The Calm (Cancelled)

Rules:
Keep it SFW.
You can die.
This is not turn-based, but posts must be a minimum of three lines.
Third-person, please.
Have fun.

Players:

Tact Ician
Star Sentinel
Obsidian Pony

---

Equestria’s a nice place. Nice weather, nice people, beautiful towns and cities. Ponies going to and fro, living their lives to the fullest potential. Some places are nice and peaceful, with the occasional strange event, but many more bustle with activity, seemingly never at rest. Somepony’s always doing something, even if it’s just tedious paperwork.

But recently, Equestria’s grown quiet. Still. Streets are empty, buildings are quiet and dark, and nopony is ever seen outside. It’s spread town to town, city to city. Equestria is growing quiet, the stillness is spreading. And yet, life is continuing for the ponies as if nothing was happening. It’s a contradiction. One everypony is completely oblivious to. Life continues as normal, and yet has stopped.

Who, if anypony, is responsible for this?

---

Tact Ician:

Canterlot’s morning air was cool and crisp. The morning sun recolored Canterlot a brilliant gold, and the clouds above delicate pink. It was relatively quiet, not many ponies doing much; just some early birds getting breakfast or going to work or what have you. Today was going to be calm and peaceful, like most days.

---

Star Sentinel:

Canterlot’s night air was comfortably warm. A full moon shone on the mountain city, turning it a pale, mysterious blue. Few, if any, ponies were out at this hour. Midnight was not for most, after all.

For a certain thestral guard, though, it was a perfect night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, there was almost no light pollution from the city tonight, and Star had the night off. It was the perfect night for stargazing.

---

Hoodwink:

The area this pony wandered through was the stereotypical Wild West landscape; scorchingly hot sun, bone-dry air, sand that easily fit both descriptions and kicked up at the slightest disturbance, and the occasional plant, which if not cacti was likely dead or dying.

Sometimes, a small rodent, insect, or snake would cross the pony’s path, but only for a short few seconds before moving on to find food or shelter. More likely shelter, since it’d be a good few hours before the sun set.

Star was glad he had the night off. He didn't usually get a night off from guard duty, but when he did he would always do some stargazing on a single cloud. That was what he was doing tonight. He found a cloud that was relatively close to the castle and laid down on his back. A small smile plastered on his face. He was trying to remember what all the constellations were and where they were. It was like a little trivia game for him. When ever he found a constellation he would always ask himself what the story about it was.

His smile as he found his own cutie mark, the constellation of Scutum. "Scutum was made to mark the victory of a fight. Scutum translating into shield. Heh...Still remember that one after a few years." He said to himself, sitting up and looked out onto the quiet city of Canterlot.

Calm and peaceful. Like most days.

Ician, wearing, as always, his unassuming grey cloak, wandered through the quiet streets of Canterlot without purpose or aim.

"Like most days." He said out loud. "And so I'm not needed... again... like most days."

He sighed a long, weary sigh, and resumed his amble, trying to decide on someplace to go. So absorbed was he in his mental deliberations that the beauty of the morning passed him by. As it always had.

On his back rested his eternal companion; the green snake that had just coiled itself around his torso. It flicked its tongue at the glory of the morning sky, appreciating it in Ician's place.

Hoodwink dozed in his old fashioned but very comfortable wagon out in the desert evening, pulled over away from the dust path he had been travelling down so he could get some privacy. He had everything set up correctly, his bedroll set up inside the wagon rather than on the floor to avoid any overly curious scorpions, a pleasantly crackling campfire a safe distance from the wagon to avoid it catching the cover on fire and his revolver kept beside his bedroll in case of emergencies.

Some would call wandering into the midst of a gunfight aftermath to steal everything that wasn't nailed down while picking off survivors... cowardly. Hoodwink would call it practical, and as it currently had left him in possession of a map to some old mine that apparently contained gang spoils and with several spare guns to sell, he couldn't see anyone arguing with him.