Freebie Mondays: My Little Domerin – Episode 4: 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!
. . .

The city of future Silvergarden – if the pony leading them toward the palace was to be believed – was much the same as the city in the present. Or at least, the city Domerin remembered from before the attack. Some of the highrises had grown taller and a few extra neighborhoods had been crammed into the free space, the houses so close to each other, only the different colored paint on the façades allowed them to be told apart. But it was familiar and comfortable despite the odd differences.

Domerin wracked his brains as they made their way at a slow, steady pace through a concealed entrance in the city’s outer wall and down a series of back roads to the rise that would carry them to the palace on its high hill. He had never heard of a prince of any kingdom named Dormal. Even the most obscure and remote kingdoms kept careful records of their rulers. And alicorns were rare – surely he would have heard of this one if he’d ever lived.

There was a part of the Royal Guard captain that could believe this was all an elaborate hoax put together by their enemies. The city could be the one he visited a few days ago cloaked in illusion. But faking an alicorn would have been much harder.

And even if magic accounted for the differences in the city’s appearance, it couldn’t account for the number of ponies that choked the streets. Ponies that often stopped to wave at them as they passed as if they recognized Domerin and Crescent or, perhaps, their guide.

The prince was not stopped at any of the checkpoints that led to the palace proper. And when the guards saw Domerin, they all snapped to attention the way they would if he was walking his patrols.

If this really is the future, where am I? Where is Crescent? There should be a distinct possibility they might run into each other. If they did, it would be the fastest proof he could ever ask for of the truth – but it would also be deeply unsettling.

Dormal led them into the center of the palace courtyard. The statue of Nirem Truestrike still stood tall and proud in his usual place, but there was a second statue beside him, positioned in an opposing but equally epic pose.

Domerin didn’t get a good look at the second statue before they were drawn into a shaded alcove and Dormal shook off his cloak. A pony appeared out of the shadows to take it away, then a second set of ponies wearing similar cloaks emerged from the shadows on their other side.

Domerin tensed, expecting an ambush. But instead the ponies shook off their hoods, revealing another pair of unicorn horns. The two ponies were obviously siblings, despite their opposing colorations. The first, a young filly, had golden curls that fell about her shoulders in familiar waves. And the second, obviously her brother, had a dark mane that he had cropped carefully short.

“You found them!” the fair-haired unicorn exclaimed and stamped the feet with glee.

“I did indeed,” Dormal agreed. Then he waved toward the new arrivals with one of his fore hooves. “This is Silverbell, my sister.” He said as the fair-haired unicorn bobbed her head. “And Valerian, her twin.”

Domerin frowned. While it was obvious at a glance that Silverbell and Valerian were twins, it was harder to tell that the three of them were related. Silverbell and Valerian had similar builds and facial features, whereas Dormal seemed lither and more delicate, especially around the cheeks and jaw.

But then the twins shook free of their cloaks in much the same way Dormal had, revealing that they, too, were alicorns. Sleek, powerful wings fluttered at their sides as they all expressed their joy over the new arrivals.

“We’ve all been excited to meet you,” Valerian admitted. He was softer spoken than his sister, and even blushed slightly when Domerin and Crescent turned their attention in his direction. “We know the current versions of you, of course. But we couldn’t help wanting to know more about the younger versions of you.”

Something about the way he said younger suddenly made Domerin feel very old.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dormal added sheepishly. “You’re wondering where the two of you are and if you’re going to meet them. The truth is, they’ve gone somewhere else for a little while.”

“They thought it would be unsettling if they met you,” Silverbell clarified, putting bluntly what Dormal had been trying to say delicately. She swished her long tail and added, “Domerin was especially put out by the idea of talking to himself. It’s almost like he expected you and he wouldn’t get along.”

“Or they’d get along too well,” Valerian quipped. “I don’t know what we’d ever do then. The palace would run so smoothly, we’d never be able to get by with just one Domerin ever again.”

Domerin arched an eyebrow and glanced at Crescent. The Earth Pony had bowed his head in an attempt to partially conceal his chuckling. “You have to admit,” he murmured in an undertone, “it does sound like they know you.”

“Please trust us,” Dormal pleaded, and the wide, imploring eyes he turned in Domerin’s direction were so familiar, they threw him for a moment. “I know what we’re telling you seems far-fetched-“

“No more far-fetched than what we were trying to do,” Domerin admitted with a soft sigh. “But I don’t understand how Rose miscalculated. She said that her… machine was carefully calibrated to take us to the exact moment that would help us resolve the issue of the invasion.”

“Well, it did do that,” Silverbell replied and a familiar grin split her features. Domerin couldn’t help thinking it reminded him of Crescent on his most playful days.

“The problem is that Moth- I mean, your princess,” Valerian’s look grew sheepish and his cheeks colored again, “was relying on an inexact moment because she didn’t want to choose the wrong one.”

“And it turned out, in order to hit that mark, she was missing a critical piece of equipment,” Dormal concluded. “We obviously don’t intend to keep you here very long,” he added. “But we thought it would be easier to navigate the situation if you had help.”

“We’ll get you the equipment you need, then you can be on your way,” Silverbell added and stamped the ground again. “Oh, I wish we could host you overnight and show you all the wonders the future has to hold!” She sounded excited.

“Domerin says that it’s dangerous to share too much about any timeline though,” Dormal interjected, his tone suddenly serious.

He almost sounded like Domerin when he said it.

“He insists that even the future isn’t safe,” Valerian agreed with a flutter of his wings. “He worried that if you encountered something significant-“

“We’d spend our whole lives trying to make it happen and forget to actually live them,” Domerin interrupted. “Yes, that does seem accurate.”

“Spoil sport,” Crescent muttered and pawed the ground in much the same way Silverbell had a few times. But then he smiled at their hosts. “While we’re absolutely thrilled to have had a chance to meet you, we’ll be on our way quickly so as not to cause any trouble. Where can we find this piece of equipment we need?”

“He should be right around here…” Dormal muttered and backed out of the alcove so that he could glance around the courtyard. “That’s odd,” he added when he returned to the group. “Let’s check the workroom. He probably got distracted.”

He? Maybe they were referring to the inventor of whatever device was going to correct their course.

Domerin decided not to ask too many questions as they filed through the palace hallways in the wake of the royal children. He even tried to keep his head down and not notice too much – though it was hard not to notice the skill and discipline with which the Royal Guard performed their duties. Many of them nodded to him or saluted as he passed, and he tried to nod though he very carefully said nothing.

At last, they turned a corner and entered a wide workroom full of equipment, chalkboards and tables littered with wires and nodes.

There was a distinct lack of occupancy, however.

This time, all three of the royal children frowned.

“Where has he gotten off to this time?” Silverbell demanded, and huffed with exasperation. “He knows we were expecting him to meet with us.”

“He probably got distracted again.” Dormal sighed. “You know how flighty he is.”

“We’d better find him quickly,” Valerian interjected. “He can get into a lot of trouble if left unsupervised for long.”

“But he could have gone anywhere-” Dormal started.

He was interrupted, however, but a crash followed by several tinkles of something like metal or coins possibly rolling down the stairs.

Domerin exchanged a glance with Crescent and found himself caught between the urgency of the situation and the obvious comedy of errors playing out in front of him. Crescent looked like he was trying not to laugh again and sighed somewhat helplessly.

The Royal Guard Captain returned his attention to the royal children just in time to see Dormal lift a hoof and lean his forehead against it.

“It’s the Funnel Cakes again, isn’t it?” the prince asked with an exaggerated sigh.

The twins nodded in tandem.

“Seems like it,” Silverbell agreed.

“Curse the day we showed them how to get in here,” Valerian added with a snort.

Dormal turned to glance over his shoulder in dismay. “Sorry about this. The friend we’re trying to introduce you to is a bit impressionable, and it seems he may have wandered off with… the wrong crowd. We’ll have to go fetch him,” he added, and turned to his siblings. “It’s probably best if we start with their hideout.”

Domerin was about to demand more details about the situation – he was in a hurry, after all. But he recalled his own advice and clamped his mouth closed the second he opened it.

The more they learned here, the worse a future time distortion could prove to be. He didn’t exactly want to lock himself in a closet and wait for everything to pass, but every detail shared with him about the developing situation could prove to be a thorn in his hoof later.

Damn it! This is why I hate time travel.

“We’ll come with you,” he insisted, deciding that a little bit of caution would have to go a long way. “The sooner we can deal with this situation and get out of here, the better.”

Dormal shook his head at first, and Domerin could tell he was ready to say that he and his siblings could handle it. But Silverbell set a hoof against his shoulder and said, “It can’t hurt.”

“Okay,” Dormal relented. “But let’s get you some cloaks. The fewer people who stop us on the streets and try to talk with us, the better this will go.”

*   *   *

Domerin was nervous, Crescent could tell. Anyone who didn’t know him well would simply think he was being careful by glancing constantly over his shoulder and keeping a weary eye on his surroundings. But Crescent noticed the tension pooling in his back and shoulders. He kept gritting his teeth, then forcing himself to relax before he tensed again.

Crescent had never seen him act this way on the streets of their home city. Usually Domerin strode through Silvergarden with an air of confidence and purpose. After all, he knew this place like the back of his hoof. He could probably navigate it in total darkness or blindfolded.

The Silvergarden they came from anyway. Not this one that was ever so slightly different.

Domerin was eager to be away from here, back to some place that made sense to him. He didn’t like surprises, and a major one had been dropped on his back when they encountered future princes and a princess – all three of them obviously Rose’s children, though they had yet to see their princess since they arrived.

They had been given cloaks that matched the ones the royal siblings wore when they first encountered them, and both Domerin and Crescent kept the hoods pulled high over their heads so that identifying either of them would be difficult. Dormal had also summoned three members of the Royal Guard to accompany the royal siblings into the city, and each of them wore a similar cloak.

It didn’t exactly blend them into the background, but it did make obvious that the royal siblings were guarded. And it kept anyone from questioning why Domerin and Crescent were trying to look so anonymous.

Unlike his partner, Crescent was excited to learn more about the place they had inadvertently arrived. He knew he had to be careful, and that culled most of the questions he wanted to ask from the pool he’d saved up. But still, he saw no harm in a little exploration. Every detail he could mark away for later was something he could eagerly anticipate learning about in the future.

Someday, after all, he assumed he would get to witness the construction of the wall extensions, not to mention the births of the royal children. They were adolescents, certainly, given how well they handled themselves, which meant there was a whole childhood for each of them unknown to Domerin and Crescent.

He peeked often beneath the hood of his cloak and tried to mark the various streets down which they passed. All had familiar names, even the back alley they eventually turned down to locate the large shed that evidently served as the hideout of “The Funnel Cakes.”

Crescent had no idea what to expect until he caught sight of a small group of ponies milling about outside the large shed. This had obviously been an industrial sight at one point, and the shed had been the holding place for large tools and equipment long since moved off the premises. The factories had obviously been torn down and replaced with a quiet neighborhood, but the rickety metal structure remained as testament to the area’s old purpose.

Most of the ponies milling about out front had brightly-colored fur – but that wasn’t what drew Crescent’s attention. The mane of each pony had been carefully styled into a massive pompadour. Each of them also wore a thick, glossy leather jacket with a print of a glimmering funnel cake on the back.

Their cutie marks matched that print out almost precisely, right down to little flecks of glitter that appeared to indicate the succulent nature of the delightful treat.

“At least it isn’t hard to see how they get their name,” Crescent murmured to Domerin and leaned close so he wouldn’t be overheard.

“They look like a gang,” Domerin growled in response, an Crescent could tell he was ready to charge like a bull and drive them into the open so the police could deal with them.

“Now, now,” Crescent soothed, “if the royal children are friends with them, they can’t be that bad.”

But Domerin’s assessment was accurate. As the group approached, the pompadoured ponies gathered into a line and adopted aggressive stances to block their path.

Taking the hint, the royal children came to a halt and assessed the group standing across from them.

“We’re here for Rupert,” Dormal declared curtly. “And we’re in a hurry, so we’d appreciate a straight answer.”

“Well, well, well,” sneered one of the Funnel Cakes as he strode forward and puffed out his chest. “If it isn’t the princes and princess descended from on high to mingle with the common folk.”

“Cut it out, Frankie!” Silverbell demanded and flashed the gang’s spokesman an acid look. “Didn’t you hear Dormal say this is serious?”

“Hey!” one of the other ponies in the line hissed and prodded the one who was apparently named Frankie. “You upset Silverbell!”

A murmur passed through the line of ponies as Frankie rubbed the spot on his rump where he’d been prodded by his companion. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he insisted sullenly. “I was just playing the game.”

The expression that took over Frankie’s face after he spoke was halfway between a pout and an indignant lip curl.

“What in all the hells is going on here?” Domerin muttered in Crescent’s ear, clearly mystified by what he had witnessed so far.

But Crescent wasn’t confused. He chuckled lightly and murmured, “They’re friends. Whoever this Rupert is, leading him astray must be something of a game.”

These Funnel Cakes obviously didn’t realize they had interrupted a matter of grave importance. And based on the conversation that had broken out among them, Crescent guessed none of them were really the sharpest tools in the shed.

The commotion had drawn a fresh group of Funnel Cakes from inside the shed. Their questions about what was going on added to the growing buzz of ambient conversation.

Dormal cut through it all with a sharp whistle that left Crescent’s ears ringing.

“Listen, guys, we’ll be happy to make up for all of this later. Really. We’ll run the gauntlet and everything. But right now, we need to know where you’ve taken Rupert. There’s somewhere he needs to be. And if we don’t get him there quickly, we’re all going to get in serious trouble.”

The prince’s implication was clear; if they couldn’t produce this Rupert fellow, Rose was going to be angry. It seemed to Crescent that both the royal siblings and the Funnel Cakes had been on the wrong side of Princess Rose’s ire before because the Funnel Cakes quickly quieted and came to attention.

“We didn’t realize your mom needed Rupert today,” one of the new arrivals declared nervously.

“And we ain’t keepin’ him hostage or nothin'” Frankie added. “But he also ain’t here.”

The royal siblings exchanged a glance. Then Valerian sighed and stepped forward. “If he isn’t here, where is he?”

“Please understand,” another pony pleaded as she stepped forward. “We need his help with Peter.”

“Peter?” all three of the royal siblings exclaimed in unison. Then Silverbell stamped her hooves again. “Peter is an old pony now. Why can’t you just leave him be?”

“We aren’t tryin’ to bug ’em,” Frankie insisted, and his cheeks turned a little bit red.

“He’s basically our founder,” another Funnel Cake cut in.

“Yeah, he has to participate in the anniversary, or it just won’t be right,” said the last pony to step forward. She added a huff at the end for good measure.

“Dear gods,” Domerin murmured, and Crescent could tell from the sound that escaped his throat next he just barely managed to avoid moaning. “The fate of our entire kingdom evidently rests on a bunch of teenagers bickering over a party.”

“It’s not that bad,” Crescent soothed. “At least, I don’t think it’s going to turn out to be that bad just yet.”

He hoped it wasn’t going to turn out to be that bad. If it did, Domerin might just lose his mind.

“Why don’t we go see if we can talk to this Peter,” Crescent suggested, speaking loud enough to draw the attention of the royal siblings.

“I’m not sure you really want to get drawn into this drama,” Dormal protested. “Usually it goes on for some time.” The prince’s tone suggested it was likely to escalate before being resolved, which caused Domerin to shoot his partner another acid look.

“We need him to draw the chariot,” one of the Funnel Cakes declared, their voice loud enough to cut through the growing cacophony.

“He can still pull the chariot,” Valerian insisted. “The celebration isn’t happening right now. We just need to borrow him for a little while.”

“I could happily handle this drama right now,” Domerin suggested and scrapped a hoof so heavily along the road beneath him, it left a small scratch in its wake.

Dormal glanced down. He noted the tension in the Royal Guard captain’s form, and his eyes widened with alarm. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” He cleared his throat loudly to draw the attention of both sides of the argument.

“Let me take a stab at convincing Peter to participate in the anniversary,” Dormal suggested. “I can be very persuasive when I need to be.” He shot a look at his siblings and added, “You see if you can get the Funnel Cake council to accept a few modifications to the celebration.”

He spun then and motioned for Domerin and Crescent to fall into step with him.

“I don’t trust this,” Domerin hissed. “Not without some form of parental supervision. You stay with the twins,” he added hastily. “I’ll go with Dormal.”

Crescent shrugged, uncertain he could convince his partner he was overreacting. Before he stepped aside to clear the path, he whispered, “Good luck.”

“You too,” Domerin grumbled. “It sounds like we’re both going to need it.”