There was a sickening smack as the corpse was dropped none to gently onto the autopsy table. The head Forensic doctor shouted at his hapless assistants to be more careful. The slain mare on the table might have once been pretty but it was hard to tell due to the massive number of holes in her body now.

Sheriff Silverstar gave a small sigh as he turned away from the observation window to the pot of coffee that was just about ready in the Saint Trottersburg Militia Headquarters.

Silverstar was a unicorn stallion, with a brown coat and a steadily turning silver mane. He had been married and divorced, his first wife ran off to Appleloosa while his second wife died in a fire. He'd had two children by each of them, hadn't heard from any of them in five years.

Silverstar had served in the Saint Trottersburg Constables since before the disappearance of the Royal Sisters. That was over fifteen years ago. Now he was in charge of the whole cities defense, roughly two hundred fifty militia trying to keep order in a city of eighteen thousand and a countryside that was home to another five thousand. There were another four hundred who had promised to fight for the city in an emergency but that was it. To say he had his work cut out for him was a gross understatement.

Saint Trottersburg had been a small trading city fifteen years ago, the gate way between Equestria and the Griffin Kingdoms. They hadn't had much to worry about beyond noise complaints, toll violations, or the odd drunk. In fifteen years the trade had dried up and instead the city had been flooded with refugees, runaway slaves, deserters, criminals, and worst of all cultists.

Saint Trottersburg had become a superfluous backwater, on the edge of House Moon and Stars' territory. Rarely did their powerful neighbors to the south even bother to check if the city was still alive. Silverstar was actually glad for this as it prevented the trouble Moon and Stars' brought with them. Moon and Stars' thought themselves as the true Equestria while all the rest were traitors and heretics. They also thought anyone who didn't have a horn on their head was lower than dirt.

Silverstar gave a snort of derision at this though as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The true Equestria? Equestria had died fifteen years ago. The Houses and Cult were just fighting over the lands rotting carcass.

Still his own problems were more pressing. Silverstar had to contend with bandits, pirates, raiders, murders, rapes, arsons, and a whole mess of other crimes he could hardly have imagined fifteen years ago but now happened almost daily. Worst of all was the Cult of Laughter which he knew had sunk its teeth deep into his city. Twice he'd been forced to purge the militia of cultists but knew that he could do little about the threat on the streets beyond picking up the bodies and trying to stop the overt acts of mayhem.

The mess on the autopsy table was one such act. Young mare, found that evening in a back alley, her body with so many holes in it you could almost see through her. Clearly an attack by a Smiling Doll, likely a close friend or lover who had turned on the cult and got caught. Both had paid harshly for it. The autopsy was practically a formality.

"Sir?"

Silverstar turned to see a tired looking deputy standing behind him, eyes somber and exhausted.

"How long have you been up?" Silverstar asked taking a sip from his drink.

"Sir I-"

"How long?"

"I just came off the day shift sir," the deputy replied.

"Get yourself home and get some sleep," Silverstar ordered. "Tell me what you have to say then go."

"Yes sir," the deputy said. "We just finished analysis of the crime scene."

"And?"

"Nothing new," the deputy replied. "Just a lot of blood and splinters."

Silverstar gave a small sigh. "I see. Thank you."

The deputy gave him a weary salute then stepped out. Silverstar set down his mug and stared down at te mare on the autopsy table. Equestria was dead and this was the pit in Tartarus where it had been thrown to suffer.

MLP: ED

"Work those bucking legs you mudponies!" The overseer shouted with a crack of his whip.

Rainwalker cursed under his breath as he drove his hind legs into the rock wall of the mine once again, his joints shuddering with the impact. Day in and day out the same stink and filth as he and countless other toiled away in these mines or in the fields feeding House Moon and Stars' military might. While Unicorns sat in their ivory towers with tea and biscuits, the pegasi and earth ponies toiled in the dirt.

Rainwalker was a pegasus pony, with a gray coat and a black mane scared by many a whip lashing. He was young, having been just small colt when Celestia and Luna had disappeared. He had spent almost all of his life slaving away in the Sun Guilds Slave domes. What little time he had spent elsewhere had been spent as cannon fodder for the army.

He'd watched countless of his brothers and sisters in bondage slaughtered without a second thought by the forces of Stormwing and Earthborn. Then after the blood had been shed and the guts spilled across the grass it had been back to the whips and the darkness of the Slave domes.

Everyday he cursed his captors as he drove his hooves against the rock walls of the mines. He cursed them as he laid down his head at night on the filthy flea infested rags they were given to sleep on. He cursed them as he ate the thin slop that was poured out into troughs for the slaves to eat every morning and every evening.

"Don't just stand their gawking! Buck you worthless trash!" The overseer snarled. The whip cracked and a mare gave a cry of pain as the lash struck her back leaving a red gash.

Rainwalker forced himself to watch, drove into his mind the sight of that whipping as the overseer struck again. He had to remember, not for fear but for the day when he would escape. The day when he would pay onto these merciless mules the same torments he and his fellows had suffered ten fold.

As he laid down his head that night he prayed. Not to Celestia or Luna, the Princesses who had abandoned their ponies to the nightmare Equestria had become. He didn't pray to any deity really he simply prayed.

He prayed for an avenging wrath to come and tear down those who oppressed himself and his fellows.

MLP:ED

A chill wind woke the Archmagister from her sleep. She lifted her head from her pillow and glared at the offending open window. Beyond it she could see the protective magical shield that surrounded all of Canterlot.

Her horn glowed with energy and the window closed itself shut.

Twilight slid back under the covers but sleep would not come to her. With a sigh of frustration she pushed herself out of her bed and walked over to the window. Luna's moon was concealed by clouds tonight, though its light still shone down upon Canterlot.

She stepped out onto her balcony and tested the air. A strong wind was blowing from the North east, cold and hard.

MLP:ED

Ardon sneezed. He wiped the gooey mucus from his nose and the pages of the book he was reading by candle light with his sleeve. He'd contracted a small head cold, nothing serious but annoying.

He squinted at the text trying to recover his place. The book he was reading was from Prance. Since the Ponies of Prance still spoke Equestrian he figured he should learn to read and speak the language if he was to be Chief Scout.

"Trotter... has... four... app...apples," he said quietly to himself stumbling a few times over the words. Wernestel had given him a brief lesson on the language, mostly the basic words, the alphabet and the phonetics. He was still having trouble with some of it.

"You mind speakin' a more fittin' tongue sir?"

Ardon looked up over his book at his Lieutenant, a large hairy Raider with blonde beard named Lethrook.

"Feck your ass," Ardon replied, glad he didn't have to address lordlings for once. "Someone on this boat needs to speak pony."

"Bilke can speak pony," Lethrook said. "Ain't that right Bilke?"

Bilke, a bald Raider who was missing part of his tongue made an ugly rasping sound that got a few laughs.

"Watch it ya whoresons!" Oarsmen Fricker snarled. "You'll rock the feckin' ship!"

Ardon eased himself back against his pack and the candles light as the waves lapped against the Long ships sides, in time with the sweeping of twenty five pairs of oars. Ardon's Long ship, the Graybolt, had a crew of seventy five not counting himself. Twenty Raiders from Chieftain Midnar, along with twenty Axe Throwers from the King, and ten regular oarsmen like Fricker. Fourteen Sindarla Clan Hunters had volunteered to join the crew along with Neratha. Last of all were ten Wanderers like Ardon, the core of his Scout Force. All of them were warriors as well as sailors.

About them in the darkness were the well over a thousand ships carrying the entirety of the Nor Menn people for three weeks now. Over four hundred long ships, eighty Dökkálfar Hawk ships, forty dragonturtles being pulled along by the lumbering Great Arks each of which bore five hundred souls a piece along with their belongings and supplies. The King had allowed each family one wagon's worth of supplies and belongings as well as whatever they could carry on their backs.

Ardon glanced along the Long ship to Neratha, who was asleep against the mast, clutching the doll Misa close to her chest. The other Sindarla aboard the long ship had given her kindness but also space, allowing her to mourn. Ardon knew everyone had to be hurting inside as they abandoned their home, leaving everything they had known behind, trusting their fates in the hand of the gods. But it seemed the gods were taking pity on them, no storms or other catastrophes had plagued their exodus thus far.

He looked back down at his book, shielding his candle from the wind with a gloved hand. They were betting everything on the skills of himself and the warriors around him. They were going to invade foreign soil and begin a war of conquest. So for the moment, finding out just what Trotters apples were worth was all important.

Author's Note

Next time we get some action. No that does not mean get tissues and lotion. I mean blood and violence.

I also apologize for this chapter being so short.