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> The Portal’s a crucible for hearts too fierce to fade. Griffons, yaks, buffalo, merponies, kirin—they’ve all crossed my bar, chasing love or a shadow to slip into. Tucked on Ponyville’s edge, by one of Equestria’s two embassies, it was the first to fling its doors wide for humans when others sneered. Now it’s a legend, where a mare might carry a human’s foal—always a filly, pure pony. Human colts are plenty; pony colts, rarer than a phoenix’s song. These tales pack my place to the brim every night.
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> I’m Crimson Brew, earth pony, dark coat, gold mane, mixing drinks with a barbed quip and keener gaze. My collar’s telekinesis—human-made, bless their craft—swirls bottles like a dance. Tonight, the bar hums with fire. Protests rage outside, mares demanding their stolen loves. The noble houses are crumbling under their boycott, and Princess Luna’s dusted off an old law to humble traitors. The fight’s turning, folks, and our guest’s at its heart. Princess Cadance, alicorn of love, wings trembling, eyes sharp with pain, needs a trago to match her burden. I’m mixing a viuda’s inferno—tequila, dragon peppers, molten honey—to sear her soul. Let’s hear what’s shifting in Equestria, then her tale.
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> Crimson Brew here, watching the storm. That ambassador’s law, tearing men aged nineteen to thirty-one from Equestria, sparked a war. Marriages broke first, mares left hollow. Their boycott—highborn, humble, a tide of will—choked three noble houses dry in two months: Blueblood’s kin, Silverhoof, Jet Set’s line, bankrupt, their titles dust. No coin for their goods, no mercy for their allies. Equestria’s got no laws against monopolies; we lean on pony hearts. The nobles learned too late. They thought Celestia would save them, but she’s busy, her hoof heavy on the guard’s brass—stallions enforcing this mess for hidden masters.
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> Then Luna stepped in, fierce as the night. She dug up an ancient military law, one Celestia thought no fool would dare provoke. Traitors—ex-commanders who pushed the law for noble gold—faced her wrath. No blood, just shame: Luna humbled them in a public rite, a duel of will before the guard, their ranks stripped, their pride ash. Celestia blinked, stunned anypony would betray the diarchy so bold. The mares’ boycott, Luna’s fire—it’s cracking the law’s spine. Whispers say the ambassador’s yielding, her lies unraveling. But that’s Cadance’s tale to tell. Take it away, Princess.
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> I am Cadance, Princess of Love, and my heart’s a battlefield. My talent, to weave love’s spark, is my curse tonight. I feel them—every mare in Equestria, their longing a tide that drowns me. They crave the arms that held them, the warmth that anchored their hearts, the voices that soothed their nights. Their husbands, torn away by that wretched law, are a wound I carry. I tremble, my wings bristling, a chill I shouldn’t welcome creeping in. Their ache stirs my own. Shining Armor’s touch, his steady gaze—I’d steal him away, lock us in starlight, if I weren’t bound by duty. I bufido, shaking off the thought, but it clings.
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> We’re fighting, clawing back what’s ours. The mares’ boycott broke the nobles’ gold, forcing the ambassador to the table. Celestia’s words, sharp as dawn, press her lies; my pleas, heavy with love’s weight, bind her. The law’s cracking—some humans may return, a trickle, not a flood, but it’s hope. Luna’s justice, her old law humbling those commanders, shook the guard’s loyalty. I stood with her, saw their shame, felt the mares’ pride. Yet their longing haunts me. A pink pony fights for her grump, a cello weeps for her cowboy—each heart a note in my dirge. This viuda’s inferno, Crimson, burns less than their pain, less than mine. Another, please—this frustration’s waking my worst. I’ll fight, for them, for love, until every mare’s whole.
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> Crimson Brew here, hoof on my heart. Cadance’s love’s a storm, and that inferno barely cooled her. Thank the stars no foals are here tonight—her fire’s too raw. The mares’ fight, Luna’s wrath, Cadance’s heart—it’s turning the tide. Will the portal bring those men home, or break us all? You, my fine customers, will want to know. Come back tomorrow—this bar’s seen worse, and we’re still pouring. Raise a glass to Cadance’s burden and the love that won’t quit.
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> To be continued.
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123