The Rise of Puddinghead
by steadygaze
The wind howled on a cold summer’s morning about a year before the founding of Equestria. Yes, a cold and summer morning. The “spring that never came” had given way to the “summer that never came”. In every field in the Republic, some farmers toiled fruitlessly to plow still-frozen ground, while others had given up and drank their time away. Still others got hopping mad at the world, the unicorns or pegasi, and yes, the government.
A building of old-style stonework rose above the dilapidated Earth pony capitol, the Earth pony parliament hall. A mob was outside, in a tense standoff with the capitol guard. The crowd had an energy like an organism with seething rage coursing through its veins. Like a predator probing for weakness, every so often a pony would make their way up to the front, only to be pushed back by the line of guards. Ponies were riled up in ways only missing a couple meals could.
The mood inside was not much better, amidst a special session of parliament. An empty podium sat in the middle, with every Member of Parliament seated around it in a semicircle. Worried chatter rose above the noise here and there…
“…impossible to find food for the people…”
“…bad news coming, just you wait…”
“…don’t see how Vainglory can hold this together…”
“Parliament is in session!” cried the parliamentarian, cutting through the noise. “Chancellor Vainglory will open.”
Chancellor Vainglory trembled her way onto the podium to address everypony, but despite her fear, as soon as it was time, her voice became clipped and precise. “Everypony here is aware of the unusual challenges related to the weather. My administration has done everything in its power…”
“Boo!” “You’ve done nothing!” “Lazy fool!”
“…to preserve order in our streets and the dignity of everypony. I have called this special session with grave news. Our intelligence revealed a supply cache in Old Pegasopolis. We authorized a raid against it with our finest warriors… but regrettably, Commander Beansworth the Mighty failed.” the Chancellor said flatly, almost fatalistically.
The expected wall of jeers erupted, but from all sides of the chamber, not just one.
Vainglory attempted to continue. “There is still hope!”
“WHAT HOPE?”
“From the beginning, my administration has faithfully prosecuted our struggle for dominance against the pegasi imperialists and unicorn tyrants.”
“AS IF!”
“Let not one foible tarnish a record of victory and service. We will persevere. I will persevere, with your support. Thank you.”
The parliamentarian said, “The prime minister will now take questions. The chair recognizes Lignite of Riverdale, a Rockist.”
Lignite’s mouth practically foamed. “LAZY, IMPOTENT, TEAT-SUCKER. Why did you not lead the warriors yourself, as is tradition?”
Vainglory answered, “Tradition? The most competent general will lead, always. You seem to have gotten lost and wandered in from two hundred years ago.”
“OOOH”
Lignite continued, “No matter! If you could not lead the mighty Earth pony hordes to what should have been their inevitable victory, I will instruct my descendants to spit on your grave. I yield my time.”
The beleaguered parliamentary said, “Once again, Members of Parliament will refrain from petty insults. The chair recognizes Star Watcher of Riverton, an Earthist.”
Star locked eyes with Vainglory. “Like you, Vainglory, I am an Earthist through and through. So it should be no surprise that I would faithfully support your administration. But I know now that if we remain on the present course, our problems will remain intractable. Parliamentarian, I call for a vote of no confidence, come what may.”
A collective gasp could be heard. Perhaps all could read that Vainglory’s downfall was inevitable with how things were going, but the first stone cast wasn’t supposed to be from within her own faction.
“Very well,” interjected the parliamentarian. “Let the voting begin.” The parliamentarian consulted the voting roll.
“Amber Hoof?”
“Aye.”
“Black Burr?”
“Aye.”
…
After voting ended, the parliamentarian reported, “The ayes have it. The motion has passed. The chair will now recognize anypony who wishes to nominate themselves for the position of Chancellor. First is Sacred Tradition, a Rockist.”
Sacred Tradition began, “Thank you. Why have our people stumbled? Why has Mother Nature turned against us? It is because our people have grown decadent. We must return to the ways of the Ancients. We must hold a Tournament of Life.”
The room sat in stunned silence. The Tournament of Life was reputed to be held in desperate times in Earth pony villages, when there is simply not enough food to sustain everypony. The prize is, well, being able to continue living, while the losers are conveniently no longer able to consume any more limited rations. Historians do not know if it is truly a real thing or something somepony made up, but this is the one record we have of it being proposed completely sincerely. A few historians believe the losers would be consumed in ritual cannibalism.
“You’re loco in the coco!” an anonymous MP exclaimed, breaking the brief spell of silence.
“So you say. But only after purging the weak will our armies be strong. Vote for me, and I will ensure our race survives, by any means necessary. That is all.”
The parliamentarian said, “The chair recognizes Puddinghead of Centerville, an Earthist.”
Puddinghead began, “I believe temporary cooperation is necessary with the hated pegasi and unicorns.”
Jeers erupted.
“I know, I know! Let me finish. Any hope of recovery, for all pony races, will involve Earth ponies. As the producers of sorely needed food, we will always have the strongest hoof in negotiations after our eventual recovery. I daresay we might be able to revisit the old burden of tributes that has kept us underhoof for so long. Elect me, and we might find our way out of this mess.”
For once, everypony looked thoughtful, contemplating the choice of brutal societal autophagy or working with their mortal enemies. That is, until the silence was broken by…
“BONE BUCKER!” “FEATHER SNIFFER!”
Puddinghead sighed and rolled her eyes.
That afternoon, despite the cold, everypony important gathered under an apparently uncaring sky which even deigned to snow on the hapless Earth ponies.
A ritualist, dressed in a plain white robe, began, “Do you, Puddinghead, solemnly swear to act in the best interests of the people, and pinkie promise not to become a tyrant?”
“I do.”
The ritualist replied, “Very well. I anoint you Chancellor.” The ritualist poured a bottle of luminous oil onto Puddinghead’s head, its contents clinging to her mane. The formula for such an Earth pony potion has been lost, but according to historical accounts, the effect was rather impressive, making the anointed one look like a kind of angel.
But it wouldn’t save the Earth ponies on its own. The real work had just begun, but thankfully, similar realizations had begun dawning in the halls of power in Pegasopolis and Unicornia. Within a year, the Great Migration would occur, and despite the self-interested motivations of the leaders, it would be followed by the establishment of one new nation, Equestria.
A building of old-style stonework rose above the dilapidated Earth pony capitol, the Earth pony parliament hall. A mob was outside, in a tense standoff with the capitol guard. The crowd had an energy like an organism with seething rage coursing through its veins. Like a predator probing for weakness, every so often a pony would make their way up to the front, only to be pushed back by the line of guards. Ponies were riled up in ways only missing a couple meals could.
The mood inside was not much better, amidst a special session of parliament. An empty podium sat in the middle, with every Member of Parliament seated around it in a semicircle. Worried chatter rose above the noise here and there…
“…impossible to find food for the people…”
“…bad news coming, just you wait…”
“…don’t see how Vainglory can hold this together…”
“Parliament is in session!” cried the parliamentarian, cutting through the noise. “Chancellor Vainglory will open.”
Chancellor Vainglory trembled her way onto the podium to address everypony, but despite her fear, as soon as it was time, her voice became clipped and precise. “Everypony here is aware of the unusual challenges related to the weather. My administration has done everything in its power…”
“Boo!” “You’ve done nothing!” “Lazy fool!”
“…to preserve order in our streets and the dignity of everypony. I have called this special session with grave news. Our intelligence revealed a supply cache in Old Pegasopolis. We authorized a raid against it with our finest warriors… but regrettably, Commander Beansworth the Mighty failed.” the Chancellor said flatly, almost fatalistically.
The expected wall of jeers erupted, but from all sides of the chamber, not just one.
Vainglory attempted to continue. “There is still hope!”
“WHAT HOPE?”
“From the beginning, my administration has faithfully prosecuted our struggle for dominance against the pegasi imperialists and unicorn tyrants.”
“AS IF!”
“Let not one foible tarnish a record of victory and service. We will persevere. I will persevere, with your support. Thank you.”
The parliamentarian said, “The prime minister will now take questions. The chair recognizes Lignite of Riverdale, a Rockist.”
Lignite’s mouth practically foamed. “LAZY, IMPOTENT, TEAT-SUCKER. Why did you not lead the warriors yourself, as is tradition?”
Vainglory answered, “Tradition? The most competent general will lead, always. You seem to have gotten lost and wandered in from two hundred years ago.”
“OOOH”
Lignite continued, “No matter! If you could not lead the mighty Earth pony hordes to what should have been their inevitable victory, I will instruct my descendants to spit on your grave. I yield my time.”
The beleaguered parliamentary said, “Once again, Members of Parliament will refrain from petty insults. The chair recognizes Star Watcher of Riverton, an Earthist.”
Star locked eyes with Vainglory. “Like you, Vainglory, I am an Earthist through and through. So it should be no surprise that I would faithfully support your administration. But I know now that if we remain on the present course, our problems will remain intractable. Parliamentarian, I call for a vote of no confidence, come what may.”
A collective gasp could be heard. Perhaps all could read that Vainglory’s downfall was inevitable with how things were going, but the first stone cast wasn’t supposed to be from within her own faction.
“Very well,” interjected the parliamentarian. “Let the voting begin.” The parliamentarian consulted the voting roll.
“Amber Hoof?”
“Aye.”
“Black Burr?”
“Aye.”
…
After voting ended, the parliamentarian reported, “The ayes have it. The motion has passed. The chair will now recognize anypony who wishes to nominate themselves for the position of Chancellor. First is Sacred Tradition, a Rockist.”
Sacred Tradition began, “Thank you. Why have our people stumbled? Why has Mother Nature turned against us? It is because our people have grown decadent. We must return to the ways of the Ancients. We must hold a Tournament of Life.”
The room sat in stunned silence. The Tournament of Life was reputed to be held in desperate times in Earth pony villages, when there is simply not enough food to sustain everypony. The prize is, well, being able to continue living, while the losers are conveniently no longer able to consume any more limited rations. Historians do not know if it is truly a real thing or something somepony made up, but this is the one record we have of it being proposed completely sincerely. A few historians believe the losers would be consumed in ritual cannibalism.
“You’re loco in the coco!” an anonymous MP exclaimed, breaking the brief spell of silence.
“So you say. But only after purging the weak will our armies be strong. Vote for me, and I will ensure our race survives, by any means necessary. That is all.”
The parliamentarian said, “The chair recognizes Puddinghead of Centerville, an Earthist.”
Puddinghead began, “I believe temporary cooperation is necessary with the hated pegasi and unicorns.”
Jeers erupted.
“I know, I know! Let me finish. Any hope of recovery, for all pony races, will involve Earth ponies. As the producers of sorely needed food, we will always have the strongest hoof in negotiations after our eventual recovery. I daresay we might be able to revisit the old burden of tributes that has kept us underhoof for so long. Elect me, and we might find our way out of this mess.”
For once, everypony looked thoughtful, contemplating the choice of brutal societal autophagy or working with their mortal enemies. That is, until the silence was broken by…
“BONE BUCKER!” “FEATHER SNIFFER!”
Puddinghead sighed and rolled her eyes.
That afternoon, despite the cold, everypony important gathered under an apparently uncaring sky which even deigned to snow on the hapless Earth ponies.
A ritualist, dressed in a plain white robe, began, “Do you, Puddinghead, solemnly swear to act in the best interests of the people, and pinkie promise not to become a tyrant?”
“I do.”
The ritualist replied, “Very well. I anoint you Chancellor.” The ritualist poured a bottle of luminous oil onto Puddinghead’s head, its contents clinging to her mane. The formula for such an Earth pony potion has been lost, but according to historical accounts, the effect was rather impressive, making the anointed one look like a kind of angel.
But it wouldn’t save the Earth ponies on its own. The real work had just begun, but thankfully, similar realizations had begun dawning in the halls of power in Pegasopolis and Unicornia. Within a year, the Great Migration would occur, and despite the self-interested motivations of the leaders, it would be followed by the establishment of one new nation, Equestria.