explicitly stupid adventures of orange OC in the kingdom of darkness

I woke up in the dark covered in liquid and immediately became self-conscious of having sweated all over the couch. If the farmer knew any climate control spells he certainly failed to use them that night. I rolled off of it (almost banging my head on the table) and straightened the pillows drowsily, trying to assure myself that the couch had not been permanently soiled. Really, I was just trying to dry it off a bit to make it more comfortable to go back to sleep on. It was one of those 'too tired to sleep' feelings. In the process of fiddling with the couch I realized the primary cause of my discontent was extreme thirst. I grabbed my flask and found it inexplicably empty. Had I been sleep drinking? That may very well had been one of the less ridiculous questions of the past few days. I still wasn't entirely sure if I wandered into a patch of mushrooms in the forest by accident and it was all a weird dream of some sort, although I'd never heard of mushroom episodes lasting more than several hours. Water! I had to get water.

I got up and walked through the shifting, shadowy shapes of unfamiliar furniture, with my head spinning from the sudden change like it sometimes does, and made my way towards the back door. It wasn't hard to find with a small bit of moonlight that made it into the house.

Outside was a clear, starry night with a little wind. The moon was almost full again and I could just barely make out the colors of most objects. Somewhere near the barn there was a well. I'd heard the unmistakable convoluted bucket splash the day before when I was sitting on the couch and the farmer was getting tea. After wandering aimlessly around the barn for a while and getting my feet wet in the dew I noticed an angular shadow inside the building that looked like the handle of an old-fashioned well spool. Sure enough, the well was inside.

I walked into the shadowy room through a door-shaped hole in the wall and noticed a cloak hanging on a nail near the entrance over a tool bench. The well was in the middle, with piles of hay in the corners. Dust particles floated in the rays of moonlight that came through the openings in the wall boards. The well was a hollow stone wall shaft with a spool of rope at the top. Attached to the end of the rope was a bucket. I threw the bucket in, let it fill, pulled it up, and took a long drink. When I was done I put the remainder of the bucket on the side of the wall just so I could sit back a bit and let the atmosphere catch up to me, but it slid off the edge and fell down the well, hitting the wall several times. I facehoofed myself for making noise.

Moments later only the wind was whistling through the wall boards.

In the distance there was the sound of several runners approaching. I got up and walked over to one of gaps in the boards to see if I could catch a glimpse. Four ponies of varying sizes in hoods were running down the road, the second of them considerably larger than the others. They looked like they would pass by before they turned toward the farm unexpectedly. The first pony broke down the door and the other three ran inside, then the first pony followed. White-orange flashes of light erupted from the top floor window. Screeching wraith-like creatures could be made out.

At that point the idea of running away presented itself, but was quickly replaced by the desire to climb down the well and put the bucket on my head. I could feel something similar to the sorcerer in the market coming from the four; nothing nearly as strong, but similar. No time was lost in descending the cold stone shaft down to the water. I used the rope to steady myself, but only a little, fearing that I would break the flimsy construction.

Just as I was descending into the water my foot slipped, or rather went through the wall. I managed to keep the splash to a minimum. There was an opening in the wall under the water. Sticking an arm through it verified that there was a small air pocket above it. I heard the company stumbling out of the back door of the house overhead. Whoever they were they had yet to learn the benfits of stealth.

It was a relief to find the the tiny opening led to a small dark chamber or water unlike the massive underground aquafur or network of little tunnels filled with rivulets I immediately imagined. It was actually quite cozy, aside from the fact that it was pitch black and you had to hold one ear in the water because the air pocket was so small. Still, it was better than the 'sitting duck in a well with a bucket on it's head' position that I struggled to dismiss when I was climbing down the opening. Only an uneasy feeling of concern that something unfortunate had overtaken the farmer pricked my meditations.

Meanwhile, two of my hooded friends stumbled over to the well. They were arguing about something. I couldn't make out all of the words. They pulled up the bucket and threw something down. A flare. It hit the water and burst into a bright orange flash. I could only hope the little underwater room wasn't visible. One of them took a drink and they threw the bucket back in the well.

The third guy stomped over and told them to quit wasting flares. They argued quiently and angrily about something, ending with number three (or probably number two) barking out some orders. I heard enough to know that they were going to continue down the road. They left shortly. As they did I could feel the "something" depart with them. The "something", whatever it was,  appeared to be hindered by the ground and less perceptible from the well.

I thought about climbing out. The sooner I did, the better it would probably turn out as far as running away was concerned. Still, number one was still around somewhere nearby, probably digging through the house. An image of getting hit with an axe at the last second, just as I was about to climb out of the shaft flashed through my head, followed by several pictures of one of the shadows in the dusty barn suddenly getting up and slicing me with a katana. My limbs were shaking. I tried to plan out what might happen when I climbed out without much progress. The anxiety was becoming crippling, on top of which I was getting a little claustrophobic. I knew I didn't have that fear, but there was something unnerving about that whole situation. I filled my flask up just for the sake of doing something. I also knew I wouldn't manage to sit in the well through the night.

The climb began as quickly and quietly as trembling limbs allowed. I comforted myself over and over by saying that the hood pony would show up any minute now, kill me, and I wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again. Then I was at the top. To some relief the "something" was coming from the direction of the house with two walls dampening it, but I didn't trust my senses enough to know for sure.

When I got out I realized that I was leaving a giant puddle of water on the floor. I made my way out of the barn and grabbed the cloak off of the nail near the entrance. There was already a pile of muddy hoof prints near the well, so I decided it no longer mattered if I took something. It was better to be a little warmer and drier on a cool night.

I ran out into the tall grass and eventually made it to the edge of the forest. The forest was a pain to get through in the dark. Every snapping twig made me feel uneasy, even though I couldn't feel the malevolent presence coming from the barn anymore. Eventually I made it out of the thicket into the fields again. Then I continued into the fields until I was too tired to think and hid under a hill. The cloak was just long enough to be awkwardly uncomfortable as a blanket.