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This icebound landscape has remained undisturbed for centuries. Endless freezing winds constitute an impenetrable barrier for pegasi, and the miles of arctic desert keep groundbound explorers away. Nopony had yet reached the North Pole—until today.
From the west, a dog-pulled sleigh is approaching, preceded by sounds of whipcracks and shouts. From the east, a smoking metal contraption puffs its way through the snow.
(Something is following the sleigh. Something is trailing the steam-car.)
The moustachioed pony riding the sleigh spots the smoke from the competitors' vehicle. His eyes narrow, and he spurs the dogs on.
Inside the steam-car, the driver turns to his partner: "Hurry up with that shoveling, Highball! Use the entire reserve of coal if you need to! I see a sleigh—it's that old fool Snowdrift!"
"I'm already doing all I can, Gearbox!" Highball responds, but obediently hurries up the pace. However, a moment later, it becomes clear that further effort on his part won't be needed.
The Pole is located in the center of a pillar of ice, twenty feet across, completely surrounded by a ring-shaped crevasse. There is only one connection between the outside world and the pillar: a natural ice bridge, clearly not sturdy enough to support the weight of the steam-car. The passengers reluctantly leave their vehicle.
Snowdrift also stops. He casts a few dubious looks between the bridges and his sleigh, burdened as it is with packs and boxes. Then he shakes his head, leaps off and races towards the bridge.
He arrives at the same time as Gearbox and Highball.
The three ponies stop in their tracks, each glaring at the competition.
(Something is whispering into each explorer's ear... the ponies themselves unaware of it.)
Snowdrift speaks first. "Gentlemen, I will say this once: step aside, and let the first pony at the North Pole claim his title. I'd hate to mention in my memoirs how I was delayed by a pair of glory-seeking upstarts."
"You must have snow for brains from all these snowstorms," Gearbox replies. "The North Pole belongs to us!" Highball nods in assent.
Snowdrift snorts. "You two! Ha! The North Pole should be claimed by a real stallion, not a pair of scrawny tinkerers who shield from the cold inside some infernal machine! If you think I will let you and your hideous smoking monster appear in history books, you've got another think coming."
"Luddite! Afraid of progress!" Gearbox says. "I'm warning you. Don't make another move."
"Stop me, pencil-pusher!"—and with these words, Snowdrift breaks into a gallop towards the bridge. Gearbox lets out a yell of fury and leaps forward. But he is much less fit and much slower.
Snowdrift, already at the bridge, lets out a cry of triumph—but it quickly turns into a yell of panic as his hoof slips upon a rock, and he tumbles off the cliff edge.
But luck is with him. Instead of tumbling into the depths of the gaping crevasse, he lands upon a narrow strip of rock protruding from the rock wall. There is enough room to stand, but it's remarkably slippery, and he dares not try to leap up on his own. "Help!"
Gearbox and Highball approach the edge. Gearbox, hesitating, looks towards the Pole; towards the helpless Snowdrift; then his eyes take on a decisive, steely gaze.
"Sorry, I have a Pole to claim. Highball, you help him up," Gearbox says and steps onto the bridge.
"Wait." Highball's voice takes on a troubling shade. "What do you mean, you have a Pole to claim? Don't you mean us?"
"I was the one who designed our steam-car. We'd never have made it here without me," Gearbox responds. "I do say I deserve the honor."
"But I made the machine run! If anything, it was me who brought us here! All you did was sit in a chair and command me," Highball snarls. "I say I deserve it more!"
"Get back!"
"No, you get off that bridge!" Highball leaps savagely upon his partner. Soon both stallions are tangled in a snarling, biting, kicking heap—rolling ever closer to the cliff's edge.
(The wind almost sounds like excited, diabolical neighing.)
"What are you cretins doing?!" Snowdrift calls out from below. "What?! No—"
These are his last words as the two ponies tumble over the precipice, knocking him off the rocky shelf.
A threefold horrified yell echoes all the way down the crevasse—capped off by a chilling crash.
(The windigoes shall feast tonight, for the first time in centuries.)
From the west, a dog-pulled sleigh is approaching, preceded by sounds of whipcracks and shouts. From the east, a smoking metal contraption puffs its way through the snow.
(Something is following the sleigh. Something is trailing the steam-car.)
The moustachioed pony riding the sleigh spots the smoke from the competitors' vehicle. His eyes narrow, and he spurs the dogs on.
Inside the steam-car, the driver turns to his partner: "Hurry up with that shoveling, Highball! Use the entire reserve of coal if you need to! I see a sleigh—it's that old fool Snowdrift!"
"I'm already doing all I can, Gearbox!" Highball responds, but obediently hurries up the pace. However, a moment later, it becomes clear that further effort on his part won't be needed.
The Pole is located in the center of a pillar of ice, twenty feet across, completely surrounded by a ring-shaped crevasse. There is only one connection between the outside world and the pillar: a natural ice bridge, clearly not sturdy enough to support the weight of the steam-car. The passengers reluctantly leave their vehicle.
Snowdrift also stops. He casts a few dubious looks between the bridges and his sleigh, burdened as it is with packs and boxes. Then he shakes his head, leaps off and races towards the bridge.
He arrives at the same time as Gearbox and Highball.
The three ponies stop in their tracks, each glaring at the competition.
(Something is whispering into each explorer's ear... the ponies themselves unaware of it.)
Snowdrift speaks first. "Gentlemen, I will say this once: step aside, and let the first pony at the North Pole claim his title. I'd hate to mention in my memoirs how I was delayed by a pair of glory-seeking upstarts."
"You must have snow for brains from all these snowstorms," Gearbox replies. "The North Pole belongs to us!" Highball nods in assent.
Snowdrift snorts. "You two! Ha! The North Pole should be claimed by a real stallion, not a pair of scrawny tinkerers who shield from the cold inside some infernal machine! If you think I will let you and your hideous smoking monster appear in history books, you've got another think coming."
"Luddite! Afraid of progress!" Gearbox says. "I'm warning you. Don't make another move."
"Stop me, pencil-pusher!"—and with these words, Snowdrift breaks into a gallop towards the bridge. Gearbox lets out a yell of fury and leaps forward. But he is much less fit and much slower.
Snowdrift, already at the bridge, lets out a cry of triumph—but it quickly turns into a yell of panic as his hoof slips upon a rock, and he tumbles off the cliff edge.
But luck is with him. Instead of tumbling into the depths of the gaping crevasse, he lands upon a narrow strip of rock protruding from the rock wall. There is enough room to stand, but it's remarkably slippery, and he dares not try to leap up on his own. "Help!"
Gearbox and Highball approach the edge. Gearbox, hesitating, looks towards the Pole; towards the helpless Snowdrift; then his eyes take on a decisive, steely gaze.
"Sorry, I have a Pole to claim. Highball, you help him up," Gearbox says and steps onto the bridge.
"Wait." Highball's voice takes on a troubling shade. "What do you mean, you have a Pole to claim? Don't you mean us?"
"I was the one who designed our steam-car. We'd never have made it here without me," Gearbox responds. "I do say I deserve the honor."
"But I made the machine run! If anything, it was me who brought us here! All you did was sit in a chair and command me," Highball snarls. "I say I deserve it more!"
"Get back!"
"No, you get off that bridge!" Highball leaps savagely upon his partner. Soon both stallions are tangled in a snarling, biting, kicking heap—rolling ever closer to the cliff's edge.
(The wind almost sounds like excited, diabolical neighing.)
"What are you cretins doing?!" Snowdrift calls out from below. "What?! No—"
These are his last words as the two ponies tumble over the precipice, knocking him off the rocky shelf.
A threefold horrified yell echoes all the way down the crevasse—capped off by a chilling crash.
(The windigoes shall feast tonight, for the first time in centuries.)
Just turn the parentheticals into normal parts of the prose. And get rid of the last line. It's obvious from the location and the mention of "neighing" that we're dealing with Windigoes.
This is a fine enough story. But not very memorable. The three ponies blend together in my mind, with nothing to separate them. Gearbox and Highball seem like expys of Flim and Flam.
This is a fine enough story. But not very memorable. The three ponies blend together in my mind, with nothing to separate them. Gearbox and Highball seem like expys of Flim and Flam.
This story needs to breathe, at least another couple of hundreds of words. >>Dubs_Rewatcher already pointed out a couple of things to fix, and with more space you should be able to easily make the characters more memorable. A bit of editing and you have something quite good. As it stands now it feels incomplete and lacks emotional involvement, as we have no time nor way to connect to the three explorers and to get invested in their fate.
That said, you have a nice framework for conflict and three characters with clear objectives and wants. It's a solid setup, and the Wendigos are a good addition. The way I see it, this could both work as a mini-fic, with just a couple of additional paragraphs, as a short story going for a couple of thousand words.
That said, you have a nice framework for conflict and three characters with clear objectives and wants. It's a solid setup, and the Wendigos are a good addition. The way I see it, this could both work as a mini-fic, with just a couple of additional paragraphs, as a short story going for a couple of thousand words.
I'm doing my tour of low count review stories, and I wish I could add something else, but >>Dubs_Rewatcher and >>Orbiting_kettle have pretty much said it all.
Subtlety is the key for me, so I can only reafirm to get rid of that last line.
Also, I'm not sure what present tense really add here, and that's genuine question. Anyone with the beginning of an answer, please tag me.
The only thing left to say is that I'm intrigued to see an extended version of this. You have a great potential here, make it worth.
Subtlety is the key for me, so I can only reafirm to get rid of that last line.
Also, I'm not sure what present tense really add here, and that's genuine question. Anyone with the beginning of an answer, please tag me.
The only thing left to say is that I'm intrigued to see an extended version of this. You have a great potential here, make it worth.
Nopony had yet reached the North Pole—until today. From the west, Non sequitur. There is no west at the north pole, only south.
It's okay. Reminiscent in some ways of TLoTR. Funny. Prose is fair but I agree with what is pointed out before. Especially the two associates that sound like Flim and Flam.
Dialogue and action are snappy, though.
Not too bad.
It's okay. Reminiscent in some ways of TLoTR. Funny. Prose is fair but I agree with what is pointed out before. Especially the two associates that sound like Flim and Flam.
Dialogue and action are snappy, though.
Not too bad.
It could use some expanding, I think. Just enough to really flesh out the characters.
And, well, basically what >>Dubs_Rewatcher said.
Tier: Pretty good.
And, well, basically what >>Dubs_Rewatcher said.
Tier: Pretty good.
I've been busy as a tit all week, so I haven't had the time or the sense of hope for the future necessary to take pleasure and find meaning in one's life to get through anything beyond my slate. But I did read my slate, and I'm gonna try and hammer out some reviews before the prelims end.
First up is, uh. First. 'S neat. Fits with the themes and the lore of the show. Chilling (hurr) in language and execution. I dig it. However:
>>Dubs_Rewatcher
I disagree, because Flim and Flam at least have character traits that make them entertaining to read about. The author did what they could with the characters, given the word limit, but they ultimately feel interchangeable and forgettable.
Language, plot, and tone are this story's strengths, however. I think it nails those elements.
I give it eight starving windigos out of ten.
First up is, uh. First. 'S neat. Fits with the themes and the lore of the show. Chilling (hurr) in language and execution. I dig it. However:
>>Dubs_Rewatcher
Gearbox and Highball seem like expys of Flim and Flam.
I disagree, because Flim and Flam at least have character traits that make them entertaining to read about. The author did what they could with the characters, given the word limit, but they ultimately feel interchangeable and forgettable.
Language, plot, and tone are this story's strengths, however. I think it nails those elements.
I give it eight starving windigos out of ten.
For a story that is, functionally, about the influence and predation of the Windigoes, they are actually kind of pointless. Like, remove the three lines referencing them and nothing changes. At all. And I think that's to the detriment of the story. You seem to want to angle for a sort of Lovecraftian madness and fear angle from these monsters, but nothing actually comes of it. Make their presence felt. Make it matter. The characters don't necessarily have to know it is the Windigoes, but it should be clear that it matters it's them.
To that end, I also think the 3rd person cinematic style doesn't work super well here. Not to say it can't be used for moody and emotive work, but given that the Windigoes are all about influencing the heart and mind, I think you lose a bit by not leaning into that.
Long story short, too much verbiage is spent not on making the windies terrifying creatures stripping away the ponanity of these arctic explorers. Focus in on that, or abandon it entirely and make it about the race.
To that end, I also think the 3rd person cinematic style doesn't work super well here. Not to say it can't be used for moody and emotive work, but given that the Windigoes are all about influencing the heart and mind, I think you lose a bit by not leaning into that.
Long story short, too much verbiage is spent not on making the windies terrifying creatures stripping away the ponanity of these arctic explorers. Focus in on that, or abandon it entirely and make it about the race.