Dreamwater Sequences

First Dream:

That night, you have a vivid dream. You find yourself surrounded by all sorts of colors, forming vague, indiscernible shapes like an abstract painting. They whirl and dance around you, making your head spin, until they start to merge and coalesce into a familiar shape.

Ailuros Bastet stands in a cavern, staring into a roaring flame. She looks wan, like she has not slept well in a long time, but still she remains an inspiring presence. By her side is a unicorn mare in a red full body veil, leaving only the eyes visible. She seems to be transfixed by the flames, unblinking as she stares into the blinding light.

Looking around the cavern, you can see that it has been turned into a refuge of sorts. There are other tunnels leading to other adjacent chambers, lit up with torch sconces. The cavern itself has been made into a makeshift room containing sparse furniture. You notice that Ailuros' hoof is wrapped in a bloody bandage. Looking down at yourself, you see you are transparent, and seem to shift in and out of focus.

"Well?" Ailuros' voice sounds impatient and demanding, but she looks nervous. Her question is met with silence for a moment, then…

"I… I see a form, Your Majesty. It is the one who gave himself to you. Your lost herald." The veiled mare does not move from her gaze into the flame, as if in a trance.

"The lost herald seeks a new purpose, and has joined with four, and an itinerant fifth. The reader. The whisperer. The scorned scion, the penitent thief. The wayfarer. He is sworn to them, as he was sworn to you. …The five have traveled far, through copse and fen, and yet have so much more to come. They have met with the Litharge pellar, and will meet with him again. A choice is presented to them, one that may sow discord. Soon will come the seer, and then…"

"And then?" Ailuros urges.

"…Red. A sea of red. Secrets long buried. Old memories and shadows rising. Then… The fallen one… Chaos…"

Ailuros seems to lose her nerve. "Enough of this! Guards! Take her away!"

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Her trance seems to be broken, and she turns back to face Ailuros. "I apologize, but… the flames cannot be read like a book. Everyone interprets their dances differently. I only say what I saw. Others will doubtless say different." A pair of armed guards come readily, dutifully escorting the oracle away, leaving Ailuros alone with the crackling flames. She keeps staring into them, lost in thought, mouthing something under her breath. Then, with a frustrated cry, she snuffs out the flames with a burst of magic, storming out of the room.

Then her form shifts and distorts, as does the surrounding cavern, dissolving back into swirling colors. You wake to the sound of the great gong, a cold sweat on your brow.

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Second Dream:

You find yourself in a grim, dimly lit room. The view from the nearby barred window shows you a starry night, with a cold and bitter wind blowing through. You seem to be in a castle, presumably claimed by Ailuros' continued conquest, although you do not know which or where.

Your attention is drawn to a roughly hewn stone table, with a map of the Dominion unfurled. It seems to be a strategic map, judging from the stone icons depicting different figures placed across it. Ailuros herself sits at the head of this table, looking elegant yet troubled. She is not alone; you see several figures sitting with her, most of which you recognize from your time spent with her:

At her left side is Sir Hanuman Mergen, a salty old knight of a donkey. A renowned war veteran in Equestria, you know him to have become increasingly disillusioned with the state of affairs in his homeland and thus has pledged himself to Ailuros, not out of faith in her divinity but faith that her rule will be the best thing for the kingdom. He is clad in red and black finery that indicates his new allegiances.

On her right is a rather unwelcome sight: a tall griffon with a face like a barn owl, proudly clutching a sleek black spear. Minerva, as you know her, was a constant annoyance to you, a loud-mouthed firebrand who often clashed with you in hopes to gain Ailuros' attention. In your absence, her position would suggest she has replaced you as Ailuros' right hand and personal bodyguard and enforcer.

Next to Minerva sits Lord Anansi Bluetongue, a saurian with a face not unlike that of a skink. Similar to Sir Hanuman, Lord Bluetongue was a well-connected noble who has, unknown to most of the Equestrian elite, pledged allegiance to Ailuros, believing her victory to be inevitable. As Ailuros' spymaster, his connections have led to him forming a network of spies, both willing and unknowing of his true nature, which has led to many calling him 'The Spider'. You have always found him to be a rather unsavory character, but he has proven himself useful thus far.

Finally, across from Lord Bluetongue sits the Fire Witch who you have seen already, although you do not know her name yet. She is dressed in a beautiful scarlet robe and is now wearing a mask of some sort made of interlinked pieces of wood. Her mane is bright red and flows freely down her back, while her eyes are a fiery orange.

The five of them seem to be discussing their next plan of action, although having joined their meeting midway some of the context is lost to you. Many of the names thrown around mean little to you.

"-and winter is almost upon us, Your Grace." Hanuman sounds a little older and more gruff since last you heard him. "Taking the Western March now would lead to disaster. We would get frozen in place and starve."

"Then what would you have me do, general? Sit here and wait?" She sounds impatient. "We've been holed up here for far too long as it is. We need to move or we'll freeze no matter what. …What about Harridan Hill? Could we take that?"

He shakes his head firmly. "Too heavily guarded. You would survive, sure, but the garrison there would crush what's left of us."

"If I may, Your Grace." Anansi speaks up, looking up from rifling through a series of parchments. "My little birds tell me Harridan Hill is not completely unimpregnable. There may be an architectural flaw, you see, oft overlooked. If what I am reading is true, it could allow you discreet access to the fort. If it pleases you, I could try and glean more information on it…?"

"You don't have to ask me for that, spider," she snaps. "Do your job. Investigate. If there is a weakness, I need to know more about it. Where it is, when it's available, how many know about it, everything." She turns back to Hanuman as Anansi nods sagely and starts penning a letter. "What do you know about Harridan Hill, general? Work with me here."

"…Well, it's fiercely protected. Owned by the Barrows… no, wait, the Sable family." Anansi nods in confirmation without looking up. "And the Sables are deep in agriculture and military investment," he continues, "so it might not be easy fighting them over their resources. They have the numerical advantage over us, for one. Maybe we could negotiate with them?"

"A trade, or a surrender? Both are doubtful if what you say is true. They will be hard to crack."

"Send me!" Minerva butts in. "I will form a team and infiltrate the castle for you, my lady. Their numbers will mean nothing if we take them by surprise!"

Ailuros mulls this over. "That could work. I'll keep that in mind. …Now, what are our other options?"

Hanuman hesitates before pointing out an island in the middle of a lake. "Sun's Eye. It's uninhabited, so it could make for a good base of operations for the time being-"

"General!" she barks. "I need progress. We've been stagnating long enough as it is. If we camp at every sightseeing opportunity, we'll all be dead come winter. We need to move south. Fast. If the Western March is out of the question, then the only option I see is dealing with the garrison at Harridan Hill."

"Might I suggest an infiltration mission, Your Grace, rather than overt bloodshed?" Anansi finishes his letter and clasps his clawed hands diplomatically. "If one, maybe more, of our agents could sneak in unawares, they could sabotage Harridan Hill from the inside."

Ailuros thinks, then nods slightly. "There's an idea. I'll need a bit of time to think about our next course of action. Dismissed."

Almost robotically, her inner circle start filing out one by one, bidding Ailuros farewell - all except the Fire Witch, who stays behind. Ailuros gives her a quizzical look. "Something on your mind, Kamui?"

"Yes, Your Grace." She has a deep, smooth voice. "It is about the other adherents of my old faith. I have been speaking with them of late, and they say the flames have… have told of disaster in your future. Disaster that can be averted."

Ailuros looks worried. "And what have the flames told you?"

"I see nothing but snow in them, Your Grace."

There is an uncomfortable silence, then Kamui speaks again. "They also believe that the only way to avert certain disaster is to… to have another sacrifice. It is an ancient ritual to set alight one of powerful blood as an offering, but this wouldn't be one to the goddesses, but to you, the one true goddess."

Ailuros looks outraged, bristling with indignance at the suggestion. "No! Absolutely not! How dare you suggest such a thing. That is heresy."

"Your Grace, I-"

"ENOUGH." Ailuros' body courses with magical energy as she rears herself up to her full height, towering over the Fire Witch. "That is disgusting. I will have no burnings. Tell your sisters to pray harder."

"…Yes, Your Grace."

Another pregnant pause.

"Do you have something else to say, Kamui?"

"…There is someone here. I can feel them. Someone is spying…"

Confused, Ailuros follows Kamui's gaze as the two of them stare right through you to the wall behind.

All of a sudden, you jolt awake, finding yourself back on your uncomfortable bedroll. The moon hangs over you portentously. it is some time before you can go back to sleep, your mind racing with all the information you just received.

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Third Dream:

You dream of Ailuros again.

Your goddess stands imperious at the top of a snowy hill looking down into the fold below. At the top of a hill opposite her, rising up like an accusing finger into the sky, is a lonely tower with a single candle lit in its highest window. At the bottom of the stairs leading downward from the tower, you can just see an armored figure. It is this figure which has Ailuros' attention. They seem well aware of each others' presence.

Ailuros is not alone. With her are Minerva, her new right hand in your long absence, and General Hanuman Mergen, grizzled and worn by countless battles yet still a mighty warrior in his own right. The both wear heavy clothing to suit the frigid conditions; General Hanuman, clad head to hoof in plate armor, has wrapped himself with a very thick scarf and other cloth wrappings to keep warm, and Minerva is wearing a more wintry version of her usual battle raiment. Ailuros, however, needs no wrappings. She stands wearing her normal regalia, unaffected by the weather.

Ailuros and her two followers descend the hill, meeting the lone figure at the base of the lonely tower. You know him: Sir Relen, the Sword of the Evening. He is a hippogriff paladin of Empress Twilight, known throughout the Dominion as the best swordsman alive. Clad in armor, with his helmet by his side, he sits sharpening his famous sword: Dusk, a beautiful gleaming silver blade with the emblem of Twilight on the crescent pommel. The scraping of the whetstone on metal echoes and is lost on the billowing wind.

Relen stands tall as Ailuros and her entourage approach, embedding Dusk in the snow at Ailuros' hooves. As he does so, you see he is not alone: six other warriors, many of which you recognize as being almost as well regarded as Relen.

"Lady Ailuros," says the Sword of the Evening, greeting her with a respectful nod. She stares him down, offering no response, but he does not flinch. Eye contact remains unbroken. An earth pony with a flail sees Hanuman, and his eyes narrow. "Traitor," he hisses. He receives no reply, save for a sad look from the weathered old knight.

"You are in the presence of Ailuros Bastet, the true alicorn goddess, queen of the Dominion and of you," Minerva booms. "Surrender. The battle is lost."

"We cannot. You know we cannot." A crystal pony in a billowing purple cloak speaks this time.

Hanuman looks to Relen. "I looked for you on the battlefield," he says curiously.

"We were not there," he answers.

"Your goddess would be burning in hell if we had been," says the earth pony with the flail, spitting at Ailuros' hooves. Minerva seethes and readies Gungnir, but Ailuros waves her down, continuing to observe the situation. She looks every bit the divine figure that she is.

"The battle is lost." It is Hanuman that speaks, trying to appeal to the group of renowned warriors. "We have taken Harridan Hill. Don't throw your lives away. Join us. …Or if you won't then flee. Sir Nils fled. We will not hunt him. Ailuros is merciful. Don't make us go through you."

"Bend the knee," Minerva demands, starting to lose her patience. "Submit to your goddess, or be destroyed."

Sir Relen, the Sword of the Evening, shakes his head. "Our knees do not bend easily."

"We are of the Empress. The true goddess. We are her hand," says the earth pony with the flail. "The hand does not flee."

"We swore a vow," explains the crystal pony.

"Then and now," says Sir Relen.

Ailuros looks up at the lonely tower the group guard. "What's in the tower?" she asks. Her voice cuts through the air like a knife, echoing through the fold.

Sir Relen does not acknowledge her, looking back to Hanuman. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come." He dons his helm, and his warriors ready themselves in turn. They are seven against three.

Ailuros takes a step back, her horn and eyes beginning to glow. Minerva flies back and enters a defensive stance with Gungnir, while Hanuman reluctantly draws his trusted sword. "And now it begins," says Relen, the Sword of the Evening. He unsheathes Dusk and holds it in both hands. The blade is pale as milkglass, and alive with light.

"No, Hanuman says with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends."

The seven and three come together in a rush of steel and shadow and magic. They stand no chance against Ailuros. One after another they fall before her, barely managing to come close to the alicorn goddess as she reduces them to dust, one after another. They are ants to her, powerless ants who couldn't hurt her if they tried. Minerva darts across the battlefield, teleporting with her magic spear. She slays two of the seven, though her injuries begin to mount.

As for old, faithful Hanuman, he takes one life, then clashes with Sir Relen in a storm of swords. The ringing of their blades is drowned out by the howling wind. Hanuman is skilful. But he is old, and Relen is a painter who only uses red. Eventually, his strength ebbs, and the donkey falters. His sword is parried, and knocked to the snow. With a single thrust, Relen runs him through, the white blade spattered with red and black. Remorse in his heart, Relen pushes the lifeless body of the old man-at-arms to the snowy ground, pausing ever so briefly to close Hanuman's eyes for a final time.

He turns his attention to Ailuros, flying toward her, dodging her spells and incantations, barely noticing that all the others are dead. With a savage cry, Minerva takes to the air, flying at him with Gungnir in claw. He swerves, swinging Dusk in an uppercut and disarming her. In a flash, she teleports to it and hurls the spear. He nosedives to the ground, the spear clipping his wing.

Ailuros grabs him with telekinesis, throwing the knight into a wall. He shakes it off and keeps coming at her. Minerva stabs at him repeatedly. He parries the blows and ignores the griffon. Ailuros blasts him with magic, and his smoking body falls to the ground at her hooves. At first you think he's done; then, with one fluid motion, he rolls over and swings the blade upwards. It connects with Ailuros' face, and leaves a single angry red cut across her cheek. She flinches and hisses, shocked at the attack.

Teetering on the edge of death, the Sword of the Evening rises, barely clinging to life. He lurches towards Ailuros, then his eyes widen as he sees the spear protruding from his chest. Minerva Tyr, the hand of Ailuros, pulls Gungnir from his back with considerable effort. The knight sinks to his knees and collapses, life ebbing from him. The once white battlefield is now stained with red. The wind roils and shrieks.

Minerva lets Gungnir clatter to the ground as she rushes to Ailuros' side, inspecting the cut on her face. She is gravely wounded herself, but ignores it for now. Ailuros nods. "It is just a scratch. Thank you, Minerva." Seeing the condition of her faithful companion, she casts a healing spell on her; then, as Minerva bows her head at the sight of Hanuman's body, the goddess pensively touches the cut on her face, looking curiously at her own blood.

It is then that you wake, your mind reeling with images of the vision; the parlay with Sir Relen and his faithful knights, the carnage that ensued, the loss of General Hanuman, and the last stand of the Sword of the Evening are all burned into your mind. Ailuros' conquest continues. But the price she must pay is costly.

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Fourth Dream:

Once again, you plunge into the realms of dream, finding yourself transported through space and time. You are in a snowy field at dusk, in the middle of what looks like an encampment. A southern wind is howling, cold and sharp as the edge of a knife. Looking around, you see many of the soldiers shivering, looking utterly wretched, huddling around dying flames for warmth. Things look grim for them; food supplies seem to be dwindling, and many are starving.

Ailuros Bastet stands in the cold, completely unfazed. Around her neck and on her chest rests a piece of black armor, resembling a metallic choker, with a glowing set of blue gems within. Her yellow eyes are glowing slightly, piercing through the dimming sky. She has Minerva by her side as usual, as well as the Fire Witch you had seen briefly in a vision. The three face a thin, smooth-scaled saurian in noble's finery, looking up at her with a mixture of defiance and fear. You have seen this man before. His name is Anansi, Ailuros' spymaster. Several guards, looking as wretched as the rest of Ailuros' loyalists, seem to be blocking him from leaving, yet giving the saurian a wide berth. It almost looks like a trial.

Where Ailuros looks brooding, and Minerva looks vindictive, Anansi looks fearful, yet also resigned to his fate. He breaks the silence, his voice quavering a little from the cold, but maintaining his composure.

"...I know what you will say. And I have decided what I will. Let's make this quick."

Minerva makes a sudden move forward, itching to run him through with her spear. Ailuros raises her hoof to hold her back, and on command, Minerva dutifully stands down. Ailuros speaks, her imperious voice ringing out through the camp. "You stand accused of conspiracy. You stand accused of treason. You stand accused of heresy. How do you plead?"

"Guilty, Your Majesty." He shows no signs of remorse.

Minerva starts pacing impatiently.

"You misinformed us of the movements of the winds of winter so we would be in inhospitable territory. You informed the pretender Empress Twilight of our location and allowed enemy saboteurs to enter our camp. You engineered the destruction of my army's food supplies. Do you not deny it? Will you not defend yourself?" Ailuros seems both offended and intrigued by his lack of remorse.

"I do not. I did what I had to for the realm. Your campaign will be the death of Equestria."

"For the realm," Minerva says mockingly. "A goddess walks among us, and you stab her in the back. You unworthy skink." She glares at him with murderous intent. Ailuros still looks dispassionate, clearly brooding over her losses. She speaks again.

"I thought you would beg for mercy. It seems I misjudged you. ...But your transgression is unconscionable." She raises her voice a little. "Anansi Bluetongue. I, Ailuros Bastet, God-Queen of the Dominion, sentence you to die." Her eyes begin to glow in tandem with the gems on her breastplate.

Eye contact from Anansi remains unbroken. "I hope I deserve this. Really, I do. I hope I'm wrong about you."

With a single burst of magic from her horn, Ailuros fires a beam of glowing yellow and blue magical energies, completely obliterating Anansi where he stands. When the light fades, there is nothing left of him but a blackened, smoking stain on the snowy ground. She looks at the charred crater that was her spymaster for a moment, her eyes glazing over; then, with a look almost of despair, she wordlessly motions for her two remaining inner circle to follow her away, ignoring the look of shock on her guards' faces. In contrast, Minerva has a satisfied expression, spitting on the ground before following her away. The Fire Witch seems unsure of what to make of the outcome, but loyally follows Ailuros away.

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Fifth Dream:

You are standing on the edge of a valley. The knife-sharp winter winds howl, raging against the world, bringing with them heavy snowfall that would batter you to your knees. It takes you a moment to realize you are standing next to Ailuros. The would be queen is almost unrecognizable; she is wearing little but the jeweled neckpiece she seems to have acquired, unaffected by the cold as usual, but it is plain to see the situation is dire. Her once perfect mane is disheveled and spidery, and her normally fierce yellow eyes are slightly bloodshot, and ringed by dark circles. She looks thin, underfed, and haggard.

Ailuros Bastet looks out on the military encampment behind her. It is plain to see that the situation is dire. Where before her army was well fed and numbered more than you can count, it has been reduced to a mere handful of tents, many of which have been claimed by the snows, little more than lumps in the blanket of crushing white that covers the world. Rallied to her are her troops; at least, what is left of them. There can't be more than a few hundred fighters waiting for her command, if that, all looking malnourished and wan, and many missing extremities due to frostbite. They are blanketed as best they can, but even as you watch, a few seem to pass out on the spot.

"How many do we have left?" She is asking a figure bundled from head to toe who you realize now is Minerva. The Fire Witch that had once followed her is nowhere to be seen.

Minerva looks grim, and fearful.

"...Five hundred and twelve."

Ailuros grinds her teeth. "It seems at least thirty deserted last night," Minerva continues, her voice trembling. "After the sacrifice proved fruitless, they left with... with Kamui. This is all we have."

Ailuros looks through you to Minerva. For the first time since you've known her, you see a look of genuine despair in her eyes. "...And how... how long do we have until they're here?"

Before Minerva can answer, everyone's attention is drawn to a shift in the wind. It seems to grow steadily less violent, fading to a dull murmur, and with it the raging snow. The clouds fade, providing greater visibility. What lies beyond the inclement weather, however, makes Ailuros' face turn to stone.

On the other side of the snowy valley is an army of ponies. Their silhouettes dot the treeline, stretching back a good ways. Up in the sky, pegasi can be seen flying about, manipulating the weather. As you watch, a beam of purple energy shoots from the front of the army, piercing the clouds and signalling the pegasi above to return. You see they are clad in lilac and navy blue armor.

Empress Twilight's army outnumbers Ailuros' a hundred to one, if not more. Minerva is frozen in place as she looks out at the host that awaits them. The beam retracts, and slowly, inexorably, the Royal Legion begin to move into the valley, spreading out, aiming to surround Ailuros and what's left of her followers. Minerva and the nearest soldiers look to Ailuros silently, pleadingly, hoping she can perform some miracle to get them out of this.

Ailuros has nothing left to give.

She watches silently as Twilight leads her legion towards her through the snow-capped valley, a glowing lilac star in a field of white. She has a look not of despair, and not of defeat either, but of acceptance. She casts her gaze downwards, and sighs softly, steeling herself.

She looks back up, her eyes beginning to glow in tandem with her neckpiece. Even her light has faded with the exhaustion, but she lights up nonetheless, taking a step forward, then another, then another. Minerva wearily draws her spear, and her army follows, the melody of blades unsheathed in unison ringing out through the valley. Even as the Legion spread out and flank them, the followers of Ailuros Bastet trudge on, wearily but loyally marching to what is surely their final stand.

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Sixth Dream:

There are bodies everywhere.

The snow-capped valley is littered with the remains of Ailuros' army. There was no battle here; only a slaughter. Some of them you recognize, if only by face, devotees you traveled with many a time. There is a gentle snow falling, the skies burying the dead. Banners and shields with her sigil are strewn across the ground.

Through the snow, a single figure hobbles, battered and broken but still determined to survive. Ailuros' face is bloodied with battle, her horn sundered, a broken sword dangling from her hoof. She uses it as a crutch, pulling herself across the battlefield, breathing raggedly like some feral beast.

You see what she is moving towards; far off in the distance, the survivors of her army are being clapped in irons, led away by a contingent of the Royal Legion. Minerva seems to be among them.

Ailuros pauses, her ears pricking up like a startled rabbit. Footsteps in the snow. Low, husky voices. Two royal soldiers, a griffon and an earth pony, are traversing the area, finishing off the mortally wounded. Ailuros stares them down, and they stop dead in their tracks as they see her.

Momentarily stunned, the soldiers charge her. She is too weak to fly, but Ailuros snarls and shoots the griffon out of the sky with a blast of unstable magic, stabbing him in the back with the broken sword. The earth pony dodges her blast, dagger in hoof, aiming to attack her. With a primal scream, Ailuros charges him unarmed, throwing him to the ground after a brief, bloody scuffle. The soldier has stabbed her in the leg. She wrenches the knife free and returns the favor, sinking the blade in repeatedly. Six, seven, eight stabs.

Ailuros get a little further, but collapses with a frustrated groan. She looks down at her bleeding leg with a resigned expression. She's done all she can.

More hoofsteps. Ailuros looks up at the knight who approaches, breathing raggedly.

"...You're not one of them."

The armored unicorn shakes her head. "I don't fight for the Empress. I'm Posy, of Crickhollow. I was the sworn sword of Lord Caulder."

Ailuros looks dark at the mention of him. The name means nothing to you.

"I was there when he was murdered. By a shadow, with your face. You killed him, with blood magic?"

Ailuros is silent for a long moment.

"I did."

Posy approaches her, unsheathing her sword. She looks shaken, but determined "Then in the name of Caulder, Lord of Castle Crickhollow, I, Posy, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

Ailuros looks up at her not with indignation or anger, but with acceptance. She voices her wish.

"Go on. Do your duty."