The Imperial Mission of Duke Seasalt Caramel Brine Cream

It had been 3,000 years since the Horned Kingdoms had claimed the Great Sea at the edge of the Sugarcrust Coast. In their first attempt, they had driven an idiot’s passel worth of donkeys and men into the deep water, only to be met with less than stellar results. Thankfully no gentry had been harmed, so nothing was truly lost. Though an enterprising young filly did turn the shore-grave into an excellent picnicking spot from which to observe all future attempts. As the soldiers formed a blockade of horseflesh and sweetblades – as the servants (donkeys) and pantry extras (humans) wept, the royal court laughed and were entertained – as they drank crisp champagne and fresh lobster sandwiches snapped in their prettiful mouths.

Eventually they tired of the sport and it was agreed that something must be done so that the Kingdom Oceanus could be properly annexed and taxed.

“Shall we turn to science?” queried one wall-eyed pegacorn, as crustacean laden flecks escaped his overly full cheeks.

His wife rolled her shining eyes. “Oh, Regifoal, you are a dunce. Do you not remember that the Queen had all of them imprisoned when they requested one of her diamonds to aid an experiment?”

“Ho, ho, my dear, you are quite right. Good thing I married above me, lovey.”

So the debate continued.

For 3,000 years.

That is, until the day the new Queen summoned Duke Seasalt Caramel Brine Cream to her court. Whispers of his visit scandalized the other royal attendees. No one had seen a Brine Cream in public for ages and for good reason. Rumor was that rampant inbreeding had rendered their appearance freakish and their bodies enfeebled. Their family motto, Omnia Familia est[1] had been taken quite too literally for generations. Now it was only the Duke and his servants in the old rambling, shuttered family mansion.

The Duke rode in on a lapis lazuli sedan with pearl encrusted sapphire curtains. He was gently placed below the dais and the fabric was drawn back, revealing only his upper half.

“Your Majesty,” he lightly burbled. “You'll forgive me for not being able to stand and bow at your glorious, glamorous hooves.”

The Queen had a think. “Yes. We suppose we can forgive you that.”

“Thank you, my most beneficent shimmerial Queen.” He coughed. He was unused to being long absent from the damp, moldy halls of his home.

“My, uh, “good” Duke, you look positively green!” She paused. “Well, greeny-blue.”

“Oh, Majesty, fret not.” He pulled his tightly crocheted blanket further up his torso and tried to hide another cough, as flakes of his dull skin floated off of him and coated the throne room floor. More of a dark gray-green against the glowing gold tiles.

“Let me get straight to the point, as I am not sure how long my third brunch will stay in my stomach, having to watch you fall apart below me.”

Duke Brine Cream was abashed. The rest of the court clip-clopped in agreement, for the invalid had begun to emanate a violently salty and slightly rotten scent.

“You are the last of your line, is this correct?”

His flanks shivered in sorrow. “Yes, my Queen.”

“What a shame. All that great wealth, returned to the crown upon your death.” Her eyes glittered greedily. “Your health is ill, yes?”

The Duke raised a bronze hoof in denial, but it quickly went limp as he shook his lank mane in the affirmative.

“And your relations'…relations have made it almost impossible for you to trot, much less attend the Prance Dance or other official functions – have in fact made you a cripple and a freak?”

A fact he would have liked to have rebutted, but the membranous cracks in his hooves were a silent witness against him, as well as what lay beneath the blanket.

“We have a proposition for you. Well, less a proposition, more a royal command. Come rise of the great glowy sky orb, you will be taken to Uniland’s End and from there you shall battle the waves and sundry obstacles, establishing an outpost for Our underwater colony.”

Something under the crochet cover flicked in fear and, was that excitement?

“But your Majesterial Parfait of Perfection – how am I to do so, when I shall surely perish once I hit the first tidal tongue? Especially taking my disability into account?”

“That does not concern Us. We are impatient for the enlargement of Our name. We have attempted throwing lesser beings into the surf – it is time to try sending one of Our royal bloodline as ambassador. Now, We tire of your company. Be gone.”

Before he had another opportunity to protest, a coughing fit seized him. His servants closed the curtains and again lifted the rods of his sedan onto their broad backs, carrying him to an apartment provided them in the castle.

After a sleepless night spent trying to imagine himself out of his mess, his imagination failed him. Sunrise came all too quickly. The Queen did not bother attending his send-off at the peak of Tippy Top Toffee Cliff. Lady pegacorns were there, throwing crystal petals over his litter, now borne by the Royal Guard. Any chance to be dramatic, those lady pegacorns. Horns were blown to bid him a hero’s farewell. He heard the great belltower peal and the guards, on cue “Umphed” him into the unforgiving depths.

As soon as he hit the Great Sea, the top layer of his patchy skin sloughed off, taking with it his withered, molting wings. “Let death come swiftly,” he prayed.

While high above, the gathered crowd was recovering from its collective shock.

“Did, did you see what was below the blanket, Mawdry?”

For all assembled had glimpsed something unnatural, almost reptilian flash before them as the ill-fated pegacorn tumbled to the waters below.

The Duke felt the sea surging around him and then into him through holes he hadn't realized existed. Burning, tight slits around his straining neck. Soon, he could fight no more and coughed the last bit of oxygen from his lungs.

And found that he could breathe just fine. The water pouring into him was just as quickly filtered out. Actually, he could not remember a time when he bad breathed more freely, more clearly. The more immediate concern was to get far away from the cliffs, for the eddying, swirling water brought him closer with every surge. Had he only been a fully able pegacorn, perhaps he would have had a chance. Curse his useless lower half! His front hooves pawed at the water, the pieces now separating more dramatically, revealing the webbed skin between. Yes! He was no longer completely at the mercy of the waves. Yet it still wasn’t enough.

As he was pushed both further down and shoreward, time seemed to slow. The bright new sunlight filtering through the layers of blue was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. If he had to be dashed upon the rocks, this was not a terrible last view. He saw little fishes dart past him, no doubt on their way to deeper, safer waters. He felt a twinge in his withers. The strange tail that had been his burden since birth, it was moving on its own accord. To and fro, side to side, just like the little fish! Could he…yes, up and down was even more effective! He easily propelled himself not only to safety, but like an overeager colt, began turning in somersaults, only he was padded by the now gentle saltwater.

His once lackluster mane floated among the coral in a way he would call most lovely. He kicked himself above the crests and neighed in a clear roaring triumph, gamboling through the foam-capped sea.

The assembly looked on in amazement and confusion. Was that the Duke, so far beyond already, swimming in and out of the waves? Or were they all experiencing a mass delusion? Reports filtered into the Queen, who took them with a grain of sugar. Meaning very, very seriously. Just what kind of pegacorn had she sent on this important mission?

After splashing around for hours, it could be supposed that Duke Brine Cream would've tired out his newfound muscles but just the opposite was true. His energy was boundless and his heart sang with the sweetness of belonging. As he breeched he heard a voice calling from far away. Shielding his eyes against the bright light of the surface with his tail finally, he searched for the voice’s owner. There, atop the Toffee Cliff, a frustrated guard was calling.

“Oi! You! Good, you can finally hear me. Swim off then, make with the colonies already!”

The Duke remembered himself. The Mission. With a great, graceful, aerial leap, he drove deep into the sea. Until the Crystal water turned a deep navy, then gray, then darkest black. His eyes adjusted without effort and he could see that even here, the oceanscape was filled with life. He was enjoying himself league after league before he decided to leave the depths for the Midnight Zone. He loved that even though there was certainly a pecking order beneath the waves – the small fish eat the floaty bits, the large fish eat the small fish, sharks and sundry eat the big fish…here he felt no judgment.

He swam further and further out, watching the ocean floor below change with each league. He felt if he went much farther, the sea flora would be too sparse to properly host a colony of rapacious unicorns. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, then he spotted dim lights emanating from some large structure beyond him. Having been given no plan of action, nor the necessary time to create one himself, he decided to follow the soft glow and see where it led him. Obviously the dear Duke had no real concept of sea dangers, as the lights could have easily have been generated by a cousin of the super spooky deep sea fangly fish. Luckily for him, it was actually the border lights of an enormous underground Kingdom.

He halted mid tail-flick, treading water, trying to take in the incredibly lovely walls that rose before him. Crisscrossed with trailing water ivy and seemingly made out of impenetrable bubbles.

What kind of creatures lived here? He swam cautiously closer, scanning for signs of life when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something was swimming away from him, towards a large woven seaweed door. Something that looked exactly…like…him. Could it be? “Ho there!” He cried, racing to catch up with the creature. The scales of the other’s tail shone beautifully silver as the city lights caught their iridescence.

He turned around as the Duke held his breath. “May I help you?” the thing bleated.

For a moment, Brine Cream was frozen. His mind could not, would not understand what he was seeing. Gorge rose in his throat as the creature came toward him, squinting its devil eyes.

“Oh my, can it be true?” It continued, obviously not hearing the Duke’s internal voice screaming at it to be silent. “A hippocamp? Why, we haven't seen one of your kind for a great many years! Not since the trade route was severed by that island chain. Have you somehow made it across?”

The Duke spoke out of the sides of his mouth, barely keeping down his bile. “What. What are you?”

“What I am is a Capricorn of course, from the great city of Pricus, at whose walls we stand beyond. Who I am Sirrah Surf Turf. May I know the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

“D-, Duke.” Was all he could manage.

“Well, Duke, the King shall certainly be glad to know you. Come, you shall be honored guest! Truly I shall be the envy of all the merchants.” The Capricorn placed a bifurcated hoof on the shoulder of the Duke, who promptly threw up, the chunks floating in a miasma about them.

Duke Brine Cream was immediately in demand among the hoi polloi under the sea. Unfortunately for him, the Capricorns – with their evil horns and freak faces, completely unnerved him. For truth, he could only stand to be in their presence but a few minutes before becoming severely nauseas. He knew he should be looking at ways to ingratiate himself to their King and through diplomacy, merge their two Kingdoms under his Queen. Or perhaps be searching out weaknesses to exploit when he brought back an army to colonize by sheer force.

More often than not, he found himself recovering in the splendid embassy in which they had set him up, to host company in surroundings he would find comfortable. His first demand was to move the embassy to the very edge of the high wall. He would have preferred to be completely outside the capital city, but if wishes were horses…they’d be put to death on account of plainness.

Duke Seasalt Caramel would spend his days curled up on velvet pillows, fins over his head muttering “Monsters. All monsters.”

He was agoraphobic in his horror. Every day he would write progress reports, mostly falsified, filled with bravado – stuff them in brilliantly blue glass bottles and let them bob to the surface, hoping that the ride would push them back to the coast and to his Queen.

Over time, the Capricorns declined to send any further invitations to the Duke. They knew that for some reason, their presence pained him. They were sorrowful, but respectful and tried to keep their distance as much as possible. They appointed a caretaker of the property who came only at night and the Capricorns went out of their way to give him a wide berth. But every now and then, a citizen, a nobleman, and sometimes even the hopeful King would look toward the embassy and sigh for all the missed opportunities. “What a sad Duke he must be.”

After a few months, Duke Brine Cream shook himself from his terrorized stupor and decided to venture outside once again. It had suddenly occurred to him that his aborted colonization mission must be officially reported. No more hiding. Why, they would've sent out innumerable search parties by now, and he had failed in his duty to warn them of what lurked below! Great Artax in the clouds! What had he done? Had his would-be rescuers fallen into the clutches of the wicked Capricorns? He flexed each shiny scale of his magnificent tail and swam without hesitation through the main hall and through the front entry, gills straining as he shot toward the surface, bubbles paving his way.

The light thickened and the water thinned as his head broke the surface tension and his lungs tried to acclimate to the bountiful air. He began to hiccup violently, but they faded into smaller spasms quickly enough. White-capped water seemed to surround him on every side. No sight of any land and certainly not of Tip Top Toffee Cliff or the beach. No matter. He had his regal mission and it was enough inspiration to fuel hours of searching. Hours that turned into days, into months, into years. He tried not to dive too far below, concerned that he might again meet a demon fish or crapicorns or whatever they called themselves.

Meanwhile, everyone who glimpsed him gliding through the waves was awestruck with his beauty. He did not float around long enough for them to notice the crazed look in his eye, the small hiccup tremors that shook him when he breeched. The only impression that was left with the lucky ones that spotted him was absolute oceanic splendor, a gleaming horn, and Enya’s “Sail Away” which for some reason was immediately stuck in everyone’s heads as soon as they caught sight of him (and stayed there for exactly a 24-hour period).

He met all manner of creature, though in passing only. Cellophane fish, large wooden shells the mermaids called “boats”, also mermaids, also mermen, krakens, Mr. Leviathan (there was only one of those), plesiosaurs, whales both killer and non. But none of that mattered a whit when he finally saw the familiar shores of the Sugarcrest Coast and Tip Top Toffee Cliff. He flung himself up on the sand and had gone about 12 feet up the embankment before he found that he could no longer move. The years of freedom in the sea had completely done in his terrestrial muscles, what few there had been to begin with.

He flopped around, trying to gain purchase in the glittering sand – to no avail.

“It's all right.” He tried to calm himself. “There’ll be a shore patrol of guards along here soon enough. They’ll have been waiting for a report from me.”

His flesh, so used to the freshening saltwater began immediately to dry out, the sun beat down on him with a force he did not recall.

Of course…they had never sent out a search party. The Queen had received word of his initial thalassic exploits and had there and then declared him Un-Pretty (obsolete) and the mission over. In fact, so great was her disinterest that after banning casual access to the shore, she forgot all about the plan to colonize the Great Sea.

As Duke Seasalt Caramel Brine Cream breathed his last, trapped on the land that had always been so harsh to him, refusing to seek the salvation of the sea, he saw the glinting blue of hundreds of broken bottles scattered along the beach. The smoothing sea glass serving as a testimony to his perfidy and cowardice.

Many days later, a guard came across the remains of the Duke. Of course the gulls and crabs had made short work of the softer tissues, but his fibrous fin and ivory horn remained to puzzle at. What one creature could have left behind such a set? Perhaps a whale? With the horn of a unicorn? And that, dear children, is where we get the Myth of the Narwhal.

[1] Family is Everything or Everything is Family, both are correct in this instance.