Anon 47

Zecora, having been accompanied by a human, traveled deep into the everfree forest to look for some ingredients and clues about why Anonymous is here. Unfortunately things did not go as Zecora had expected. In their travels they have discovered a strange cult of earth ponies who have taken up residence in the old ruins of a castle. After a bit of spying a few things have been revealed. One; they seem to offer sacrifices to whatever they worship. Two; they seem almost tribal, with near feral and savage customs. Three; there are quite a few of them. Zecora and Anon have appropriated an interest in a chest that the cult has. The cultists show strange reverence towards the trunk and the one who possesses it, a sky-blue earth pony with a teal, messy mane and a strange cutie mark. The mark almost looked of zebra descent. Most of his muscle mass was located in his chest and fore hooves; clearly a fit pony. The two sets of prying eyes were well-hidden along the line of brush east of the dilapidated structure, which was lightly defended. Anonymous and Zecora waited patiently for night to fall, watching and memorizing guard patterns and shift changes, postures and demeanor. The guards were not the only thing Zecora observed, Anonymous had taught her a few things about stealth as time slowly passed by. He seemed really knowledgeable on the subject and she couldn’t help but wonder what he did before he ended up here. His cutie mark, ‘tattoo’ as he called it, was a series of tiny vertical lines with a horizontal scar running through it. This made it hard to make out. If she could see it clearly she might have a better idea of his profession. From what Zecora had seen of him, he slips into his memories a lot. All the while, still staying aware of his surroundings. She can’t help but feel bad for him. He must miss his home quite a lot to want to depart into his own mind so often. Maybe there is something I could do to cheer him up after all this is over.

Dusk soon set in. The melancholy of the half-moon dimly lighting the ruins gives Zecora a sence of nostalgia. Back when she was in a tribe… Not now Zecora, you need to concentrate on what anonymous taught you. She can’t help but feel Anonymous is rubbing off on her in more ways than one. The aspect of memories seems to intensify around him, making it easier to delve into the inner depths of one’s mind. What a strange magic...

It was almost time to move. The plan was to infiltrate the ruins by knocking out one of the guards and taking his hooded robe for a disguise. After that Zecora would be able to gather knowledge on the cult from the inside; more importantly, information about the chest. Cautiously, she approach Anonymous, “It is almost time for us to discover their true crime,” She whispers.

“You remember what I taught you right? We can’t afford to be discovered. If you must flee do so, just don’t blow your cover. Rely on instinct.” Zecora gives a nod. Zecora was very confident that she would be able to effectively use what Anon had taught her. Some of it was a little strange and made no sense but surely it was useful. Abnormal things seemed to make sense to Zecora, probably one of the reasons why she got along with him so well. “Right, so I will move first, you second, then we execute. Got it, and remember that death is always a risk.” He said in his blunted tone. She gave him one last nod, this one slightly smaller. Death is not something Zecora likes to think about, but it is an inevitability. It seems as if anxiety was more of a problem than she originally thought, her mental analysis of things was running in overdrive. Anon stands and places a hand on Zecora’s head, ruffling her mane a little. This simple action leaves her in astonishment. Zecora would have never expected Anon to show any kind of deeper emotion, especially something like that. The whole time he has been here he has never actually done anything like this, Anonymous has always been cautious of my space… When She finally snaps out of the daze he is already gone. It takes Zecora a moment to recompose herself and get rid of the goofy smile that has consumed her face.

“Right, time to move as the night.”

In a leery manor she approach the lone, hooded, guard. “Halt! State your business” His tone was harsh

“Greetings, I am zecora. I am here on account of hospitality. See I live in these woods and I just happened to notice that you folks have taken up residence in this old castle. I was wondering if you needed any help, not to be a hassle.” Zecora’s voice wavered but you were able to maintain a smile despite the situation.

“Oh you can help alright…” He said, moving toward Zecora; an eerie grin forming under his hood. She takes a few steps back and plants her hind hooves, building tension in her haunches. Be like a loaded spring…

“What is the meaning of this joke, I have no quarrel with you pony folk!” She responded, boldy maintaining her ground. The stallion removed his hood slowly and unsheathes a deadly looking blade.

Just a few more steps you fool, who knew you were such a tool The shadow of a tall dark figure appears behind the guard and wraps some kind of shiny string around his neck and begins constricting the life out of him. Slowly the figure drags the thrashing stallion into the brush line. It was over just like that, only took a few seconds. Zecora stand there not sure what to make of the situation. He was about to harm me after all, from the look of it he was going to attack me no matter what I did…So why does this feel wrong? Shaking off the feeling of shock she makes her way to where she had last seen Anonymous. He is nowhere to be found, same could be said for the guard. Zecora, did however, find that he left the cloak laying in plain view. Even stranger is that he had the time to fold it up nicely. After putting it on she can’t help but notice that it is a bit big and rather heavy. After closer inspection the realization of the craftsmanship dawns upon her. Bones are woven into the very cloth itself, this causes Zecora to grimace. Putting the hood up she walks through the entrance that was once guarded.

She wanders through the torch lit hallways wondering to herself where Anon went and if he is ok. Not long after she enters she becomes subjected to the magic of these old ruins. The complex maze of halls and corridors seem to physically misplace Zecora as she continues down the dim paths. It looked a lot smaller from the outside... As she walks aimlessly through hall after hall Zecora begins to get lost in thought, wondering if she will be lost in here forever. Will be discovered and killed? Possibly even tortured to death? The more she thought about it the angrier and more distressed she became. Slowly losing herself in this spinning void of hate and malice.This is not my fault. I don’t do stuff like this. I live alone and make potions to help ponys…this is all Anonymous’ fault. Nothing like this would have happened. Cause and Effect, Anonymous shows up and the world goes to hell…Damn him. When I see him again I’m- Turning a corner Zecora finds herself at the entrance of what looks like an arena. The delusion of impudence seems to subside as her senses return. Zecora becomes plagued with regrets, feeling horrible for all those nasty thoughts.

Thirty rows of seats down is what looks like a pit with yellow dirt, decorated with spatters of crimson. Two ponies seem to be in the midst combat. One of them is a heavy, iron-clad earth pony with a rather large hammer, the other was a unicorn with slave rags and some sort of metallic ring on her horn. Zecora is able to deduce that it is used to suppress magical abilities. The mare is of a pale color with a dark mane and tail. She could have been pretty at one time, but right now she is covered in scuff marks and dirt. You take your place in the upper ring and watch on in horror with her fellow hooded spectators.

“Wooo! Smash the heretic, Stoppage!”

“Rape her!”

“Blood for the blood god, Stoppage!”

The crowd raves and cheers on their combatant. The round seems to have stopped for the moment. Something compels Zecora to shout and be violent but she knows better than this. There has to be some sort of magic that causes ponys to feel this way. An abysmal aura of some kind maybe? No real way of telling right now. Some sort of horn blows breaking your concentration and signaling the start of the next round. The mare uses her speed and mobility as an advantage, tactfully avoiding the wide swings of the hammer. In a futile attempt, the mare kicks up a bit of dirt into the faceplate of this massive pony. Zecora assumes him to be male, she has never seen a mare get that big before. All too soon he lands a strike on her flank and cripples the mare with a bone crunching blow. He swings again, this time aiming for her head. She puts her forelimbs up out of instinct only to have them brutally mutilated. Letting out a cry of pain she falls to the ground and curls up in a trembling ball. It takes every ounce of strength Zecora has in order to hold yourself back from leaping down there and saving her. Stoppage rises his right hoof. The crowd explodes in cheers and shouts for carnage. He obliges, bringing his hoof down swiftly onto the mare’s head causing it to burst into a puddle of blood, bone, and brain bits. A wave of nausea flooded Zecora’s senses as the rest of the crowd let out a roar. She slowly backs up and head out the way that she had come in, trying not to vomit. She rushes through the hallways, not caring where she ends up, Zecora just wants to be as far away from that place as physically possible. After she turns Zecora last corner she finds herself back at the entrance that she originally came in. Zecora shakily makes her way back to the brush line, her body fighting her the whole way. Once under the cover of vegetation her forelimbs quiver fiercely and cheeks fuzzy. Zecora’s neck lurches forward as a hot torrent of stomach fluids exit out her muzzle.

A tall figure steps out from the shadows. It is Anonymous. Zecora rushes up to him and wraps her forelegs around his waist in an attempted hug. She feels him stiffen up. Noticing that her outburst of emotion has bewildered him Zecora unbinds him from the vice grip. “I... well-um...” Clearing Her throat she recomposes herself. “I’m glad to see you anonymous, I was getting anxious.”

He looks to the pile of spit up. “I could tell. Bury it. We can’t leave any trace that we were here. Did you get eyes on the target?” Zecora tries to think back to what she had seen but the images of gore were burned into her retina. That poor mare getting her legs smashed, her head popin- Another wave of sickness floods her being. Zecora is forced to wipe her mind of thoughts, lest she vomit again.

“I-I think we should get out of here anon, we have been here for some time. We can talk when we get to that place of mine…”

“Do you have any information at all?” Anonymous’ inquiry leaves Zecora slightly irritated. She also finds it very hard to concentrate for some reason.

“Now is not the best time, we should unwind,” She says rather matter-of-factly. He gives a nod, and ushers you on.

47 has always been content with his ability to do contracts better than anyone else but this is the first time he had ever felt a sort of ‘joy’ welling in his chest. Yes, it is irritating that she wants to wait till we get back but still. 47 feels as if he has an apprentice in this new world. He does not care if she can kill or not, he just cares that she observed, learned, and acted. Yeah she threw up but she was not engineered for this, unlike myself. 47 can’t help but notice how carefully she carries herself now. She even avoids the small twigs and crunchy plant life.

She picked up things that took 47 a decade to master, in only a few hours. Yeah, she needs some fine tuning but she is still effective. That counts for everything. To be effective. As the two make the trek back to Zecora’s hut 47 continues to watch her skills develop even on this walk back. The feeling of accomplishment almost overwhelming his sense of professionalism.

Once the hut is in sight 47 begins to dust himself off as best he can to avoid tracking in dirt and unwanted grime. Sadly the suit is in a state of disrepair, he can’t help but wonder if there is some creature in this world that could fix this up. Maybe some sort of giant silk spider with a mustache. 47 takes a moment to imagine it up. Well that was an unpleasant image… Zecora seems to take notice of his change in demeanor. Once in the cottage 47 allows himself a moment to rest, taking a seat on the floor in the same spot he had eaten breakfast. Zecora still seems a little shook up though. Maybe I will ask her about it when she is done doing whatever it is she is doing.

Starting a small fire underneath the cauldron Zecora begins boiling some water. As it simmers she looks around, gathering various vegetables and chopping them up. 47 notices that even though she has hooves she is extremely dexterous, Zecora is even able to hold a crude knife and chop with only her hoofs. I know a few humans who can’t use a knife that well. This display intrigues him greatly. After she puts the chopped plants into the large pot Zecora sits across from 47. He notice that she is staring off into space, seems like she is still in shock. 47 tries to just take in the silence but something nudges him to speak to her. “Just say something~” it says in a calm comforting tone. Letting out a defeated sigh he speaks up.

“So…what are you making?”

She responds bluntly “Soup” The idea pains him but it looks like he will need to show some emotion of some kind. This is not time for a professional façade.

“How are you holding up?” Her eyes begin to water and she breaks down into tears, weeping heavily into her forearms. This genuinely catches 47 off guard, having no idea how to deal with this. Quickly he tries his best to think of something.

Mimicking the motions he had seen others do 47 dose his best to comfort her. Scooting over to Zecora, he put hand on her shoulder. She turns and buries her muzzle into his chest and continues to cry. 47 just lets it happen, gently rubbing her back in soothing motions. After a few minutes Zecora seems to calm. She looks up, eyes slightly glistening and red “My thanks anon, you are too kind.” then she snuggles into his chest “I hope you don’t mind…” Strangely enough 47 did not mind this one bit. Sure it was alien compared to previous physical encounters he had experienced, but it was nice. The two of them stayed like this for some time before the soup was ready. Zecora dished up the stew joined 47 at the small table. She stayed rather close to him as they partook of the meal. After a quick recap of what exactly happened in the complex. It is pretty obvious that the death of that mare had shook Zecora to her very core. She must have never seen another die before. Good to know she did not see what became of the guard. She would have probably made me leave for what I did. The information he provided was worth the interrogation.

“I may know a pony who could fix your suit. If you don’t deem the fact moot,” Zecora said in a very sincere manor. Was the attachment to my clothes that obvious?

“If it can be done, I would greatly appreciate it.” She seemed to brighten up, back to her old self, at the prospect of helping him. Clearly keeping a roof over his head was not enough. Zecora was really nice, it is a shame that there are those who would take advantage of such kindness in 47’s world. Then again, after what he had seen today, there are those who would do the same in this world. Evil knows no bounds, no restraints, and no prisoners. Maybe I can do some good in this world as I find a way back home. If not that then you can at least take out some scum on my way out.

As he bids Zecora good night she takes advantage on the situation. “If you do not want to sleep in that closet, my quarters have room” looking away with a little smile she continues

“Though I dare not presume…” At this point he has no idea what to do. Is this some sort of zebra thing or is it relevant to gender?

Conjuring up his best attempt at a smile he respond very carefully “I-uh I need a little more time to consider my options. The room you have provided is sufficient for my needs, thank you for the kind offer though. I really do appreciate your consideration for my comfort. I will see you bright and early. Have a nice rest” Zecora seemed content with his answer and wishes him a good night as well. Dodging that bullet 47 retires to his new room, reading for the trials to come on the morrow. It seems we are going to see some pony named ‘Rarity’. Zecora said she would help fix your suit, the unfortunate part is that Rarity lives in town, town is full of ponys. Ponys who don’t know I exist.[i/]