April 6th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Doug awakens to a warm nudge, opening his eyes to a starry night sky. It billows outward, in every direction, a vast expanse of cobalt and indigo dotted with pinpricks of twinkling white. One could get lost in those darkened depths. He lays there, marveling at the beauty, though he’d risk Luna’s wrath if he pushed her tail the wrong way in order to see her crescent moon. He isn’t nearly as proficient in mane manipulation with her as he is with Rarity, to the unicorn’s enduring chagrin and the alicorn’s consternation.

Sleeping next to the Princesses is always a tiring affair, but not because of any carnal activities. He finds that invigorating, unless he falls asleep immediately afterward. No, it is instead due to a less licentious and more mundane reason: he finds Celestia’s body heat, a living furnace of sorts, too warm. And Luna is the opposite, harboring a chill that matches the night, and she despises blankets more than he, if only slightly. Except that her mane always seems to end up as a pillow, if it isn’t her belly.

When it is only one of the Sisters his body adapts, if begrudgingly, or when he wakes he finds he has pushed himself away. But when both are present he tosses and turns, constantly rotating so the sweaty side cools off against cobalt while the other warms against alabaster. Not that he complains, and neither do they, and their strong desire to do things together means they spend nights doubled up more often than not.

He brushes a bit of starry mane out of his eyes, only to find Celestia’s warm gaze smiling down on him. He hates to admit it to himself, and wouldn’t dream of saying it aloud, but she is the most beautiful of his mares. Of all the ponies he has met, really. A radiant smile that, while she might direct it at many of her little ponies, contains a special meaning for him. A warmth, loving and caring, that easily surpasses her body heat. And, paradoxically enough, a desire to see her ponies succeed so powerful that she lets them fall so they might fly on their own, no matter her own reservations about the dangers.

It’s still night out, the moon visible near the horizon and the great balloon above blocking out a large portion of the sky. He gets up slowly, careful not to disturb the Princess of the Night as she works to soothe an understandably large number of storm-based nightmares. At least he slept, perhaps not soundly, but dream-free.

“Is it morning soon?” he asks, yawning and wiping a bit of the sleepiness out of his eyes.

“It will be as we arrive,” Celestia explains quietly with a motion to the south. Klugetown shines, though not as brightly as Canterlot, a beacon of light against a backdrop of roiling dark. The Storm King’s black airships have shrunk their formation as they draw closer, lanterns marking those hurrying to and fro on the decks. A wry smile crosses her muzzle. “It helps to know the helmsmare on their flagship. It shall make our arrival all the more impressive.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stands, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. He slept in his armor and parachute, though the extra layers certainly help with the cold air high above the Bone Dry Desert. He hopes it wasn’t uncomfortable for the alicorns, but when Lunaris relieved him after dinner he must have fallen straight asleep. The unicorn stoically maintains the helm, checking his flawless appearance in a mirror held in a golden glow as the other mares scurry about, conspiring about something or other.

Doug’s hand slips past Celestia’s ear and into her ever-flowing mane, drawing a deep rumble that begs to be something more. He follows with a nuzzle to the expressive appendage, threatening escalation with sweet nothings and a series of kisses down her side.

“We have time, barely, if you wish to escape below,” Celestia says, her gentle reprimand concealed behind mirth. “Also, good morning, love.”

Her choice garners a light harrumph and withdrawal. It would be a tad too conspicuous, not that anypony on board would mind, and he doesn’t want to rush things. He can’t quite keep from performing the same nuzzle routine with Luna, even as she grunts grumpily. One eye opens, perhaps to glare, though it turns to a long-suffering roll as he steps away and to the edge of the airship.

Behind and below stretches the Bone Dry Desert, a hostile and desolate expanse only slightly more hospitable than the void of space. While the Badlands might owe their existence to Celestia’s actions defending Equestria centuries ago and the thaumic fallout and twisting of leylines from the awesome display of power, the Bone Dry Desert’s is terrestrial. It merely suffers from a crippling lack of rain and rivers.

The pegasi tribes that make up the Realm of Clouds to the south of Klugetown certainly don’t help matters, not that anything lives in the desert that might complain. The dark, billowing clouds that give the Realm their namesake block out the tops of the mountains, leaving a roiling horizon behind their destination. The distinction between Klugetown and the surrounding desert is much more stark, much like a boat is separate from the ocean. In fact, there isn’t so much as a tent outside the tall northern walls, and anything more permanent would sink into the shifting sands.

And the town certainly looks like it clawed its way out from the desert, with more and more emerging every year. Rising spires of wood and stone haphazardly sprout on top of each other, twisting and merging and splitting apart so indiscriminately that it would leave a changeling anxious and ill-at-ease. Or maybe that would just be the back alleys that spring from seeming nowhere, leaving an ever-present sense of imminent ambush. Or, it could be the massive sign out front.

Illuminated at all times, and clearly visible as they get closer, the ‘The Free City of Klugetown’ sign clearly delineates a short list of forbidden items: no weapons, square dance calling, changelings, or umbrum.

The rest of the town looks just as foreboding and uninviting. Armed guards - of races Doug has never seen before, primarily giant fish-like creatures - patrol along the sandstone street, exchanging hearty greetings with the vendors hawking their wares even before the sun rises. Others peek out from what must be apartments among the ever-constructing spires, apprehensively watching as the armored airships berth at the many docks along the southern end of town.

On board the Lunaris Priestess, Twilight and Cadance join Celestia and Luna at the bow. Twilight wouldn’t cut their exchange of nuzzles short, or her and Cadance’s fillyhood dance routine, even as she might burst with a grim anticipation of what arriving at their destination will entail.

“I did a lot of studying,” Twilight begins, pulling a few sheets of parchment from her saddlebags. She passes them out among her fellow alicorns. “And prepared these for the topics I thought would be brought up.”

“Excellent work, my most faithful student.” Celestia reads through the papers, then pauses as she chuckles to herself. “I’m sorry, Twilight. You are a Princess now, and no longer my student. This just reminded me of the times when you would turn in thirteen parchments when I only asked for three.”

“Oh,” Twilight says, abashedly beaming as she scratches one foreleg against the other. “I-it’s nothing, really. I don’t mind at all!”

“Even so. Thank you for your efforts.” Celestia’s warm smile fills Twilight’s heart with pride.

Celestia’s former student has to quell the rush, that heady desire to burst into song and fly circles around the airship. But she is a Princess now, and that has to come with a certain amount of dignity and restraint. Right?

And the purest example of that majesty, a paragon among ponies, steps forward. Gold-shod hooves stand on the railing as the Princess of the Sun regally raises her head, preparing herself as a golden glow surrounds her horn. Her shorter Sister matches her performance, the cobalt alicorn almost an afterthought as she lowers the moon.

And then, as their airship crests Klugetown’s outer wall, with every eye on them, the sky above bursts into a brilliant display of reds and oranges and yellows as the sun crests the horizon.

On top of the highest construction crane next to the docks, and a fair distance away from the Princesses, two gray hooves balance the primate-esque Storm King at the top of a long pole. One hand blocks the rising sun from his bright teal eyes, an irrepressible grin on his fang-filled mouth. Sleek white fur covers his body except for his face, feet, and hands. Dark gray armor guards his chest and shoulders, adorned with a twin teal lightning bolt insignia that matches the darker blue crown between twisting black horns.

“Welcome!” the Storm King projects, releasing his grip on the pole to wave at the first of the landing warships. Dozens of giant, yeti-like minions disgorge from each, milling about with good-natured jostles. “Good to see you all back so soon!” One arm sweeps behind him as he twirls about, indicating a massive breakfast buffet fully capable of feeding the hundreds of soldiers.

A small skiff swoops to his side, allowing a single unicorn to disembark.

Commander Tempest Shadow marches to her commanding officer, imperiously holding her head high. It doesn’t help her mood that her eyes come up to his feet, or that the pole he is casually balancing on is actually the legendary crystal-tipped staff known as the Staff of Sacanas. She does a quick about face once she is at his side, firmly gazing ahead and watching the Storm Minions disembark, studiously ignoring the hundred-foot drop should she slip. It doesn’t take long for them to clear out, and the airships to raise to a more defensible holding pattern, revealing the Lunaris Priestess and all four alicorns standing proudly at the bow.

“You know,” the Storm King says to Tempest, as nonchalant as if talking about the weather, “when I got your message that everything was going to plan?” He uses both hands to make a picture box around the approaching alicorns. “Somehow I had a different image of what it would look like when you delivered all four alicorn princesses to me. That they would be considerably less…” He twirls a finger through the air. “Ambulatory.”

“My liege,” Tempest Shadow starts.

“-But,” the Storm King continues over her, and the unicorn immediately closes her mouth at his playful banter that would immediately shift to a cruel maliciousness given the slightest provocation. “Maybe you forgot that I gave you a set of four very valuable, very rare, very powerful artifacts! And instead of subduing them, which you were fully capable of doing, here they are in the flesh! Surely I didn’t misjudge you!”

Tempest Shadow shakes her head, grim determination showing through gritted teeth. Her horn sparks despite her best attempt to keep her calm.

“Magnificent Storm King,” she starts, mollifying the anger she knows bubbles beneath the surface. “They did not give a pretext for war. They agreed to our demands. They are here, are they not?”

She leaves unspoken her cowardice. How, even as she strode up to four of the most powerful beings on Equus and bravely delivered their demands, she could have taken them by surprise. Halfway through her speech she could have attacked. But Discord’s appearance and subsequent ‘game’ did not vindicate her lack of action, but merely exposed her craven relief that things had not progressed according to her king’s plan. If Luna had been as aggressive in Canterlot’s defense as she was in the game, casualties on both sides, including her, would have been massive.

“Did I not explain this?” The Storm King bounces on the staff, bending it almost to the point of snapping in half. “I don’t collect mystical artifacts because I think they look pretty.” His snarl sends shivers down Tempest’s spine. He releases the tension in the staff, flipping above and landing with the staff in two hands as if he is offering it to her.

She knows better than to take it.

“Some creatures thought the Staff of Sacanas was useless. Who would build an artifact that needed the power of not one, but four alicorns?” He slaps himself on the head as if the concept is absurd. Until a year ago, it was. “Even if it empowers the wielder to shift the very heavens? Or to restore your horn?”

She gulps at the reminder of her entire purpose in serving him.

He continues with a sad shake of his head. “But you know better than to think it lucky that I just happen to have an artifact like this, just when four alicorns happen to fall in our lap. Yes?”

“Of course,” Tempest replies immediately. The memory of the Misfortune Malachite burns in her mind. “You make your own luck.”

A half-smile, half-sneer crosses the Storm King’s mouth as he leers at the alicorns.

Next Chapter: Ch. 10 - Warlord's Reach, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 30 Hours, 38 Minutes