The burial chamber within the tomb was damp and foreboding. No light found its way through this mound that time forgot. Tightly fitted stonework, reinforced by long forgotten magics, ensured that no living creature, no force of nature, would disturb this resting place. For centuries, the chamber lay inert, sterile. No part of nature could enter, not mice or voles, not spiders or insects, not moss or mold, not air or water, not even light. Nothing, it seemed, would disturb the meager contents, a plain stone box -- a sarcophagus -- a coffin -- buried in the sands of time.
The chamber had been the ultimate expression of teamwork and sacrifice. Many benders of spirit had given their last breaths to see it completed. Many adepts of the flames had made pyres of their very bones to kindle the barest spark of success. Many benders of the waves had given the last drops of their very blood to power this achievement. There had been no coercion; that would have tainted the very soul of the effort. All that was given had been given freely, given to protect their families, given to protect those families yet to come.
Centuries earlier, the labor had ended when a lone male lay, willing, in the stone box and watched as the lid was painstakingly lowered into place. Naked he lay, shivering, with only his breath to keep him company until the magic stole even that away. He had no bitterness toward those who had sealed him in. He had volunteered. This was his opportunity to protect others, so that none might know his pain. The people of the tyrant had come in the night to snatch his daughter from her bedding. He had been forced to watch his only child, not yet seven summers old, sacrificed upon the altar of the tyrant.
Years had passed, and the tyrant’s power had grown to make him nigh-invincible. By some miracle, an opportunity had arisen, and the bloodthirsty overlord was laid low. Three score warriors had given their lives to see the act done; their only regret was not having the opportunity sooner.
Yet, the fear that the tyrant would one day return consumed the minds of the elders.
A plan was made.
A tomb was built.
Magics were cast.
He was not a zombie, mindlessly consuming flesh.
He was not a vampire, bleeding others so that he may exist.
He was not a lich, drunk on power.
He was not alive.
He was not dead.
Finally, what was feared came to be. After centuries of limbo, he felt the tyrant’s power surge.
From the families of the children sacrificed came the willpower that infused his arms with the strength needed to remove the massive stone lid.
The amassed unconditional love for their offspring gave him the power to rise from where he lay.
The resolve to never let it happen again lent urgency as he swung his legs over the edge.
Within a long-forgotten tomb, something stirred where nothing ever moved.
From within, the tomb was blown asunder.
Vengeance walked.
In a dusty storage room, somewhere in a respectable museum, sat a box. It contained a curious artifact, the purpose of which had never been divined. The fact that it was made of gold and gems had categorized it as art, albeit art that was atypical for the region and timeframe of its creation. Too valuable to dispose of and too abnormal to display, it sat in storage, seeing the light of day only when curious academics unearthed it to marvel at its uniqueness.
If one of those gawkers had been attuned to magic, they would have noticed that it resonated in the ambient field. Instead, they laughed at the absurdity of the object.
In a dusty storage room, somewhere in a respectable museum, an artifact's precious stones started flashing in sequence.
Notification went unnoticed.
The arid air in the tavern greedily guzzled the sweat from the unwashed masses. With the coming of dusk, the nearly unbearable heat of day began to flee into the night sky. Patrons filled the establishment, enjoying the company of friends, while avoiding a corner table where a lone man sat. The large individual almost looked comical, slumped in the chair he had claimed. There was nothing jovial about the aura of menace he radiated. The empty mugs on the table before him gave mute testimony to his desire to be left alone.
The hefty British wizard was discontent with his current lot in life. All of his current possessions resided in a shrunken chest in his shirt pocket. His elf had been denied access to his vault. Then, to add insult to injury, his elf had been blocked in its task to retrieve the contents of his home.
Mere survival was not an issue; his cunning alone could keep him alive indefinitely. Sadly, he couldn’t just take what he needed from the local muggle population. The wizards of this country took offense at the very concept. He couldn’t take the risk of being banished beyond its borders, or worse, returned to his homeland. It limited his options. He would have to hunt the regional wildlife to make ends meet.
It was degrading; no pureblood should be reduced to such a lifestyle.
With an unsteady hand, he reached for the mug still containing the awful brown swill. It had, mercifully, lost its flavor several rounds ago.
His homeland had been ripped from him abruptly. His comfortable life had become a thing of the past, in the blink of an eye. It was beyond nauseating. Misbegotten fools now controlled the justice system, and they wanted to hold him accountable for indulging in his privileges.
The very thought made him sick to his stomach, the bile souring its already volatile contents.
With any luck, a few more mugs would be all he needed to forget the world for a while.
Barely able to comprehend the significance, he became aware of another man taking a seat at his table, across from him. He snarled at the trespasser.
The invader merely guffawed at the paltry gesture, folding his hands in his lap. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.
“There’s no extradition treaty.” The drunk stated the obvious, taking another swig of his swill.
The effete newcomer nodded his head in agreement; the purple turban he wore made the gesture look lopsided. “Our master has a task for you.”
In an unnamed tavern, somewhere in Egypt, the British wizard glared at the fool daring to speak for the master.
Hatred plotted.
In a local police station, ponies grimly started an investigation.
They had to contact every station in the land.
They had to converse with the law enforcement of other countries.
They had to have a tally of all missing bovines in the last five years.
They had to open every cold case.
They had to determine who was missing.
They had to stop it.
This was no bull; they had to protect the milk providers.
How could this have gone unnoticed?
How could such an abomination trot freely among them?
In a local police station, they prepared for the worst.
Panic prevailed.
With glee, he reread the post. Whoever wrote it needed to learn the concept of proofreading. However, the message was clear. Someone had added a new piece to the puzzle.
If there were any truth to the message, there was a new avenue of research to be explored.
It seemed too convenient.
It could be a trap.
He didn’t bother writing a letter to himself.
They checked for those things.
Instead, he set his computer to present certain files the next time it was booted.
They had no clue about computers.
This wouldn’t be the first time he had an encounter with the bastards who had no respect for other people’s memories.
Of course, he didn’t remember those encounters, but he knew they numbered five.
He sent emails to his friends and contacts, letting them know what he planned.
Then, he readied his camera for tomorrow.
In a middle-class bedroom, somewhere not far from London . . .
Curiosity prepared.
A group sat around a large table and made plans.
They had never dreamed they would have the opportunity that had presented itself.
In a single day, they had become the largest single faction in the Wizengamot.
There was so much injustice to redress.
There were so many wrongs to right.
The task seemed almost daunting.
They knew the opposition would do everything possible to maintain its stranglehold on the reins of power.
They knew the opposition considered the law something that happened to other people.
However, they had a toehold. That’s all they needed.
The most pessimistic among them predicted that blood would flow.
The most optimistic among them worried over increasing security.
They had not trusted the former government to keep them safe.
Now they were the government; they would keep people safe.
They knew the opposition’s next move was practically written in stone.
They had seen the pattern and had been powerless to stop it.
Now power had been dropped in their laps.
Around a large table, they sat and plotted.
Change lurked.
He had done what he could for his wounds, transforming back to his natural form long enough to use his master’s wand. Regrettably, healing was not something he had put much effort into learning. At least he had stopped the bleeding.
It was only a matter of time before he ended up as a meal for some monstrosity.
Strangely, he didn’t find the concept as disturbing as he thought he should.
It must be the blood loss.
He was aware of the forest ending.
He struggled to make his way into the light.
The moon was bright.
At least he wouldn’t die in those hideous woods.
Weakly, he dragged himself out from under the canopy.
His paws were trembling.
His heartbeat slowed.
Looking up, he saw a white rabbit.
What a beautiful rabbit.
Was it an angel?
He didn’t deserve an angel.
Darkness claimed him, despite the radiance of the harvest moon.
Somewhere, at the edge of an unknown forest, a rabbit sped away.
Deceit despaired.
Bedecked in her customary pink, she sipped the tea provided for her, waving a pudgy pinkie.
“We can’t let this happen,” she said to her host.
He grimaced, looking at the tea in his own cup. “They control the Wizengamot,” he lamented.
“We can’t let them take control,” the woman insisted.
“They already have it,” he countered.
“Are we to just sulk away like a whipped puppy?” she scoffed. “Are we to abandon generations of tradition?”
“What are we to do then?” he snarled. “They have the law on their side.”
“There are other ways,” she assured him.
“Such talk borders on treason,” he cautioned.
“We are talking about the wellbeing of the magical community,” she responded. “We cannot let the law stand in the way.”
“It is ironic to hear you say that, considering how many times you used the law to further your own ends.”
“We must stand resolute in our commitments,” she said.
“What exactly do you have planned?” he asked.
In the sitting room of a pureblood’s manor, she smiled.
Bigotry regrouped.
Two once separated by misery, misfortune, and malfeasance now came together.
There had been crying.
There had been hugging.
There had been apologizes.
There had been no accusations.
There had been forgiveness.
There had been vows of support.
There had been no need for words.
There had been a realignment of priorities.
In a hospital room, bonds were reforged, renewed, and reinforced.
Friendship was magic.
An interlude, indeed.
And yes, there were two sections that would have been extremely hazardous to safe driving.
Of note: “It is ironic to here you say that, [...] should be hear.
Just like this chapter was short, I'll keep my comment short.
This chapter was small.
This chapter was intriguing.
This chapter, especially that last bit, was absolutely brilliant.
Kudos to you.
8565620
I'm not afraid to admit I've lost track of alot that has happened so far. Anyone able to list out what was being referred to in each section of the chapter? I was only able to figure a few of them out.
I am slightly confused as to what some of these references refer too, but I still like it. Could use some context later though
8565635
Spoilers as I see them. The first two are deduction from the story so far, the others are more obvious.
1) Apparently an OC connected to the Bug.
2) Either the people who beat the Bug were really paranoid in setting up for a possible return, which would be understandable, or this is connected to whatever Discord is really up to.
3) Macnair of the Death Eaters and Quirrel.
4) Ponies reacting to Harry's story without some very pertinent information.
5) One of the wizard stalking, if that's the right term, muggles who's responding to Myrtle the Younger's usenet post.
6) Alice's new faction of ethical idealists in the Wizarding government.
7) Pettigrew, aka Scabbers, reaching the edge of the Everfree and meeting the most inappropriately named white rabbit in Equestrian history.
8) Umbridge and her fellow hypocrites.
9) Padfoot and Moon reuniting at last.
Featured again! Fimfiction agrees with my assessment!
Congrats!
8565657
Considering this is a story that was started by the CMCs, I've never realized it could hold backgrounds this deep. Really intriguing!
By the way, what does spoiler#9 mean?
8565684
This is clearly not a throw things into the blender and see what happens plotline. The surface looks like that, but there's clearly a consistent plan underneath it going places.
9) This is really a spoiler for the HP series, rather than the details of this story. When at Hogwarts a generation ago, four students used the nicknames Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot and Moony among themselves. Prongs was Harry's father, Wormtail was Pettigrew who's more recently been known as Scabbers the rat, Padfoot who was Sirius Black, and Moony, Remus Lupin the werewolf. So in Interlude Scene 9, the last two reunited.
8565657
I agree. IMO, you nailed it
He was not concise
These are the people who panicked over a bunny stampede (Apple Buck Season). OF COURSE panic prevailed. Their motto is "When in danger, when in doubt, yell & scream & rush about"
And more plot builds.
I was asleep My alarm on my phone went off. I had to get up to read this. Simple as that. THat only happens for 2 stories. This one And Rights of Ascension. Congrats on being one of 2 things that can wake me up.
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There was only one thing I disliked about this chapter and that was ................... it was too short ... come on baby needs his fix ...didn't even need the narcam to help with my magic school days od. well at least the in power muggles pretty much are expecting the purebloods to do something stupid and are preparing for it.
Loved the bit about the juggle using the computer to keep events recorded--one thin I absolutely hate about JR'S writing is that no mundane person can do anything better than a wizard.
Just because you have no magic doesn't mean you can't out think someone. Just not how it works.
8566233
Too be fair when the books were originally written technology wasn't really at a place where it could compete with the magic in the books. The author is taking some liberties here though so with Computers it's alot more doable.
8566281
I dunno I mean you know how old the internet actually is? Or what lengths conspiracy nuts go to? Harry potter is set in the late 90's some folks did have computers well beyond regular desktop models.
8566407
Maybe but it definitely wasn't at the point where it could expose magic as easily as it could today.
8566281 , 8566407
Yup, we've had the internet for more of my life than not--and I'm in my thirties! Even when we were still using dial-up, we had BBS you could call and talk to multiple individuals or leave notes...even send a notice to yourself. Did that a couple of times actually.
Roll credits
Vagueness predominates.
Of course, it's not like we weren't warned. Seriously, a lot of intriguing foreshadowing for the next act.
a curious chapter, good but curious.
8569300
Well sure I'm not really debating that, in terms of this story Discord will probably just snap his fingers and get rid of all the Horcruxes.
I find it funny that people keep complaining that Discord can just snap his fingers and remove all the bad stuff, when he has actually done very little.
Time travel: canon to both MLP and HP I believe
Dimensional rift: did that at the gala
Transfiguration: canon to both
Teleporting past wards: just not screening for his type of magic
Other then whatever he did to the gems, that's about it I think.
He simply threatened Venereal Mold who then ran away
He threw a gold ball into the distance and stepped on a bug
He was the middle man for someone else getting a book of laws and a list of crimes
He hasn't touched Dumbledore. Just talked once
Really? What incredibly overpowered thing has Discord done?
8577538
there r those who simply like to complain about just about everything, i believe that is the case here with those who complain about Discords place and actions in this story. i feel, they r to be ignored as the small things that they r
I'd forgotten about the tradition the Harry Potter fandom has of giving Voldemort insulting nicknames. Veneral Mold does kind of sound like a name a pony biologist might have.
8565657
I'm not sure 5 is a wizard, but more likely a Paranet user (My term for muggles who use the internet to track and record the supernatural world, taken from a similar concept in the Dresden Files) damned and determined to get some photographic evidence of the supernatural.
No. Just no.
This is like Bleach, except that, in Bleach, the story feels cramped because you actually want the excess supply of characters to spill out into sidestories because it's a case of "They're all good... there just isn't time to properly explore them all within the confines of a linear narrative."
You've already got enough subplots... it's just that some of them feel like they're stealing the spotlight away from the engaging bits to fill in more boring bits. You don't need to expand the scope of your setting yet further, you need to distill what you already have and make it fit together neatly so the fix-fic bits can carry their own weight!
In fact, I'd argue this is where I draw the line. No matter what connections you try to draw, this has no justifiable connection to the subplots you've already established. With this, the house of cards has fallen down.
I was planning to toss this in the "Under Consideration" section of my recommendations bin (already an exception, since I'd normally have a solid yes/no answer this many chapters in) but, with this, I now know. It doesn't make the cut. (I'll still skim for the CMC scenes, but that's it.)
The whole reason writing classes teach formalisms like "the driving conflict" is that they help the author remember that, no matter how many things are going in a single setting, each volume stays focused on its own piece of the bigger picture.
In fact, aside from the "In a local police station, ponies grimly started an investigation." scene, this whole interlude is one big pile of irrelevant and you haven't adequately justified the misunderstanding spreading that far, given that Princess Celestia has taken an interest, so the entire interlude just feels like a gangrenous limb.
If I ever want to share the good bits of this with a friend, I won't do so unless I have time to go through and cut together an abridged version by excising all the cruft, then making edits to paper over any gaps, such as my proposed tweak to Discord's methods and motivations. (Though I'll probably wait until you either finish or stop writing so I can paper over them in a way that won't conflict with future updates.)
For lack of a "so-so" rating option to acknowledge that the good bits are still good, I've left a downvote.
8706001
The story does seem a bit unfocused. It's fun in its myriad tendrils going everywhere, but unfocused...well, introduceing some form of villain at this point seems a bit...late.
8577538
I think what's been concerning people has been Discord's omniscience and constant focus.
Now that I think about it, I don't recall Discord performing a single piece of random mischief this entire story except the very beginning when he sends the CMC to Hogwarts.
8729237
I wouldn't call it late. I've seen fics that wait until chapter 50+ to actually give even a token antagonist.
Hell, I read a fic where an antagonist was set up, then subverted, early on, and the next villain didn't appear until chapter 30, and there's like 60 chapters now? I've also read fics that have more than a hundred chapters, and there's a new villain every ten or so.
This story's "main" antagonist could be considered the chaos that's spreading beyond even Discord's control. For example, there wouldn't be a Goblin Lord right now if Discord hadn't squashed that beetle in the South American jungle/forest/whatever. While he had his own plans, things have obviously and evidently already grown beyond the scope of said plans, which is why he's been helping out others, and doing various non-chaotic tasks in a mildly chaotic fashion. There likely won't be a Main Villain until we reach the end, where all the villains suddenly crash through various walls all at the same time.
The fact that Umbridge whips puppies doesn't surprise me. It makes me angry as all hell, in the way that I want to do things to her that makes taking what she thinks is the worst possible punishment, creating a punishment that makes the first one seem like utopia, and then making that one look like utopia using another one. It makes me that angry, but it doesn't surprise me.
Wow ... this chapter sets up so many things. Let's unpack this:
I have no idea who vengance or the tyrant are. Several others we have no way of knowing at this point. The remander I shall not spoil for thos who couldn't tell.
I am impressed. Several chapters of this story hsd me laughing out loud while reading them, but these last few words litterally brought me to tears. And that, I might add, is no easy feat. The tagline of the show csn be applied in many places. Never have I seen a use in which it was more powerful than here.
Jup, that last line still gets me ...
wrong word: that
9327610
Duh. The Tyrant is the beetle
Dammit, Mane Six. Why didn't you tell them he was extradimensional? Gah!
Roll credits!
For a second I thought that said Hagrid. I was really confused.
So in order to deal with a tyrant who might never walk the earth again, they sacrificed children, for the greater good I assume.
9946411
You might want to re-read that.
it was implied that they sacrificed people to some evil to stop it from just takeing what it wanted. " families of the children sacrificed", not "the sacrificed children".
Okay, obviously the "Ponyhunt" is now on. So who would lead this investigation, pony versions of either CSI's Grissom or Homicide Hunter's Lt. Joe Kenda?
Holy Shit did this escalated without Context...
Another one for the Vail? Old Bitch...
The Boy that lifed might yet do more than survive.
Yet what about the part of Voldemort that lifes in Harry?
A phrase that has changed my life for the better ♡