Fallout Equestria: Eldest Odyssey

by HarmoniousSoul

Rating: mature
Tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe, Dark, Adventure
Length: 3734

This is the tale of a stallion's journey through what is left of the birthplace of the original pony tribes, the Eldest Wasteland, and how he changed it through his exploits.

Far to the east, in lands untamed and dangerous even before the Last Day, lies the Eldest Wasteland, birthplace of the original pony tribes. It is now home to various tribes and settlements, descendants of ponies that fled to the old wilderness to escape the zebras' balefire bombs.

This is the story of a tribal's journey through ancient lands tainted by modern calamities.

Many thanks to Kkat for writing the original Fallout: Equestria and inspiring me to write my own side-fic.
I also want to thank CluelessBrony and Onetwentyeight for pre-reading my clumsy attempts at writing.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-03 04:00:06 UTC

Prologue

Long ago, the leaders of Equestria failed to prevent the end of the world as they knew it. Balefire rained from the sky despite their efforts, nearly wiping out all of ponykind. The generations of ponies that followed inherited a sick, twisted land full of deadly radiation, irradiated abominations, and sub-pony raiders.

If you are reading this, you already know that times are changing here in the Eldest Wasteland. Monsters of all kinds are being tamed or exterminated, the enemies of ponykind and lesser beings that do nothing but hinder our ascension are being expelled from our lands, and a new age of pony civilization is on the rise.

This is the story of the stallion to whom we owe our newfound prosperity.

The cold wind from the east was calm today. Sometimes it stays still for days at a time. Sometimes it roars past my head, tossing blades of grass and kicking up small clouds of dirt around me, making my eyes water. But today it was calm, consistent, and pleasant.

Ahead of me lay a seemingly endless expanse of hilly plains, mostly brown with large splotches of hardy, brownish-green grass that waved at me as the wind blew. A little further away, I could see the hills of grass and dirt give way to hills of snow. The horizon was dominated by a range of much larger hills that looked purple from the distance. Or maybe they were small mountains. I never really figured that out, despite having stared at the same landscape nearly every day since I was seven years old. I’ve heard that a vast ocean exists beyond them, where salty, irradiated waves crash against unyielding crags. I sometimes like to pretend that I can hear the waves hit the mountains in the wind, despite not knowing what waves sound like.

Behind me was the village of Oyorra. It’s a silly name, I know, but it was home. My post was at the eastern edge of the village. My job was to watch the eastern horizon for any possible threats. This was the duty entrusted to me eleven years ago, back when I was a little colt that could barely hold a spear without telekinesis.

Oyorra is the easternmost settlement anypony knows about. The further east, or north, you go, the colder the climate gets. Even if the cold itself doesn’t kill you, the irradiated snow will.

That is probably why, in all my eleven years of serving as Oyorra’s only line of defense against any eastern threat, I never saw a single pony. Not even a lonely radroach. But I didn’t mind. My job was very important. If anything bad came from the east, it would fall to me to defend the village. The village elders said so. It was my purpose in life, all I ever wanted to do, and all I needed to be satisfied with living. I’d have gladly stared at that unchanging landscape my entire life.

However, my eighteenth year was fast approaching. Life changing events, under the guise of a rite of passage, would soon befall me.

I am Bulwark, son of Oyorra, and this is my story.

Footnotes: Welcome to level 1: Simple Tribal

Bulwark:

S  P  E  C  I  A  L                        Tagged skills

7  6   8  7  3  5  4                        Melee, unarmed, speech

First Steps West

The walls of the elders’ hut were constructed from stones and packed earth while the ceiling consisted of flat sheets of scrap metal and scrap rafters. There were no windows on the walls. The only source of light came from the hole in the ceiling, which was made to let out smoke when the fire pit in the middle of the hut’s floor was in use. It was empty at the moment, giving the structure’s interior a cold, gloomy atmosphere.

I stood on the side of the fire pit nearest to the door. The five elders were speaking to one another in hushed tones across from me, sitting on chairs behind a large wooden table on a slightly raised platform. The elders would occasionally glance my way as they conversed, giving me odd looks. I had arrived early to their summons, before they had decided what my Task would be.

The Task is Oyorra’s rite of passage into adulthood. Every pony in the tribe gets assigned one at the age of eighteen. Completing the Task made a pony an official adult within the village, allowing them to speak during village meetings, bring up their grievances directly to the elders, and copulate with other ponies that have completed their Task. A pony’s Task was given based on their abilities, usually taking the form of a direct challenge to their special talent. Ponies that are good at weaving would do something like creating several high-quality baskets, builders would have to construct a new house or granary to replace an old one, and hunters would have to go take down some large beast without assistance and return with with its meat and hide. My special talent, represented by a sanguine shield on my flank, was defending others. I imagine that, since our village had not been attacked by anything in the last fifty years, thinking of a proper Task for me proved difficult.

I shuffled and fidgeted where I stood. I had arrived thirty minutes ago, and was anxious to get on with my Task. Not from any desire to earn the benefits of being an adult, mind you. I just wanted to return to my post on the eastern edge of the village. I didn’t really care about becoming an adult, but completing a Task was mandatory for every member of the tribe.

I had begun to draw circles in the dirt floor with my hooves when I heard somepony clear their throat. I looked up to find the elders finished with their discussion and looking directly at me. Neat Thought, an elderly unicorn mare with a grey mane and a blue coat, sat in the middle of the five, and met my gaze with a small smile. She was the only one smiling. The other elders looked at me with a uncomfortable sternness.

“Bulwark,” Neat began, “you stand before this council at the age of eighteen. We will now assign you a Task, the completion of which will mark you as a true adult within Oyorra. Do you understand?” She spoke to me in an aged, tedious tone of voice.

“Y-yes ma’am,” I replied. It was a strange experience for me to speak. I hadn’t spoken much to anypony since I received my job eleven years ago, and my voice sounded odd and unfamiliar. My post was very out of the way, making any conversations I’ve had few and far between.

“Good, good…” Neat replied. She took a moment to glance at her fellow elders. They were still giving me that stern look. Neat continued, “After discussing your particular talents and reviewing your commendable service as our eastern lookout, this council has determined a Task befitting a pony like you.”

I stood up a little straighter and gave Neat Thought my undivided attention, ignoring the cold stares of the other elders. I didn’t want to miss a single detail about my Task. The better I understood it, the faster I could be done with it and get back to my post.

“A few months ago,” continued Neat Thought, “Avid Trade Caravans, the only company that has ever been willing to trade with Oyorra, ceased sending out caravans. We fear that, without the goods they usually bring to trade, Oyorra will suffer a food and materials shortage. Bulwark, this council entrusts you with the Task of traveling to the city of Avarice and convincing the company’s owner, Avid Hooves, to trade with us again.”

The room was silent. I blinked slowly once. Twice. A third time. I opened my mouth, but closed it when I could think of how to respond. I just stared at the elders for several long seconds. They stared back.

“Um…” I began, finally breaking the awkward silence, “What?”

Neat’s smile fell as she took on an expression not unlike those of her fellow elders.

“Wait, wait! I’m sorry. I just meant… what? You want me to leave the village? Leave my post unattended?” My entire life had literally been that one, unchanging landscape. The idea of leaving Oyorra and my beloved post did not compute. “What if- I mean- how- just… what?”

The elder to the left of Neat Thought, a stocky earth pony mare with a green coat and a silver-streaked yellow mane by the name of Tough Sod, took her stern stare to new heights and flat-out glared at me. “Bulwark, you have been given an important Task. This isn't some damn fetch quest or a meaningless chore. The very fate of Oyorra hangs in the balance. And you have the gall to question your elders?” Sod’s voice dripped with disdain.

Celestia preserve me, I had just panicked in front of the council! I immediately clamped my mouth shut and sat down, trying my hardest to look small and insignificant. Which is hard, considering how I’m taller than all the other unicorns in Oyorra.

To my relief, Neat turned and spoke to Sod with a disapproving tone, “Sod, that is enough!”

 “I will not be disrespected by this selfish moron!” Sod retorted

“He is not selfish!” replied Neat, “He has just been given a very important Task, and it is a lot to take in.” Neat Thought sighed exasperatedly and rubbed her eyes before looking at me. She was smiling again, though this one seemed strained. “Yes Bulwark, you will have to leave Oyorra. We are sorry for putting you in such a position of responsibility, but we believe that you can handle it. We need you to handle it. If asking a few questions will help you cope with this Task, feel free to do so.”

I recomposed myself before speaking. “Where exactly is Avarice? How long will it take me to get there? How will I convince Avid Hooves to trade with us again?”

“Those are all very reasonable questions, Bulwark.” Neat sounded relieved. “Avarice is a large settlement to the west. It will take you about two weeks to get there if you travel in a straight line. As for how to talk Avid into trading with us again, that will be up to you. We believe that you have what it takes to negotiate a satisfactory deal for the village.”

“But my special talent is protecting ponies. I don’t see what this task has to do with-”

“Bulwark!” Neat Thought yelled at me this time.

I flinched at the sudden frustration in her voice.

Tough Sod snickered.

Neat was still smiling, though it was now almost strained to the point of shattering. “This Task is very important! Very, very important! And we wouldn’t send you to do it if we didn’t believe you were able to complete it. Which is why you have this Task. And need to leave the village. And go very far away. By yourself. And don’t come back until you’ve succeeded.”

I still had so many questions, but Neat’s tone made it clear that she would have no more of them. I sat there, downhearted, and said, “Alright. I will do this Task.”

Neat’s smile softened a bit. “Thank you. I am glad hear that. Here,” her horn lit up with a green glow. Gripped in her telekinetic field, a set of saddlebags and a knife spear floated up from behind the council’s stage and were placed in front of me. “the saddlebags contain enough food to last most of the journey to Avarice, provided you ration it, and a compass for navigation. The spear is for protecting yourself during your travels. Wield it well. ”

I picked up the saddlebags in my own periwinkle field of telekinesis and checked their contents. Two large, full water pouches and lots and lots of strips of radhog and brahmin jerky. Yum! I also examined the compass. It looked old and worn, but the needle still seemed to point north.

Satisfied with my supplies, I placed the saddlebags on my back and levitated the spear to my side. I looked up at Neat Thought and said, "I will set out immediately.”

Neat nodded and replied, “That would be best. Do us proud, Bulwark.”

With that, I turned and exited the hut.

Usually, after a pony received their Task from the elders, a crowd of family, friends, and well-wishers met with them outside the elders’ hut. If the pony’s Task involved leaving the village, this crowd would follow them to the edge of the village to see them off.

No pony was waiting for me when I exited the hut. As I walked through the village towards the western edge, not one pony came up to wish me good luck and say goodbye. If they noticed me at all, they just silently watched me go, always giving way to me as I passed. I walked until I reached the western edge. Ahead of me was another seemingly endless expanse of dirt and grass hills. There were mountains and larger hills far off in the distance. The only thing keeping this landscape from being exactly the same as the eastern one was the lack of snow.

I walked several feet away from the village and turned to look at it. There before me was the place of my birth. A large conglomerate of canvas and wood dwellings with the larger scrap and stone hut belonging to the elders in the middle. The only home I’ve ever known.

Not a single pony looked back at me or otherwise displayed any sign of interest in me. No pony even waved goodbye.

I turned around and made my way out into the wastes.

--        --        --        --        --        --        --        --

I had left the village during the brightest part of the day. Based on how much darker it was by the time I stopped for a rest, I had been traveling for six hours without incident. I sat down on top of a hill and picked out a strip of brahmin jerky, chewing on it slowly as I gazed westward. There was absolutely nothing distinguishable in the distance. I missed Oyorra already.

I set down my saddlebags and turned towards the way I came. I stood on my hind legs, my back to my supplies, and tried to catch a glimpse of Oyorra in the distance.

This was a mistake.

After several minutes spent straining my eyes to try and see Oyorra in the distance, I heard an odd hissing noise coming from behind me. I dropped to all four hooves and turned around. I saw three radroaches going through my saddlebags.

“Hey!” I called out as I levitated my spear up and ran at the pests. Yelling was also a mistake. The radroaches scattered.

 I chased after one that was carrying several strips of jerky. It escaped me by slipping into a patch of tall grass and leaving my sight.

I galloped back to my saddlebags to find that the other two radroaches had returned and were taking more of my supplies. I chased after them in vain. They slipped out of sight into the tall grass like the first one, carrying off most of my food with them.

I returned to my saddlebags to see what I had left. I found my compass, both of my water pouches, and two days worth of jerky.

Six hours out of the village and I was outsmarted by radroaches. There are no words to describe how stupid I felt at that moment.

After that incident, I traveled until it was too dark to see anymore. I curled up in a patch of grass, my forelegs wrapped around my saddlebags and my spear within easy reach. I couldn’t help but wonder why the elders hadn’t given me a bedroll, or even some warm clothing, for my travels. It got pretty chilly at night. It took a while, but I managed to ignore the night’s chill and fall asleep.

I dreamt about my post back in Oyorra, with the familiar eastern landscape stretched out before me.

--        --        --        --        --        --        --        --

I awoke shortly before the first light of morning and continued traveling after a hearty breakfast of radhog jerky and water. I traveled over countless hills, walking around innumerable tiny, stagnant  ponds, and everything just looked the damn same. I began to wonder if I’d be lost out in these endless plains by myself forever.

After cresting yet another hill, I stopped and stared down at the other side in wonder. At the bottom of the hill in front of me stood another pony. They were too far away for me to make out any specific details, but I could see that he looked male, was an earth pony, and was carrying saddlebags.

Sweet merciful Celestia, I wasn’t alone out here!

I began to trot towards the stallion. His back was turned to me and his head was pointed towards the top of the next hill. Once we were about twenty feet apart, I called out, “Hey! Hey you! Don’t be frightened! I just wanted to… talk.” My voice fell in volume and trailed off as I began to make out the details of the stallion.

The stallion was missing skin. A lot of skin. I could actually see exposed muscle. The skin he had left looked black, rotten, partially melted, covered in open sores, and almost completely hairless. What remained of his coat was ratty and covered in grime, almost obscuring its green coloring. All that remained of his mane and tail was a few brown wisps of hair.

To say I was concerned would be an understatement. “By the Goddesses, are you alright? What happened to you?” I asked loudly.

He turned around and gave me a look at his face. The skin on his muzzle was dry and stretched back, leaving him stuck with a skull-like grin that displayed stained, broken teeth and blackened gums. The worst part was his eyes. His eyes were sunken into his head and lidless. They stared at me with terrifying intensity and unbridled hunger.

He charged at me with a great, throaty, “OOAARRGHH!”

I began to levitate my spear into position to strike, but he - no, it - was too close and too fast while I was caught off guard. The monster barreled right into me and knocked the air from my lungs. In my surprise, I lost my telekinetic grip on my spear and fell onto my side. I barely had enough time to breathe before the monster fell upon me. It was laying on top of me, its face trying to reach mine, constantly screaming and biting at the air as its hooves pummeled my body. In my panic, I tried to push its face away with my forelegs. Another big mistake. It bit into my left foreleg as a result, its broken, jagged teeth cutting into my leg and scraping my flesh.

I yelled out in pain and a primal fear of being eaten. Using my right hoof, I punched the monster in the face once. Twice. Three times. Four. I kept hitting it in the face, heard something break, saw some kind of black, viscous ichor seep from the wounds I made, but it would not stop. It just kept hitting and biting, its scream and roars muffled by my foreleg in its mouth.

I eventually remembered that I had hind legs and struggled to position them under the monster’s body. Assisted by adrenaline, I kicked out my hind legs with all my might and sent the monster flying off of me. It landed on its back a few feet away. It took a bit of my leg with it when I kicked it off, but I had at last some room to breathe and think.

I got up on my hooves quickly and spotted my spear laying nearby. By the time the monster stood up, I had my spear levitating at my side. While it charged at me with another scream, I braced the spear on the ground, holding it in place with my forelegs as well as my telekinesis.

It ran right into the spear without any attempt at going around it. The tip of the spear’s point caught the monster in the neck, sinking into its necrotic flesh. Its momentum pushed its body forward, causing the tip of the spear to burst out the other side of its neck covered in black gore. I raised the end of the spear up, forcing the monster to stand on its hind legs and keeping its flailing forelegs away from me. It couldn’t scream at me anymore thanks to the spear in its throat, but it kept opening its mouth to try.

I violently wrenched my spear out of its neck, taking a substantial portion of the monster’s throat with it. It fell to the ground, gagging and writhing for several seconds before finally laying still and silent, fetid fluids flowing slowly from its wound.

A sense of euphoria entered my mind. I killed it. I killed the monster! “Haha, yeah! Yeah! Take that, wasteland! I’m still alive! Hahaha!” I couldn’t help myself. I kept laughing until I was out of breath. I was alive! Breathing! Victorious! I felt like I could take on the world!

“What the actual hell?”

I practically jumped five feet into the air when a voice spoke up behind me.

Turning around to see the source of the dry, gravelly voice, I found myself face to face with another monster.

Upon being told of his village’s grave situation, Bulwark selflessly volunteered to venture out and secure a new trade agreement from Avid Hooves, the caravan company owner responsible for Oyorra’s trade. Bulwark set out from his village with nothing but a spear, refusing to take any food or other supplies from the ailing village.

After about a day of travel, during which Bulwark had killed and eaten three radroaches to keep his strength up, he came upon an undead monster. After effortlessly slaying the feral ghoul, Bulwark was approached by the pony the monster had been antagonizing and was thanked for the rescue.

Footnote: Welcome to level 2: Bumbling Tribal