>"You shee, when you're living in a house, you're living with the man. You're the man'sh bitcsh."
>Timber had showed you the shithole, a massive hole in the ground that the camp has designated as a communal toilet, otherwise the land would be covered with horseapples
>You were content to listen to his life lessons while the two of you casually shat over the edge of the pit
>"Grampa knew hish shit. He wash raished in the woodsh with hish shishter, like a real shtallion. He alsho didn't give a damn about dumbash anshient shumomi-queshtrianal ethimajig morality quandrumetsh, whicsh ish why mom ish alsho my shishter."
>He stops, then glares at you angrily
>"Got a problem with that, buddy?"
>You shake your head, recieving the hillbilly wisdom with respect 
"What an interesting people... we could learn a lot from you."
>"I'll bet, shity dwellersh ain't know shit about family honor and whatnot. Where are you from, anywaysh?"
>Your anus clenches as you are reminded by the weight around your neck, and you give a nervous glance to your amulet
>He nods
>"Sho you're one of them tragic typesh, eh? Don't worry, we got plenty of sad orphansh and drunk pregnanshies."
"Can horses suffer from fetal alcohol syndrome?"
>"Bah! Horshesh! Kill 'em all, thatsh what grampy said, and I can't shay I dishagree with him. Thoshe shand-dwelling foal-fuckersh should've been wiped out a long time ago."
"Er, ponies, I mean."
>"Bah! Poniesh! Kill 'em all, thatsh what grampy said, and I can't shay I dishagree with him. Thoshe meadow-dwelling homosh shoul've been wiped out a long time ago."
"Fascinating."
>A blood-curtling scream fills the air
>Luckily, you'd stopped shitting by then, and are free to run the opposite direction of the source as your cowardly instincts tell you
>Timber is startled by noise, suddenly erupting a shotgun spray of liquid feces in a three foot cone behind him 
>Which startles him further and he stumbles backwards and slips on his own waste
>And that again startles him but by this point you've leapt into the cover of foliage and lost sight of the terrible display
>At which point you realize that if some shit is going down, running into unfamiliar woods while you are being hunted by orderlies and possibly local law enforcement probably isn't the best idea ever
>So you leap back out of the foliage, intent on making your way to camp, but remember that the possibility of being sacrificed to a higher cause is much higher there than it is alone in the woods
>That, and the foliage presents a useful hiding spot
>You turn around to leap back into the bushes, but then picture it infested with scorpions and turn tail back in the direction of camp
>When you start to move, something latches on to your leg and you trip
>You turn around, ready to stomp a giant scorpion monster into oblivion a.k.a. get a good look at the critter that's about to kill you so you don't die unawares and haunt this dirty shrub for the rest of eternity, only to see that some sort of vine has wrapped around your ankle
>You kick at it with your free hoof, but that one gets grabbed too, and soon enough you are being dragged back into the bushes
>You try to call out for help, or more accurately scream like a little girl, but another vine wraps around your neck with such force it momentarily crushes your windpipe
>Gasping for breath, you hopelessly cling to the dirt as you are hauled to either your doom or violent exploitation
>You close your eyes and clench your anus, muttering swears and prayers which elicit minor shocks from your reeducation pendant
>"Shh! Don't make another sound!"
>Someone is whispering to you
>VERY close to you
>You open a single eye and would've jumped out of your skin were it not for the roots wrapped around your everything
"S-satan??!?"
>A vine is stuffed into your mouth, silencing you
>"SHH! I need you to BE QUIET!" he whispers
>He scans your surroundings nervously, said surroundings just so happening to be the inside of the bush
>You notice that portions of the bush are streaked with blood
>Oh shit
>He's gonna eat your life force
>Or whatever it is that Satan does with all those damned souls
>He looks back down at you
>"Okay, now I need you to listen."
>immenentdeath.exe
>With renewed vigour, you pull your hoof free and rip the vine from your mouth
"SWEET LORD IN HEAVEN HAVE MERCY ON YOUR FALLEN EWE FOR YOU ARE MY SHEPHERD AND I AM-"
>Your words turn into muffeled nonsense as your mouth disappears with a poof and something wooden smacks against the back of your skill
>"IF YOU DON'T WANT TO FACE TRUE AGONY THEN YOU WILL SILENCE YOURSELF NOW!"
>There's fire in his eyes and a boom to his voice
>But then he goes back to looking over his shoulder
>You piss yourself on the spot, fouling your gut and legs with warm urine
>"I just need you to cooperate, okay?"
>You stare, wide-eyed and motionless
>The furrowing of his brow, however, forces a compliant nod
>"Alright, alright, just... stay calm. Stay calm, keep a low profile, and look out for wacky and possibly evil spirits."
>He looks around, nodding to himself
>"Yes, yes, stay calm. I might not be talking to you for some time, so stay calm, and keep a low profile. And watch for spirits. Yes, spirits."
>He ghasps and turns his gaze back to you
>"But don't talk to them! Do NOT interact with spirits! And do not die. Do not die."
>He snaps his fingers and your mouth has reappeared
>"Understood?"
>You nod
>And in the blink of an eye, he poofs out of existence, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust and limp vines
>You whimper quietly in your puddle of pee and plant, barely able to move
>It takes a few minutes to psych yourself into action, and another few to escape the tangle vines which you now know are covered in sharp thorns, but soon you are free and shakily clambouring out of the bush
>Your body stings all over, especially in the areas afflicted by your great flood
>Probably cuts from the thorns
>"Speedy! Timber!"
>You fall on your ass, startled by sudden shouting
>"Greasy! Pocket!"
>It's femenine and shrill
"H-hello?"
>You call out weakly
>"Who was that? Where are you?"
"Uh, Speedy..."
>You trail off, remembering Satan's demand to lay low
>"Speedy? Where are you? Get over here!"
>Too late, it seems
>Some leaves rustle and out from a distant wall of vegetation pops Monster Mash's bagged head
>"There you are!"
>She dashes towards you
>"Celestia, what happened to you? Are you okay? Where's Timber?"
>As if on cue, a shit-caked Timber springs out from the bushes behind you
>Mash gags at the sight, but recollects herself soon after
>"Just-ugh, go back to camp. Trixie's orders."
>And she's off, calling out more silly names that are occasionally strung together to resemble sexual euphemisms
>The blood sacrifices must have started
>That's what all the screaming was about, wasn't it?
"W-what do you think this is about?"
>"Fuck if I know. She ushually only callsh meetingsh when we're moving, but we jusht got here a few daysh ago."
>Alright, no spooky cryptic nonsense, that's a good sign

>Back at camp you are surrounded by the stinky forest people
>Nobody else seems to be taking the meeting seriously
>Most everyone's engaged in pleasant conversation, save for the stoic autists and lobotomized simpletons who either stare wordlessly at the stage or slowly rock in place
>You were pretty sure that stage wasn't there when you woke up, so it's either a monument to how hungover you were or to the craftsmanship/casual spellcasting of your host
>"But yeah, shtay away from the weather teamsh, that'sh how Sheleshtia shpreadsh her 'friendship'."
>Timber, having washed himself off at the communal bathhouse, has been droning on for the better part of a half hour about 'the man' and why the princesses are actually Saddle Arabians with holographic disguises
>"Cloudshdale is the biggesht den of niggardly mishersh and-"
>"AHEM."
>The conversations quickly die as everyone faces the stage
>There stands Trixie
>Speaking into a microphone
>But you don't see any speakers?
>"As you all well know, our refuge provides a safe haven for the poor, the downtrodden, the undesirable, the powerless and the otherwise voiceless of society.
>"For years we have travelled the land, unable to settle, constantly on the run from fiendish aristocrats and sheriffs who oppose our message with fervour not unlike that of ASAS."
>oh fuck it's Jonestown 2.0
>"And in our pilgrimage, we have faced numerous adversities, ranging from the painful to the wroth to the downright horrifying.
>"And from those adverisities spring tragedies innumerable. We weep for the siege of Ocaw,"
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>"We march for the Massacre at Jimsburg,"
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>"We fight for justice in the name of the suicides of Tartarus Bridge,"
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>"And those tragedies are linked forever, not by the violence and death that plague our people, but for our strength and for our unity and for our will to survive in the face of death, our love for one another and our love for the cause.
>The curtain suddenly drops and there stands the corpse of Hodgepodge, tied against a wooden stake atop a pile of sticks and logs
>Her fur is covered head to hoof in dried blood, her neck bends at an awkward angle
>Parts of her scalp are missing and one of her eyes droops from her skull
>And from her gut spills a mass of entrails and bile
>You and several other ponies vomit at the sight
>"Our sister and longtime friend Hodgepodge has suffered at the hooves of some malevolent, dastardly murderer, no doubt somepony who thinks us to be no more than rabblous malcontents."
>You are suddenly aware of several crackling fires at both sides of the crowd
>"But we will live on, and as long as we live on, so she does too, in all of our hearts and in the spirit of our mission. 
>"And so we bid thee farewell, with heavy hearts and emboldened souls, and no matter how damaged your body and mind may be, we will always love you."
>The rest of the crowd wails hysterically and roars in approval as Trixie exits the stage
>Several ponies light torches in the fires and lob them onstage as mares bury their faces in each other's manes, overcome with grief
>What the fuck
>You shove your way through the crowd as ponies draped in dark robes and tribal masks throw herbs and incense into the fire
>This is just like that time in NY
>Minus the dead body and shamans
>Woodstock was fucking crazy
>Wait no it's exactly like that time in NY
>You escape from the mass of writhing bodies only to be grabbed on the shoulder and pulled back towards the mania
>You look back to see the smiling face of Tree Hugger
>"Days like these, man, they're days to remember."
>In a panic, you speak without thinking
"Why aren't you crying?"
>"We all die, Speedy, I'm not gonna shed a tear for somepony shedding their chains."
>You try to break from her grip but she tosses you back into the screaming crowd in a heartbeat
>Someone picks you up and puts you on your hooves
>Someone shoves a torch in your face and you grab it without thinking
>Someone is pushing you towards the stage
>The stage, now charred and broken
>Smoke and embers rise into the morning sun
>You look down at the torch in your tiny hooves
>The fire is slowly creeping down the handle
>You don't want to imagine what might happen if a blaze were to spread from inside the crowd
>You barely got out of Station alive, and that shithole wasn't filled with manic autists who probably would'nt realize they're on fire
>You hoist the torch above your head
>It's surprisingly light
>It doesn't take much effort to lob it into the pyre
>You glance around, desperate for an escape route
>But none are in sight
>All this heat is starting to make you itch
>Probably should've bathed with Timber when you had the chance
>The dried urine on your belly irritates your skin
>Rubbing against all these bodies, surrounded by all this warmth
>You're going to get a rash
>Hodgepodge's corpse disappears as the stage collapses completely
>And just like that, the chaos stops
>Some ponies continue to mourn, but most go back to business as usual
>It's over so fast
>Like it's just routine
>With everyone spread about the camp again, you have your opportunity to fucking peace it
>And fucking peace it you do