Bolt From The Blue: Concept Pilot 3

>Windigos are some of the most difficult prey for Dad to hunt.
>Not just him; they’re one of the few that he can’t do alone.
>Not the strongest creature, but one of the strongest he’d attempt to challenge.
>First, if Mom couldn’t get ahold of a pair of sun dogs, the hunt was off.
>Fortunately windigo presence usually ensures there’s a ton of ice crystals in the air anyway.
>Second, you had to get a windigo alone.
>They normally tromped around in small groups. If the sun dogs couldn’t split one off, the hunt was still off.
>This is where most hunts went off, honestly. Sun dogs were easily distracted and strong-headed; they’d rather be doing whatever caught their interest. Following orders was not their strong suit, even if your mother had a natural empathy for them.
>Third, you all had to execute a specific plan.
>Mom loves Dad to death, but against a threat like this, she also worries. She has to suppress that worry as much as possible.
>Dad loves her too but he must bury that, emphasize his worry, and get really really mad.
>He’s really good at getting mad about windigos.
>It scares you a bit to think about.
>Which makes something else you have to tamp down, now that you’re taking your mom’s place for the first time.
>Between you flying overhead with positive emotions, and dad getting his hate on, hopefully it’d pull the windigo to the ground.
>Then the sun dogs had to come around to corral it, so it wouldn’t escape.
>Then Dad made a lot of noise or something and tried not to get frozen solid.
>Uh oh, there’s that worry you’re not supposed to be feeling.
>So far everything’s going to plan; nerves can wait.
>Not that your mom seemed to understand that.
>”Remember to stay out of updrafts. Even if it’s on the ground, it’s only there by choice. Don’t stay near a column it can quickly reach you through.”
“I know, Mom.”
>”And don’t get too close for the same reason! Move as often as possible while still leaving yourself clear lines of fire.”
“Mom, we’ve been over this already.”
>”You should attack from the sides; less chance of hitting your father.”
“I know!”
>The grounded windigo looks up where the two of you fly, nostrils flaring.
>Shit.
>”I should go. I’m too worried about you two.”
>She darts off before you could reply.
>Now you just feel awful.
>But with another glance at your quarry, you know you have to put that away. You can apologize when it’s all over.
>You dad gets its attention again with a couple shouts, though it’s something between them that gets the target’s head to snap back to him.
>The dogs are fanning out from Anon’s side, now, leaving furrows of melted snow where they stalk.
>Anon’s crouched behind his shield, spear forward.
>The windigo eyes all of three of them warily, but attention mostly back on Anon once more.
>You shoot a final glance at Mom’s departing form as you fly over your quarry to position to its right side.
>Roughly. You still haven’t gotten the hang of hovering yet.
>You try to focus on the task.
>So far everything’s good.
>Always room for something to go wrong, but-
>That briefest moment of doubt draws the windigo’s attention to you again.
>Those baleful blue eyes look skyward, finding you immediately.
>They feel like they’re boring into your soul
>Suddenly it’s all you can do to stop the fear from taking over.
>The windigo’s turning now, towards you.
>Rearing back, as if to leap to the sky.
>Then its head snaps back around.
>Anon unleashes a mighty shout as he charges it, spear-first, all caution forgotten.
>The hunt is on!

* * *

>Be a mighty hunter.
>Not really. You still can’t really think of yourself as some big folk hero.
>Despite what a couple towns will say about you.
>You came to this world with nothing but some dumb ideas thanks to playing too many videogames.
>How you’ve somehow turned them into a successful career is still beyond you.
>You feel one mistake will be enough to end the persistent illusion.
>But you’ve gotten good enough at it that with the prey you now occasionally faced, that assessment is likely correct.
>Not the end of your reputation, though. The end of your life.
>Windigos fell into that territory, but that was just one reason you hated them.
>You hated them because their constant threat to the northern towns, schools, and airfields; no tribe was free of their menace.
>You hated them because you knew a few good ponies who fell while doing exactly what you currently are doing; you’re not the only hunter who sets his sights on the mystical, even if hands and arms made you somewhat better suited.
>Still couldn’t fly.
>As if you needed further reminders than the fact the rest of your family is always Up There, while you’re eternally Down Here.
>You hated them because the part they played in the disappearance of an entire nation a couple years ago. Nopony you’ve spoken to has any idea what happened to the Crystal Empire, but you know they were frequently beset by these beasts, to the point of needing to generate some sort of shield of love against their blizzards. Whatever happened to them must have been at least indirectly linked to these menaces.
>But most of all, you hated them because they turned the clime and elements your wife and her sister and parents loved against them, making winter miserable and dangerous. A constant threat to those you loved.
>And you hated this particular one especially, because it was looking up at your daughter!
>Oh yes, you have many reasons to hate windigos.
>How fortunate you are that indulging in these feelings of hatred brought them down to your level, drawing their attention away from your wife and child.
>It made them stronger, sure, but it made them overconfident, and it made them stand where you could stab them.
>Good enough.
>You shout all your rage and defiance at your quarry.
>It looks back at you, but you can see it swell just a little.
>Whatever. Game on.
>Thrusting your spear before you in an alien challenge, you charge, boots crunching through the calf-deep snow as fast as you can lift them.
>As most incorporeal entities like windigos do, it eyes you curiously, unmindful of the sharp point streaking across the rapidly shortening distance.
>Fleshy creatures like you are curiosities. Unable to harm or even interact with something like it if it doesn’t wish it.
>And to its credit, it’s entirely correct, about the spear.
>The head passes straight through it.
>The enchantment on the spear, however, provokes some mild discomfort. As the blades pass through the windigo’s ethereal body, it drags just a little bit of the windigo’s magic with it, siphoning it off. Not enough to cause significant distress. Perhaps like an insect’s sting.
>The same is not true of your gleaming iron-nickel shield.
>All spirits and ethereal entities know to beware of meteoric or telluric iron. They avoid it as one might instinctively avoid an open flame. They never understood that ponies figured out how to make a stronger, more workable version of the metal, just as potent.
>So when you bring your shield-strapped arm around behind the spear’s thrust like you’re swinging a haymaker, the windigo looks at it just as placidly as the spear.
>The shield’s edge smashes into the windigo’s face like it was just as fleshy as you, complete with a sickening yet satisfying crunch of metal on bone.
>The windigo sprawls to the ground on its side, kicking and flailing.
>As you bring the shield around in front of you to block its hooves – it would have made them material, to try to batter you away – you take the opportunity to stab it a few more times.
>These thrusts have similarly minimal effects to the first.
>You wonder, in the back of your mind, how faint the enchantment grew. How long has it been exactly since your last hunt?
>If your spear was particularly thirsty, this might take awhile.
>In the midst of your haphazard slashing, you see an arrow zip down and impale itself in the creature’s side. It whinnies, though the sound is hardly like anything a pony might make. The pain renews its thrashing.
>There’s that meteoric iron.
>As the windgo regains its footing, another arrow sinks into it, bringing another head-splitting cry.
>You pull your spear back; no good if it gets wise and solidifies a hoof to bring down onto your weapon’s shaft.
>This is where things get dicey. You’ve never had your air support actually attack the windigo before.
>Focus on how much you fucking hate it, its kind, and everything it stands for.
>And maybe, hopefully, you’re making your daughter proud. Proud enough to further tip that emotional balance in your favor.
>Even with two arrows in its side, the windigo is still focused on you.
>Excellent.
>It rears back, forehooves scything the air, then throws itself on top of you.
>You take the twin hammerblows on your shield, but the force knocks you off-balance, sending you sprawling into the snow. You have to execute a controlled fall and then roll out of the way when it repeats the motion; you’ve heard stories of windigos solidifying their limbs only once they’re inside targets, and you’re not too keep on experiencing that.
>The snow slows you down, but you manage to get onto your side then roll further as its hooves bury themselves into the powder just behind your back.
>You swing your spear around wildly through the dodge. The tip slices through the nothingness of the windigo’s body, but the creature flinches and shies away this time.
>Its charge is building. Soon it’d be on par with proper magical weapons, and equally as harmful as your shield to the thing.
>You spare a glance upward as you recover your feet
>Astra’s darting around, looking for a good angle; your and the windigo’s recent dramatic movements must be messing with her aim.
>Then you’re forced to bring your shield up as a focused blast of icy wind streaks towards you.
>It wasn’t going to let you take your eyes off it.
>The shield catches the blast, not only dispersing it but also stripping it of its properties. The few wisps that curl around its edges are merely cold, not supernaturally so.
>Back on your feet and shield readied, you’re able to go back on the offensive.
>You charge again, but this time lead with the shield held in front of you.
>The windigo spins around with unnatural speed, rear legs materializing out of the wispy trail that normally forms its rear. Those rear hooves hit your shield’s face so hard it completely stops your forward momentum and sends a shock all the way up your arm and through your shoulder and back.
>You let your spear carry what’s left forward, one of the stubby blades off the side of its head slicing through its ghostly thigh.
>Another whinny, just as shrill as when the arrows hit it. A slash-mark remains on the creature’s transparent hide.
>Spear’s finally ready!
>It rears up again, but you shove forward behind your shield, its face bashing into the spirit’s chest, crumpling its raised forelegs backwards.
>Simultaneously, one of Astra’s arrows streaks into its side. Its striated iron head sinks perfectly into the slash you’d just made on its hind leg.
>Just as it’s putting the most work on its hind legs, as you’re shoving it backward, the leg Astra hits buckles, casting the windigo on its now-weak side.
>Its collapse shoves that arrow further into its body,
>You take a step back, ready to ram your spear through its chest, where its heart would be. Spirit-like creatures don’t have proper anatomy, but acted as though they did. You were happy to take advantage.
>As you draw the spear back, you smirk.
>In the end it’s just another stupid fucking animal.
>But its eyes flash as it looks at you, in what should be its dying moment.
>The blast if icy wind it unleashes is too dense.
>Too wide to block.
>Fuck, you let yourself get cocky. Too much negativity directed at it.
>You gave it too much power.
>You bring your shield up again, but as you feared, it’s not large enough to catch the whole blast.
>Your upper body is safe, but that wind finds your unprotected legs and feet.
>Pain lances through them like they’d both been severed.
>You feel like your thighs are being stabbed repeatedly as jutting crystals of ice climb the outside of your legs.
>You scream, and would fall if your legs aren’t frozen upright.
>When you look down, you’re happy to see they’re still there, but encased in ice as they now are, they’re useless. You’re immobilized.
>This is that one mistake you were fearing, you suppose.
>Not hard to maintain negativity now. Hopelessness comes easy.
>You can’t bear to look up at your daughter, as the windigo gets back up, approaches you more cautiously.
>Not even when she screams.
>But no, that wasn’t a scream of sorrow.
>That was a scream of defiance.
>And it’s followed by not one but three arrows streaking down from the sky at once, two finding their target on either side of the windigo’s spine, the third plowing through the snowcover and grazing the block of ice that has imprisoned your legs before skittering off behind you.
>That’s your girl!
>The windigo slams belly-first into the snow, as if those two tiny arrows were a pair of arbalest bolts. It shrieks, a sound that splits your head.
>It must be very weak for the iron to have that effect on it.
>Maybe you can still finish it off, even after your earlier miscalculation.
>You pull the spear back against your side, then throw your arm forward in a motion part thrust, part sidearm throw.
>You loosen your grip on the spear’s shaft just enough for it to slide through your hand.
>Its head streaks towards its victim, the tip meeting its ghostly body high on its chest and then continuing onward, sinking a good foot and a half into the evil spirit.
>You tighten your grip on it again, adding your other hand to the haft and twisting as hard as you could.
>That ear-splitting scream cuts off abruptly, and a moment later, its head joins the rest of its body, falling half-buried in the snow.
>In the sudden stillness, some inner strength leaves you, taking with it a considerable amount of outer strength too.
>It’s always like this; as soon as it’s over you feel both exhausted and jittery, as if you’re held together by a wispy nervous energy that’s barely there.
>Normally you’d have a nice sit, but your legs are still incapable of cooperation.
>”Dad!”
>Astra doesn’t even bother landing properly; she slams into a snowbank pushed up by the windigo’s thrashing, the snow itself breaking her fall.
>She’s out of the snow horizontally just as fast as she’d entered it vertically, darting to your side.
>The ice encasing your legs is as tall as she is.
>She looks between it and your face worriedly.
>Don’t let her dwell on your legs.
“Hey, arrow. You did great.”
>”But your legs-”
“First time, too. Handled it like a pro.”
>”You can’t-”
“You saved me. Your old man got a little sloppy, but thanks to you I’m still in one piece.”
>The sun dogs are coming back from their flanking positions, where their presences prevented the windigo from fleeing.
>You unstrap your shield from your arm, letting it fall to the snow. It lands edge-on, falling against your side with a clink of metal on ice.
“Wanna drag that thing away? So the dogs can get close.”
>After one more glance at your legs, Astra sets her jaw and nods.
>She grabs the shield by one of its straps in her mouth and starts pulling it backwards.
>As heavy as it is, and as small as she is, she makes only a little progress with each tug, but by the time the dogs are at your side, she’s far enough away the metal wont disturb them.
>You pat one of them on the head, and with your attention directed down at the wolf-like spirits, you hear your wife land beside you.
>”Oh no.”
“I’ll be fine. Your friends can thaw me out, can’t they?”
>Astra returns, standing at her mother’s left side, with one of the dogs to Parhelia’s right. The other is on the other side of you. Both dogs are focused on your icy prison, now.
>”Yeah, they should. They have a minor healing ability as well. Just… what went wrong?”
“Oh, I was an idiot. Same as usual. Honestly I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long.”
>”Don’t talk like that!”
“Just get your friends to defrost me, before I lose the ability to give Astra siblings.”

 * * *

>Like most open-plan towns on the ground, this one is filled with earth ponies.
>Unicorns like their walled, closed monasteries, and pegasi stayed in the clouds.
>For both those tribes, the ponies are more important than the places, when it came to squadrons or schools.
>An earth pony herd, however, was as much attached to the land as it was attached to any of its constituent bands, as much as any of those bands were attached to ponies therein.
>And earth ponies, moreso than the other two tribes, were happy to welcome others to share that land.
>When the nascent nation of Equestria’s tribes are finally truly united, you bet it’ll be on the earth pony’s model of towns.
>Parhelia leads you through the town’s streets; when it comes to interacting with other ponies, she’s always in charge. And not for the obvious species difference, earth ponies didn’t care as much. Mostly it was just because matters of trade are a mare’s thing.
>You arrive at a shop with a sign that has a helpful sparkly potion for a sign.
>Parhelia opens the door with one wing, stepping inside and to the side so you can enter, Astra half falling off the usual shoulder of yours.
>The unicorn at the counter looks up when you enter. Then continues to look up, taking in your form.
>Her flank displays the same image depicted on her shop’s sign.
>Half-unicorn, you should correct yourself. She has a stockier build similar to earth ponies or pegasi, not the lithe, slender body full-blooded unicorns have.
>Those like her are becoming a more common sight in earth pony villages, as unicorns cast out of bands or even entire schools for lack of magical aptitude are experimenting with this nascent nation’s promise of tribal unity, in places where simple levitation and whatever spells their school heritage and cutie mark allow for are considered miraculous, rather than a woefully limited repertoire.
>”I’ve heard of you,” the unicorn says. “Coming back from a hunt?”
>”Yes we are,” Parhelia says, trotting to the counter.
>”Got anything for me?”
>Parhelia looks to you, then extends a wing.
>With one hand stabilizing Astra, you dig a small jar out of your pack with the other, then place it on the counter.
>Two windigo eyes sit inside it, still glowing a baleful pale blue.
>”You can use them as-is, or extract mercury from them since they’re already made material,” Parhelia says. “We felled it just two days ago. You should have two and a half weeks before they wont be good whole.”
>The unicorn’s eyes widen. “So those travelers weren’t kidding about you.”
>Astra’s rear hooves kick against your shield on your back happily.
>”We’re looking for money, but also a little more. We need some information.”
>”For this? I’ll tell you anything you need.”
>You lift Astra from your shoulder, the filly giving a little squeak but not resisting.
>As soon as you place her down on the counter, the unicorn is looking over her rust-red mane and her pale blue coat.
>”She received her cutie mark about a year ago. It’s… odd. We figured we might eventually find a unicorn who could tell us what it means, since it looks more like yours than ours.”
>The unicorn shoots you a pointed look at Parhelia’s final words.
>”Ah, than a pegasus’s,” your wife corrects herself. “We thought it might have something to do with archery; she does clearly have a talent for it. But it’s too abstract for us to be sure.”
>But the unicorn’s already squinting at the filly’s flank.
>”Please understand I’m no expert in interpreting magical signs and signatures,” she begins. “However, a couple things strike me here.”
>You and Parhelia both lean in to hear her explanation.
>This might be your first big break!
>”First, these four-pointed stars. These are the most obviously unicorn aspect of the mark. Some interpreters say when you have a large central star surrounded by lesser ones, like these three around the outside here, the number of points on the stars coupled with the positioning of the outer ones reveal different meanings. I don’t know them myself, but I could record this pattern and consult with those who might.”
>”You’re already being more helpful than others we’ve spoken to,” Parhelia says, relief and joy evident in her tone.
>”Second, this glyph on top. This I’m more familiar with. It looks a lot like some symbols we’d use for divination or potion-brewing, and the latter happens to be my specialty. I haven’t seen this one specifically, but combining several symbols together to create more complex or multilayered meanings isn’t uncommon in the trade. Obviously, there’s no references to consult what this one in particular might mean, and it’s using elements I’ve never seen combined before. You said she has skill as an archer. Was she exposed to it in a magical sense before this mark appeared?”
>Parhelia nods. “Yes. More specifically, the opposite; in our line of work, we have her using meteoric iron arrowheads.”
>”I see. It’s likely that interfaced – or interfered – with the harmonic resonance that generates cutie marks in some form. It is possible, then, that the obvious longer line and arrowhead represents archery. The shorter crossbar could also depict a bowstring. Pegasi do frequently find themselves with archery-related cutie marks, if I remember correctly, but depicting the whole bow is more common.”
>”We used to be part of a flight whose leader had an archery-related mark. She’s the mare who taught our little Astra how to shoot.”
>The unicorn glances back at your wife. “Astra? Interesting name, for a pegasus.”
“Astra Sagitta. It’s partially from my culture. Her family’s all about phenomena involving celestial bodies, but in a distant nation back home ‘astra’ could also refer to magical weapons. ‘Sagitta’ means ‘arrow’ in an ancient language from my home, and I’m told means the same in a similarly-dead pegasus language here. We felt those intersections were meaningful enough to be nameworthy.”
>When it comes to foal-talk, stallions are always the experts.
>”Very interesting indeed. When you speak of intersections, you raise a possibility. This glyph could be related to your culture as well.”
>”Cutie marks can be connected to things other than their tribe?”
>“Yes, if the colt or filly in question feels a strong enough bond to it when the mark formed.”
>”So it really could be a unicorn’s mark.”
>The shopkeeper nods. “Yes, that certainly seems to be the case. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help with its specific meaning.”
>”Oh, just confirming that is already plenty of help, thank you so much!”
>The unicorn beams, matching your wife’s obvious joy.
>You finally have your first bit of concrete information!
>The unicorn’s businessmare demeanor returns. “You’re quite welcome. Now let’s negotiate the rest of your payment for these.”