Skyquestria: The Pony Scrolls V

Let the Hunt Begin

Up in the Dragon Palace, Ariene lay on her bed, reading the third book the court wizard had given her. Being an apprentice was hard work, but it's what her parents paid for. Querin Flamehoof was a respectable master too, funny and wise, but he had a short temper too. Despite the occasional beating for failing an enchantment, she understood his anger more than anypony whenever she heard somepony whisper, "He'll collapse from his age before she's ready to take over," or, "if he doesn't teach that lass something useful we won't have a court wizard to seek council."

She wanted to tell them they were wrong, but the last time she spoke out against them, the lord's son gave her a scar with the pommel of his sword. It ran from her forehead to her left ear, and she swore one day she'd learn a curse to make his stones fall off like rotting apples.

Ariene closed her book and got off her bed. She looked over at the bulletin board to see the newest assignments Querin had posted. Being apprenticed for five years, she was allowed to take the jobs that citizens gave to the Court. The ones with magical importance was sent to Querin, and he would post the jobs she was allowed to do on the board.

There were two jobs on the board this week, but neither of them presented the challenge she wanted. One family needed their storeroom refrozen with a simple frost spell, while another family "couldn't possibly live without magelight to brighten their rooms".

"Why can nopony in this city do their own work?" Ariene asked herself. Frustrated, she tore off the two letters and scorched them into ashes. "Hello... what's this?" A third notice was nailed to the board behind the two letters she had read. The letter was addressed directly to Querin, but it was, without a doubt, given to her. The letter was badly written, some words couldn't be completely read, but Ariene could get the gist of it.

Dear Court Wizard Querin,

I overheard that you studied at the School of Light in the arts of restoration spells. As of now I do not have time to delve into the details of my business, but when we meet at the outer wall's gate I can explain it all. I intend to go on a hunt tonight, and the nature of the hunt requires that I bring a wizard with your skills in restoration with me. I understand this is a bit more active than your usual requests, but I hope half a dozen silver bars should be a good compensation for your time. You may meet me as the sun sets three days after receiving this letter, at the gates of the outer wall. There you will receive half of the payment first hand before we set off.

Ariene stared at the last sentence, completely at a lost for words. Querin always said she could keep whatever her assignments earned her, and a week's worth of jobs wouldn't be worth half a silver bar. "This has to be a mistake," she whispered to herself, " I don't have the rank to fill this request. Even if I could, the Lord's court wouldn't allow it." But as she folded the note, she was a small message on the back. It read:

I believe you're ready, even if no one else will. I've taught you a lot, and though there's still many more years of studies you must go through to be a full wizard, I think it's time you learned from a hooves on experience.

It was Querin's writting, the w's had his unmistakable crooked slant to it. She couldn't believe how much faith he really had in her. She was thankful for her teacher, but she always felt like a fool whenever she failed at conjuring or illusions. Then she looked at the tomes she was given this morning. One was titled "Five Aspects of Wounds" and another was " One-eyed to Two-eyed". The third one, the one she had just finished, had a very specific subject. It was called "Warding Infections of Beasts and Ponies" and was written by none other than Angliur Restwatch, Querin's old healing master.

Zekai left the palace slowly, fearing a fast pace would cause his feast with the Lord's adviser to return with a vengeance. Ever since Zekai came to Whitemane to clean up their bandit problems, the adviser, Detridan, began harvesting the apple trees again, and soon Zekai payment came with fresh apple pie and cider, followed by a plate of sweetened hay with lemon zest sprinkled on top.

Zekai decided he should walk off the meal and strolled down to the Clan Courtyard where they were having the New Moon Festival. Nearly half of all the clans in the Noble District were at the festival, while the other half that worshiped the goddess of the Full Moon slept in, away from the frivolity.

The family everypony seemed to want to talk to was the Headhunter clan at the jousting tournaments. Zekai quickly noted that the entire family stood one head above the rest, save the fillies of course. They also wore their steel armor at all times, appearing fierce and aggressive wherever they went, which was exactly what they were.

As other nobles left to watch their sons joust, Zekai saw the master of the clan, SoRos, and his twin brother SoHenar. Unlike most twins, they both dwarfed the other fillies when they were young, and always worked together to get anything they wanted. They were the crown jewels of the Headhunter clan, and two of the most famous nobles in Whitemane. However, Zekai wasn't a fan of jousting, so he left and headed over to the Skirmisher clan and their new fighting pit.

The arena was built in their own house, right in the middle of the main hall. The floor was made of polished cut stone from Buckarth, and so was the pit. It was the shape of an inverted pyramid, but sand and and dirt filled it until it had a square, flat base. It had the depth of three stallions, and was as long eight mares lined up head to tail.

Zekai walked in, seeing the blue coat of the Headhunter clan wrestling a Skirmisher. The house was filled with various clans from the west side of Whitemane, some were chatting and eating, but most of them were cheering their sons on in the battle pit. Nearly thirty stallions and mares were crowded around the arena, giving advice and placing bets.

Zekai was about to sit when a rough hoof grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "And just who do you think you are, walking in here like you belong?" The elderly pony asked, jabbing his hoof at Zekai's horn. "We Skirmishers have seen enough of your kind from the damned war, what makes you think this is your place to be?"

"I'm just here to have a good time sir," Zekai replied, "but now I can see the Skirmishers don't accept every fighter. Fine, I'll see if clan Strongbuck has more guts."

The old pony's face twisted with anger, but a young stallion stopped his rage. "Sir, this unicorn is your guest, and from the looks of it he fights as we do, and that has what we've always asked for at this festival. Now, the cooked asked you for an opinion on the cake's texture, so you shouldn't spoil your attitude here."

The old pony stormed off into the hall and turned for the kitchen. The colt turned to Zekai and gave him a hoof shake. "Sorry for that, I'm Beohoof, son of Veohoof."

"Zekai of West Freewood, son of Kalgorosh. Pleasure to meat you. Now, let me test my knowledge of Whitemane's clans for a moment." Zekai looked at Beohoof's clothing and ring, both had a gold and green star pattern. "I'd wager your from the Goldleaf family, owners of 10 percent of all the farms in the countryside?"

Beohoof gave a wide grin, then said, "Ha! It's good to see an outsider learn our diverse clans. Well, at least learn mine. I'm sad to say I don't know much about Freewood though, let alone the difference between its west and east side."

In the pit the young Skirmisher had bucked the Headhunter in the rear left leg, and proceeded to pin him into submission. Zekai and Beohoof looked over to see the victor. Zekai turned to Beohoof, "Then I shall have to school you in our history and culture, but first I have to sate my curiosity. That old timer was of the Skirmisher clan, why did he listen to you? Their not well known for accepting ponies that aren't kin."

"It's primarily just between us, since I help him navigate the market every week."

Zekai raised a brow to that comment. "You, and not any of his three sons, or twelve grandchildren?"

"'They don't have time for the petty squabbles of an old stallion,' he tells me. He claims he's proud that they focus so much on wives and war hammers, and he's too arrogant to admit he needs help at his age. Typical thick-heads."

The two sat down at an empty bench near the arena as two new competitors stepped into the pit. They had minimal armor, but maximum weaponry. The maroon pony, a son from the Bloodwatch, was dressed in swords, totaling up to six blades. one in each front hoof, and four spare strapped to his back.

Zekai leaned over to Beohoof whispering, "He's a Bloodwatch for sure, but I've never heard of or seen him. Who is he?"

"Arken, son of Gralken. Came here all the way from Dawnfields, I think."

Zekai hesitated, shocked to hear this. It wasn't common for anypony to travel across the nation of Skyquestria, especially for one festival. "So... why the hell is he here? If he's so distant doesn't his own clan line celebrate in Dawnfields?" A bell was rang to signal the start of the fight, and the Bloodwatch immediately spun around and sliced his opponent, a member from the Swords of Reform, knocking off his iron helmet.

" What was that?" Beohoof yelled over the crowd as they cheered and boo'd.

"I asked why is a distant member of the Bloodwatch here, don't they have the celebration at Dawnfield?"

Zekai didn't know if he heard him, but after a moment he replied, "There, see those mares watching in the front row?" He pointed at a brightly lit bench where the three young mares sat.

"Are they royalty or something? Why are they so important to the Bloodwatch?"

Astonished, Beohoof looked at Zekai, then laughed at him. "Ha! So the great scholar hasn't heard the news that everypony has been spreading. Well, let me enlighten you."

Zekai stared unamused. "Fine."

Arken was thrown across the arena by his opponent, hitting the polished stone wall. As the other stallion's war hammer came down, he rolled left and cut along his enemy's gauntlets and destroying the horseshoe locked with his weapon. Arken held his opponent at sword point, and finally had him concede.

Beohoof looked down when it ended. Maids stepped in to clean off the blood and add fresh sand and dirt, signaling the thirty minute intermission. "It looks like I'll have a chance to give you a proper lesson then. Let's take a stroll outside and you see why this festiva's twice its usual size."

Zekai and Beohoof walked along the main street, passing food stalls and taverns."You see Zekai, with the Stormhoof rebellion sweeping the countrysides, many clans are looking to pair up with one another. They decide which clan is worthy of them through their daughter's opinion, and then seal the deal with marriage. Those three daughters were from the clans who have taken interest in the Skirmisher clan, along with their competitors."

"So that included the Bloodwatch, which drew Arken to Whitemane," Zekai added.

"Yep. Apparently he's the greatest fighter in their clan, even though he is a distant cousin of the main bloodline. He's undoubtedly going to be one of the final brawlers, if not the winning three."

"So what clans were the mares from? They seemed to stand out from the rest a lot more than they should."

Beohoof stopped to buy some corn from a crop stall, then continued. "Well, that's the point. The easties wouldn't send their eldest daughters without making them stunning for the contestants."

Zekai stopped in the middle of the road, perplexed once again. "Woah, you mean they were from the economic clans? Like Applehall, Silver Hooves, the Ranchos, and-"

" and Goldleaf." Beohoof cut in, "Yeah, my sister's over at the jousting tournament to take her pick of one of the Headhunters. No way somepony beat them at their game."

Zekai nodded, pretending to understand the complex machine that was Whitemane's clan system. "Don't the two sides disagree over pretty much everything? How can you put aside all your differences?"

"Not everything," Beohoof said as they followed the crowd back to the Skirmisher's contest. "What we both agree on now is that gold bits buy swords, and great fighters wield them. With these alliances, Whitemane could put any other region under its hoof."

Cheering could be heard down the road. Arken stood victorious once again over an unconscious Skirmisher once again. Aside from the Skirmishers themselves, everypony was cheering for this new hero of the arena. He climbed out of the pit and returned to the line of victors. Three large stallions glared at him as he took a seat by the fireplace. Being the final four, every one of them had good chances of getting in the pit with Arken, and had a good chance of losing, save the Headhunter.

Zekai and Beohoof returned to the house of the Skirmishers as a bell was rang to signal the first of the semi-final matches. Unlike the preliminaries, both ponies were decked out in their best weapons and armor, which showed off the unique designs of their clan. Arken was first up to fight the eldest son of the Strongbuck clan.

Zekai and Beohoof stood behind all the seats to look over the excited families and watch the show. Zekai looked at the fighters, then whispered to Beohoof, "Is that Oken Strongbuck, against Arken? There's no way anypony expects Oken to win."

"Why's that?" Beohoof replied.

"I'll explain as we watch. You'll understand it better."

So they both watched as Arken and Oken clashed, sending each other into the walls and onto the ground. Oken had strong legs to kick, but Arken still matched him blow for blow, and then some.

"Stongbucks are unarmed specialtist, Beohoof. Their only weapons are sharp, short daggers, but even then you can see Oken's footwork is uneven and choppy with armed combat. Arken can see it too, his swords feint for the helmet and torso, so when he disengages to the hooves Oken will stumble."

However, Oken's flexibility served him well as he made last minute saves by twisting around Arken's blades. The room had lost its cheering and everypony watched silently in awe as they danced around the arena.

"Oken seems to have the skills to compensate for his weakness, Zekai," Beohoof added. "Is he still at such a disadvantage?"

"Yes, look at his fur; it's drenched in his sweat and he's breathing harder each minute. Despite his clan's strength and endurance, Oken is expending far too much energy trying to keep his footing. Add that to his forceful knife attacks, which need to be honed a bit more as well, he stands no chance of surviving for long."

Finally, Oken slipped when Arken struck at his helmet, taking his balance away and dropping him from exhaustion. Before Arken could gut him with his blade, Oken screamed, "NO! Please, no more, I concede!"

The crowd gasped, for conceding in battle was a fate worse then death to earth ponies. Not only was Oken's pride snapped like a twig that night, but he had lost all honor and respect. The Skirmishers and their friends began throwing apple cores and cider mugs at Oken for not accepting the defeat, but Arken stood over him, protecting his dishonored opponent.

"Please," Arken announced, "it is not my opponent's fault for his loss. Though he may not have known it, but he was fated to lose, and there is no reason to scorn him for what the gods had intended. After all, he cannot help what he is, or what he's born into." Arken pulled Oken up with a smile on his face. He had just insulted entire Strongbuck clan in less than four sentences, and nopony was willing to get up and challenge him.

Zekai snickered at the comment left by Arken. "Well, you don't see that every day."

"Don't see what Zekai?" Beofhoof asked.

"Most would take the honor in destroying their opponent in the heat of battle. Arken definitely has another motive in this competition beyond the simple need of adoration for his combat skills. Whoever his opponent in the finals is, he needs to keep up his guard. Arken's a bit of a wild card. "

After the shock of conceding had left the crowd, the second semi-final match began. It was Headhunter against a Sword of Reform. The headhunter wielded a massive war hammer, weighing as much as an average stallion.

The Sword laughed once the bell was rung. "Psh, how ya gunna hit me with that? Jeez, you really are as stupid as they come, aren't ya."

The Headhunter grunted and swung the hammer like a paper weight, snapping his opponent's spine and flinging him out of the pit before he could even react. He walked away with a single remark. "Smart enough to break you from the waist down."

Ariene left the Palace an hour before the sun dipped below the mountain range. She had to get past the New Moon Festival before everypony flooded from their houses. She left the Noble District and took the main road to the outer gates, and headed toward the carriage stalls to wait for her job. But when she arrived, a stallion was already waiting for her. She waited a moment for him to beckon to her, but she realized he must have been expecting Querin.

Hoping he would accept an apprentice instead of her master, she strode over to the stallion and introduced herself.

"I supposed you're waiting for Querin the Wizard?"

He got off the ground and turned to Ariene, looking at her hooded robe and horn. "I asked for the old stallion, not a young mare. Go back to your master."

"I packed up for this 'hunt' of yours and came all the way from the palace and now I'm not qualified? If you're so keen for his help then read what he wrote to me and then make your decision."

He took the letter from Ariene's levitation and read it. "Fine." He handed back the letter and sat back down. "Just don't get impatient. We have twenty minutes before sundown."

Ariene sat down with the stallion, and then realized they never shared names. "Alright then, what's your name? I'm Ariene."

"Sanfar, Hunter of the Vigil of Grace." He replied.

"The Vigil? As in those priests that go around preaching the horrors of conjuration and magic?"

Sanfar shot a piercing stare at Ariene for that remark. "You would do well to have some basic knowledge of the world little filly. It is true we discourage the practice of conjuration, but only because the beasts of Tartarus have no place here. We would be hypocrites to stress the evils of all magic."

Ariene said nothing, wondering if he was even talking about the same institution. She's seen priests of Grace in the Lord's Palace plenty of times, always condemning the funding of court wizards, accusing the Lord and his council as worshipers of Windigos, the demons that allegedly kill and consume those who oppose them.

"It's time young apprentice, let's mount up and begin the hunt." Sanfar rose from the grass and pulled a whistle from his saddlebag. He blew it, giving off a deep, resonating wolf howl.

"We're ponies, what could we possibly ride?"

"Those," said Sanfar.

In a minute, two large timber wolves came running from apparently no where, tearing across the grasslands and over to the base of Whitemane, where Sanfar had called them.

Ariene jumped back and screamed at the sight of the wolves. They were over twice her size and their claws were like daggers. "They're beasts, not pets! I can't ride that."

Sanfar ignored her and just fed the wolves dried seasoned fish as he tightened their harnesses and checked the reins. "Everything is prepared lass, hop on George and we'll be off."

Ariene stomped her hooves in protest. "I said I'm not getting on 'George' even if I had to walk the whole night. They're wild beasts, it's impossible to properly train them."

"Fine, have it your way," he said as he climbed onto his wolf, "George, do the thing."

The large timber wolf happily barked at Sanfar before pouncing on Ariene, biting her saddlebag and tossing her onto its saddle. Ariene whinnied as she tightly clung to the saddle, not daring to jump off. She could have, of course, but George was already sprinting through the grasslands, catching up to his master as they headed for the mountains in the distance.

After half an hour Ariene gathered the will to look around her as she neared the mountains. The timber wolves ran like nothing she had ever seen. The mountain range was at least three days away on hoof, but they were already halfway there. "I told you, they're well trained." Sanfar called from behind. "George's my fastest timber wolf. Raised and trained to cover all of Skyquestria in a day without stopping."

Ariene was impressed, but still rather disgusted at the scent of meat and flesh in their breath. "So, what's out here that's so important to the Vigil? Is it witches, Windigos, necromancers, ba-"

"I don't know." Sanfar said bluntly. They both went silent for a minute before he decided to elaborate. "The Temple of Grace has been receiving disturbing descriptions of feral ponies. We assumed them to be lesser windigos, a necromancer's experiment, but then the drawings and descriptions came in."

"So what was it?"

"I told you, I don't know. Its body was built like a troll, but its head was that of a pony. Its claws were armored by keratin, the same material as our hooves, or at least that's what a farmer told us when he claimed he 'jabbed d'beast with me pitchferk, but damned thing caught it with dem hard claws.'"

Ariene laughed at Sanfar's terrible accent, which was so inaccurate she didn't even feel offended, coming from a farming family. "So the Vigils of Grace really doesn't really go around preaching hate on wizards and magi at every city they come by?"

"Gods no, what gave you that notion?"

"Well, over at the Palace, many priests would enter and protest about the court's support of wizards, and every bit spent on them should be returned to the people or the Gods will punish the Lord for his sins."

Sanfar grimaced upon hearing what Ariene said. "Bah, con artists and liars, all of them. We have no priests, nor do we care about their politics and economy. The Vigils of Grace was put on this land to cleanse it of dark powers, and that's all that we do."

The timber wolves sniffed at the dirt, awaiting their master to return from his expedition. He and Ariene had ventured into one of the cave systems to root out the mysterious creature of the night. Unfortunately,it was nearly three hours past midnight and nothing had been found.

Ariene kicked around some old bones pilled up near a pillar formed by a stalagmite merging with a stalactite. "No offense, but I don't think those farmers were good choices for evidence. There's nothing but rocks and dirt."

"No lass, too many reports for it not to be something. We've got to keep looking." Sanfar broke down an old web wall with his mace and walked into the cave. "More here, it looks like a great spot for any beast."

Ariene sighed and followed after him. She was half hoping for some action this night, but instead was stuck casting the candle light spell over their heads. "Gods, what's that smell?"

Sanfar nodded. "I smelled it too. Something's around this cave. Could you cast your light at that wall, it'll reflect it around the cave."

She did as he asked and pointed the light at the wall. The ball of light on her horn penetrated the darkness and stopped at the wall. What came back was not a bright reflection but rather it was two, glinting red eyes.

"Get down!" yelled Sanfar as the beast lunged from its corner and onto him. Ariene ducked behind a rock as the black fur swooped around the cave. A loud crack came from the beast, followed by Sanfar galloping out of the cave. "Come on Ariene, he's won't down long."

She bolted up and followed Sanfar out of the maze of caves, the growls of the black shape closing in on them. They came across many loose rocks, which they bucked into place to act as a wall, but the darkness rushed through the boulders as if they weren't there at all.

"No no no, I can't die in here!" Ariene screamed as she ran through the tunnels.

Sanfar shot her a scornful look and snapped back. "No panicking now, focus on getting out."

Somehow, through all the running and roaring, the cave spat them out the entrance and they tumbled down the side of the mountain, landing on a ledge.

"Sanfar, what the hell is that?"

"I think it's... coming right for us!" He yelled. Sanfar slipped on his shield to raise it, but the beast was a flash of darkness, crashing down on the mountain ledge, knocking both ponies off. Ariene looked up to see the beast, but with the new moon tonight it was impossible to make out the night sky and its body.

"We need light lass, make some!" shouted Sanfar as he repaired a gash in his fore leg with a potion. "Light, now!" His harsh voice snapped Ariene out of her fear long enough to blast a ball of light into the air, illuminating the area. The bluish-white light blinded the beast for a second, giving Ariene a horribly close look at the monster.

Its head was indeed a pony's but its eyes glowed red and face was distorted with rage and confusion. Its black coat was rough and coated in dried blood. The rear of the beast remained mostly pony-like, save that it was standing almost comfortably on its find legs, balancing with its gnarled, swaying tail. Like a troll, the figure had long fore limbs and a wider upper torso, accompanied by sharp claws where its hooves should have been.

And its size was the worst aspect of it. It easily doubled the size of the biggest earth pony she'd ever seen when it crouched on all fours, but it could nearly match a giant in height when it stood up.

It reacted to the light with a yelp, but followed up with a deep, long breath. Sanfar shouted, "Cover your damn ears!" But it was to late. The screech of the beast drilled into Ariene's eardrums, knocking her over and blurring her vision. Even the soft grassland offered no protection as the roar shook the ground and hammered the waves of the sound into her. She tried to recover from the roar, but each time she tried to get up her legs gave way and she fell back to the ground.

The creature jumped off the ledge and bounded toward her, with claws glinting from the candle light spell and fully extended to kill. It was only one meter away when Sanfar leaped at the creature, slamming his steel mace into its jaw. Small runes along the mace sparked as their magic ignited the black fur. Sanfar reeled back to strike again but was swatted away by the dark, powerful "arms" of the beast.

It returned its attention back onto Ariene, preparing its claws for a powerful slash, only to be interrupted by a poison tipped arrow in the shoulder.

For an earth pony, Sanfar was a good shot, firing off arrows at the big black spot right in front of him. He pulled back the string with his mouth, lodging another arrow strait into the skull of the creature. "Bull's Eye ye bastard." Sanfar returned his bow and arrows to his saddle bag and limped over toward Ariene.

In a split second the beast exploded off the ground and pounced onto Sanfar, shredding apart his robes, revealing thick chain and leather armor. Despite the pain in her head from the roar, she could tell Sanfar wouldn't last long. She tilted her head and forced all her magic into a fireball, and launched it at the back of the monster. It screeched in pain as its back melted from the intense flames, and Ariene savored the small victory for her as the world went black.

The final event, the one everypony knew was going to happen, was starting. SoTlar, son of SoRos, stood against the unexpected victor from Dawnfields, Arken Bloodwatch.

Neither said a word to each other, no insults or smirks. This match was the finals, so the decision was also final. The battle ended by death.

Zekai excitement took over him as he dragged Beohoof along to squeeze into the front. "Zekai, ow.. it's took cramped."

"Shh!" Zekai replied without even looking at Beohoof.

They stood in the middle of the crowd, sides rubbing up against the dozens of ponies entering to see the last event. Beohoof was pushed and prodded by various fathers from what seemed like every father in Whitemane. "Gods, Zekai, we could just read about it, no doubt a scribe's here to write about it in a book or scroll. We should go before we're squashed in here."

Beohoof's complaints fell of deaf ears, the cheering and murmurs drowned out every conversation into an incomprehensible hum. The Skirmisher working the bell had to ring the bell with his cousin to break through the noise and start the match.

Arken made the first move to close in on SoTlar, but the large Headhunter took one step forward and crunched Arken's steel helmet with his war hammer, flinging him across the pit. Arken recovered quickly, rolling up against the wall and raising both his swords to catch the second swing. But to his surprise SoTlar retreated back to the other side of the arena.

From the crowd somepony shouted, "Snap that Bloodwatch in half!" while others yelled, "Shred SoTlar to pieces!"

The cries came from all around the pit, but Arken and SoTlar eyed each other, disregarding any of the commentators. With a heavy grunt, SoTlar raised his hammer and rushed Arken bringing it down on where his back should have been. The hammer slammed into the wall only moments after Arken removed himself from the spot, leaving behind a rectangular crater in the stone wall. Arken lunged at SoTlar while he pulled his hammer out and slashed at his armor joints, but the steel plates deflected the blows without taking a scratch.

SoTlar spun around and brought the hammer on Arken left side, thudding against the thick iron mesh and chain and sending him two meters in the air. SoTlar bucked him into the wall coming down, then pinned the hammer up against his neck. Arken saved himself by bracing his fore limbs up against the heavy steel, pushing with all his might. But the Headhunter was too heavy for him.

Both Beohoof and Zekai stood dumbfounded, clearly expecting Arken to have out maneuvered SoTlar, who turned out to be incredibly nimble for his size. Beohoof whispered something to himself in awe, but Zekai was too engrossed in the sight to notice.

Arken's right gauntlet was the first to give way to the weight of the hammer, snapping and releasing the sword locked to its horseshoe. Arken looked down at his lost weapon, suddenly inspired to not die and push harder against SoTlar's might. He felt the bone and tendons of his right foreleg strained at their maximum, but then his left gauntlet followed its friend and broke, stinging as the leather snapped, releasing his final weapon.

SoTlar grinned as he put his full range of power to use, his hind legs bulging as he pressed on Arken's neck, daring his spine to crack against the wall. But just before he crushed Arken's chest, a sharp sting came from his left forelimb. It grew warm and wet, and suddenly he lost power to it and slumped over. He looked to see that his armor was torn at its shoulder joint, torn by something sharp.

When he realized what his opponent had done it was to late. Arken had caught his left sword between his two rear legs, which were freed from the ground by being pinned so high. SoTlar's armor couldn't handle the angle his legs were positioned for long, and Arken's powerful hind legs thrust the sword into the weak joint, damaging his tendons as the blade cut in and out.

Beohoof strained to see what had happened, finally resorting to nudging Zekai asking ,"What was it? What happened? Is Arken dead or not? There's to many ponies standing to see Zekai, c'mon, tell me!"

Zekai turned to his friend with the dumbest grin on his face. "Holy shit, that was so fucking close, you don't even know how close that was. Damn, that was a good match."

Arken smiled at his fortune; his opponent was dull enough to look at the wound and expose the connection between his helmet and chest plate. A second thrust stuck the blade into SoTlar's neck, removing spine and blood as it tore out the other side. SoTlar tried to look at Arken, wondering what had just happened to him, as he lost control of his body and collapsed onto the ground. The crowd was silenced, the majority of them friends of the Headhunters, fearing the reaction SoTlar's father would give to the first pony who told him what happened.

Arken said nothing as he pulled himself out of the pit, limping over to the leader of the Skirmisher clan. "My apologies... for the mess. Send the cleaning bill to my uncle, my family is plenty rich enough to fix up the floor." Everypony resumed talking among each other, expressing their feelings of the loss of one of the Headhunters. Arken left the crowd to their antics and exited the house, treading blood across the floor all the way to the door.

Echoes came from a few drops of water dripping off the cave roof. The throbbing in her head had stopped, but it took a much longer time for Ariene to push out the shock and get herself up off the cold rough stone. She listened for any signs of the beast, but the only noise was the clops of her hooves.

"About time you woke up. Thought I'd have to look out for ya all night."

Ariene jumped around to see Sanfar, propped up against a wall, covered in bloody rags. "Gods, you're bleeding!"

Sanfar rolled his eyes at her. "Oh this? Nah, it's only a flesh wound. A profusely bleeding flesh wound."

She wasted no time replying as she removed the dirty rags from the gash. "How long has it been like this?" she asked as she cleaned out the pus and infected flesh.

"After you blasted the werepony -that's what I'm calling it, don't look at me like it's a stupid name- it howled for a minute in pain. George and Icha came to our aid. George picked you up and brought you to this cave, while I mounted Icha and fought the beast the rest of the night. I got the wound from a strike sometime between Icha being killed and killing the beast."

Ariene listened as she pulled out fur that had gotten into the wound and caused further inflammation. "Sounds pretty bad, I'm so sorry." She levitated her dagger and sliced off the infected flesh from the wound.

"Ow! Nah... its fine... ow..." Sanfar moaned, "part of the job lass, you get used to it after twenty years."

Once the wound was disinfected Ariene cast the healing spell Querin had her practice the past few days. She pooled some magic into the tip of her horn and let its energy fill Sanfar's wound and speed up his body's healing ability. In seconds the flesh had grown back and was as soft as a filly's bottom.

"You must have a lot of stories to tell from your adventures, I presume."

Sanfar nodded. "Aye, stories I have, would you like to hear them? We've still got an hour or two before sunrise."

"I would love to hear about your younger years, if you can remember that far back."

"Aye, you would. Can't think of a better adventure to start with than the time I met a bat-pony hunter. A real good one that tale. It starts like a bad joke but trust me lass, you'll love it. So, this wizard walks into the tavern one night wailing about his lost friend...."