Unnamed Story by Guts


                                            >"What's wrong little filly? You lost or something'? This sort of area is no place for a youngin like you to be in, you might even run into a few bandits if yer not careful...."

                                            >As if on cue, the rustling in the bushes grows louder as five more shadowy figures emerge from the darkness, surrounding your meager campsite.

                                            >The gruff voice carries on, paying no mind to those behind him.

                                            >"I mean, you look like just the sort of mare some thug would prey on, all alone out here."

                                            >The voice moves forward, stepping into the pale beams of moonlight, gleaming off his armor in bright spots.

                                            >A grey stallion stands before you, covered in worn iron plates held together with dilapidated chainmail.

                                            >Deep lines of battles past were etched in the metal, indicating urgent need of replacement.

                                            >The spear hanging in front of your face was fighting its own battle against time, the worn down tip attached loosely to the splintered staff.

                                            "Hard times to be a bandit, eh?"

                                            >The stallion lets out a low chuckle, grinning and nodding his head.

                                            >"Hey, pillaging don't bring in as much as it used to."

                                            >He shrugs his shoulders, the lackeys behind him inching forward, blades in hoof.

                                            >"That sort of armor yer wearin' isn't the sort of thing I'd expect to see on a mare as young as yourself either, but I suppose the whole damn world's all topsy-turvy like that these days."

                                            >It was your turn to shrug, taking the opportunity to scoot backwards a few inches.

                                            >You glance back to your bag, searching for the outline of your sword in the coarse cloth.

                                            >"I'm sure you know the drill by now, hand over the armor and the bag and we'll give you at least a 20 second head start. That should be enough time to get a decent head start."

                                            "Oh? Why that long?"

                                            >"Makes it more fun, I suppose."

                                            >You flash a cocky grin, but the tremors of panic were already coursing through your brain.

                                            >"I'm not sure I can reach my sword in time, he looks like he knows how to use that thing..."


                                            >"If I'm not quick enough I could end up with a spear through my neck."

                                            "I have no time to deal with idiots like you. Leave now, and I might let you go. If you don't, you better pray for a quick death, or this could be unpleasant."

                                            >The band of ponies simultaneously throw their heads back, echoing cackles filling the harsh night air.

                                            >"Yer a cocky sumbitch, ain't you? Last chance, hand over the bag before things get bloody."

                                            >A quick slash of the worn tip across your nose draws blood, enunciating his point.

                                            >You simply grunt in reply, slowly reaching back for your bag.

                                            >"Damn, these guys are serious. I needed a warm up at some time, but I wish I could've gotten some sleep first."

                                            >Gripping the bag in your hoof, you eye down the leader of this group, a beastly glint in your eye.

                                            >Slowly dragging it along the grass you bring the bag over to your chest, feeling around for the heavy sword outline beneath the dirty cloth.

                                            >"Good filly. Now, hand over the bag, nice and slow."

                                            >Gritting your teeth, you begin to extend your forelegs towards the darkened figure.

                                            >Dropping the slow pace, you suddenly fling the bag forward into the visor of the stallion before you, shrouding his sight.

                                            >Springing to life you leap forward off the ground, narrowly avoiding a well placed sword strike planted where you once sat.

                                            >Your nimble frame flies through the air, arching over the blindly flailing spear below you.

                                            >Thrusting your muzzle forward, you bite down on the thick cloth bag mid-leap,dragging it with you as you complete your roll.

                                            >The force of your jump shoots you much further than the last of the group, coming to the end of your roll a few feet away from danger.

                                            >You immediately spin around to face the party, reaching into your bag and grabbing out your.... empty scabbard.

                                            >Your hoof endlessly searches for nothing inside the bag, praying for a weapon of some sort.

                                            >"Shit, that dumb mare forgot to give me a sword!"


                                            >As the density of the situation bears down on you, a sharp pain spreads up your side like wildfire.

                                            >Your almost forgotten injuries make themselves known as your body jostles around, consuming each of your limbs in torment.

                                            >"Well now, that was mighty quick. Unfortunately, it looks like you're a little outnumbered and outclassed though, especially without a sword."

                                            >The gruff stallion steps forward, leveling his spear with your already bleeding muzzle.

                                            >"Come on boys, let's wrap this one up quick. First one to kill her gets the new armor!"

                                            >The stallion charges forward, slow hoof steps trodding across the grass as you frantically prepare yourself for the strike.

                                            >You let the bandit get almost too close for comfort before snapping your head to the side, narrowly avoiding the metal tip as you lift your foreleg.

                                            >You blast forward off your hindlegs, slamming your hoof into the thin helmet with a loud ping.

                                            >A symphony of strain shoots down your limb, nearly crumpling you to the floor in agony.

                                            >"There's no way I can fight like this, I'm too tired and sore. That last punch overextended my leg, I'll break it if I try that again..."

                                            >Weighing your options you attempt to spread your wings, only to be met with that aggravating pain again.

                                            >"I can't fly away either, I'm too weak to fly with all this armor on for now."

                                            >A metallic clang resonates through the forest as the stallion hits the floor, his spear rolling uselessly to the side.

                                            >You raise your forelegs again to crush him into the floor, but he manages to roll away quicker than you could drop them.

                                            >He quickly stands up, barreling over to his comrades while tightly gripping his jaw.

                                            >"What're you cowards waiting for!? Get her!"

                                            >A large grin crosses your face as you lazily step forward, desperately trying to hide the sheer amount of pain filling every waking thought.

                                            "Well? A bunch of bandits afraid of a mare? Come on, it's been too long since I've felt somepony's head under my hoof!"


                                            >The quintet cautiously steps forward, taking a glancing look at each other before they charge across the moonlit grass.

                                            >You dig your hooves into the dirt, stoically watching their movements.

                                            >The first of the group swings his heavy sword quicker than you expected, barely giving you time to duck before slicing into a tree.

                                            >You lift your head up in between his forelegs, swiftly smacking your head against his armored skull.

                                            >Blood trickles down from your forehead as the stallion staggers backwards, leaving his sword in the tree with a dazed expression.

                                            >You quickly close the gap with a tackle, ramming into his midsection as he crumples into the floor below you.

                                            >You scramble on his chest, positioning yourself for a finishing punch to the throat when the sound of a chain slicing through the air calls your attention.

                                            >You narrowly avoid the massive flail crashing down on you by flopping backwards, planting yourself on the grass as the heavy ball smashes into the swordsman's chest plate.

                                            >An ear piercing scream hurdles through the night, eclipsing the cracking sound of multiple broken ribs.

                                            >You're almost at the point of screaming as well, the once subsiding pain now wracking your body.

                                            >Every inch of you was on fire, each movement sending you into a new level of pure agony.

                                            >Despite this you still struggle to your hooves, gritting your teeth as the next warrior approaches, sword held high.

                                            >As much as it hurt, these were the moments you loved the most, the ones you thrived on.

                                            >The torment shrouding every thought in your mind reminded you that you were still alive, and the roaring fire in your chest reminded you of your one true purpose.

                                            >Survive.

                                            >It was the only thing you knew how to do, constantly straddling the thin line between life and death purely out of instinct.

                                            >The large stallion thrusts his sword forward, scraping against your chest plate as he barrels into you.


                                            You ready yourself for a kick, but stallion is already swinging before you can attempt a hit.

                                            >This one cuts into your foreleg, a large wound running down its length.

                                            >"Damn, he's fast..."

                                            >"I've got to keep up or this one could be a challenge."

                                            >Swing after swing pushes you back, each one being avoided by the skin of your teeth.

                                            >You're about to give yourself an opening to his chest when an arrows slams into the tree behind you, close enough to feel the guiding tail feathers against your nose.

                                            >You steal a glance to the side, noting the archer attempting to hide himself in the darkness from your sight while he readies another arrow.

                                            >Your glance encompasses the entire field, making out the forms of two more stallion's hurtling towards you, attempting to coordinate their attacks.

                                            >"I'm having a hard time with the one, there's no way I can fight all four of them...."

                                            >"Their armor is heavier than mine, if I took off running through the forest I doubt they could catch me."

                                            >Your body was moving on auto pilot as your mind whirled, attempting to avoid the torrent of steel slicing the air as you looked for an opportunity to run.

                                            >The blood streaming down your forehead was obscuring your vision as you devised a plan, the panic of death tainting your thoughts.

                                            >Your mind was in a frenzy, whipping itself around with your body.

                                            >All of your limbs felt ready to crumple beneath you, wobbling as you slowly dodge another swing.

                                            >The thick handle of a spear planting itself in the floor right next to you shocked your body into sudden movement.

                                            >Timing it with the next high swing, you drop your whole body to the floor before ramming your head upwards, planting your skull in his chest.

                                            >The blow knocks him backwards, giving you the opportunity to charge.

                                            >You rip the arrow out of the tree next to you, clenching it tightly in your teeth as you sprint towards the panicked stallion, distancing yourself from the group behind you as another arrow flies past you.


                                            >The world fades out around you as your vision fades red, the pain in your limbs completely lost in the beastly frenzy whirling in your mind.

                                            >The bandit thrusts his sword forward in defense, the fire inside you has consumed too much of your vision to pay it any mind.

                                            >You tear the arrow from your mouth, brandishing the sharp head as you swing it forward.

                                            >The tip finds it target, planting itself deep in the exposed throat of the stallion below you.

                                            >A spurt of red liquid gushes out as you drive the shaft further, the swordsman letting out a gurgled cry as he crumples to the floor.

                                            >Sensing your opportunity to run, you leap off his chest in a panic and take off runn-

                                            "Shit!"

                                            >Your entire body collapses underneath you, a foreign pain splitting through your foreleg, rendering it useless.

                                            >You look down to your limb and are surprised to see the stallions massive sword, cleanly stuck straight through your flesh.

                                            >The approching voices behind you spur you to life, attempting to get on your hooves again as your vision begins to fade.

                                            >You only manage two steps before crumpling again, your body rolling into a ditch hidden by the thick brush.

                                            >Your vision turns dark as the blood gushes from your wound, the enraged voices of your assailants growing nearer.

                                            >You desperately trying to fumble to your hooves but the fatigue seeping into your bones stops you, giving you no other option to fade off to sleep.


                                            >Just as the pain begins to seep away along with your consciousness, shouts from above snaps you back to attention.

                                            >"I see her boss! She's down in the ditch!"

                                            >"Well, what are you waiting for? She killed Windy and Puck! Go get her!"

                                            >Underneath the shroud of the forest top it was nearly too dark to see anything, but the distinct sound of heavy armor thudding through thick shrubbery echoed through the forest.

                                            >To your surprise, the pain coursing through your body was slowly fading away, replaced by a gentle numbness.

                                            >You suspected that the searing pain had all drained out into the growing pool of blood underneath you.

                                            >You shook your head feverishly, the pit in your chest firmly holding your body against the floor as your fear grew.

                                            >"Move! You have to move, they're coming!"

                                            >Your entire body trembles as you struggle to your hooves, a well placed arrow landing a few inches from your flank giving you a sudden jolt.

                                            >The sword in in your foreleg rests firmly, rendering your limb useless as you pitifully limp forward.

                                            >"I can't pull it out yet, I'm already loosing blood too fast and I might pass out from the pain."

                                            >You slowly limp away from the encroaching enemies holding your foreleg high, attempting to slow the blood flow.

                                            >A light breeze cuts through the forest, gliding through your feathers, reminding you of the still sore wings at your sides.

                                            >They still felt weak, but it was starting to look like flying was your only option if you wanted to make it out of there alive.

                                            >You slowly pumped your wings, the angry voices growing louder behind you as they drew near.

                                            >Your feeble wings only manage to get you a few hooves off the ground, just barely enough to clear the vegetation.

                                            >The thick underbrush slides by underneath you, gliding against your hooves as you speed forward, the draining wound consuming your foreleg painting the leaves red.

                                            >The rustling of heavy armor and crushed flora grows louder behind you as you struggle to pick up speed.


                                            >"I see her boss! She's up in the air now!"

                                            >"Shoot her down then!"

                                            >The air around you thickens for a few anxious seconds as silence erupts through the forest, only to be cut by an arrow slicing through the woods.

                                            >It misses it's mark, planting itself in a tree only a few inches from your head.

                                            >"Shit, I'm an easy target up in the air, I need to get further ahead before I get shot down..."

                                            >You pump your wings even faster, ignoring the pleading for rest in your muscles as you push ahead.

                                            >The voices behind you slowly drown out as you travel further and further into the woods, eventually silencing themselves altogether.

                                            >You come to a slow landing on the ground after what felt like hours of flying, nearly collapsing to the floor as soon as you reach land.

                                            >The thick forest surrounds you on all sides, totally eclipsing the moonlight.

                                            >Every direction looks exactly the same as the last, you weren't even sure which direction you came from any more.

                                            "Where am I?"

                                            >Surveying your surroundings, you continue trudging forward through the air on your weakened wings, hopeful to find an end to this all-consuming forest.

                                            >A slow tingle runs up your bloodied foreleg, reminding you of the freely dripping wound.

                                            >Your vision swirls from exhaustion as you continue forward, slamming into anything in your way with your lack of eyesight.

                                            >Branch after branch slaps against your face, the cool droplets on your coat providing your consciousness with some refuge.

                                            >Suddenly your wings completely droop to your side, totally sapped of any energy they had left.

                                            >You come to a sickening stop against the floor, the mud being your only cushion for your muzzle as you skid to a stop.

                                            >You let out a loud groan, a frustrated tear rolling down your cheek.

                                            >Your legs are no longer able to support your body, incapable of even standing.

                                            >You dig your hoof into the forest floor, slowly dragging your body inch by inch through the greenery.


                                            >You couldn't just lay there and die, you had to keep pushing forward.

                                            >Everything in you was totally numb now, and your strength was completely faded.

                                            >Before long you can't even lift your hoof to drag yourself further, completely unable to move.

                                            >You could only rest your head on the floor, chuckling in your last few moments.

                                            >"How ironic. I spend my whole life fighting trained armies, only to die after being jumped by some low life bandits."

                                            >Your eyes felt heavy and the cold floor suddenly seemed very welcoming to your tired body, as good a place as any.

                                            >The only thing keeping you from fading off into the peaceful sleep you longed for was the strange, quiet thudding noise a few feet ahead in the bush.

                                            >You could only manage lift your head, but you were able to locate the source of the noise nonetheless.

                                            >The light of the rising sun gleamed across a wide plain, only textured by the sea of waving grass in the wind.

                                            >A small village was the only feature of this vast valley, seated right in the middle of the land mass, adjacent to a small river.

                                            >The sudden noise came from a rickety cart trudging along the bumpy road not ten yards away from where you lay, a smiling pony pulling it along while whistling a tune.

                                            >A new fire rose in your chest, dim hope filling every facet of your body as you forget about your lack of movement for a few moments.

                                            "HEY! HEY! OVER HERE!"

                                            >The stallion stopped, glancing to his sides as he adjusted his worn straw hat.

                                            >"Hmm? Anypony there?"

                                            >You tried to cry out again, but only a weak moan managed to pass through your lips.

                                            >The stallion unhitched hitched his cart from his back, trotting a few feet to the forest edge.

                                            >"'Ello?"

                                            >You grit your teeth, summoning any amount of desperate strength you have left in you to make some kind of noise.

                                            "OVER HE-..."

                                            >You can't manage any more than that, teetering on the edge of life and death was taking too much out of you.


                                            >The pony turns his head swiftly, gasping as he sees your mangled body.

                                            >"Holy moly! Are you OK miss?"

                                            >You didn't have enough strength to berate him for his obvious question, but you could manage to roll your eyes.

                                            >"Alright, don't move! I-I'll take you to the village, Whirler can look at all that. Just hold on!"

                                            >You can feel a pair of hooves wrapping themselves around your forelegs, gripping you tightly.

                                            >A loud gasp comes from above as the pony spots your wound, accompanied by a gag as you eventually begin to move.

                                            >You're slowly dragged through the last of the forest over to the stallion's cart, sunlight flooding your hazy vision.

                                            >A small trail of blood marked your path, flowing freely from your foreleg as the stallion slowly lifts you into his cart.

                                            >"A-Alright ma'am, just hold on, I'll get you to town!"

                                            >He rushes back to his hitch, attaching it firmly to his back and taking off towards the village.

                                            >You could barely even see now, but you were able to make out a few features of your rescuer.

                                            >He was young, younger than you at least.

                                            >Maybe that was just his face though, he lacked the time worn scars and deep, creased lines of yours.

                                            >He had the look of a simple farm boy, and a rather large one at that.

                                            >He was easily twice your size, maybe even larger than that.

                                            >"Hey! You better be stayin' awake back there!"

                                            >You could hear the voice calling back to you, but you could only make out a light brown blob making it now as you grew weaker.

                                            >"Talk to me, stay awake. What's your name? A'hm Yellow Rock, and Whirler's the village doctor. He'll fix you up good, don't worry!"

                                            >You were starting to fade in and out now, and you could only pick up bits and pieces of what he was saying.

                                            >The ride seemed much shorter than you expected as you drove arrived at the village, the waves of grass being cut away in favor of dirt roads and small hovels.

                                            >Many villagers looked appalled by your miserable condition, but all were beyond shocked.


                                            >The entire cart rattled as you came to a stop outside a small cobble hut, resting on the edge of the tiny village.

                                            >Yellow had already unhitched the cart and was frantically pounding on the rickety wooden door.

                                            >"Whirler!? Whirler get out here! There's an emergency!"

                                            >A crowd had already gathered around you, two stallions stepping forward to help you from the cart.

                                            >After a few seconds of silence, the door slammed open and a bright blue stallion leapt from the entryway.

                                            >"AN EMERGENCY!? That means somepony needs me! Oh goodie!"

                                            >Whirler practically skips over to your battered corpse, quickly surveying you as the two stallions carry you inside the hut.

                                            >"Oh goodness, that's quite a lot of blood. Had a nasty fall, have we?"

                                            >The two stallions carry through the doorway, followed by a crowd of villagers.

                                            >"Quickly then, put her right there on the doctor table thingy. I'll go get the other doctor thingies!"

                                            >The entire world was a haze, but you could feel yourself begin softly placed on a cushion of some sort.

                                            >Whirler seems to materialize from nowhere next to your table, a bag of various utensils in his mouth.

                                            >He tosses the two stallions a large rag from the sac, instructing them to wrap it around your foreleg.

                                            >Whirler places the bag down on the table and fishes around inside before pulling out a small bottle.

                                            >"There we go! The anesthesia, I think."

                                            >He pops open the cap and takes a look inside, nodding his head as if the contents have been deemed acceptable.

                                            >"Alright, this the stuff. Now, I'm not sure if this is the right dose, so it might work or,...."

                                            >He grins at you sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

                                            >"OrIsupposeitmightkillyouokbottomsup!"

                                            >He shoves the bottle in your mouth, unloading it's contents.

                                            >You can barely even register the fluids, but you managed to gulp it all down.

                                            >"Great! That should be kicking in soon, right about..... now!"

                                            >The effects were near instantaneous, and it didn't take much effort to put you to sleep this time.


                                            >"Now that she's out, we can get to our doctor work! Grab me that hacksaw, would ya?"

                                            >You reach out your hoof in a panic, but it quickly drops as you vision fades along with you off to sleep.


                                            >"Pssst."

                                            >"PSSSSSSSTTT."

                                            >Your eyes slowly creak open as your brain groggily spurs to life, shaking off the fatigue of many days rest.

                                            >The tip of a hoof tapping on your cheek aids in waking you while making you more annoyed.

                                            >Your eyelids are only halfway open when a blurred face pops suddenly into view, startling you fully awake.

                                            >"Oh goodie, you're finally awake! I was starting to think that I accidentally killed another one."

                                            "W-What? Where am I?"

                                            >"You don't remember? You're in my wonderful home! I fixed you up after you had that nasty fall of yours."

                                            >You lift your head from the table to look over the pony to your side feeling the pai-

                                            >Nothing?

                                            >You cautiously lift both forelegs and to your surprise the regular searing pain accompanying their movements is no more.

                                            "What did you do to me? How long have I been asleep?"

                                            >"Ah, all good questions."

                                            >The blue stallion leans casually against your table, twirling his hoof in the air.

                                            >"First, I removed the sword in your leg. That one was a nasty bugger to get out, and that's why there's that blood spurt on the ceiling. Then we s-"

                                            >You put your hoof in front of his face, silencing him.

                                            "You know, you talk too much. My gear. Where is it? I had a saddle bag with me, I want it now."

                                            >"My my, quite the cranky one eh? Don't worry, I'm the same way when I've just woken up."

                                            >Whirler trots out of the room for a moment, coming back with a familiar saddle bag in his teeth and a beaming smile on his face.

                                            >"'Ere you go!"

                                            >You quickly snatch the bag from him, sitting up on the table.

                                            >"I'd reckon you've been out for about two or three days now."

                                            "What about my limbs? Where did the pain go?"

                                            >Whirler taps his horn, flashing you a cocky grin.

                                            >"Magic, sweetheart. A few spells here and there and you wont even notice a thing. Reserved solely for expert users, such as myself."

                                            >Paying the stallion no mind you sit and think for a moment, recalling the bandit attack and your crawl through the woods.


                                            >Whirler rests his head on his hoof, staring at you with intent.

                                            >"That's right darling, only for expert magic users like me. There's so many ways you can use a horn, you know."

                                            >You only have to turn and stare at him to get your message across.

                                            >"Alright alright, we can start off slow."

                                            >You roll your eyes, hopping down from the table and stretching out your limbs.

                                            >This felt so much better, you could feel the regular power coursing through your body, unaccompanied by pain.

                                            >Every inch of you had the exact same feeling in it, aided by the sole thought blaring in your mind.

                                            >Violence.

                                            >Revenge.

                                            >You only managed to get two of those bastards last time, you intended to finish the job.

                                            "Do you know of any bandits around here? Specifically a group of five or so, their leader using a polearm?"

                                            >"Ohhhh, you must mean Oak's band. Theres more than just five of them though, its more like fifteen or so. They camp about five miles west from here most of the time. They come around and make a real mess of our tavern every once in a while. Don't mention them around town, they don't have the best reputation around here."

                                            >You lift your saddle bag on your back, giving yourself one final full stretch before heading to the door.

                                            >"Hey, wait!"

                                            >Whirler follows you to the door, opening it for you and taking a low bow.

                                            >"After you, m'lady."

                                            >You brush past him, staring straight ahead as your armor adjusts on your body with each step.

                                            >"Now that you're awake, I hoped we might discuss some form of *ahem* compensation. For all of your care, of course. You were quite the fickle patient, you kept waking up in the middle of the night screaming for your sword. Had to give you a stick just to calm you down."

                                            >You grunt, not even bothering to look at him.

                                            "You should consider it compensation that I didn't trash your home when I woke up for even touching me at all."

                                            >"My my, you certainly don't warm up, do you? Do I need to remind you that I saved you?! You woul-"


                                            >You turn to face him, shoving a hoof in his muzzle.

                                            "I never asked for your help. I would've been fine without you, I don't need vermin like you for anything."

                                            >A shocked look splits across his face accompanied by welled up eyes, but he quickly wipes them away with a sniffle as you continue walking.

                                            >"Fine then, I'll ask as a favor."

                                            >Whirler trots in front of you, stopping you in your path and staring deep into your eyes with a pleading look.

                                            >"Judging by your wounds, you're either a very good swordsman or a very bad swordsman. I need to take my chances now. We've gotten word from a passing Royal Guard troop that some rogue Changling unit left over from the recent battle might be passing through here soon. I've no idea if it's true or not, but some of the townsfolk are a bit scared. This sort of thing never happens to us, so we have no defenses. Most of us have never even held a sword before."

                                            "So? Why should I care?"

                                            >"Maybe as a favor to us for helping you, you could stay around for a bit. You look really skilled, and just having you around would soothe the townsponies. We'd feed you for free, and you could be a town hero if you saved us!"

                                            >You stare at him in silence for a moment before throwing your head back and letting out loud laughter.

                                            >"W-What's so funny?"

                                            "Save you? Save these people?! Tell me, why would I risk my life for something like that? If you ponies can't defend yourselves, you deserve to have this entire place burned to the ground. Now get out of my way, I need a new sword and I need to go visit some bandits."

                                            >The awestruck stallion steps to his side as you walk forward, not sparing a passing glance at him.

                                            >Passing by a large number of tiny homes, timid looking ponies and stray cattle, you end up at what you assume is the town square.

                                            >About twenty ponies wander around the square escorting fillies and colts to and from the few shops and stands set up.


                                            >Most of these stands were selling things usless things to you like cloth and food, but a particular one catches your eye.

                                            >A large wooden rack stood in the center of the square, a multitude of farm tools leaned up against it.

                                            >An elderly mare sat in a chair next to it, slowly nodding off to sleep.

                                            >The tools don't interest you in any way, but the dusty looking sword on the edge of the rack catches your eye.

                                            >You cross the square to the rack and give the salespony a nudge.

                                            >She snaps up in her chair with a snort, rubbing her eyes.

                                            >"Huhwhatzat?"

                                            "How much for the sword?"

                                            >"The what?"

                                            "The sword. The one on the edge there."

                                            >"Oh goodness, that sword! Let me see here..."

                                            >The mare slowly stands from her chair and hobbles to the blade, looking it over.

                                            >She lets out a small chuckle as you picks it up, peering down the blade fondly.

                                            >"You know deary, I've had this sword here for thirteen years now and haven't had a single pony ask about it."

                                            >She gently hoofs you the blade, smiling sweetly.

                                            >"That one belonged to my grandad, he fought on the frontlines in the Great Yak War all those years ago."

                                            >You grip the blade, turning it over.

                                            >"I still remember all the wonderful stories he would tell me on late nights before bed, and even a few of his scars he earned during the war."

                                            >The sword was a decent size, several hooves tall and at least six or seven pounds.

                                            >The handle was wrapped in frayed cloth and the pommel had seen better days, but it looked battle worthy at least.

                                            "How much?"

                                            >The old mare smiles, resting a hoof on your shoulder.

                                            >"You look like you really need it. I've had this blade for so long, and when I look at it, it gives me the same feeling you do."

                                            >"Just itching for another fight, something I can never give it. I'll never sell this thing here I think the last thirteen years proved that. If you put it to good use, it's yours."

                                            >You simply nod your head stoically, grabbing up its sheath from the floor.


                                            >You attach the sheath to your back, depositing the blade in it's home.

                                            >"Any thing else I can interest you in deary?"

                                            "No, I-"

                                            >The words drop out of your mouth as you stare straight ahead, far past the old mare and her tools.

                                            >A lone filly stands in the alley far behind her, unmoving.

                                            >She simple stares ahead, her emerald eyes piercing through her dirty black mane.

                                            >Her gaze creeps into your very being, completely captivating you.

                                            >A sudden feeling of dread washes over you like a harsh wave, rendering you silent.

                                            >"Deary? Are you alright?"

                                            >A sudden hoof waving in your face abscures your vision.

                                            >You quickly bat it away, but the filly is already gone as soon as she appeared.

                                            "Yeah, fine...."

                                            "Who was that filly?"

                                            >The mare glances behind her, scoffing and nodding her head.

                                            >"That was probably Etherea. A curious filly, she likes to tease any visitors we have."

                                            >You stare on for a few moments longer, contemplating the feeling you received in her presence.

                                            >A quick shake of your head brings you back to reality as you slowly turn towards the edge of town, eager to get on your way.

                                            >You take a single glance back as you pass the town limits, taking in the nearly empty square and all its happy inhabitants before pressing on.


                                            >The dirt felt smooth and fine beneath your hooves and the wind was light and refreshing, carrying a sweet scent from the village you had left in your wake.

                                            >While armor felt heavy and cumbersome to most, the cold embrace of the steel gave you a sense of comfort you rarely felt elsewhere.

                                            >The shifting weight of the worn longsword strapped to your back gave you a feeling of security, as if you could take on the whole world, just you and your sword.

                                            >Life wasn't all comforts though, comfort only dulls ambition.

                                            >You hated long walks like these, and this was the longest one you'd had the strength for in a while.

                                            >You had only walked for a mile or so, and if that eccentric stallion was correct you still had many more to go.

                                            >Watching the world flow by you, a seamless mess of chaos mixed in with the seemingly endless fields of grass on either side became boring very quickly.

                                            >Risking boredom-induced insanity, you were forced to turn to the confines of your own mind for entertainment.

                                            >This was the source of your hatred for long walks.

                                            >"Why did you leave that nice village behind?"

                                            >It had already started, much quicker this time than usual.

                                            >"They were nice ponies, they healed you and armed you, free of charge."

                                            >"Why did you abandon them? What were you afraid of?"

                                            '............'

                                            >"Surely you weren't afraid of the Changlings, you don't even think they're going to come. So what was it then?"

                                            'You talk too much. You're always sulking around, just leave me alone.'

                                            >"Oh, I see! You weren't afraid of them, you were afraid of yourself, weren't you?"

                                            'I said to shut up.'

                                            >"Remember Dashie, you can't hide those sneaky little thoughts from me. I made all of them in the first place!"

                                            >"You're afraid of yourself, I see now. If you can't find some "bad guy" to hack up, who's to say you wont turn on those poor villagers, right?"

                                            '............'


                                            >"You've already taken yourself past being a simple pony, so why wouldn't you? What do you even do besides kill other creatures? If those ponies knew what you've done in your illustrious career so far, they'd drive you away with pitchforks and torches."

                                            >"But you don't really care about that, do you? After all, what kind of a monster cares about the ponies it devours?"

                                            'What?'

                                            >"Don't play dumb, you already know it well. I make the thoughts, but you're the one who entertains them. You're a monster. You don't deserve to call yourself a pony any longer."

                                            >"What type of simple pony strives only to mow down those in the way of a paycheck? What type of pony only ever feels good when they've got at least an arrow or two in their body, or when they're chopping through another herd of creatures?"

                                            'Shut up already! You never just shut up!'

                                            >"Of course not. I'll be here as long as you are. After all, I am your only friend. It takes a monster to keep a monster company after all."

                                            "I SAID SHUT UP!!"

                                            >The lone shout travels through the valley, your rage echoing endlessly off your surroundings.

                                            >Scoffing, you swallow your wild feelings and trudge onwards to your destination.

                                            >You try to entertain other thoughts to pass the time, but you can still feel "it" in your mind, licking at their edges like a flame.

                                            >Even insanity was a better fate than that, so you turned back to the valley.

                                            >After walking for what seemed like hours and loosing count of the birds that flew over head once you reached the hundreds, you decide to give your weary legs a short rest.

                                            >You spy a small hill in the distance and decide its peak looks like as good a spot as any to rest your tired body.

                                            >Making the short climb to the top, you drop to the floor with a dull thud, drowned out by the rambling of your armor shifting.

                                            >The rest feels good on your hooves, and your back was beginning to ache from all the walking.


                                            >You flop on to your back, resting your head on both forelegs as you stare up into the nearly empty sky.

                                            >The sun had already started descending from its usual place above, and a few lonely stars were coming out for their nightly performance.

                                            >All of them seemed to exist in groups, save for a single star.

                                            >It hovered right above you, completely alone in the growing darkness.

                                            >Its glow seemed much dimmer than the others, simply existing amongst its brethren.

                                            >You could only chuckle at the star and its well placed irony as you sat up, relieving your back from the armor digging into your skin.

                                            >As you sat up however, you could see a distant glow in the dusk air, painting the surrounding grass a shade of orange.

                                            >It looked to be....

                                            >....a fire.

                                            >Staining your eyes, you can barely make out a roaring fire, surrounded by a hazy number of ponies.

                                            >It could be deer or Changlings though, it was too far away for your tired eyes to tell.

                                            >You make your way back down the hill, crossing over the path and cutting through the thick fields of grass towards the light.

                                            >The lengthy blades block your path, desperately clinging to you legs, hindering each step as you press on to the fire, drawn to it like a moth.

                                            >You try to peer over the eye level grass, shakily navigating to the flame through the growing darkness.

                                            >As you grow closer, faint voices can be heard over the swaying sea of flora and the crackle of dry wood consumed by the heat.

                                            >You duck down, lowering your head beneath the grass and looking through the tiny gaps as you approach the group around the fire.

                                            >They had managed to create a clearing, a wide circle of dirt marking their camp, surrounded by the army of grass.

                                            >You counted ten stallions sitting around the fire, each watching in amusement as one began to play some sort of instrument.

                                            >Their coats were all bare, but you could easily make out a few pieces of armor scattered around the encampment, most joined by a sheathed sword or bow.


                                            >You were still assessing the group when a dark grey stallion stepped into view, calling the attention of the group.

                                            >That was him.

                                            >That was stallion who attacked you in the woods, you were sure of it.

                                            >You were angry with yourself that you hadn't noticed it before, but this is clearly the group of ponies you were looking for.

                                            >The one you set out to kill.

                                            >A wild grin splits across your face as you begin to formulate a game plan, though those don't usually make it past the "attack" step.

                                            >You make a move to grab your sword, but immediately cringe as your movement generates a loud sway of the grass.

                                            >Everypony in the circle suddenly freezes, all eyes trained on your position.

                                            >You can hardly pay attention to them any longer with the feeling rushing through your body.

                                            >Your sword made a glorious noise as it slid out of its sheath, the kind of sound that only becons violence.

                                            >The urge to fight was coursing through every fiber of your being, swelling in your mind.

                                            >It had been so long, over a week now.

                                            >Everypony was already on their hooves, slinking over to their respective weapons as they listen to the grass, watching for any movement.

                                            >Times like these were what you loved the most.

                                            >It was too similar to a wolf stalking his prey, the inescapable urge to rip into the unsuspecting creatures just within the glow of the fire was the only thing holding you up right now.

                                            >There were no complex worries to think about, just survival and swinging your sword around.

                                            >It seemed to be the only thing you were ever good at, and you relished every second of it.

                                            >After retrieving his sword from his pile, a scrawny looking pegusus lifts slowly into the air, peering over the tall grass.


                                            >You anxiously grip your own blade in your hoof, lowering your haunches to spring forward.

                                            >"I dunno boss, I can't see anyt-"

                                            >You couldn't wait any longer.

                                            >Every muscle in you was on fire, just begging to move.

                                            >You could even feel yourself licking your lips, eager to attack.

                                            >All this burning need manifests itself into an ear piercing roar, erupting from your throat as you launch into the air.

                                            >The midair stallion is caught completely off guard, even dropping his sword in terror as you lift into the air, almost too fast to see.

                                            >You easily ram your shoulder into his defenseless midsection, a cocktail of fluids spewing out of his mouth as you hit his stomach like a brick wall.

                                            >The two of you arch through the air as you push him forward, spinning a full ninety degrees.

                                            >You let go of the paralysed stallion, letting him drop straight to the floor with a dull thud as you continue to spin through the air.

                                            >Your hooves contact the floor fluidly, giving way for your perfectly executed roll.

                                            >By the time you're back on your hooves with your sword in hoof, none of the ponies had even had the chance to move other than the unfortunate victim of your first attack who was now laying on the floor motionless.

                                            >You were at the other edge of their circle now, all of your combatants clamoring for their weapons in shock.

                                            >The leader of the group tries to open his mouth, but you've already given them too much time to prepare.

                                            >You shot forward like a bullet, rearing your forelegs upwards and cocking your sword back on your shoulder, gripping the pommel feverishly.

                                            >As you approach the first of the group you execute a wide overhead slash, slicing through his cheek and barrel in one clean movement.

                                            >His howls of pain rip through the night as he blindly flails his club toward your head, blood spurting from his wound.

                                            >Your guard easily blocks the attack, giving you a perfect shot at his throat.

                                            >You thrust your blade forward, piercing the soft skin and tendons.


                                            >He immediately drops to the floor, attempting to move for a few seconds before falling silent.

                                            >The entire group looks on at their two fallen comrades in silent shock before fixating their eyes upon you, full of terror and anger.

                                            >Your once clean armor was already bloodsoaked, but your lust for the stuff was still unending.

                                            >Finally coming to their senses the group of ponies attacks, weapons held high with their bravado hanging on their numbers.

                                            >They all rush your position, filling in any path of escape with more bodies for you to cut through.

                                            >Deciding to start on the right side, you drop your sword into a mid guard and charge forward, closing the distance between you and your attackers.

                                            >Everything was a haze to you now, but it all felt so natural, so clear at the same time.

                                            >You could barely make out the stallion making a wide swing down on your head, but you could counter attack perfectly.

                                            >You thrust your blade through his reared-up body like paper, the thin metal sliding straight through his coat.

                                            >Before the stallion can even begin to collapse on you, you shift your weight against your sword, jutting it to the left.

                                            >The false edge makes a jagged cut through his body, slicing out to his side, a cascade of red liquid following.

                                            >You put all your force into a horizontal swing, ramming your sword into the nearest stallion.

                                            >It hits his helmet with a metallic resonance, dropping him to the floor in a torrent of yelps and screams while clutching his ear.

                                            >You felt completely invincible now with these two stallions crumpled at your hooves, none of these ponies could even touch you.

                                            >The fear of death had long since been suppressed in your mind.

                                            >An arrow whizzes by your chest, scratching against your armor as it flies past.

                                            >The bowman responsible stands behind the fire, readying another shot.


                                            >You focus your attention on him, darting beneath the angry swing of a short sword, aiming straight for the roaring fire.

                                            >Archers were the bane of any swordsman, it was too difficult to focus on your attackers while dodging arrows.

                                            >A stallion brandishing a rather large battle axe blocks your path around the fire, but you were already moving too fast to stop.

                                            >Tucking your hooves beneath you, you dive straight into the fire, planting your hooves on the roaring embers.

                                            >The flames lick at your legs, consuming anything they can grasp.

                                            >The heat was nothing compared to what was in your mind as you lept through the flames, so their affect did little to hinder you.

                                            >Pushing off the fire you slam into the panicked archer, landing on his muzzle with your sword.

                                            >The both of you went to the floor, and you manage to land on your stomach with your sword tucked underneath you.

                                            >You can hear the heavy hoofsteps of a stallion behind you, and the grunt escaping his lips as he swings his heavy axe.

                                            >You quickly roll over to your back, letting your sword pull you through the motion as you spin.

                                            >The heavy axehead thuds into the ground right where your head was less than a second before, burying itself entirely.

                                            >The tip of your blade slices right through the stallion's throat, propelled by your movement.

                                            >He immediately drops the axe, clutching his throat with a gut-wrenching gurgle as he staggers backwards.

                                            >You stand from the floor, much slower this time as the sweat drips from your forehead.

                                            >Your body burns with a conflicting mixture of exhaustion and ambition, but it was far too late to give up.

                                            >You had already hacked your way through six of the group, there were only four timid ponies left now.

                                            >The quivering group looks on with terror as you raise your sword, cackling while you point it directly at them.

                                            "So, which one of you is next? I don't really feel like stopping quite yet."


                                            >The leader of the group bares his teeth, lifting his polearm and charging.

                                            >"Monster! We'll kill you!"

                                            >Filled with bravado and wanton bloodlust, you throw your sword to the floor, disarming yourself voluntarily.

                                            >The stallion thrusts his spear at your chest, the sharp tip barely discernable in the night time air.

                                            >A small tinge of fear shoots up your spine as the metal slashes through your skin, only giving you a short second to move out of danger.

                                            >You dodge to the side, grabbing the extended wooden staff and driving your knee through it, shattering the worn wood.

                                            >The front half has a familiar weight in your hoof as you turn to the paralyzed stallion, another powerful roar bursting from your lungs.

                                            >You drive the shining tip into the barrel of his chest, digging the pole in up to your hoof.

                                            >The stallion gasps for a moment, slumping against you as the blood begins to fall from the gaping wound.

                                            >You grimace in disgust, letting the pony fall to the floor as you wipe off your hoof in the dirt.

                                            >Seeing their leader killed, the three remaining demoralized stallions turn and sprint for the tall grass, hoping to lose you.

                                            >You quickly tear the helmet off the leader and launch it into the air, watching as it gracefully hurdles through the air and slams into the head of an escaping stallion.

                                            >By the time he hits the floor you're already on the group, utilizing your flight to tackle another one to the ground.

                                            >You slam his face into the dirt, giving the back of his head two swift punches.

                                            >Making sure he's not going to get back up, you nearly miss the sword hurtling down on your head.

                                            >You lift your foreleg, catching his crossbar on your extended limb as you thrust the other into his exposed stomach.

                                            >The impact makes him drop his sword, hunching over to clutch his bruised mid section.

                                            >You grab his lowered head in both hooves and slam your knee into the edge of his jaw, spit flying through the air as he drops to the floor.


                                            >Wasting no time you leap to your hooves and brace yourself for the next attack, but none come.

                                            >Only bodies surround you, a puddle of blood no longer home to combatants.

                                            >Slowly coming down from your frenzy, you pick up the nearest sword and quickly dispatch each of the three unconscious stallions, leaving no opportunities for revenge.

                                            >You groggily wander over to the fire, dropping to the floor in exhaustion.

                                            >Sweat trickles from your body to mix with the blood, not all of which is your own.

                                            >A lump forms in your throat as you look at your surroundings, at this graveyard which was once a campsite.

                                            >You raise a hoof to your face, breathing heavily while you attempt to hold your breakfast down.

                                            >"Well, look at that. You've done it again, haven't you?"

                                            'Leave me alone.'

                                            >"You see, most ponies would laugh at the thought of attacking ten armed and dangerous bandits by themselves, but not the great Rainbow Dash, right?"

                                            >"That's easy stuff for you. And it should be after all, considering."

                                            'What?'

                                            >"Well, you heard it yourself. They called you a monster. Not a pony, not a bastard, asshole, bitch, or whatever a thug calls someone they hate. A monster."

                                            'Leave me alone! I'm not, I know I'm a pony.'

                                            >"Looking at all this devastation. Ponies would be terrified of you if they saw this, and they'd consider you insane if you even told this story. You can lie to all of them if you want, claiming all this was for revenge. But you and I know the truth."

                                            >"You saw an opportunity to kill again, and you took it. They never even took your bag in the first place, you left it back at that clearing where you first stopped."

                                            >"I'm not going anywhere Dashie, it's a long walk back to the village."

                                            >You slowly stand to your hooves, fetching your sword and starting back to the village.

                                            >"After all, even a monster needs some company."


                                            >Grey.

                                            >Everything was grey.

                                            >Where did all the color go?

                                            >You missed the mellow blues, lively greens and furious reds.

                                            >Now everything was just grey, yet everyone else seemed to see them vividly.

                                            >You were a lowly stone stuck at the bottom of a beautiful stream of existence, only able to mash against the other bottom-dwellers in a desperate attempt to join the rainbow flow of life.

                                            >No matter how you called out though, breach the masses, it was always drowned out by the roar of flowing souls.

                                            >Your hooves trotted endlessly below you, not even knowing where to go, just moving forward to no end.

                                            >They would only rest when you finally found the one to put you in the ground for good, and you couldn't help but hate them for that.

                                            >Your surroundings slowly marching by matched the feeling in your chest, your entire character.

                                            >Grey.

                                            >Once the fire of battle tasted the tip of your blade, everything returned to being numb.

                                            >You had hashed and stirred the endless rage inside you, the only emotion you had left to the point of non-existence, but found that while it had burned away, any semblance of ponyity you had left was devoured along with it.

                                            >This all had to be some kind of cruel joke.

                                            >Or was it a test?

                                            >The gods always seemed to hate you, maybe this was their way of seeing just how far a single pony can go before collapse.

                                            >Or was this your own design?

                                            >Maybe this had nothing to do with some idol in a musty temple, maybe this is just what you deserved.

                                            >Or maybe it was what you loved, and that's why you subjugated yourself to it every chance you got.

                                            >Maybe eating pain and spitting out pure rage was the only way to atone for the guilt that burdened your every step.

                                            >Shaking your head, a spark of happiness flared in your mind as the color started to return to the world.

                                            >As much as you tried to ignore it, your own pitiful metaphor had started to actually leak into reality.


                                            >Each battle seemed to take more out of you, this was the longest it had taken for the color to return since the castle siege.

                                            >Blinking rapidly, it all started to flow back to you.

                                            >You could now clearly make out the world before you, the road forming beneath you.

                                            >Everything was absolutely still around you, even the wind was in a deep sleep by now.

                                            >The silence was soothing, and the light chill cooled your damp coat.

                                            >The deceptive nature of the darkness wasn't enough to soothe you though.

                                            >There was something very, very wrong, hiding in the shadows.

                                            >You couldn't see or hear it, but the silence said all you needed.

                                            >As you paced along the road nervously, an odd burst of air carried a strange scent from over the hills.

                                            >Sniffing, you paused a moment to discern the smell.

                                            >As soon as you took a breath, you recognized it immediately.

                                            >Smoke.

                                            "Shit!"

                                            >Gritting your teeth, your muscles exploded through the thick cloud of fatigue surrounding you and tore down the path, traversing the foothills.

                                            >The rabid clanging of your armor slamming on your back filled the empty night air as you furiously ran, pushing your tired legs to their limit.

                                            >"Damn, it'll take me forever to get there like this!"

                                            >"Faster!"

                                            >"I've got to go faster!"

                                            >There was nothing left for you to tap into for energy, but you somehow managed it anyways.

                                            >Everything in you burned.

                                            >Tears were streaming down your face from the wind brutally assaulting your eyes, and your lungs felt cracked and brittle from your large gasps for air, but still you pushed on.

                                            >Growing from a subtle flavor to humongous clouds, the smoke clogging the air was getting harder and harder to wade through as you got closer to your destination.

                                            >Coming over a final hill, the knot in your stomach seemed to be caught in your throat when the night sky was suddenly lit up by a burning beacon, calling all to it.

                                            >There it was, plainly before you.


                                            >The village burning in the breeze.

                                            >Filled with panic, you doubled down on your frantic movements, quickly crossing the field separating you and the illuminated village.

                                            >As you run, a strange feeling pulses in your chest, spurring your movements.

                                            >It had been a while since you had felt it, but you knew it immediately.

                                            >Worry.

                                            >Not just worry, but worry for somepony other than yourself.

                                            >It was the type of feeling you'd vowed never to feel again, yet here your were.

                                            >The cobble clacked beneath your hooves as you finally reached the village limits, shielding your eyes from the bright pillar of flame before you.

                                            >The smoke was nearly unpassible now, causing you to cover your face with a hoof as best you could.

                                            >Sprinting into the village, you immediately began looking for survivors, calling out into the night.

                                            "WHIRLER?! ANYONE?!?!"

                                            >Even if someone had called out, you couldn't have heard them over the feverish crackle of burning wood.

                                            >This once happy village had been completely decimated, all of its once simple, homely cottages now reduced to bonfires.

                                            >Something was still bothering you though.

                                            >Where was everypony? Surely they didn't take all of them, there were bound to be casualties.

                                            >Pressing through to the town square, you realized in an instant why nopony had answered any of your calls.

                                            >Bodies.

                                            >Bodies everywhere, decorating the square.

                                            >The fervent stench of burning flesh filled the air as you stood there, transfixed on the large bonfire fueled by ponies.

                                            >The flames consumed their bodies, but you could still see the permanent screams etched into their faces.

                                            >Some didn't even have the luck to be burned whole, various limbs and skulls poked out of the pile, searching for the bodies.

                                            >In a complete daze, you couldn't help but vomit on the charred ground, violently wretching.

                                            >A fragment of sanity returning to your mind, your hoof senselessly slammed into the floor, over and over till blood was dripping from your hoof into the fresh indent.


                                            "DAMN IT! NOT AGAIN!"

                                            >Rage like you had never felt burned like a sun within you, the joined forces of a hundred dead souls searing a hole in your mind.

                                            >You could feel the last sliver of ponyity driven from your mind, replaced by the purest rage you had ever felt.

                                            "I'LL KILL THEM ALL. EVERYONE OF THOSE BASTARDS, I'LL HAVE THEIR HEADS ON A PIKE! THOSE BASTARDS ARE DEAD!"

                                            >Standing from the vomit covered floor, you forced yourself to stare at the burning pile of flesh once more, their looks of terror and pain burning into your mind.

                                            >Noticing a hoof sticking out from the flames, you inch closer to the insane heat, training your eyes on the leg.

                                            >A sullied hoof stuck out, the beaming color of its coat dimmed by thick clumps of ash.

                                            >Leaning in closer, your eyes can clearly make out the color of the last fragment of non incinerated fur.

                                            >It was blue.

                                            >Alarms blared in your head as you bolted forward, paying no mind to the searing heat on your coat as you tear on the limb, desperate to retrieve it from the fire.

                                            >The other bodies compact around it, not willing to let a single soul escape their fate.

                                            >Only able to pull the limb a few inches, you have to peer into the fire to catch a glimpse of the limbs owner.

                                            >Despite being charred beyond recognition, the charred skull of a unicorn was distinct amongst the flames.

                                            "Whirler?!"

                                            "WHIRLER!!"

                                            >Dropping the leg, you reel back from the heat, unable to hold back another torrent of vomit launching from your stomach.

                                            >The tears freely flow down your face, staining your dirtied fur with the stains of sin.

                                            >Unable to articulate a sentence any longer, the all-consuming rage boiled over in your heart, manifesting itself into a bloodraged roar.

                                            >Your vision had started to haze again, rendering you unable to make out anything but targets for you to slash through.


                                            >Lifting from the floor, you were about to leave the grotesque scene behind in search of a poor soul to hack through when an odd sound managed to raise itself above the roaring of angered souls.

                                            >Perking your ears up, you listened intently for the sound.

                                            >You could barely make it out, but you were sure of its direction.

                                            >Turning to the flame consumed houses bordering the square, you sprint over to the buildings, listening for the sound.

                                            >It came again, this time very clearly leaking into your ears.

                                            >"Help!"

                                            >A spark of hope ingnites in your heart as you locate the sound, spreading your wings and taking off for the building producing the cry.

                                            >Bursting through the second level window shutters, you rapidly search for the pony making the noise.

                                            >Heading down to the bottom level, smoke filled your every orifice, clouding your vision.

                                            >Despite that you could still clearly see the look of terror painted on the face of the lone filly, trapped in the flaming room.

                                            >Your steely, angered resolve dropped for a moment when her young face flooded your mind with memories.

                                            >That filly from the square.

                                            >Etherea.

                                            >Filled with determination, you rush into the room, calling out to her.

                                            >A large wooden beam separated the two of you, covering her behind a blanket of flames.

                                            "Quickly, come with me! This room is collapsing!"

                                            >"I-I can't, I can't get past this beam! Please help!"

                                            >Gritting your teeth, you spread your wings again in the cramped room, lifting off into the air.

                                            >Leaping over the flame, you grab hold of the timid filly, wrapping her into your chest and twisting your back to face the wall.

                                            >Easily bursting through the weakened wall with your momentum, you fly off into the night sky, the crippled building collapsing to the ground behind you.

                                            >Barely able to hold on to the filly tightly clinging to your chest, you head straight for the unburnt field, nearly falling from the sky to the floor.


                                            >Shielding the filly, you collide with the floor, your face slamming into the dirt.

                                            >Rolling a few yards to a stop, you can feel the frantic clamoring of tiny hooves on your chest as the whole world fades into black.

                                            >"W-Wait, what's wrong?! Wake up!"

                                            "I'm fine, I jus-..."

                                            >Slumping against the floor, your smoke filled body runs totally out of energy, mentally checking out as your head hits the dirt.