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Daring Do and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase : MLP Fan Fiction (1 part)

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Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!


De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)


Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by Doctor Dimension

52630 words 

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.


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Daring Do was sitting at the bar of the Adventurer’s Guild, sipping her coconut milk and pineapple juice. She was still steaming about the Royal Museum’s Acquisition Committee trying to put her last find, the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock, through “the routine process.”

The routine process gave them the possession of the neckalce for over a year before she could see any return on the difficult, expensive, and dangerous expedition to obtain the priceless artifact.

Her recovery of it from Count Umber had involved a physical altercation. The memory made her sweet drink taste sour.

Glancing into the back bar mirror, she casually placed a hoof on her pith helmet. A business suited pony approached her, proffering a card. Instead of taking the card, Daring Do swiftly lifted her pith helmet. A knife, aimed at the suited pony stood quivering in her hat, sunk deep into the cork.

She pulled the knife out and flipped it casually back. The thump of it striking hilt first was followed by the collapse of the silken robed pony who had thrown it.

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Nore’s Choice: Origin of the Rom: MLP Fan Fiction
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Nore’s Choice


De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

29000 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/09/15

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.


Blog holding members of may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

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The sere wind blew from the baking stones and slithering sands of Celestia’s Anvil, the great desert to the east of the poor, withering town of Tadast’s Wells. The town was suffering under more than just the the heat. The drought was unrelenting.

A group of seven horses huddled in the tiny shade offered by the crumbling walls and dying fig trees of the abandoned farm. Hurt, puzzlement and shock in her voice, a chestnut roan filly, nearly grown, looked to the leader of the band.

He voice trembling, she asked with formality, “How can it be true, Rom Ina Callin? Can we really be cast out by the Master? We are good slaves. All of our work has been done as well as any work can be!

“It is no fault of ours that the crops do not grow. There has been no rain at all. Even the waters beneath the ground are failing.”

Taking a deep breath to steady himself and retreating into formality himself, for the strength of tradition, Rom replied, “It is true, Nore Bel Morin. All that you say is true.

“The Master was clear on that. The fault is not of our doing at all. If he felt that he had any choice, he would have kept us all. He has chosen to keep the last of his well’s water for himself, his mares and foals.”

Two of the band’s four grown mares, big Phapa and Malit, nearly as large as Phapa, finished shifting the shrunken boards of the well cover aside. The wood was so dry that part of it cracked away.

Sarel, a dapple gray mare, cast down a bucket that they had found abandoned by the farm’s collapsing house wall. The rope was stout enough to bring up water but all that came out of the well was a hollow thump as the bucket hit bottom.

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