police waiting there. Apparently the police had been staking out the docks for the smugglers, and weren’t looking for her. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She went inside, ignoring the pony at the front desk. Her room was on the second floor. The stairs reminded her of a lost temple. Her mind was already thinking about where her map would lead her. But for now she was too tired. She entered her room, locked the door, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep. The dawn would bring a new day and the start of a new adventure.
  21. Brony Number 42
    Can my rental house be haunted by a cat? Several months ago I heard a cat screaming and it was either just outside or under the house. I went outside and did not find it. The yard is fenced. Sure, a cat can jump, but I heard it multiple times and never found it. It sounded like it was under the house. I opened the crawl space and looked in with a flashlight. It was raining and I didn't see anything. I left it open and opened the gate, thinking it would escape. Then I placed some ham outside to lure him out. At one point the screaming was so bad that I half crawled in through a puddle of water. The next day I looked in and saw dog's legs. It was creepy because I only saw the legs because the rest of it was hidden by the wooden beam. I left the crawl space open the rest of the day then closed it. I figured if there was anything still inside then it was going to starve. I was done messing with it.
    Then last night I heard a cat scream and I swear to God it ran across the floor, under the house. A different part, under the living room. I don't know how it would have gotten under there.
  22. Brony Number 42
    Here is chapter 1. I have 4 chapters complete, which is about 1/3 of what I plan. The following story takes place immediately after the events depicted in My Little Pony The Movie.
    The party was over, the stage was being dismantled, ponies were going home. Fizzlepop Berrytwist, also known as Tempest, former Commander in the service of the Storm King, stayed to the periphery of the diminishing crowd. She had made awkward conversation with Twilight Sparkle and her friends. Less than a day ago she was trying to imprison Twilight. Then she had a change of heart at the last minute and helped defeat the Storm King. But that didn’t forgive everything she had done, she knew that. Right now, she had no idea what to do next, so she just stood in a shadow and waited.
    It was getting late and there were only a few ponies left, cleaning up the area that had recently been the scene of a concert. Two palace guards approached her. She knew she had to face the music, as it were.
    “Commander Tempest, please come with us,” one of the guards said. Tempest said nothing and followed the guards. They took her into the palace and to a guest suite on the second floor. The guard opened the door for her and she entered. The guard did not enter, but said to her, “You will stay here tonight. Princess Celestia will see you in the morning.” With that, he closed the door.
    Tempest tried to sleep but whenever she drifted off, she was haunted by nightmares of her time as a Commander. She saw the faces of those she had terrorized. After a short time, her dreams were calmed by a sympathetic princess.
     
    Early the next morning Tempest awoke. She felt rested and was thankful for that. She rubbed her eyes and tossed the covers off. The room was warm, despite its large size. One would expect the palace to be drafty. There was a washroom to which Tempest availed herself. She examined the fine marble work, the brass fixtures, and the other accoutrements. They were a stark contrast to the spartan conditions on her ship. It was a long time since she had a warm shower and forgot her problems for a moment.
    When that was done she sat down on a couch and looked out the window at the rising sun. That brought a pang of guilt and shame in her stomach as she realized who raised that sun. She was startled by a knock on the door. Opening the door, she found a tray of food and a palace guard. “The Princess requests your audience after you have eaten.”
    How classy, Tempest thought. The Princess requests your audience, not, Go see the Princess now! “Thank you,” she said, “I will be ready shortly.” She wheeled in the cart and ate the food. It would have been delicious, but her guilt and anticipation left everything tasteless. She left the cart in the room and went to the door. “I’m ready,” she said.
    She followed the single guard, not the same one who had escorted her to the room last night, to the throne room. They passed a couple servants attending to daily routines. Tempest wondered how their lives were affected by her actions. Did they even recognize her? Not necessarily every pony would have seen her when she attacked the palace. She decided to wear her armor as a sign of contrition. She was guilty and she would not hide from what she did.
    The two guards at the throne room opened the doors for her and her escort. Inside sat Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and a pegasus she did not recognize. Tempest strode forth to a respectful distance and stopped. The Princess nodded to the guard and he left. When the doors were closed the Princess spoke. “Commander Tempest.” The words hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Tempest kept her head up. She had mocked Celestia’s gentle spirit and would not insult her by pleading for mercy. No, she had decided: She would admit to everything and accept her punishment.
    The Princess continued. “You stand accused of attacking Equestria, assaulting its leadership, and aiding the enemy. Do you seek legal counsel?”
    “No.” She said simply.
    “Very well. How do you plead?”
    “Guilty.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. Her skin felt cold and clammy. “Guilty on all counts.”
    There was a short pause that stretched out forever. “Very well,” Celestia said softly. She sounded sad, maybe remorseful, as if she regretted the entire affair. “I sentence you to conditional exile.”
    Exile, Tempest thought. But what does she mean by…
    “Conditional,” the Princess continued, “on your acceptance of my offer. Tempest, your crimes were deplorable. But I know you feel great pain. Some pony has seen your nightmares and knows your guilt.” Princess Luna nodded. Celestia continued. “It is my firm belief that any pony, any being, can change if they want to. I have sent some to exile before. Both non-ponies, and loved ones,” Luna bowed her head. “And I have seen them change. Therefore, it would only be fair to offer you a chance as well.”
    Tempest began to tremble, tears filling her eyes. She wanted to shout, “No! I deserve the harshest punishment possible!” Instead she mumbled out a, “wha..?”
    Celestia nodded to the pegasus who was standing quietly to her right. He was white with gray around his hooves, mane, and edges of his wings. He stepped forward and Celestia introduced him, “This is Special Agent Sprywing. He will be your associate on a special assignment I have for you.”
    Tempest looked at him and gave him a blank stare. After a moment she said, “My handler?” It was a term used to describe someone that acted as a contact point between spies in the field and the main office, usually in the service of a government.
    “A partner,” Sprywing offered a small smile.
    “Let me explain,” Celestia went on. Her tone was more hopeful. “I would like to send you and Agent Sprywing to the edges of Equestria, and beyond, to gather information and support Equestria’s interests.”
    “Like a spy,” Tempest said. She was beginning to calm down. In fact, this was beginning to sound interesting.
    Princess Celestia mulled over the term. “Let’s just say that I want to leverage all of our assets to best affect Equestria’s security, especially in light of recent threats to the land.”
    Princess Luna finally spoke, “My sister doth speak too much like a politician. Yes, Fizzlepop Berrytwist. You will be a spy. Dost thou like the title Agent Tempest? Haha.”
    Tempest couldn’t help but smile. “Tempest will do just fine. Princesses, I would be honored to serve Equestria and make amends for my past.” She bowed her head, then she looked up. “But how do you wish to proceed?”
    “Actually,” Celestia said, “I need to talk to a few other people first. But I wanted to speak to you first, so that you wouldn’t be sitting around all day wondering your fate. For now, you may go with Sprywing. I will summon you later.”
    “As you wish, my Princess,” Tempest bowed again. She looked to Sprywing, who lead her out of the throne room.
    “Follow me, please. We have some work to do.” The two went to a little-known section of the palace. They went down a few floors to a guarded door. Sprywing put a hoof on a computer panel on the wall and the door unlocked with a click.
    Beyond the door was an open office area, with many desks and ponies working. Most of the ponies were wearing shirts with ties, or even jackets. Everything seemed very serious. There was the sound of ponies working at keyboards and chatting. This was a well-run organization, which was a stark contrast to what Tempest was used to. In the Storm King’s service, things just happened haphazardly. If the Storm King wanted something to happen, he told someone to do it. And the only things he wanted involved violence.
    “Welcome to the Equestrian Intelligence Agency,” Sprywing said. “I have some special equipment for us. This way.” He led Tempest down a side hallway to another door. A sign on the door read “Special Equipment.” He opened the door and motioned for her to enter. Inside was a stock room of sorts. There was a counter, beyond which was tall shelves. An older earth pony, a gray stallion, was working at a computer. “Hello, Al. What do ya have for me?”
    The older pony looked up. “Hm? Oh, Sprywing, yes, I believe your kit is ready.” The pony looked up some information on the computer, then went to one of the shelves. He wasn’t particularly fast. He pushed a step ladder to a spot midway down one of the aisle and retrieved a box. He placed it on the counter with a thud. “Either I’m getting older or they keep coming up with more gadgets for you guys.”
    Sprywing smiled and took hold of the box. “Let’s see what we got.” He opened the box and looked inside.
    Meanwhile, Al entered some information into the computer, then gave a clipboard to Sprywing. “Sign here. Remember, if you break ‘em, no refunds.”
    Sprywing signed the paperwork. “Equestria will just buy me more,” he said, then gave the clipboard back. “Thanks, Al. Come on, Tempest. I’ll show you EIA standard issue.”
    The pony behind the counter heard the name and looked at Tempest with a look of disgust. “You’re Tempest?” He took a few steps back.
    “It’s not like that, Al,” Sprywing said. “Princess Celestia has given her a second chance. She’s assigned to me.”
    The older pony grumbled and walked away. Sprywing looked to Tempest, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”
    “It’s okay,” she replied. “I don’t expect every pony to forgive me.”
    “Well, still…” he really didn’t know what to say. “Come on, I’ll show you how to use this gear.” He picked up the box and opened the door. Tempest followed him out.
    She followed him down a few more corridors to a testing room. She was glad that they didn’t meet any other ponies. The room had a few tables and chairs. Sprywing put the box on the table and began to take the items out.
    The first object was an electronic device with a small screen and buttons. “It’s a communicator. It’s magically encrypted. I can use it to send information back to EIA central, and I get orders from them.”
    Tempest examined the device. “What’s its range?”
    “Pretty far, at least to the edges of Equestria. Magic can block it, though.” He pointed to the different buttons. “You turn it on here. On the menu you can select EIA for Equestiran Intelligence Agency. Select this to call. I want you to know how to use this in case there’s an emergency.” Tempest nodded. He set the item aside.
    Next, he pulled two pistols from the box. “One for me, one for you. This is the stun setting, and this is the kill setting. Hopefully we won’t have to use them.” He then laid out the rest of the items and explained each one. “Grappling hook with powder charge. See, you pull this trigger and it fires the hook. Here’s a pair of binoculars with thermal and low light vision. Let’s see, knife, flashlight, tools for lock picking and fine work.” He put the items back into the box. “Well, we better get to the ship yard. You’re gonna love the new ship.”
    He looked up at her and she had a blank stare, as if she was deep in thought. She shook her head to clear it, “Sorry, I was just thinking about how I must be destined to forever serve. My punishment, I guess.”
    “I wouldn’t think of it that way. It is an honor to serve Equestria. The Princess wouldn’t give you this assignment if she didn’t have faith in you.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” she said.
    “I know I’m right. Come on, let’s go see that ship.”
     
    That afternoon both princesses were back in the throne room. Celestia let out a sigh. Her aide informed her that her next guests were ready for her. Celestia nodded and told him to let them in. The group were not ponies, but a bird race lead by a Captain Celaeno. Some of the Avians began snooping around the room, looking behind curtains, picking up objects, and generally making the Princess’s aide nervous. Meanwhile, Celaeno strode to Celestia and respectfully waited.
    “Captain Celaeno,” Celestia said, “Let me officially welcome you to Equestria. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting all morning. I hope you found your accommodations to be adequate?”
    The Captain blinked, “Adequate? I haven’t seen such lavish quarters outside of books. I humbly thank you.” Show bowed.
    “Not at all, Captain. It is the least I can do for you after you helped save Equestria. Which brings me to why you are here. I have a proposition for you.”
    Celaeno’s eyebrow went up slightly. Her crew sensed the change in mood and all paid closer attention to the conversation. To an untrained observer it would look as if the pirates were aloof and not paying attention. But in truth, they were assessing their surroundings and making themselves ready to defend their captain.
    “You see,” Celestia continued, “you are, technically, pirates and outlaws.” The room got cold and quiet. “However, as far as I know, you have not attacked Equestrian interests. I would like to offer you a letter of marque.”
    The captain grinned. “You want me to work for you?” She laughed. “Ha ha ha. Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness, but that was one of the last things I expected. Hm,” she began to pace about the room as she pondered the offer, “of course, I would need to know the terms.”
     “Of course,” Celestia levitated a scroll to Celaeno, who took and skimmed it.
    “Mm hm, uh huh,” she read the key points.
    “Basically,” the Princess said, “you will protect Equestrian interests and report back to me on what you learn.
    “And how would I do that?”
    “Well, I would assign to you a special agent.”
    “Uh huh,” Celaeno was becoming skeptical. “You mean a spook.”
    Luna finally spoke, “You can think of him as a handler.” Then she laughed. The others in the room were confused at her odd sense of humor.
    “Actually,” Celestia continued, “there is another part to this offer. How do you feel about working with former Commander Tempest?”
    This piqued the pirates’ interest, and Celaeno voiced their concern. “Do you think that is wise, Princess? I mean, she did change sides at the end, so I’m told. But can we trust her?”
    Celestia took on her teacher tone of voice. “Captain Celaeno, you yourself were in the service of the Storm King and you changed. In Equestria, we believe in second chances and helping ponies, and everyone, become better beings. Besides, the Storm King is gone, to whom would she betray our trust?”
    “You have a good point.” Celaeno rubbed her chin in thought. “Yes, I rather like the idea of having Tempest around, under my command.” She pointed to Celestia to emphasize her statement, “But on my ship, I am captain. Tempest and your spook—”
    “Agent Sprywing.”
    “—yes, well, I want it made clear that I expect loyalty from them. No double dealings behind my back.”
    Celestia stood. “Captain, I envisioned this endeavor to be a partnership. You have my word as ruler of Equestria that neither myself, any agent under my command, Tempest, or any other Equestrian, pony or otherwise, will work to subvert your authority, wherever you have such authority, on your ship or off it, in Equestria or beyond.”
    “That is correct,” Luna said, “our spooks will be too busy spying on whoever you encounter on your missions.” She laughed again at her odd humor. She was the only one.
    “Very well,” Celaeno agreed. “But I want to add one more crew member.” Celestia raised a questioning eyebrow. “Capper.”
    This time it was Luna’s turn to grin. “Excellent! But how did you come to such a decision, I wonder?”
    “Well, Capper and I have been talking this morning. He really has no place to go back to, and he doesn’t exactly fit in here. So, I offered him a position in my crew.”
    “Then it is agreed,” Celestia said. “I hereby bestow upon you and your crew the title of Privateers of Equestria.”
    “Wonderful!” Celaeno agreed. “Uh, but there’s just one problem.” Again, Celestia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a ship.”
    Luna smiled, “Oh, Celestia, may I show her, please?” Celestia nodded. Luna almost squealed in delight. “If your crew would follow me, please.” The group had to hurry to keep up as Luna left the throne room.
     
    The open market in Canterlot was not as busy as usual. Ponies were still recovering from the recent attack and invasion. Although they were used to it at this point, having been invaded by Changelings multiple times. Still, the ponies had an unbeatable spirit and were quick to get their lives back on track. They always landed on their feet, so to speak, just like cats. More specifically, a particular feline by the name of Capper.
    This character was no stranger to hard times. In his home land he lived on the streets. In Klugetown, pretty much everyone lived on the streets, or had to have street smarts. That was where Capper honed his skills to the point where they became second nature. But now, in Equestria, he had to resist his instincts. A few times today he caught himself inadvertently stealing a few items from vendors. It was just second nature. In fact, he was so good at it that no pony had noticed even though every pony seemed to be watching him.
    He was famous, a hero, in a town with plenty of heroes already. But most of Equestria’s heroes were of the hooved variety. He was bombarded with, “Hello” and “you’re awesome” and he decided he needed some place to think, so he followed the least populated streets until he found a small park.
    Captain Celaeno had offered him a post on her ship, or rather, with her crew, since she didn’t have a ship at the moment. He had accepted and was actually relieved because he didn’t know what he was going to do with his life. He couldn’t go back to Klugetown because there were too many beings out to get him. Or maybe that’s the angle to play, he thought. Get everyone to hate me so that they fight each other trying to get me. Ha, perfect! It was just the kind of scheme he would play.
    “Capper,” a soft-spoken voice said from close behind him.
    “Gah!” he turned around quickly and took a defensive stance.
    The voice belonged to a female unicorn. She was pale with short, dark blue mane. Her cutie mark was a bird in a red circle. “Sorry to have startled you.” Her voice was low and monotone. Capper had the feeling that she fully intended to evoke his response. “Your presence is requested with Princess Luna.”
    He smoothed out his jacket and composed himself. He cleared his throat, “Ah, lovely lady, you should know better than to sneak up on a fellow like that. You almost cost me one of my remaining seven lives. Or is it six? How did you manage to find me, anyway? I thought I was alone.”
    “I’m very good at what I do,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, if you would follow me please.” She half turned, indicating for him to follow her.
    He did so, following her to a small car, a two-seater. This model was powered by magic, which was not unheard of but uncommon. Most ponies preferred to use a more traditional mode of transportation whereby another pony would pull the vehicle. In some cases, in less populated areas, or for larger vehicles, automobiles were used. And in rare cases, expensive, magic powered cars were used. Though Capper didn’t know all of this, he did get the feeling that the vehicle was of an official nature. His instincts told him to run. This pony gave off a law enforcement vibe.
    Was he being arrested? If that was the case, why not arrest him earlier, like when he was in the nice room they had given him? And why let him roam free?
    “Uh, excuse me, but what’s this all about? I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding, whatever it is.” He opted for an apologetic tone, because he felt that his usual charm would not work on this pony.
    The pale pony opened the door, using her unicorn magic of course, and said flatly, “Official business. You are not under arrest, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
    “Oh,” he straightened up a bit, feeling relieved. “In that case, lead the way.” He climbed into the back seat of the car.
    The driver took them around the castle grounds and out toward the airship yards. The ship yards were a few kilometers away and they passed through a few security check points. They eventually arrived at a single story, white, steel building. The unicorn parked the car and got out; Capper followed.
    “Wow, what are we doing here?” Capper looked around. Ahead of him was the building that housed the office and work shop. Just beyond that was a giant drydock. It was a system of scaffolds that was probably ten stories tall. There were dozens of ponies crawling and flying around it. Docked was a large air ship. “Hey, that looks like one of the Storm King’s ships.”
    The pale unicorn said, “Please go inside, the Princess is waiting for you.”
    Capper looked at her. “The Princess? Me? Well,” he smoothed his jacket, “I best not keep Her Majesty waiting. It was a pleasure meeting you,” he bowed to the unicorn, then went to what he took to be the front door of the smaller building.
    There was a secretary at the desk who looked up when he entered. “Ah,” she said, “You must be Capper. The Princess and her group are on the ground floor of the hanger. Just go out the door at the end of that hallway. I’m sure you’ll find them.”
    Capper nodded and followed the hallway to a set of double doors at the end. Through the doors was the main floor of the hanger bay. The bay was essentially open to the outside, with some covered areas. There were steps and elevators that went to the higher scaffold levels. Ponies were busy doing repair work on the ship. There were tools and equipment scattered all over the floor. Much of it looked pretty advanced, as far as he could tell.
    He stopped to examine some component that appeared to be glowing. Hmm, must be magic, he thought. He was about to touch it when someone called him from across the floor. He looked up to see Princess Luna and Captain Celaeno approaching him.
    “Ah, Capper!” The Princess greeted him. “I am most pleased to see you. I have been showing Captain Celaeno her new ship.” Luna gestured with her hoof to the Captain, and then to the ship. “She is quite beautiful, do you not think?”
    Capper blinked in surprise. Was Luna asking him if he thought Captain Celaeno was beautiful? Then he realized that she was talking about the ship. The others were staring at him and he began to blush. “Ha, yes, uh, the ship is beautiful indeed.” He made a point to turn and look at the hull of the ship, which was visible among the support beams of the scaffolding. “Say, is that one of the Storm King’s ships?”
    “Yes,” Luna said, “We have commandeered it and are retrofitting it. Come, let us take a closer look. The rest of Celaeno’s crew is having a look around the inside. I have been explaining to the Captain here all of the upgrades we have placed on board.” She led them to the aft portion of the ship. “In addition to the traditional sails, we have given the ship these magical powered engines,” she pointed up to one of two circular tubes that stuck out behind the ship. “As the engineers explained it to me, these thrusters can propel the ship even in still winds. They are even silent.”
    “I’m sure my crew can handle them, but we prefer the old-fashioned way,” Celaeno said. “Show him the cannons, Princess!”
    “Ah, yes, come!” Luna led them along the hull, moving forward. “Those ports there,” she pointed to closed ports along the hull. There were two cannons on each side, with port covers that could be opened when needed. “They are the most recent ballistic projectiles. We have added electronic targeting systems. There is also a compliment of depth charges.”
    “Depth charges, on an air ship?” Capper asked.
    Celaeno answered, “Combat on an air ship is three dimensional. You never know when you need to get the drop on someone.” She grinned.
    “Exactly,” Luna agreed. She continued the tour. “The ship also has a small shuttle that can land and return to the ship. This ship has the latest navigational system, new quarters, mess hall, and other amenities.”
    “You’re going to love it,” the Captain said.
    Capper smirked, “Of course, that’s why I’m here. You want me to join your crew.”
    “You don’t have anything else going on, do you, Capper?” Celaeno asked.
    The feline looked at the floor and scratched the back of his head. “Ah ha, well, not exactly. Was just gonna bounce around Canterlot, see where I end up.”
    “In jail, most likely,” Celaeno said, then laughed. She smacked him on the shoulder. “Oh, that reminds me. You won’t believe who else is joining the crew.”
    Capper looked up. “Tempest.”
    Celaeno frowned, confused, “Good guess.”
    Capper pointed behind Celaeno. She turned to see Tempest and a pegasus approach them. The former commander was still getting used to her new role. She was a bit embarrassed to be seeing Capper, who had helped defeat her. “Hello, Capper,” she said.
    “So, who’s your new friend?” He indicated the white Pegasus.
    “I am Agent Sprywing,” he held up a hoof that Capper accepted.
    “He’s my handler,” Tempest said, dead pan.
    “He’s my spook,” Celaeno said, likewise.
    Capper and Sprywing looked a bit confused, then shrugged. “Well,” Capper continued, “I guess the gang’s all here.”
    “Indeed!” Luna was excited. “Oh, but there’s one important thing!”
    “What would that be?” asked Celaeno.
    Luna waited a beat for dramatic effect. “You haven’t picked out a name for the ship.”
    The group looked around at each other, nobody feeling like they should be the one to decide. Finally, Tempest spoke up, “How about Storm Chaser?” Luna clapped her hooves together in excitement. Celaeno smirked. Capper nodded.
    “Appropriate,” the Captain said. “There are still some of the Storm King’s ships out there.”
    “Yes,” Luna agreed, “and part of your mission will be to chase them down. You have full authority to dispatch them in any way you see fit.” The Captain nodded. “Well, there are other surprises on board for you. Captain Celaeno will have to show them to you. But for now, I suggest you get your belongings and bring them aboard.”
    Capper patted his coat, “I have everything. My home in Klugetown was pretty much destroyed.”
    “I don’t have anything either,” Tempest said.
    “Ahem, well,” Sprywing said, “I took the liberty of bringing some items aboard for the both of you. Equestrian Intelligence Agency special issue.”
    “Super secret spy stuff,” Capper commented.
    “Something like that. Anyway, the ship launches in three days.” Sprywing said.
    “Until then,” Luna said, “enjoy your stay in Equestria. I wish I could accompany you on your adventures, but I have duties here.”
    “Well then,” Celaeno looked at the group, “I will see you aboard in three days.”
     
    There wasn’t much else for Capper to see in Equestria. When he returned to his room he found a note that instructed him to go to the west garden. When he found it he also found the six ponies that had become his new, and up to this point, only friends.
    “Oh oh oh, Capper, I’m so glad you’re here!” Pinkie Pie took him by the arm and brought him to a bench. On the bench there were a few packages.
    Applejack said, “Pinkie Pie wanted a huge party, but we convinced her that we’ve had enough partying for now. We figured this should be a more intimate affair.”
    “To wit,” said Rarity, “these gifts are for you.” She levitated a box that he took. “Please open it.” She had made for him a set of fine formal wear. It was a white jacket with light blue liner, matching pants, and top hat. She also included a black cloak and flat cap.
    He tried on the top hat, “What do you think? Ha ha.”
    “I think you look great!” said Pinkie. “Here’s mine.” She gave him a box. Inside was a strange looking pistol. He looked at her questioningly. “It’s a hand-held party cannon. You’re going to be a pirate now, you never know when that might come in handy.”
    “Twilight told us that you’ll be joining Captain Celaeno’s crew,” Applejack explained. “Here’s mine,” her box contained a rope. “It’s a lasso, the same brand I use. It’s never let me down.”
    “Oh, um,” Fluttershy gave him a box, “mine’s not as nice as those, but I hope you like it.” It was an encyclopedia of animals from exotic lands, featuring habitat, behavior, and how to speak with them. “I know that books are more Twilight’s thing, but I hope you like it.”
    “This will come in useful. Thank you.” Capper said.
    “Speaking of books,” Twilight levitated her gift to him, “It’s a book about sky ships. I personally updated it to include the Storm King’s ships.” The book was quite large.
    “You can use it for when the fire in the engine room is low,” Rainbow Dash snarked.
    “Actually,” Twilight pointed out, “the engines run on magic, not fire. It’s based on…”
    “Yeah yeah,” Rainbow interrupted. “Here’s my gift. They’re official Wonderbolt goggles. It gets pretty windy up there.”
    “Wow,” Capper looked to his new friends. He coughed to hide the emotion in his voice. “Thank you all for the gifts. This means so much to me.”
    “You’re about to embark on a major mission for Equestria,” Twilight said. “We want you to remember your friends.”
    “I could never forget my new friends,” Capper said. Everypony smiled.
    “Who wants cake?” Pinkie Pie had managed to bring cake without anypony noticing, but nopony complained. They spent the evening swapping stories and losing track of time.
     
    Capper had spent most of the rest of his time exploring Canterlot and eating the free meals that ponies had offered him. But today the Storm Chaser was set to launch, and Capper had to get back. The pale unicorn had taken him back to the Castle and she told him that she would get him when it was time to leave. He figured that she would find him when it was time, so he decided to take a walk in the garden. Sure enough, at about 2 PM, the mysterious pony found him.
    “Are you ready, Mr. Capper?” she said softly.
    He stood from the stone bench he was sitting at and wiped the dirt from his pants. “Ready as ever. Lead the way.” They got into the same car she had used a few days ago and went to the ship yard.
    At the yard, the ship’s retrofit was complete. It was a big ship, and the engineers had made it bigger. They had used Equestrian magical technology to make the lift more efficient, which means the balloon could hold more mass. They kept the original design element that placed the ship’s bridge over the front of the balloon, which was connected to the deck with an armored forecastle. Inside of this were stairs that lead to the bridge. From the bridge there was a crawlway that lead to a crow’s nest on the top of the balloon. On each side of the bridge there were retractable sails.
    It was a modified sloop, the smallest warship. It did not have an open main deck. Instead, the hull extended to the bottom of the balloon. There were two cannon ports on each side of the ship on the main deck. Large shutters could swing down to open up the main deck, if that was desired. There was an aftcastle that housed the captain’s quarters.
    The first deck held sleeping quarters for the crew and a mess hall near the aft. Heat from the engine could be used for cooking and heating water. There was a recreation and relaxation area at the fore of the first deck. There was also storage.
    Most of the second, bottom-most deck was storage. Near the front there was a large hatch where the shuttle was docked. The aft section had the engine room. The two engines were magically powered. It created electricity for the ship. In the engine room there were all manner of tools and technology.
    The ship held many surprises and amenities that the crew were still getting used to. The scaffolding had been moved away so that the ship could launch. The crew were standing at attention on the ground, with Captain Celaeno waiting in front of them. Tempest and Sprywing were talking with Luna, who was there to see the ship off. Capper hurried to meet them.
    “Ah, Capper,” Celaeno greeted him. “I was just introducing Sprywing to the crew.” At the sound of his name, the pegasus turned to the Captain, who continued with the introductions. “This is our chef, Lix,” The portly, pink female waved. “Our ship’s engineer, Mullet,” the taller bird with the eye patch nodded. “My weapons expert Boyle,” he waved with his hook claw. “And this is Squabble,” the googly-eyed bird squawked a greeting and bobbed his head back and forth. “He’s sort of a jack of all trades.” The Captain turned to Luna. “Well, Princess, the crew is ready. Permission to disembark.”
    The Princess almost squealed in delight, “Permission granted.” The Captain turned to her crew and nodded and they marched up the gangway, into the ship. Luna looked at Tempest and Sprywing. “Good luck on your missions.” Tempest nodded, looked to Sprywing, and they both boarded the ship.
    Celaeno looked at Capper, who felt a bit embarrassed and proceeded up the gangway. She then turned to Luna and saluted. “I shall endeavor to honor and uphold the laws and principles of Equestria to the best of my abilities.”
    “Good luck, Captain Celaeno.”
    The pirate captain nodded, then boarded her ship, Storm Chaser. When everyone was aboard the gangway was raised. The dock master blew his whistle to signal that the ship was ready to launch. Ponies scrambled to disengage mooring lines. The traffic control tower signaled that the ship was clear to launch.
    Aboard the ship, on the bridge, Captain Celaeno made preparations to take off. The control board was modern, with many readouts. She pushed a button to signal to the engine room, “Engine room, status?”
    “All indicators are green, Captain,” came back Mullet’s voice.
    “Very good. The control tower indicates that we are clear to launch. Give me one quarter power.” It was not necessary to explicitly make the order because the engine could be controlled from the bridge, but protocol required that during embarking and disembarking, maximum communication between the bridge and operations should be observed.
    “Aye, one quarter power.”
    There was a hum as the engines increased their power output. Celaeno pushed the throttle forward and operated the controls to lift the ship up. It wobbled slightly as it left the ground. She looked out the window and watched the buildings get smaller as she ascended. It took several minutes to reach a safe cruising altitude.
    The sky was clear and blue. Canterlot got smaller and smaller, and the castle looked like a tiny toy. The Captain set a course to spiral around Canterlot as she gained more altitude. Eventually she was at the altitude she wanted. The air was colder up here and she looked around for her coat, but then she realized that her new ship had central heating. This ship is going to spoil me, she thought as she dialed up the temperature on the bridge.
    She set a course south, opened the ship’s sails, and cut the engine power back to idle. The processes of was automatic, unlike her old ship which required a lot of manual work. This ship is going to spoil all of us. Squabble came up the port side stairs and saluted. Celaeno nodded, “You want to check out the crow’s nest?” He nodded. The Captain pointed to the port hole at the back of the bridge, which gave access to the crawlway up to the crow’s nest. She smiled and said, “Have fun, and keep your eyes peeled.” Squabble scrambled into the crawlway.
    Celaeno turned back to the front window. This is what she loved: sailing the open skies, seeking adventure. But this time around, she had a purpose: to serve an honorable Princess and a peaceful kingdom. She thought she would feel reined in by the terms of the letter of marque, but she felt good to have a sense of purpose. She was at the start of a new set of adventures, with new friends and new goals. She smiled.
  23. Brony Number 42
    I read the latest MLP comic Feats Of Friendship. Warning Spoilers! It is a simple plot so far, but it made me think. First, a brief summary of the plot. The Young Six are going to participate in a series of games called the Feats Of Friendship. They need a 7th team member so Twilight introduces them to Swift Foot, a female earth pony. It turns out that she is evil (because of course she is) and wants to turn the characters against each other.
    She talks to each one privately. She tells Silverstream that Equestria didn’t save the Hippogriffs when Storm King invaded. She tells Gallus that the Griffons and ponies didn’t get along, and Gallus should be the leader of the group. She tells Yona that Yona learned to speak pony, but nobody learned Yak. She told Smolder that the school doesn’t serve gems for dragons to eat. She tells Ocellus that the ponies made the changelings change their way of life just to suit the ponies. And she tells Sandbar that he treats is friends better than they treat him. This makes all of the characters mad at each other.
    I will address each of these points from minor to major. Sandbar is upset because he feels unappreciated. I don’t see this as a major issue. He will get over it. It does not present a big personal problem, nor a problem with pony/non pony relationships.
    Gallus has a big ego and it is reasonable to believe that he should feel like he is the leader. But he needs to realize that their group has no leader. I don’t see this a as a big problem. He needs to learn how pony society works if he wants to live there, even if temporarily. This is a minor personal problem, and might reflect some issues for Griffon/pony relationships.
    The Hippogriffs. Why didn’t Equestria defend them? (Because plot.) We don’t know. I think Equestria should have, if they could have. But for whatever reason that didn’t happen. You can’t be mad at someone for not helping, or not helping enough, when you have problems. What do the Hippogriffs want? Reparations for something that Equestria wasn’t a part of? Do they want help rebuilding? That might be a good idea, but not because Equestria owes them anything. I think the Hippogriffs make good allies. It seems that they get along well with the ponies. The Hippogriffs should work to build an alliance, not feel bitter about what happened to them.
    Yona feels like she is making an effort to fit into pony society by learning the pony language. But what else does she expect? She is visiting Equestria, of course she should learn their language. You don’t go to a foreign land and expect everyone there to speak your language. I never liked the Yaks. They are violent and threatened war. I don’t think Equestria should appease that kind of behavior. Sure, they can make some effort for peace, but don’t compromise their values. Equestria should always be ready for war to defend its way of life. The Yaks make unstable allies. The only reason I would negotiate peace with them is that war is expensive. I would not have peace “at any cost.” I think that if the Yaks had a superior military then they would attack Equestria.
    Smolder’s problem is similar to Yona’s. Should she expect to eat gem stones in Equestria? I don’t know how hard it is to obtain dragon food. Presumably it shouldn’t be that hard. I think she has a valid complaint, but nothing worth getting mad about. A minor personal problem, but a reflection of a big dragon/pony problem. I see the dragons as worse than the Yaks. The only reason that the dragons have not invaded Equestria is that Ember doesn’t want to. What happens if she is replaced? Can the ponies really trust the dragons? Do they share any common values? I don’t think so. I would keep a strong military as a deterrent against dragon invasion.
    The Changelings. The ponies changed the Changelings’ way of life just to suit the ponies? Duh! The Changelings invaded Equestria. The ponies had every right to do anything, including wiping out every last Changeling, to save themselves. The Changelings should be thankful that they still exist. The ponies and Changelings could not live in the same world. Their existence was mutually exclusive. One might ask, “Where were the hippogriffs when the Changelings invaded Equestria?” Fortunately for Equestria, the Changelings are no longer a threat. I do think it is a good idea to have an alliance with them now that they are not a threat. But what happens when Thorax isn’t in charge anymore? Hopefully the change is permanent.
    I believe that Equestria represents the superior culture in the land. At the very least, they should take a stance that protects their way of life. We could get into cultural relativism, with an attitude of “well, everyone thinks they are the best.” Sure, when the unreformed Changeling is eating your energy, you can think that. Or when the dragon is roasting your village, or when a diamond dog has you in chains, you can talk about how every creature is equal. Taking a cultural relativistic philosophy is pointless at best, self-destructive at worst.
    It is significant that it is Equestria that has a school devoted to inclusiveness. It is Equestria that accepts all points of view. It is Equestria where creatures from other lands can be given a fair chance. Not Yakyakistan, not Dragonland (awesome band), not the Changeling Kingdom, not Griffonstone. Maybe the Hippogriff lands. It is cultural suicide to think that every other creature believes in freedom the same way the ponies do. Equestria should spread its beliefs and culture. I’m not saying it should invade other lands. I’m saying other lands should adopt the same concepts of freedom that Equestria has. If they don’t, then Equestria needs to have a strong defense. Being ready to defend yourself is not aggressive. Having strong values and beliefs means nothing without the firepower to ultimately back it up.
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