Flynn's face hung sunken, hollow. He trotted a limp path through the colorless streets and alleyways of the Dihmer city. On occasion, he would pass sleepless crowds of shorn equines, standing in abject silence and saying not a word. All the while, the bass beat of the ocean throbbed and thundered, punishing his ears and brain on every rhythmic pulse.
He passed canals with rippling water where occasional ponies gathered liquid in buckets before returning them—slowly—to some unseen destination. A few other locals trotted in trains, carrying satchels full of bloody meat or purses of silver strips to appropriate trading posts.
Meanwhile, soot poured into the air from the goblin factory, staining the putrid malaise with further grayness. Any ounce of color that the twilight had to give—its distant shining nebulae and constellations—was finally devoured by the emptiness of that city and its lifeless industry. This was the only hovel of civilization that the Herald had found, and it was the epitome of misery.
Flynn felt that he had sensed the Dark Side in all of its morose shades, but not until now did he experience the full weight of it. Had he known it for all this real, bleak texture, then perhaps he would have reconsidered pledging himself to the Sovereign Seven in the first place.
These broken thoughts—and more—bounced across the walls of his balding skull, further shaken by the ceaseless bedlam of the deathly sea looming beyond the craggy city blocks below. The Dihmers stood in icy rows, unfazed by the absurd noise, and Flynn hated them for it.
All but one. The one whom he was searching for.
Her eyes were lively... colorful... filled with the same purple essence as the twilight above. Her expression had flickered so swiftly—so passionately—from anger to surprise to shame that it rivaled the bursting of the brightest stars. There was no way that the mystery mare was just some crazy, random anomaly. The tiny stub of a horn on her forehead was a curious punctuation to the entire riddle, and Flynn sought it out across the brow of every Dihmer he stumbled across.
With no luck.
Even as he focused the full extent of his mechanical lens, he came up empty-hoofed, and his sighs carried him from street to street, road to road, with even lesser fortune. A meager fuel.
At some point, a new bass percussion rose from the depths of the township, almost rivaling the chorus from the ocean. Curious, Flynn rounded a street corner—and it was there that he heard the chanting in full-force. Dozens upon dozens of voices were murmuring the same phrase over again. The sheer emotionlessness of the words gave the noise a haunting echo, and it rocked him to the core.
With helpless curiosity, Flynn approached an open courtyard covered with a thin translucent canvas that blotted out most of the starlight. There, he saw hundreds of Dihmers seated in neatly-arranged rows, facing Edgeside. As he observed, ponies arrived and departed at random, either starting or ending a fresh session that carried on for—how long?—Flynn couldn't pretend to guess. Those who left placed something on the ground, and those who arrived picked it right back up and applied it to their scalps. Flynn wasn't certain at first what they were—Helms? Visors? Wreathes? He concentrated hard, zooming in with his lens...
...until he saw the blood.
"It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges."
They were crowns of thorns. Hundreds of them. Each of the seated, chanting, meditating Dihmers wore one, already soaked with the fresh and unfresh blood of the previous wearers When seated, they applied the article tightly, allowing the stone-laced barbs to sink deep into their flesh. When they stood up, they tore at their own skin while removing the headpieces. In both cases—and during the agony in between—none of the Dihmers flinched or winced. They murmured their mantra over and over again with pure ambivalence, even as thin rivulets of blood ran down their moving muzzles. The juices stained the courtyard beneath them, adding to the hazy crimson splotch that had been blemished into the stone for generations untold.
"It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges. It purges."
Flynn watched with almost matching lethargy. He had long passed the point of being shocked. The only thing that made his heart beat faster was the hope of rediscovering the rarity—the one sign of emotion amidst a stagnant sea of stoicism.
There was no color there—none but red. He pressed on, scouring the grayness for the purple that had eluded him... even if somehow he had dreamt it.
"Forget about it, Jack-o," a goblin belched, puffing on a stick of smoked herbs. He blew smoke-rings into the grimey twilight coming in through the crooked window of a rusty metal lean-to. "The wastes have yawned up weirdah freaks and farts than these yobbos."
"Yeah!" Another imp nodded while counting stacks of metal strips across a stone table. "Stop fixatin' on every crazy buggah that passes by Blobstain! Ain't youse Tail-Bloodahs got enough to worry about with the poor business in the lowah holes?"
"I'm tellin' youse!" Jacko paced and paced in the tiny, claustrophobic shack. "These ain't your regulah drongos shufflin' in from the change-o mounds!" He turned and flashed his razor-sharp teeth in the twilight. "They've got glow about them!"
Hressssh! A translucent serpent burst out of one of the strips of metal. The counting goblin hissed, batted it away, then slapped his palm over the stack until the chaotic conjuration had vanished. "Mrmmmfff... glow? What bloody glow?"
"The bloody glow!" Jacko insisted. "They're Penumbral!"
"Hah!" The smoking imp coughed and smirked and coughed some more. "Damn bludgeah! Penumbra's a by-gone Dihmah myth! Besides..." He puffed on the stick again. "...eet's against the ancient etchin's, aye?"
Jacko's brow furrowed. "Have you blokes ever wondered wheah the old captahs came from?! The ones who threw us beneath all the Marrow to begin weeth?"
"'Ell, no!" The smoker exhaled vaporously out the window. "They up and farted away! Besides... Peetra's flame is all the Penumbra we need."
"And streeps!" the counter exclaimed.
The other goblin pointed his cancer stick at him. "Good on ya!"
"Grrfff!" Jacko facepalmed, stomping a clawed foot down. "Listen heah, buggahs... if these folks are the real deal and theah's an actual Penumbra somewheah, then that means Peetra's flame ain't the only flame theah ees! If nothin' else, eet's a borrowed light!"
"Ugh... there he goes again," the counter droned. "Spoken like a true Tail-Bloodah."
"Oh not again—" Jacko groaned.
"You're the one fartin' in circles, cobbah," the smoker said. "How many times do we have to tell ya that you've got no edge among the branches?!" He pointed. "So long as the Metal Mum's in charge, you ain't cleansin' your blood of its damned dirt!"
"This is about more than me Tail-Blood brothahs and me!" Jacko frowned. "For yeahs and yeahs we've done nothin' but collect streeps—and what good has it done us? Any of us?!" He gestured. "It's just a mattah of time before one of them warmongahs gets into the Sarcophagus, and then what?! I'm tellin' ya, we'll be shoved back balls-deep into the Marrow with nothin' left to burn!"
"Says you, drongo." The smoker puffed again and blew out the window. "I ain't believin' this rubbish for a second until it falls into me lap—"
THWOOOOOSH! A pale sheen of claws and feathers billowed madly into the room, perching heavily onto the table with a majestic spread of wings.
"Gaah!" the counter fell back amidst a sea of metal strips.
"Grkkkkkgkkk!" The smoker swallowed his cancer stick, gagged, then coughed it onto the floor with a smattering of ashes. "Piss on me mum!"
"... ... ..." Seraphimus glared at the group. "... ... ...Get out."
"Y-yes, love!" The two frightened goblins scrambled, picked up their strips, and scrambled faster. "Right away, love!" They both bolted out into the soot and twilight.
Shivering, Jacko scuffled after them—
Grip! Seraphimus' razor-sharp talons yanked him back by the collar of his vest. "You... stay here."
"Erm... technically, it's theah house—"
Seraphimus glared."
"I-I mean... s-sure thing, sheila!" Jacko stood nervously with his limbs locked together, staring up at her. "Uh... ace entrance you made just then!" He shifted slightly. "Wished you were slightly less punishin' on the streeps, though. Seein' as how they're... uh... our only livelihood and all..."
There was a low screeching noise. A translucent centipede rose up from the ground. Jacko silenced it by slapping the instep of his foot over the metal strip in question.
Seraphimus stared him up and down. "You're puny, pathetic, and your bones look easy to break."
"Uhhhh... yeah! Fancy that, love!"
Her charcoal brown eyes narrowed. "How has your kind managed to survive under the nose of three warring factions for so long?"
"Reckon it's our ears, aye?" He bore a razor-toothed smile, pointing at his large twitching lobes. "Too bloomin' cute for any shard-os or change-os to squash into rubbish, ya think?"
"... ... ..."
"Right. Yabbin' time." He spat on his four-fingered hand and held it out. "Put 'er theah, love! I'm Jacko of Tail-Blood. How'd'y'do?"
Seraphimus sighed, eyes rolling. "Tell me what you know about Penumbra, please."
"Righ. Or we could go straight to that. No worries..."
Purge. Shiver.
A triple update. That's neat.
So Kepler's fixing the machine, Dash, Logan, WC, and Ariel are all just chilling and talking. Flynn and Sera have begun their sidequests to learn more about the place. One from the goblins, and one from the Dihmers. The information gathered will possibly be conflicting.
On the other hand though, I expected Flynn to have a few emotions regarding the unusual Dihmer, but sadness is definitely not on that list. A reminder of days past, perhaps. Or maybe his gut reaction felt something different.
Not sure anymore if Dash is teasing Ariel or just not in the mood with all the other girls around. Speaking of the other girls, they've been out for a while. Huh.
Hey, dippy...
Ask and ye shall receive.
-Through the path long forgotten, into the darkness long begotten. Ofolrodi.
Bit of an odd posting time IC, I hope you're sleeping alright
Ah. Never change, Sera.
Ever chapter, the Dihmers just become more and more fucked up
Sera beats Royal Flush.
It purges?
As far as I can work out positional relation wise, Spindler City is Rhobedron, Goblin town is where the Turtles live at teh edge of teh shattered land? the Blob occupies the ocean and resoaked chasms and desert of the Grand Choke, Peetra is Val Roa? The Goblins managed to escape from the Chaos Metal, which is Machine World repair droids?
The Dhimers breeding and child purging island is Red Barge? Lexxic therefore is Shell Dark?
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Echoes.
The magical keywords have been spoken. I bet that Rainbow is going to stir the system up and replace it with a more harmonic solution.
Rohbredden but Dark side
That is eight mentions of the word fart in the last two chapters, all while attempting to convey an atmosphere of seriousness. It is growing downright unbearable.
Let's get down to business, then.
I'M CAUGHT UP.
IT TOOK ME SO MANY MONTHS BUT I'M ACTUALLY CAUGHT UP!!
WHAT DO I DO WITH MY LIFE NOW??
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Welcome aboard the Noble Jury, there are cabins on the 4th floor, a gym in the aux. hangar, a kitchen on the third, and a metalworks in the main hangar, mostly to tear apart the craft that keep catching up with us so we can keep the old girl running.
If you're jonesing for more petite horsewords, we recommend the works of Just Essay.
Aww, she’s being polite.
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My impression was that the sadness came from the knowledge that everyone might have once been as alive as the purple-eyed mare, but it got beaten out of them somehow.
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You join us and try to keep up, even when there are three chapters uploaded at three in the morning IC’s time!
IC
I just wanted to say how amazing this story is. I am still on Yaerfaerda but I can't wait for the day I catch up. Keep writing and changing lives.
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Already ahead of you. I just started reading Appledashery.
It's Dihmertown.
Is it weird that I'm actually used to seeing groups of ponies torturing themselves in this story? I wonder if the Dihmers can top the Quade's level of self-mutilation.
Ok so it looks like Flynn has a bit of a crush perhaps. I'm guessing that meditation and chanting is how they learn to purge their emotions?
Sera and Jacko's conversation is finally happening, should be interesting to see what the both get out of it.
Sounds at love at first sight, mate.
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As the gobb-os would say, good on you cobbah for bringing eet up.
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Enjoy the insanity.
Being sleepless is such a common theme in Skirtsfiction, and I can so not relate. I will sleep anywhere anywhen, specially if I'm angsty.
Erm... I'm starting to think Petra's flame is about to become a dead religion. Wherever the rainbow goes... change follows.
Shit's gettin creepy.
Don't worry, Jacko, she just needs to warm up to you. You'll have her swooning over you in no time.
Seraphimus, you're currently at an eleven, you need to dial it down to about an eight. I don't think these goblins need the full force for your, uh, unique personality for them to be willing to talk to you.
And yeah, not sure I'm a big fan of Dihmer prayer and purge time. I guess its efficeint, in its way, but it also simply goes to show how much effort has to be put into not having emotions. Its not even remotely the natural state of sapient life.
And man does Flynn ever have it bad for this purple eyed mare. Still not clear on why he hasn't mentioned this to anyone else yet, especially if he's trying to find her. Might be useful to, you know, have help on that front. Is his skull plate interfering with his thinking or something?
Seraphimus x Logan Ship Confirmation Chapter Counter: 61
These dihmas are in a heap of weirdness
Aww somepony's in love.
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Welcome, comrade!
This scene just SCREAMS Roarke.
Aww blossoming romance~
Looks like you dropped a " there.
Welp, seems Flyin fucked way the hell off from that forge to elsewhere in Dihmertown. That odd mare is something that's definitely got a hold on his mind. Can't tell from his thought there if he's perplexed or smitten by here, but there's clearly something...
...something going on-EEEEUUHGTIYIIGIYUURREERREEwhatthehell.
Sooo....I wonder if that's how they go about conditioning themselves to purge emotion and begin the strangespeak.
Ohboy, Jacko/Sera contact.
What the actual hell. These Dihmers get worse and worse.
The dihmers remind me of the quadr
Jacko has hope, that will likely drive him far. Maybe he will join up with the Herald on their journey. One can hope.
11/20/2019
04:09 UTC
My gosh, is he in love?
The ritual? What is its purpose? Emotion suppressing?
These goblins are the best thing. We need at least one as a reoccurring character.
Welp, the narrator just unambiguously referred to a pipe as a cancer stick. These are the kind of things that keep me going. (When I don't read comments.)
I feel like I've heard this exact speech in this fic a million times already. It's probably just me, but I think the "we need to step our game," sort of speech is becoming a little trite.
still though, I feel like things are moving peppily right now and I'm pretty happy! Relatively few bickerings, a lot of talking, and lots of new info all around make me a satisfied reader.
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I'm just imagining a teen getting grumpy at the principals office or something and plonking down on a chair, sleeping angrilly. Like, "I'll show you 'not listening!'"
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Jacki might be our first gerblin companion at the rate he's going.
Also Flynn seems to be the most effected out of the Herald to everything. Better hope he bucks up cause it's gonna be a long road ahead.