The Scroll of Exalted Ponies

The underworld wasn’t all that different from Creation. Hell, aside from the fact that almost everything seemed monochrome then one could have fooled Speaker to believe he was still in the courtyard of Castle Chung.

Indeed, the circle was in the courtyard of Castle Chung – only, it was not ruled by any living pony: It was ruled by the ghost of one of Chung Onyx’s ancestors – and it seemed that he wasn’t all too keen on living ponies appearing in the middle of his courtyard… amid scores of pony bureaucrats clad in dull and drab robes seemingly spun of shaved pony manes, who were enacting some kind of ritual. This ritual was of course hopelessly disrupted by the appearance of the circle.

Armed pony ghosts, likely soldiers buried with their weapons and armor, leapt at the circle – but the Bodhisattva flared his anima, which splattered everyone around him in bright red blood and finely pulped viscera – and the war-ghosts stopped instantly, dropping to the ground and begging for forgiveness quite melodramatically.

The Bodhisattva merely kicked them aside and made for the gate out into Chung Do, gesturing for the gate to be opened. The circle followed, exiting out into a pathetic shantytown. The cries and moans of hundreds of pony ghosts roamed the street, with vendors barking at ghosts passing by to buy goods from empty stands… and some of those ghosts even stopped and paid with pebbles for nothings in return. It was pale and semi-transparent imitation of life, and the air was fetid and stank of rot.
“This place… what is this?” Speaker asked, not even sure if he honestly wanted an answer.

The Bodhisattva was about to speak when Sunrise gestured for him to not do so: “Isn’t it obvious? It is the ghosts of all the ponies who have lived here for centuries, if not millennia. The Shogun of the castle I believe was Chung Broadhoof, one of the earlier warlords to claim this land – I remember his painting from the castle”
“But… there are so many…” Speaker said, shaking his head.

The Bodhisattva looked around for a moment, then nodded: “Right – well their numbers are simple enough: Most ponies die fearing death, a fraction so much so that they rise as ghosts – or if they have some other tie that binds them to Creation. Vengeance is common for that. If they run out relatives for ancestor worship they have to do something else to keep from fading… look, I could talk underworld economics for ages – I’m sure Cash would have fun with that – but right now we need to get a move on. The deathlords have spies everywhere, and Chung Do is no exception”

Looking at Sullen Hoof, who seemed to be observing everything around him quite intently, then at Cash who seemed more curious at the Bodhisattva’s mention of economics, Speaker sighed. Sunrise put a hoof on his shoulder: “Take heart – I too wouldn’t mind seeing these souls guided back to Lethe for reincarnation, but right now we have to rescue Shimmer and finish our business here. Creation comes first”

The deathknight strode into the middle of the square in front of the palace – though, calling it a square might be a bit much: It was a well-stomped field of dirt with hovels built around it – and called out to the ghosts in earshot: “I am The Recalcitrant Bodhisattva of Penance and Suffering Ended. I need one soul for a single charge, and I promise to lead whoever aids me to Lethe upon completion of that task”

There was an instant outbreak of murmurs among the ghosts, many sending untrusting looks towards the deathknight and the circle.

Finally, a truly pathetic ghost crawled up to the Bodhisattva: It was a pony mare – or had once been – for the corpus of the ghost was battered and broken, it’s hind quarters and legs shattered to the point that the poor soul was dragging itself along the ground with forehooves worn down to be but nubs of bone and tattered ghost flesh. Sadly this wasn’t the worst aspect of the ghost: Her face appeared partially melted, with droopy eyes from which a constant trail of black tears flowed.

She clung to the Bodhisattva’s left foreleg and begged: “Please, do with me what you must, just end my suffering… please”

The deathknight looked down at the ghost with disgust, but picked her up none the less: “Silence – I care nothing for your drama”

What happened next looked really weird – at least to Speaker and the circle: The deathknight took firm hold of the ghost and began bend and stretch it, molding pale essence into it and even growing parts of the ghost. The ghost in turn screamed in a truly horrible way its remaining bones were broken and refashioned into other things, until even its mouth was molded into something else. In a matter of minutes the ghost had been turned into a grotesque mockery of a cart – but where the front half of the cart was a pony… sort of.

“Here is our transportation to Stygia – Cash, you’re helming it” the deathknight half-stated, half-ordered.

The circle, collectively, gawked and simply mouthed: “What…”

Sighing, the Bodhisattva extended a limb like a black tentacle and one by one yanked the circle onto the cart: “Ghosts here might look solid, but everyone is merely soul-stuff. If you know how you can mold it easily into anything. The forgotten ghosts of slaves are caught and hammered into soulsteel by the ghosts of blacksmiths, and this wretch is now our transportation”

Speaker was horrified at this callous exploitation: “But her legs were broken – she’s been tortured, and now you just tortured her even more”

“Please – I know this type of ghost. She likely bribed the castle guards to ambush her and break her legs just so she would have something to be mad at – ghosts do this all the time” The Bodhisattva explain, adding that for the ghosts who linger so long that they can no longer resolve the thing that caused them to remain as ghosts – say revenge on a rival, or saying goodbye to loved ones – they have to find other things to keep their passions inflamed: “If a ghost becomes complacent and content they pass on…. And remember: Chief among their fears is death. They want to stay alive as much as possible, even in this reduced state”

Cash took the eerily fleshy reigns and gauged them for a moment, then nodded to himself: “Ok – everyone, hold on!”

The self-propelling cart, with its two front limbs, shot off like a demon on wheels. Luckily the Bodhisatva had made for sizable seats in the cart that included really creepy seat-belts held tight by mouths that bit on to rope spun of sinew.

Traveling west at a speed at least ten times that of Nah, Speaker mulled over what the Bodhisattva had said with regards to ghosts and how the mare-ghost they were now using as a cart had likely arranged her own torment… as well as the fact that his truth-telling charm had only confirmed that the Bodhisattva hadn’t told a single lie so far. It was strange to think how such ghosts could get themselves to do such extreme things – but… this was the underworld: Death and suffering was like the only constants here.

The sun hung low in the sky, yet it was clearly at its zenith when the circle reached what the Bodhisattva called the Inland Sea of Shadows – the underworld counterpart of the inland sea that separated the Blessed Isle and the rest of Creation. While the Deathknight ‘molified’, as the craft was apparently known, the ghost-cart into something sea-worthy, the circle discussed their journey so far.

Sunrise didn’t say much – indeed she didn’t really seem to care all that much for the Underworld or its denizens. Sullen Hoof was similarly quiet, but did express curiosity as to what the ghosts ate? According the Bodhisattva then ghosts didn’t need to eat – but as with many of their attempts at clining to their passions of life, then cooking and fine dining were popular ways to pass time and even earn a living among the dead.

Cash again was intrigued by the thought of the dead having a working economy. Indeed, on their speedy treck across the underworld’s hundred kingdoms they passed countless merchant caravans, trading posts and other places of commerce. Cash was dying to know what ghosts dealt in. The Bodhisattva explained that most underworld commerce revolved around trading grave goods with products created in the underworld, such as animated effigies as automaton servants, slave-souls as ‘raw materials’ for mollifying into pretty much anything, soul-fire gems or soulsteel products.

“Wait – why would ghosts want anything made of soulsteel? That stuff absorbs souls” Speaker quickly noted.

The deathknight rocked his head from side to side as he tossed the strange-looking boat-cart-pony-ghost into the water: “That’s raw soulsteel. If tempered correctly and worked right, it can be a conduit instead – absorbing the essence of a slain target’s soul into the wielder… that’s a powerful way to feed here in the underworld”

“I thought you said ghosts didn’t need to eat” Sullen Hoof inquired.

Elongating his limbs to stride out onto the boat with little effort, the deathknight quipped: “Ghosts do not go hungry – but if they want essence to fuel arcanoi, the ghostly version of exalted charms, then they need it somehow. In the underworld that either means via an ancestor cult, taking it by force, or trading in soul-fire gems”

It turned out that soul-fire gems were special gems that absorbed ambient essence at special places where lots of it was found – apparently Stygia, the city where the circle was going, had that as one of its chief exports, to the point that it was more or less the default currency of the underworld. Cash found this detail quite interesting.

“Hold on – why would gems with motes of essence be any special here? I thought all ghosts could use essence to begin with” Speaker wondered out loud as the circle boarded the now ghost-boat.

Cash got comfortable at the ‘helm’ which was made of two ghoulish and elongated ears – evidently the ghost-boat worked by swallowing water and then… excreting it… at high speed, to propel itself. A novel design, though unnerving.

The deathknight made its limbs dissapper so it would take up less space on the boat, reducing himself to his soulsteel-armored chest and the ghostly head jutting out of the hole showing where it had been cut off: “Ghosts can only work essence if they had that power in life. Thus, ordinary mortal pony ghosts cannot. This doesn’t prevent such ghosts from learning arcanoi – the charm equivalent of ghosts – but to fuel them must barter for soul-fire gems or rip the essence from other ghosts”

“This place just sounds lovelier by the minute” Speaker sighed, starring into the water. He quickly stopped, as pale eyes under the surface looked back. The Bodhisattva glumly noted that all ponies who become ghosts on account of drowning are stuck in the surface of the sea of shadows…

Cash and the Bodhisattva got into talking about ‘fishing’ these ghosts up and possibly putting them to better use – but Speaker didn’t listen: He was more curious about the rising mountain to the west. The underworld’s counterpart to sacred mount Mero.

As the pale underworld sun climbed to its zenith the circle reached the shores of Stygian Isle – the name thatof the underworld Blessed Isle. It was a barren and desolate place, and as the circle sped across its wastes on the now again ghost-cart Cash couldn’t help wonder why there weren’t any ghosts around: “Back east there were ghost villages and towns everywhere – but there’s nothing here… what gives?”

“The immaculate faith of the Realm outlaws ancestor worship, and its dogma train all its adherents to seek reincarnation. Quite smart of them, all things considered” The Bodhisattva mused as the circle passed a mile-long moor filled with bogs and brambles. The monotone landscape seemed to blur into one as Cash sped on, and by evening the mountain in the distance seemed very close… it also didn’t look quite like a mountain anymore.

Speaker remembered mount Meru quite well – from his recent fly-by of it, plus was versed in geography. This only made him all the more confused as bits and pieces of the mountain seemed to move around: “What is that?”

“That is Stygia, the grand necropolis. Though what you’re likely looking at is the Calender of Setesh” The Bodhisattva stated matter-of-factly.

Speaker appeared lost in thought at the mention of this strange underworld calendar as the circle approached the outskirts of the city, with the ominously named Waters Run Red district greeting them first with its spiked iron fences encircling the city, and its creaking gates guarded by pony skeletons in battle-worn and tattered armor. The moment they crossed the gate the Bodhisattva bid the circle to disembark from the ghost-cart as he reformed his ghostly limbs.

With a necromantic ritual the deathknight then banished the ghost-cart, for the lack of a better word, to lethe – releasing it from the underworld and sending the soul on for reincarnation. All the nearby ghosts at this border checkpoint bowed their heads in reverence…

“We should move quickly – the deathlords have spies and agents everywhere” The Bodhisattva spoke, breaking into a gallop down the broken and bleak cobble road.

None in the circle questioned their undead guide, following him with great haste onto an elevated walkway of strange stone that seemed to constantly crumble – yet not enough to fall apart. Under them the sprawl of Stygia rose, with homes, shops and a constant heady scent of incense. Another strange feeling in the air, an intense sense of desperation and hope mixed with potential and fervor, turned out to be the currents of prayer flowing into the city: “Almost every ghost in the underworld prays to the Dual Monarchs of Stygia, for it is by their might that time passes in the underworld – well, the sun rising and setting here. Without this it wouldn’t be possible to tell time in the underworld” the Bodhisattva explained, Speaker noting that he recalled this feature of the underworld existing back during the first age as well – plus that it strangely enough wasn’t of solar artifice.

It was via their strange walkway that the circle quickly found itself in an oddly empty part of the city. Shadows crept along decreptic buildings that loomed over ill-lit streets. The Bodhisattva said that it was the part of the city know as the District of Whispering Streets.

“Ok, and what’s whispering here then?” Sullen Hoof asked, sounding rather uncomfortable as he seemed to look over his shoulder every other second.

The deathknight paused for a moment, grinning menacingly as it seemed as if his shadow kept on going. A stern stomp made it zip back under him: “This district of Stygia is cursed. We have yet to discern the true nature of the curse, but it drives the ghosts here mad – and even twists the landscape. Look behind you”

Looking back from where they had come the circle beheld as the walkway that had led them there was no more. Now they were standing with their backs to another row of abandoned homes with hungry looking open doors and broken windows. It was as if they wanted you to go in… and then they would eat you.

“And why have you brought us here again?” Cash asked, feeling thoroughly creeped out.

Trotting down the street forcefully, somehow making the ajar doors and shutters of the houses close as he approached, the deathknight called out: “This is the one place in Stygia that not even the Deathlords dare go – remember: They’re only ghosts as well – and the curse here would take them just as gladly. We’re safe as long none of you drink or eat anything here”

As they continued Speaker kept seeing dark things scuttling about just outside of his field of view. Sullen Hoof seemed more focused on the strange half-heard whispers and incoherent conversations that seemed to flow through the streets of the district on the breeze. Cash remained thoroughly freaked out from the emaciated and skeletal looking ghosts that hid within the otherwise empty homes and buildings that lined the streets of the district.

Only Sunrise seemed unphased by the eerie feel of the district, though even she shuddered as the Bodhisattva gestured for them to halt outside of a particularly dilapidated building that seemed to reek of regret and broken promises: “You must enter one by one here – and remember: drink and eat nothing”

Sunrise entered first, coughing up a surprised gasp as she entered – but nothing else, beyond the sound of her hooves on the wooden floor as she moved further into the house.

Cash was next. He took one look inside and doubled back instantly. It was only by the menacing glare of the Bodhisattva that Cash steeled himself and entered once more.
Sullen Hoof had apparently already entered – leaving Speaker and the Bodhisattva alone outside.

“What exactly is in there?” Speaker wondered.

The Bodhisattva’s face cracked into what was likely supposed to be a smile: “You are wise to ask first. It is the heart of the curse that riddles this district. Shimmer is hidden in here, well out of sight of the deathlords”

Nodding, Speaker took a deep breath and entered. The house seemed oddly empty, with a vaulted ceiling that made no sense – and a small fountain in the middle… next to the fountain sat an old pony who’s face was nothing but teeth and dark hunger – no, a blink later it was a translucent foal playing strange but repetitive game… another blink and it was a beautiful young mare sitting at the edge of the fountain with her back turned to him. It was only after closing his eyes and reminding himself sternly that his friends were in there as well that they came into view, with no old pony, young mare or foal to be seem… only strange faded stains around the fountain.

Stepping up behind Speaker the Bodhisattva shouted: “Shimmer, your friends are here!”

Next to the fountain the air began to distort and twist, as a hole with a silvery edge opened up. Speaker recognized it as the entrance into Shimmer’s elsewhere den. The lunar poked her head out a moment later: “Ah, there you are – finally!”

It turned out that Shimmer had been spending the last couple of days, since her last message to the circle, sorting Cash’s oath scrolls and tending to the ponies that she and Speaker had saved from the ponatees – though she hadn’t made much headway in regards to sorting the scrolls; there too many to count.

“Well, on the plus side we did manage to find and package all the ones that involved Lilith – that was our first priority” Shimmer pointed out, as she stepped out into the underworld.

Speaker gave a sigh of relief at the sight of Shimmer, though he was quickly interrupted as a foal in adult-sized robes darted in under and around him, twisting around to face the old stallion: “You look old – are you dead yet?”

With essence sight it was easy to spot that the foal was in fact a ghost – and the Bodhisattva introduced the young filly as Unwanted Whisper, the mistress of the district of Stygia they were in.

“Hold on – didn’t you say earlier that the district rulers were powerful ghosts?” Cash wondered.

The filly floated up in front of Cash, her oversized robes and crown dangling from her tiny corpus: “I am the orphan queen! You will bow to me!”

This might have sounded intimidating if not for Unwanted Whisper having the innocent voice of a little filly – not a grand monarch of the dead.

Sullen Hoof floated something out of his saddlebags and tossed it to the ghost filly. She sniffed it curiously then chewed it with great releaf, floating off as if in a drug-induced euphoria.

“and that was…?” Sunrise asked Sullen Hoof.

The gold-masked pony craned his neck and chuckled: “Caramel”

The rest of the circle smiled, and the Bodhisattva complimented Sully on exploiting the craving for delights and grand sensations: “For a filly that only knew the flavors she could scavenge in the streets such a gift has likely just earned you a very loyal ally… I would do wisely to send agents to buy something similar next time I’m in Creation”

With that settled and the circle reunited the question became what to do next. On one hoof Cash wanted to spend some time sorting the rest of the oath scrolls, to see which he could throw out and which were worth keeping.

“Why not just ditch them all if they’r so reviled by heaven?” The Bodhisattva asked, having not understood the full implications of the various oaths, only knowing what little he had gathered from the circle’s discussions enroute to Stygia.

Cash sighed: “A lot of them are innocent enough, and quite useful: Many of the few I read up in heaven were simply sanctified promises of favors for later use – and I’m certain we can use a lot of them. The problem are the ones that are more… dubious… in nature – which is why we’re here to just toss out the ones regarding my lunar mate”

The deathknight stepped closer to the fountain. The calm water in it seemed to shy away from him as he approached, as if some unseen force was tipping the fountain over even though it was standing quite still: “What kind of favors?”

Cash couldn’t tell – he didn’t recognize many of the names on the oath scrolls: “…but I did recognize a few from various celestial gods. For what we’re trying to do in Creation then getting some help from heaven could be really nice”

The Bodhisattva nodded: “Very well – but if you wish to return here and dispose of more oath scrolls then I would like a bit more advance warning next time… and I will likely require a favor or two in return”

Finding these terms agreeable, the circle next inquired on how exactly they were going to reach the mouth of the void. The Bodhisattva frowned: “We will have to move deeper into the city. The mouth of oblivion lies at the center of the city, from there the descent down to the void itself… traveling there is dangerous even for someone like me… but there are shortcuts – though quickest one comes with other challenges”

The deathknight explained that the mouth of the void was considered a ‘holy’ by the mad specters that work to hasten the coming of oblivion to all things. Of those the most powerful, the thirteen Deathlords, each have a mansion around the plaza that surrounds the mouth of the void. These mansions were guarded as well as one might expect for the informal leaders and chosen of the neverborn, so the challenge was getting past that to cross the plaza safely.

“So we need a distraction? Or are there other ways there? What about moving underground?” Sullen Hoof asked in quick succession, figuring that he had discerned the Bodhisattva’s plan.

The spectral abyssal nodded first, then shook his head – the ghost-flesh tendrils that hung from his ghostly corpus like dangling maggots wiggling in ways that looked anything but savory: “Yes, a distraction of a sufficient scale is required. And there are other ways to get to the mouth of the void, but none that are as safe or quick as this. Moving through the underground labyrinth that this city is built on is dangerous for its physical and meta-physical ways change with the dreams and nightmares of the neverborn: Even I can get lost in those tunnels for weeks…. And you do not have that much time”

“I could probably sneak past those mansions easily – even with the stack of scrolls we need to destroy – then toss it into the hole. This doesn’t have to be that difficult” Sullen Hoof pointed out, finding the Deathknight’s plan to be quite unnecessary for a night caste solar such as himself.

With a mighty stomp that shook the entire wooden house they were in the Bodhisattva expressed his dissatisfaction with Sullen Hoof’s likely well-meant but ill-informed statements: “Fool. The hole in the ground is but the top of the mouth. To merely drop something there would make it fall forever. The spacial laws of creation does not apply here. To be certain that something is gone forever will require walking down the steps carved into the sides of the chasm that leads down to the very bottom, to the true and final event horizon of the mouth of the void, and then drop whatever your have into that”

“Can any of us do that?” Sunrise asked, Sullen Hoof having gone silent.

Sighing , the Deathknight shook his head once more, explaining that to be that close to both the tombs of the neverborn and the void was not just dangerouos for the utterly mad ghosts that inhabit that bottom level of the labyrinth, but it was spiritually damaging to be that close to the source of ‘not-is’: “Going there frightens even me – and for what I have given the neverborn of myself they actually like me”

With that in mind the circle agreed that only Sunrise knew the charms needed to shield herself from such horror, and Shimmer gave her the tightly-bound stack of scrolls. It turned out to be too heavy for Sunrise to store elsewhere, but she could manage to carry it on her back.

“Ok, so we need to get you to the center of that plaza – and out again – how many guards are talking about drawing away?” Speaker wondered.

The deathknight explained that with all thirteen deathords’ mainsions there would be thousands of warghosts and worse things, all likely armed with soulsteel weapons if the highest quality: “But I would not have you draw them away. First know that the Deathlords do not live in these mansions constantly – right now only one or two are present so the rest are lightly guarded – but know also that the deathlords are in the end only ghosts! Just like the ghost I moliated into a cart and later used a necromantic spell to forcibly send on to reincarnation. If you create a situation where the deathlords present order a lockdown of their mansions then you will have little to fear from them. Scare them into hiding, and use that as your cover”

“And how would we do that? We don’t know how to send ghosts to reincarnation like you can” Speaker asked, not really seeing the circle in its current form as that big of a threat to the deathlords.

Cash put a friendly hoof on Speaker’s shoulder and shot the old Lookshyan stallion a cheeky grin: “I think I have an idea on how to do that – just keep me safe while I do my thing”

Thus the circle split, with Sunrise and the Bodhisattva trotting off to a safe place near the Deathlord mansions, where they would await the lockdown of the currently inhabited mansions, while the rest of the circle left with the foal ghost queen, Cash having asked Unwanted Whisper to take them to a place within the city with the most deathlord-loyal ghosts.

Leaving the cursed district of Whispering Streets the very air around the circle seemed to lighten, as shadows stopped stalking them and the ever-present half-heard drone of gloomy suggestions ceased to poke at their subconscious.

While the parts of Stygia the circle trotted through was no doubt part of a city of the dead, then it was none the less curious to see street vendors selling jars of green-glowing honey that seemed to make the ghosts that ate it weep, or pony-sized effegies of paper stomp around clad in soulsteel arms and armor keeping the peace. Rich ghosts were pulled around on wooden rickshaws drawn by animated clay statues – likely terracotta statues they had been buried with, and the circle even came across what appeared to be a group of living ponies from Sijan who were selling communication services to the living in exchange for soul-fire gems or high quality grave goods.

Arriving in the district called the Street of Swords was a stark change from the otherwise monochromatic city: Raging furnaces within factories and foundries bathed most of the streets with an angry red, and the traffic there was full of ghosts hauling carts of ore and chain-gangs of ghost slaves being whipped along… their cries for freedom were almost enough to drown out the constant pounding of metal from the massive riveted steel towers that houses the furnaces that lit the area up.

Unwanted Whisper led the circle to a large square where wagon-trains full of slave-ghosts were being unloaded and led away to be destroyed in the forges where soulsteel was made – and it was clear from their screams that these slaves knew what awaited them.

“Well this place is lovely” Speaker barely managed to force out.

Unwanted whisper laughed, her high-pitched filly voice barely audience between the crying slaves and the industrious foundries around them: “The lord of this district is a traitor to Stygia. He arms the deathlords with the weapons made here – instead of arming Stygia to defend it against deathlord influence. Nobody wants to admit it – and The Bodhisattva is too worried that directly confronting Lord Stalwart would piss off the deathlords. This place used to be a lot nicer – not all this soulsteel crap being made. This place needs new management”

“So…. What’s the plan Cash?” Sullen Hoof asked. Shimmer looked similarly inquisitive.

Looking around for a few moments, sizing up the area, Cash nodded to himself: “Ok – Unwanted Whisper, I need you to get out of here. You do not want to be near this place when I start doing my thing. Speaker, Sully and Shimmer I need you to hold off any troops send our way once I begin talking”

“And what are you going to talk about?” Shimmer wondered, as Unwanted Whisper sped off with a mouthful of Sullen Hoof’s caramel as thanks for her services.
Spotting a large cart of ore being pulled by a couple of ghosts that looked as if they were doing their best to ignore the cries of the slaves, Cash smiled: “I will talk about reincarnation… very convincingly”

Speaker chuckled. This was going to be interesting, if nothing else. Sullen Hoof pointed out three groups of armed ghosts around the periphery of the square: “They don’t look the usual peacekeepers we saw on our way here”

“The city likely withdrew their peacekeepers from the area as a way to protest against this Stalwart fellow siding with the deathlords – the deathlords likely gave him troops of his own in return” Speaker noted, following Cash towards the ore cart.

Suddenly Cash leapt up on the cart and drew a deep breath. He flared his anima to its fullest, causing a golden fountain of coins to erupt around him, each coin fading into a golden light as it fell to the ground: “Ghosts and good ponies, hear me and rejoice, for now is the time to seek a new life and reincarnation!”