Freebie Mondays: My Little Domerin – Episode 2: Act 1

I promised my twitch chat I would take Domerin, the grumpy elf main character from the Aruvalia Chronicles, and turn him into a pony if they helped me pay for my replacement computer. I never thought we’d reach that goal – but of course we did. Because my twitch chat continues to be the most generous community out there.

For more details on the project, check the intro. (There are pictures of my characters converted into ponies there as well.)

This story is meant to take place in the same world as “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,” though it’s unlikely any of the characters from the show will appear in the story. I have attempted to adopt the style of storytelling used by the show (including an episodic format and a ‘season’ instead of chapters in a novel). And some of the ponies that appear were created by donators from my chat. VoDs of the writing sessions are available on my youtube channel!

I hope you enjoy this crazy, silly little romp!
. . .

Domerin wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he emerged from the cellar after seeing the princess to safety. Part of him feared he would find the worst – the palace not only ransacked but also trashed and potentially burning. Navigating a burning structure with enough speed to spare a small object from the flames would be nigh impossible – though Domerin would try it if he had to.

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that, while the most of the palace had been tossed, leaving upturned crates and overturned bookshelves scattered throughout most of the space, it was still blessedly intact. No acrid stench of smoke choked his nostrils and no ambient heat of flames warned of impending doom. So Domerin tiptoed across the carnage, moving through the debris with great care.

It seemed no part of the palace had escaped the ire of its invaders. Shelves had been torn from the walls. Tapestries had been shredded, paintings cut and vases shattered. Sheets and linens had been torn from beds and closets and strewn about the place.

Domerin paused to claim the tatters of one of the shredded sheets. But though he carefully padded his hooves against extra sound, it was desperately difficult to move with silence on hoofed feet. It didn’t help that splinters of wood and ceramic shards lay in his path. Even the gentlest lowering of his weight against such objects caused them to further fracture.

He had to hope the shouts and bangs of the continuing combat would mask his passage from any invaders left behind. He hunched low, keeping his back, shoulders and head as close to the ground as possible, but he often had to straighten in order to step wide over the debris in his path.

True to his prediction, the royal wing was one of the first places to suffer the wrath of the enemy’s touch. The destruction of personal property was particularly bad, and several of the doors in the princess’s quarters had even been knocked askew on their hinges. Domerin resisted the urge to peek through the open portals and witness what had been wrought while he helped his ruler to flee the carnage. It would only twist his stomach and constrict his heart to see the beauty of his home rent asunder.

He was simply grateful that, having failed to find what they were looking for, the invaders had moved on. From the sound of it, they had been corralled across the courtyard toward the guard barracks, where his people would be best equipped to hold them at bay. It was a logical assumption that the princess would be taken there so she could better be defended, and there were reinforced defenses there that didn’t exist elsewhere within the greater palace walls.

Domerin paused in the act of picking across the remains of a ceramic vase that littered the hallway just outside the princess’s study and craned his neck for a moment in the direction of the barracks. His heart longed to abandon this empty stretch of palace hallway and gallop at full speed to the side of those still fighting. Thus far, he had done precious little to actually defend their territory, so caught up was he with special assignments. He didn’t think he could turn the tide – one pony could hardly make or break history – but the warrior in his soul still wanted to do his best.

But the princess insisted that Aruvalia’s hopes lay with this odd crystal contraption. So if it was the last thing he did, Domerin was going to bring it to her.

He skittered like an overgrown spider across the remains of the ceramic. His straining ears detected no hint of anyone close to his location, so it felt justified to waste a little less time on caution.

Once he reached the far side of the debris field, Domerin was only one door away from the princess’s study. He took a deep breath and prayed silently as he dashed headlong across the last length of hall and barreled through the door that led to his destination.

The force of his shoulder impacting the tenuously anchored wood caused the last of the hinges to give way, and the door crashed to the ground, causing a loud bang to echo up the corridor.

Domerin cringed. He hadn’t realized this room would be in such a sorry state. But his instincts allowed him to roll out of the way of the door with relative ease, and he trotted across the study without delay, ignoring the heaps of debris that were all that remained of the princess’s carefully organized study material.

Lucky for them all, their enemy had been in too much of a hurry to sack the place, they hadn’t checked for hidden compartments or switches. So none had found the little button that released the latch that concealed the secret compartment above the mantle.

Domerin shouldn’t have been surprised about that either. Princess Draftmore seemed to have a spectacular insight when it came to these sorts of things. How else would she have known to tell Domerin about this hidden treasure less than a day before her capital was attacked and overrun?

But there wasn’t time to think about that – not really. Using the power in his horn, Domerin carefully lifted the lid of the box within the confines of the compartment and checked that the crystal vial still rested undamaged within.

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he was able to confirm that the target of his mission was still intact. Then he carefully returned the crystal to its niche and closed the box. Then he lifted the whole box from within the compartment and carefully snapped the mantle closed again.

Though his heart hammered in his chest, warning that each precious moment brought them all one step closer to the brink of doom, Domerin hesitated long enough to locate another shred of tapestry near the corner of the room. He tested its strength, then used it to tie the box closed. Once that was done, he created a sling with the pieces of sheet he had previously used to pad his hooves and tied the precious bundle to his flank.

He would need to move with speed and precision now, which meant he couldn’t risk slipping. One missed footing in a flight for his life might result in his untimely demise.

He hurried back to the study door and, instantly, his head turned again in the direction of the barracks. The sounds of struggle had grown both louder and more frantic, indicating that his people were probably in the midst of their last stand. Now that he had the object of his mission, he could run to them and assist with the retreat – but that would put his ultimate mission objective in jeopardy.

Like it or not, the people of Aruvalia were depending on the little crystal vial currently in his care, and he dared not let them down – no matter how dishonorable it felt to slink through the shadows while a fight was going on.

Bracing himself, Domerin darted from the doorway and back down the hall. His hooves crunched over all of the obstacles he avoided before, but he tried not to pay the sounds much mind. He knew this place like he knew his rear legs, and he would need that knowledge to make a hasty escape.

Still, the magic in his horn was poised and ready to pull his weapons free of their sheaths the moment danger presented itself. And it would present itself sooner or later. His warrior instinct warned that he was close to something, some onrushing moment of peril, and if he wasn’t prepared for it, it would consume him before he had a chance to survive.

He couldn’t take the cellar. Even if he hadn’t destroyed the mechanism that opened that hidden compartment, he couldn’t have risked leading the enemy close to his princess. Somewhat ironically, the next best exit was across from the guard barracks, not far from the statue where he spent most mornings and evenings paying homage to his heroic counterpart from the past. It meant he would have to race through the open, but if he was fast and careful-

He leapt over a fallen doorway propped against some busted shelves to form a ramp and landed in the bright light of day. The second his hooves dug into the warm cobblestone of the pathway, he took off at full speed.

The wind whipped through his hair, distant sounds screamed in his ear, and he ignored it all – even the rapid thumping of his heart – in favor of maintaining his momentum.

He was halfway across the courtyard when he heard the sharp shout. But it was the rock that pelted his front left leg that brought him careening to a halt. Only long years of practice and expert control over his muscles allowed him to slow to a stop without tripping and falling flat on his nose.

He used the same motion to spin in the direction the attack and come from, and he uttered a soft curse to himself even as he pulled his first sword free of the sheath at his hip.

There were a dozen ponies in all. They were arrayed in a loose knot on the far side of the courtyard, their trajectory indicating they had been moving from the front gate toward the guard barracks. One of them yanked another rock from the side of the path and held it menacingly in front of the group, as if to warn Domerin off.

But he wasn’t cowed. He dug in his hooves, scrapped the right front one across the cobbles like a bull offering a challenge, and charged.

*   *   *

It was Constable Barrow’s habit to arrive early to work. Partly it was because he enjoyed the quiet hush of the city before his duty shift started. Though many ponies rose at least an hour before they needed to head off to their various jobs or begin their various chores for the day, most didn’t emerge from their homes until it became absolutely necessary. And while most ponies enjoyed the quiet of their cozy homes and morning routines before they ventured into the world, Greg enjoyed the world before it woke up.

His walk to work could have been described as perfectly normal. He closed his eyes and breathed the soft, fresh air of the early morning – just as he always did – and he noted the freshly blooming flowers and softly swaying trees. It wasn’t that people ruined the view so much as that they shattered the stillness. Without that movement and bustle of activity, it was easier to tap into the primal forces of the world and hear what they might want to tell you.

Most mornings they told Greg that it was going to be a beautiful day or, perhaps, a rainy one. The streets of Aruvalia spoke of changes to the seasons and great things to come.

But today they almost seemed to whisper look out.

That soft whisper somewhere in the back of his mind set him on edge as he climbed the stairs that led to the police station. But he had never been gladder he tended to arrive early to his duties than he was when he heard the sharp howl of the siren split the air.

The alarm was mounted on the walls to the palace near the heart of the city. But it was loud enough to rouse every pony to the edge of the city limits in every direction.

The sound caused Greg’s heart to leap into his throat, and there it lodged despite his many attempts to swallow it.

There were no drills scheduled for today. They always knew about them way in advance because numerous ponies would panic, and the first placed panicked ponies turned was the police station.

It was that knowledge more than anything that made Greg’s stomach twist and his hooves click nervously against the cement of the stairs.

No drills meant this was a genuine alarm. And this particular alarm only sounded to indicate an imminent threat.

But it was the palace alarms that were firing – not the ones attached to the city gate. Those would have either been louder or more distant, depending on where the attack was coming from.

How did a threat reach the palace without passing through some part of the city?

There was no time to contemplate that now. All Greg knew for sure was that his portion of the city was not under attack. But the sirens indicated it soon would be.

He lowered his head, braced his shoulders and charged into the station. The door gave way for him easily, and the few ponies that had already arrived for the duty change looked up from their desks in surprise. Many were drained of color, no doubt from the sound that still blazed even within these walls, but Greg’s face was calm when he raised his head.

“Get as many people on the streets as you possibly can as fast as you can. We need to organize an evacuation. And we need to try to keep people calm while we do it.”

For a single tenuous moment, Greg was certain the reaction to his announcement was going to be sheer panic. And if the ponies supposed to be in charge of keeping the peace panicked, the city would have no chance.

But the moment passed. Faces hardened as glances were exchanged. Ponies tired from working the night shift chugged what remained of the coffee in their mugs and got resolutely to their feet. Phones started ringing and voices buzzed as a resolute march toward the door began.

A slender figure emerged from the crowed. A slight hint of bright magic glowed at the tip of her unicorn horn as Valia Stormcrow sidled next to Greg and lightly nudged his shoulder with her flank.

He braced; he was going to have to do this without coffee. Then he spun as tightly as a pony could and led the charge out into the city.

This day had dawned bright and beautiful, the kind of day most ponies liked to celebrate by basking in the afternoon sun at one of the downtown parks. Plenty of picnic baskets were probably in the process of being packed when the alarm sounded, and plenty of ice cream stands were probably now being packed away with a bitter sense of irony.

Already, doors on every street were opening as frantic ponies stuck their heads through the doors and called to their neighbors. There had been no official bulletin, no announcement from the palace telling people what to do or where to go.

So it fell to the police force to grant such guidance.

“Grab your emergency bags,” Greg called as he sauntered onto the first street and planted his hooves so he could project his voice to the nearest houses. “Don’t take extra time to pack, just go. Move in a calm and orderly fashion to the nearest city gate and follow the instructions you’re given when you arrive.”

The instructions echoed from the next street over as other ponies bent their heads and galloped deeper into the city to deliver the dire news.

“Help each other,” Valia added from his side as they resumed their trek up the street. “Don’t pause to ask too many questions. Move swiftly and directly. Instructions will be waiting for you as soon as we have them.”

When will that be? Greg wondered.

Part of him feared they were all overreacting. That they should have been instructing people to return to their homes and stay calm, that this was all a mistake that would blow over quickly.

But while the sirens had gone still after doing their job of alerting the populous to a problem, the sound radiating from the center of the city hadn’t ceased. Distant crashes like peals of thunder reached the constable’s ears, and he could swear he heard the rapport of cannons unleashing their payload into some unseen threat.

He feared a glance in the direction of the calamity would reveal dark claws of smoke raking the sky, so he kept his focus on the task at hand.

When ponies did not emerge to hear the news without prompting, hooves slammed against doors to summon them. Those who lived on upper floors peeked their head through windows to hear the instructions and repeated them in the halls to pass the word up the line.

Greg and Valia reached the end of one street and hurried on to another, repeating their messages until their throats grew raw.

Most people listened without hesitation or complaint. Some tried to stop and press for more details and needed to be turned aside with stern words or a cold shoulder.

But some people stubbornly refused to budge. And worse, as they reached the center of the city and the source of the chaos, there were obvious signs that disaster and destruction had passed through parts of Silvergarden without warning or attempts to intervene.

Some buildings were, indeed, on fire. The fire ponies had already responded to the biggest blazes, bringing them under control enough to prevent the spread. But some of the buildings near the center of the city had obviously suffered great damage. Windows were broken and walls had collapsed leading to danger for those trying to comply with the evacuation orders.

Greg’s first instinct was to stop and allow his jaw to fall open. But there wasn’t time for that. So he sniffed heavily of the smoke-choked air and ordered Valia to check the north side of the street.

“I’ll check the south,” he reported and leapt into a canter.

He expected to find a wide swath of destruction carved through the city and suspected it had to have originated from one of the main gates. But what he found were pockets of destruction, strategic chaos clearly designed to prevent the city’s defenders from paying close attention to things that might be happening elsewhere.

As he passed, he called to the fire marshals and received mostly indications that everything was under control. Most of the occupants of the flaming buildings had been safely evacuated and were on their way to the city gates.

But at the far end of one of the central streets, he found a pair of single family houses mostly demolished. And outside the front door of one stood a young unicorn, her horn ablaze with golden light directed at the crumbled structure ahead of her.

“Hurry!” she cried as she shook her head and almost dislodged a pair of black-rimmed glasses from her nose. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this!”

Greg cursed. At a glance, it was obvious there was at least one other person stuck in the building, and this young unicorn was attempting to prevent the last of the collapse. He altered his trajectory so he could skid to a halt beside her and quickly barked an order into his radio to summon Valia.

“What’s the trouble?” he barked as he came to rest beside the distraught unicorn.

She glanced up at him with fear and dismay. “It’s my friend Karly,” she breathed with no small amount of destination. “She got stuck when the walls fell but none of us are strong enough to get her free.”

“Hold on just a minute longer,” Greg instructed. “A friend of mine is on the way to help.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he rushed headlong through the shivering door of the house into the destruction beyond.

It quickly became clear the poor unicorn outside was holding up a lot more than just the door. The bright tendrils of her magic snaked through the opening to infuse the ceiling for several feet into what remained of the building.

The second that magic faltered, the entry to the house was likely to vanish. But Greg was confident if that happened, Valia could pull enough rubble aside to get them out.

He didn’t slow as he made his way down the hall, mostly because the sounds of effort drew him in the proper direction. When he reached the end of the hallway, he discovered a turn off into what had probably been a living room. Furniture had been strewn about what remained of the thin opening, not to mention flipped upside down by the force of whatever caused the collapse.

And in the center of it, a Pegasus pony flapped her wings rapidly as she attempted to pry a chunk of drywall from its mooring.

“I can’t!” she huffed as her grip began to slip. “It’s too heavy-“

The statement cut off as the Pegasus’ grip finally gave way and she careened across the hallway into another pile of rubble.

Greg took a moment to catch his breath before he said, “Is that where she’s stuck?” and pointed to the rubble the Pegasus had been trying to disturb.

The younger pony needed a moment to rise and clear her head. She shook it vigorously for a moment before her wings fluttered back into motion and pulled her into a hover.

“Our friend Karly, yes. She’s stuck behind there and I’m just not strong enough to move-“

“Stand aside!” Greg commanded sternly, raising his voice so the pony on the other side of the rubble would be able to hear it as well. Then he reared back, lifted his front legs and charged forward. With all his strength, he slammed his hooves into the pile of debris and sent tiny dust shards flying.

He retreated carefully, well aware that any disturbance to this newly formed structure could cause it all to come crashing down. And to his surprise, as he set up for his next charge, he heard a second loud bang against the rubble.

Blinking, he glanced in the direction of the Pegasus, who still hovered a few feet above where she fell.

“That’s Karly,” she supplied without hesitation. “She’s very strong.”

“Indeed,” Greg murmured. Then he called, “I’m coming again.”

He charged forward and slammed his hooves twice into the debris, aiming for a crack between bits of drywall. This time, enough of the rubble crumbled away to reveal a small opening.

A series of answering bangs followed in the wake of his fresh retreat. Each time the trapped pony’s hooves connected with the debris pile, the area Greg had loosened shook.

At last, with another massive heave, the chunk of drywall the Pegasus targeted flew from the heap, creating an opening just wide enough for a small pony to squeeze through.

Glancing through the hole, Greg caught sight of an earthy pony. Her sides heaved with the effort of returning air to her lungs, but her expression was fierce. She faced away from him for the moment, clearly having used her hind legs to make the hole. But she spun quickly, ducked her head and muscled through the opening. It must have scraped flesh beneath her fur, but she paid it no mind. As soon as she was free, she shot a look at the Pegasus.

“Hurry, Bard!” she barked, “Megan probably can’t hold this all up for much longer.”

The two younger ponies shot toward the door before Greg had a chance to interject and, after a brief moment of consideration, he decided that was for the best. He followed in their wake, keeping a close eye on the structure as they passed, but he noticed it seemed far more stable than before.

When they reached the exit, the two younger ponies skittered down what remained of the front stoop and stopped only when they reached the side of their third friend. The unicorn was bent double, panting frantically to regain her breath. And beside her stood Valia Stormcrow, from whose horn flowed a steady stream of bright magical light.

Greg grinned and nodded to her as he hopped down from the stoop and trotted to her side. A quick glance showed that his assessment of Karly was correct – the Earth pony was covered in scratches from her attempt to scrape through the small hole that offered her escape. But aside from a few rapidly forming scabs and bruises, she seemed none the worse for wear. Likewise the Pegasus, apparently nicknamed Bard, bore only a few bent wings from her fall. Megan, the unicorn, was red-faced and teary-eyed. But as soon as she recovered her breath, she launched at her friends and the three shared a quick embrace.

“You were all very brave,” Greg informed them, his voice softer and warmer than it had been when he barked orders. “But now, it’s time for you to get to the city gates. You’ll be safe once you evacuate with everyone else.”

“Thank you, Constable,” the unicorn replied, momentarily turning shining eyes in their direction.

Then Karly said, “Let’s go!” and took off down the street. Greg noted that she often paused, however, to make sure the other two kept up, and he trusted that all three were safe so long as they stayed together.

Valia waited until they vanished around a corner to let her magic fade. True to prediction, as soon as there was nothing left to hold it up, the house fell in on itself, blocking all passage to where the girls had come from.

“They’re lucky you found them when you did,” Valia murmured as she closed the gap between them.

“They are,” Greg murmured. But he wondered how many other ponies had not been so lucky. He heaved a sigh and lifted his head to glance toward the palace.

Smoke now rose from some portions of the central structure there as well, and Greg wondered what happened and what had gone so wrong to lead them all to this moment.

Then he heard another sharp bang that lodged his heart in his throat and he spun toward the sound, half-fearing the recently rescued trio had found some way to trap themselves again.