Crystal Outlander

by Reykan

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Original Character, King Sombra, Sex, Crystal Ponies, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7756

It was so long since he felt anything, so long since he'd talked to a sapient being. Sometimes though, it feels like the pain just wasn't worth it. But he'd keep going. Giving up is for scrubs.

Nearly a century ago, he found himself in a world he recognized, one he dove into with an enthusiasm only an RPG lover could manage. But it wasn't everything he'd hoped, it wasn't a paradise. It was a prison. Now, after a desperate attempt to flee that empty world, he finds himself lost once again. Only now, he can feel the wind and the snow. He can feel hunger gnawing at his stomach. He feels the burn of every step he pushes his body to take.

Definitely worth it.

Published 2015-04-25 16:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-22 01:14:38 UTC

Free at Last

So long...

It had just been so long since he last felt anything. So many years, numb to the strongest of sensations, that what little wind made it through his cloak, ebon black armor and his new... coat nearly overloaded his mind.

Walking through veritable monsoons, trudging through alien swamps, and swimming through underground lakes, yet feeling no dampness. Passing by bubbling lava flows, walking into an active volcano, being burned by fires both magical and mundane, and never breaking a sweat. Wandering frozen tundras, ice caves, and freezing cold rivers, even fighting beasts who freeze the air around them, and feeling not even a cool breeze. For the first time in over half a century, the lost one's mind stirred. The wind and melting snow was not all he felt. For the first time in years, he felt hope. Could he dream again? Not just those weird visions sent by the mad immortal or those hallucinations brought on by Sanies Lupinus, the werewolf disease, but actual dreams like those he had back home, back before this madness started. What about taste? Yes he'd eaten ingredients to learn alchemical properties, and he'd drank (excessively, to be honest) the local spirits soon after he realized he was trapped in another world for a week or two, but they'd had no true effect on him. In fact, the booze just seemed to affect everyone around him, making them less friendly, more then having any true impact on his mind.

The ideas were like a wildfire, burning away the malaise that had settled on the wanderer over the years like a fireball through cobwebs. He briefly played with the idea of removing his frost immunity ring, now a bangle due to his altered form, but the sensations would probably paralyze him long enough to freeze to death. He was happy, almost deliriously so, but he still wasn't stupid. After all, his intelligence was 96. No, no sense in going overboard and getting himself killed in a fit of excitement.

Checking his location, he noted that his maps and journal were acting strange. The map gave no location name, nor did it give a larger area map as it had back in Vvardenfell, just a white circle around his current location, showing that the snow was most likely permanent in this area. At least it was still able to give him compass points. His journal, meanwhile, had a new entry. The book had saved him countless hours of back trekking and had saved his life numerous times as well, but now it seemed to be running out of power, as it started to fade half way through the entry:

I've found myself in a new world, in a new
form. Most of my equipment seems intact, keeping the magic
of Nirn and allowing it to fit to any form. This place is cold and desolate.
I should make my way to the nearest signs of civilization.

Why was his journal acting up? He'd done his own research on the magic of Nirn, and found that these items usually pulled ambient magic to keep them running, or drained small amounts from the owner to keep them running. Would his map start to run out of power as well? Is that why it wasn't giving a larger location, only showing the local area; it just didn't have the power to do so? What about his immunity items? They were permanent effect before, were they timed now? If so, he needed to move, posthaste.

Mentally accessing his collection of gear, he swapped his lightning resistance bangle for one that increased his prowess with Mysticism-based spells. With a flare of magic, he cast his best finder's spell, briefly lighting up any enchantments or living creatures to his eyes. The results were at once comforting and confounding. There were several faint life signatures deep underground, most not moving, while to the north-west and south, there were glows. What did that mean? What was so large that it radiated enough magic to show up in a detect enchantment spell? For the second time that day, the lost one felt something he'd not felt in years; cautious fear.

Over the years he'd amassed so much power, through both arms, armaments, and skills, that not even the demigods and immortals that challenged him could face him in single combat. Armies of demons fell to the weapons he wielded, the enchantments they contained even more lethal than the blades themselves. His armor withstood even the blows of the largest creatures, and turned aside the sharpest blades claws, and spells. Yet nothing he'd found before gave off as much raw power as what ever may lie ahead. No, stealth would once again be his strongest ally, just as it had been all those years ago, when he left that small boat with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and some junk he'd managed to sneak out of the customs office.

A second mental command, and his black armor was replaced with a strange green crystal armor set, that almost immediately caused him to fade from sight. No, he wouldn't rush in and waste this chance at freedom. He'd find out where he was, find out what that strange magic was, and then find himself a loaf of bread. A nice, warm, freshly baked loaf of bread. Maybe he'd even splurge a bit, and get some butter with it? By the nine did that sound heavenly. With a nice warm cup of hot coacoa. Wait, did this world have chocolate? Oh he hoped so, nothing beat a cup of hot chocolate after wandering through a blizzard fighting monsters.

His course of action decided, his armor prepared, and his mind more alert than it had been in half a century, the lost one took his first step toward his goal...

...And promptly fell on his face.

'Right, new form, like when I went wolf. Gotta figure out balance and shit first. Probly be best to do that before wandering into a fortress of doom.' He gave himself a once over, before shakily picking himself back up and taking his first uneasy steps into the surrounding wastes.

<-(0)->

1, 3, 2, 4...

1, 3, 2, 4...

The lost trudged through the unrelenting blizzard, barely able to see five feet ahead of him. He was no longer tripping over his own legs, which was a blessing in and of itself, but he was by no means certain of his steps. He'd been practicing his movements every few minutes, at least those that were possible out here in the tundra; hopping, strafing (that one was a lot tougher with four legs), walking backwards, a jog, jumping and hopping, and even a few sprints. He'd ended up eating snow more times than he'd ever admit, but even that was a blessing to the lost one. The sensation of the snow melting in his mouth, of drinking water again. The longer he walked, the more his spirits rose.

After another set of exercises, he cast his detection spell again, this time finding that the simple three second detection spell he'd been using to track his progress lit up an entire wall of solid spell-craft just in front of him. The barrier shimmered an eerie purple-pink glow that normally accompanied such spells, branching out in both directions and ending at the edge of the spells detection range.

"Almost like the Ghost Wall, just without the patrols...or the shimmering white glow, or the structural reinforcement or, never mind, bad example." His gaze tracked left then right, imagining the sheer size of the area under the spells effect. Taking a preparatory breath, he closed his eyes, and stepped into the barrier...

... or rather, through it. "What?" He was certain it would be some type of illusion, or a selective barrier that only allowed living things through. Walking back to his previous position, the wanderer weighed his options. He could head south, to the other source of magic he felt, though the distance was impossible to guess. Or he could attempt to breach the barrier, unleashing whatever infernal legions were banished here.

With a thought, a wicked looking blade of black and gold appeared attached to the flat bottom of his... no, think about it later. Bunker Buster, he'd named it, enchanted to remove the shield spells that so many wizards seemed to rely on. Even the mad mother-goddess' shields would be weakened by this weapon. He drew the blade back, and swung it into the area occupied by the barrier.

Strike. He felt the enchantment on the blade surge with energy, even as it seemed to just pass through the air. Strike. Again the blade flared with power. Strike. Ahead of him, he caught a feint glimmer of something in the distance. Strike. Again, this time clearer, buildings perhaps? Strike. Not just buildings, an entire city. judging by the snowflakes on the other side, one trapped in time. Trapped? No, he wouldn't wish that upon his worst enemies. The barrier had to come down. Strike. The barrier was visibly buckling under his assault now, flaring wildly up and down it's length, attempting to redirect energy into the area weakened by his blade. It wouldn't be long now.

Rising up onto his hind legs, oddly not as uncomfortable as he would have assumed, he brought the blade down on the wavering shield a final time, before the sound of shattering glass filled the land. Parts of the destroyed barrier fell to the earth around him, slowly dissipating in the snow. The snowflakes that had been suspended in the spell were slowly picking up speed, falling to the earth after who knew how many years.

The wanderer walked into the town, his blade now seemingly stuck to his back. There was movement here and there, but he couldn't make out what was in the houses. Should he walk into one? He did that plenty of times back on Nirn, but he seemed to remember, though just barely, there was a time before that. He'd done something like that once when he was young, and gotten yelled at by someone... someone important to him, someone he listened to. She was.... who was she again? There was a form, a warmth in the bubbling static of the voice, but no face...

He was pulled out of his memories by an impact, though the one who hit him was the only one who moved. It was a stallion, a bit smaller than himself, looking around for what he'd run into, obviously confused. Why did the idiot not see him? It's not like he was- Oh, that's right, still had the stealth armor on. A simple thought and the armor shifted back to the black and gold of his combat attire, though he still had his cloak over everything, reducing his imposing figure. The fact that he just appeared out of nowhere in front of a confused stallion hadn't yet occurred to him.

'Enter communication. Specific Place.' The wanderer thought, only to be met with the frightened stare of the stallion, who suddenly started studdering.

"K-k-k-king Sombra? What's going on, what happened? Everypony, we're all confused."

'King sombra? That's not my name, it's... I... I'm...' The lost one's mind was hitching at this latest problem his freedom had come with. What was his name? A quick cycle through his journal left him with dozens of titles, but no names. What was his name?

Just how long had it been since he'd last used it?

'I'm not Sombra... hello? Did you hear me?'

"Sir?"

'I said.. oh, wait, I'm not saying...'"I'm not Sombra, is he the one in charge here?" It felt strange to the wanderer, speaking with another again. He'd have to watch his thoughts, sometimes they got away from him.

"I think so, I mean, his name has King in it, right? Everything just feels muddled at the moment, though."

"Wonderful, I'll fit right in here." 'Anything else you can tell me?'

No, wait, he got that backwards, try again. 'Wonderful, I'll fit right in here.' "Anything else you can tell me? Anything important you can remember? Any little detail could help."

The stallion frowned, concentrating on his scrambled memories. "There was something... something about a heart. It was important, so the king hid it. Didn't want it being used against him?"

The wanderer brightened up at this. "Finding an ancient artifact that the survival of civilization hinges on the return of?" His right forelegs boot suddenly shifted to a strange orange metal, which soon had a hammer, then a small dagger made of similar metals swapping through his grip. A cocky grin spread across his face. All of this other stuff was beyond his ability to deal with at the moment, but this? This was something he'd gotten good at. Finally, the weapons disappeared, and the boot returned to it's original gold and black metals. He looked up at the stallion, and agreed to his first quest in a new world.

"I can do that."

Your Journal has be

Author's Note

I've always enjoyed looking through games and making a list of pros and cons you'd run into living in that world, and one thing that kept hitting me with both Morrowind and Minecraft was how flat the world is sometimes. Would you taste anything? Would you feel anything? What would this kind of experience do to someone? A compounding issue for Morrowind is the fact that you contract corprus about halfway through the game, which I can only assume would be horrifically painful, and even if/when you cure it, it's still with you. From then on, you're immortal. Normally not a bad thing, by most trains of thought, but grats, your immortal in a world where you can't feel, taste, drink, or properly sleep, and have no-one to talk to.

GG

How Much do you Think it's Worth?

"If I were a mad king and I wanted to hide a magical artifact, the one thing that my enemies could use to defeat me, where would I put it?"

The Outlander was walking to the oversized, overly intricate, and overly dreary crystal castle. Obviously the artifact would be there, but would it be the highest tower? No, that was reserved for maidens and princesses. At least, that's what he remembered. So the deepest dungeons? Perhaps, though he wondered what kind of monsters a king of shadows would favor. Wraiths? Maybe he'd have a few zombies in there, or mind bending, soul devouring horrors with magical mirrors that stole the sanity of those that gazed upon them? Wait, the guy was an illusionist, right? So it would be the last place he would look!

Whipping around and sticking his nose into his bags, he let out a disappointed sigh. Why did he never get the easy quests? What did Harry do to earn getting his quest's artifact stuck in his pocket? Sometimes it just felt like he had the worst luck, which was odd, because his luck was 84.

Seriously, what did that stat even do, anyway?

It was certainly a unique experience reaching his destination without having something jump out and try to stab him. Actually, it left him kind of disappointed, as he'd not had any chance to try swinging Trueflame with a hoof yet. What good was it to have a flaming sword if you couldn't use it on something?

The path up to the castle comprised of a ridiculous amount of stairs, and it took all of his willpower not to try jumping the entire way. Not only would it have left him exhausted, he was actually feeling a bit sleepy, a sensation that was alien to him at this point. It also left him excited once more though, as it meant sleeping in a soft, comfy bed. Oh, and dreams. Maybe he would have a dream about laying in a soft comfy bed? Walking past an old brazier, he suddenly wretched, nearly puking as a horrid sensation passed over him. 'Oh god, what was that?' He hadn't eaten anything lately, right? the only thing he'd done lately was eat alchemy ingredients, and those didn't do anything for him, so what- oh. Oh, the ashes. He really needed to get over that, before he ate something toxic.

Finally managing to pick himself back up, he entered the main hall, enjoying the artistry along the way, and searching for the main throne room. 'Lets see, Punching-bag Ur kept his weaknesses pretty close to his base of operations, and I'd assume the throne room is Sombra's base, so there has to be some type of clue somewhere around here.... so many hallways.... eeny meeny miny...'

'Hello? Damnit, I'm doing it again.' "Hello? Anyone there?"

No response came, so the lost wandered into the room, eyeing the strange metal dishes spread out all over the room. Some hung on walls, others on racks over metal grates covering what looked like fire-pits. Some long forgotten part of him said he knew what the room was called, but he couldn't place it. It had something to do with food preparation, though. Maybe that's why he couldn't remember. There wasn't much eating going on back in Vvardenfell. Popping the lock on a back door, he entered a storage room and did what he always did while exploring fortresses of doom; looting the hell out of every container he came across.

"Empty, empty, don't know what that is, don't want to know what that was, empty, don't think that's supposed to be fuzzy, some-No, don't eat it, you'll get yourself sick again..."

This continued for a while, until he found a few containers towards the back with runes on them. They were cool to the touch, and upon opening one, he swore he heard a heavenly chorus.

"Jackpot..."

The wanderer eventually made it to another room of the castle, though he was traveling at a more sedate pace now. The container was a godsend, if he was honest, though he would be paying for it later.

Apples. Honest to god, real, juicy, fresh, delicious apples. Oh, he'd cried when he first managed to sink his teeth into one, the first thing he'd eaten in almost a century. It had been getting to that first bite that was the problem. He'd immediately tried eating them, but was lost in confusion when it didn't work. Eventually he'd worked out that he had to take off his helmet, pick up the fruit, bite the fruit, chew the fruit(almost forgot about that one, lost a perfectly good piece of apple when he choked on it) and then swallow the fruit. It certainly was a battle, but it was worth it, by the Nine was it worth it.

Checking the mannequins (ponyquins?) and weapon racks of the armory, he went along each rack looking for anything worth the carry weight. He was severely disappointed. 'Iron, iron, steel, iron, some shoddy crystal piece, not even half as strong as glass and twice the weight, yuck. What gives? It's all junk!'

What kind of fortress of doom was this? There were no traps, there were no monsters, no bound demons attempting to add another lost soul to the defenses, this was getting downright boring.

"Except for the apples, the apples were nice..." He mumbled to himself, drooling slightly.

'...and behind door number seven, we have...by Mara's bouncing bosom....'

Books as far as the eyes could see, several floors of them, and approaching a shelf, he learned that there wasn't a single copy to be found. All of these books were entirely unique! The levels he could gain reading through this library! If he hadn't already maximized most of them over the years out of sheer boredom, it would be a cakewalk to do so here. Alas, he needed to find something in particular, so he started going down the line. At first he was going to open each book in turn, only stopping when his journal updated, but the journal didn't seem to be working anymore, so he had to do this the old fashioned way. Gazing around at the mountains of books, he sighed. 'This may take some time.'

"...crystal heart was taken by the king of shadows, yadda yadda, I know all this, where did he put it? Where the hell did he hide a glowing, blue, two-foot tall heart-shaped rock?" The outlander muttered, slapping his head against the book. It was a pain in the butt, trying to turn the pages with his hooves, but he managed to get by. Maybe he was looking in the wrong place. Actually, yea, if he kept an evil diary he wouldn't put it in the big library where anyone could walk in and find it, he would keep it in his room. Probably in his underwear drawer. Wait, did ponies wear underwear? That guy out there was in the nude, but he did say he was lost and confused. Did he just wander outside stark-naked in his confusion? Oh dear, how many poor kids were traumatized by that!?! He could have said something! He was just so distracted by the power he'd been tracking with his-

Immediately a hoof struck his helmet, leaving a resounding gong as metal struck metal. His enchantment tracking spell! Even if the heart was inactive it should still give off an energy signature he could use to find it. He could have saved himself hours!

Then again, he probably wouldn't have found the apples if he didn't go searching. Maybe he had enough time to head back for one more.

"The hidden chamber in the throne room was cliché, but it was nicely hidden. I didn't even see the seam. The magically trapped door was a good try, but useless against someone with enough anti-magic enchantments on their armor, or who's fought vampires, zombies, demons, and those creepy as hell naked scorpion-bat-woman things. But this? I put my fo-er, hoof down at this. This is just stupid."

The outlander was standing at the base of a set of stairs going up to a pedestal that was apparently holding the crystal heart. His frustration stemmed from the fact that every time he started walking up the crystal stairs, the flipped down, becoming a ramp that caused him to slide back down to the bottom, before the stairs would revert to their regular form. There had to be a trick to this. He just had to figure it out. What did he know about the guy? He obviously liked crystals, considering the décor, and he had a thing for stairs. Maybe that was it. It was stupid, but hell, he'd drowned himself before for the sake of a quest. Why not, right?

"..And I love you *step* and I love you *step* and I love you *step*, and I most certainly, most definitely love you, little stair. You know why? *hop* Because you're the last Gods-damned step of the group."

Finally looking up at the chamber surrounding the heart, he noticed he could see the entirety of the city from here. It was one of the highest towers of the castle. First off, how did he not see this on his way in? He could have used a levitation spell and been up here in about five minutes, baring any magical barriers to the outside. Second, the highest towers were where you put the lovely girls. Either Sombra was a very confused Demon King of Shadowy Evil, or the wanderer needed to have a nice long conversation with him about his obsession. Rocks made terrible waifus. Pillows were the way to go. So soft, and you could flip them over and they'd be all nice and cool, and they never complained if you had more than one.

Walking up to the glowing blue heart shaped rock, the wanderer let out a sigh of relief. It was about damn time. He carefully wrapped it in his cloak, held it in his forehooves, and cast his slowfall spell before hopping out of the tower. There was no way he was taking that path back to the throne room. Fuck stairs.

Stowing his helmet in his inventory, he made his way back into town, where he caught a mares attention, asking where they wanted the rock. She was confused at first, until he showed her the Crystal Heart, and she had quickly ushered him to a pedestal. Obviously that was where they wanted it. Carefully placing the heart in it's rightful place, the thing started glowing. Before he knew it, the citizens were approaching from all directions, in an almost zombie like trance. Once most of them were gathered, the artifact gave off some brilliant light, that made all the ponies look kind of like living crystals. Actually, it made him look kind of crystalline as well.

He'd returned the rock, the ponies were happy, and some stallions and mares were standing in front of him, passing a gratuitous amount of praise his way, but the lost didn't hear a word he said. His focus was on the odd rumbling in his gut. Something was wrong, but the fog in his mind hadn't quite cleared enough for him to remember what the problem was. Was he sick again? He'd avoided eating anything bad as far as he could remember, and it couldn't be indigestion, as it had been a few hours since he had those apples. So what was it.

The guy in front of him asked him something, and he just nodded along. All the ponies around him were naked, so it wasn't just the nut he ran into earlier, all the ponies were naturists, it appeared. Freaks...

Another gurgle from his gut doubled him over. 'Sweet mother of mercy, what did I do?'

"Sir, are you okay? I can take you to the healer if you need, they can let the sickness out."

Out. That's what he'd forgotten. The apples were like a pack of dogs, barking at the back door. Oh holy mother of mercy, he only hoped he found a bathroom in time. He had no wish to unleash Namira's wrath at the large gathering that was celebrating the return of an artifact of purity and happiness.

Grabbing a stallion by the neck with both forelegs, and with a desperate look on his face, he managed to gurgle his demand. "Toilet. Now. Where?"

Author's Note

Whenever I get to thinking about someone not being able to eat or feel for a long time, I think of Captain Barbossa's lines about the first thing he's going to do when he gets rid of his curse. I also wonder if they'll remember that what goes in must come out.

I know it's pretty silly, but I don't think I'd be taking anything seriously after being able to beat someone with a staff that heals them with every hit. And don't you morrowind players tell me you didn't do this, in at least some permutation.

Nightmares and Daydreams

Itching. Burning. His skin flaking and discoloring more every hour. Growths and tumors spreading along his arms even as he rushed to complete his latest task, one that was to date the most difficult thing he'd ever done. He'd done everything he could to make sure this went quickly, as he knew what would happen in that cult hide-out. He knew he would be touched by that horrific disease, but nothing prepared him for the agony it brought.

At first he thought his preparations were wasted, as nothing truly worrisome came after he'd been 'touched' by the cultist. So he took his time getting back to his boss with the news of the base's destruction. He hunted a few wild animals, cleared out a smuggler's den, and spent a few nights looting a Daedric ruin. Soon however, what was once a slight itching became more intense. A rash developed across both his arms. Every part of his body started to burn. Blisters formed with the rashes, making scratching them almost impossible without causing bleeding. Then the growths started to develop. By the time he reached his boss, his arms bled freely. By the time he reached his only hope of a cure, he couldn't wear his armor anymore, his skin was too sensitive. He rushed blindly through the tunnels, passing by other beings who'd been lost to the madness of the pain. He rushed the old one, took the item and rushed back to the wizard at the top of the tower. It hurt so much. The burning, the itching, the shifting of his skin, the feeling of his body being pushed and pulled at the whims of the disease was nearly debilitating, but he would not lose. He would not be one of those things wandering the basement, forever a lost, horrifically disfigured soul.

He. Would. Not. Lose.

Reaching the wizard, he delivered the item, he couldn't tell what it was, nor did he care. He was given a potion with a warning. It's success rate to date, out of hundreds of tests, was zero. It didn't matter, though, success meant freedom from the pain, failure meant death. Death was better than agony unending. He drank the potion, and waited.

And waited.

The wizard looked at him, giving him a wan smile, and said "I'm sorry, friend. It didn't seem to work. You just drank it too late. I'll make sure your comfortable downstairs."

No. No, he couldn't let it end like this. He wouldn't let everything he'd done to this point end because of a stupid disease. He would- he turned to his arm, the agony intensifying as the disease accelerated. It's victim could not escape it, so it moved in for the kill. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, yet before his very eyes, the growths spread from shoulder to hand, eventually leaving only small nubs where his fingers had been. Soon, even those faded. Twisting he saw himself in the mirror, his once human face, no longer recognizable as such. And with every passing second, what few features he retained were lost to the sickness. As the pain overwhelmed him, the hero screamed.

<-(0)->

The outlander jumped in his bed in a cold sweat, the nightmare from the previous night still fresh in his mind. Corpus, the touch of the mad demi-god, and the reason for so much suffering in Vvardenfell. Well, as much suffering as things that acted like NPC's can feel. He closed his eyes, calming himself down. Why a nightmare? His first dream in years, and it was a nightmare, and about something so horrific as becoming one of those things. It had been a near thing for him, as well, just barely making it to the wizard's tower before the pain became unbearable. Being back in a world where he could eat and sleep again was actually starting to be a pain in the butt. He wouldn't give it up, not after so long without the positives, but he seemed to be getting hit by an awful large number of bad things lately. Didn't he deserve some happiness too? Looking out the window of the Inn he was staying at, and seeing the sun just creeping over the horizon, he knew he wouldn't be getting much more sleep. He'd grab a breakfast, summon a monster or three, and practice his swordsmanship.

Finally breathing regularly again, he reached for his blade, and stopped, before drawing his arm within his sight again. A stub greeted his eyes.

And he screamed.

<-(0)->

It had taken a while to remember his recent transformation. Only when the Innkeeper nearly broke down his door did the wanderer see the other pony and remember his situation. It was embarrassing, but after he'd calmed down and had a decent meal for breakfast(sweet, delicious pancakes, oh how he missed them), he started looking for an open field. There were a few things he needed to know. It took some asking around, as well as a few awkward stares when he forgot he actually needed to speak to the people, but eventually he was directed to the outskirts of the Crystal City.

Strange didn't do it justice. He could see the edge of the barrier against the ice and the snow that the artifact manifested. Stopping in a field just outside the gates, yet inside the barrier, the lost one drew a blade, and switched one of his bangles for a permanent summon ring. There was no telling if the summon would work, if it would summon the same creature, or if the creature would be under his control, so he took no chances. In a flash of white light, the daedra appeared before him.

It was large, nearly twice his size even leaning on all fours. Its green scales tapering into almost daggered points and it's jaw ending in a beak. The limbs on it's rear and fore legs both ending in claws made for ripping the life out of it's victims. A terrible cross between a raptor and a triceratops, and twice as intelligent as either, the creature stood before him, awaiting orders. Then it blinked. Then the creature started looking around, sniffing the air around it. He could see it in the creatures eyes, it knew this place was different, that this place was not home. But it soon relaxed, moving about the field he'd summoned it in, sniffing the grass, before curling up and basking in the sunlight.

The outlander smiled; it was the moment of truth. Approaching his summon, he set his right glove to inventory, before reaching out his tan colored hoof and running it along the shining scales. The creature moved to look at him, but returned to it's basking shortly after seeing it was it's summoner that had touched it. It was a strange sensation, feeling the scales through a layer of fur, but again, this was why he was out here. To remember sensations, to allow himself time to recover from the sensory depravation he'd undergone over the last eighty years. Feeling brave, he started dropping things into his inventory; his helmet, his boots, his gloves and pauldrons eventually even removing his cloak and cuirass, though he felt a bit uncomfortable doing so. Eventually he was down to wearing only his summon's bangle, his spell-reflection necklace, and the Royal Signet bangle.

It was indescribable, feeling the sun warming him again, feeling the calm breeze's caressing touch. The cool grass as it gave way to his hoof-falls, and smelling the bakery he'd passed on his way to the gates. He smiled, running and jogging and hopping through the grass, smelling flowers again, hearing insects buzzing. He'd done this before, he was sure of it, but it was so long ago that the sensations, the memories, they were lost to him.

Eventually, his excitement wound down, and he returned to his summon. Rolling onto his back with his head against the creatures back, he dozed off. No need to worry about wild animals with a guard dog this large.

<-(0)->

His dreamless sleep was interrupted by a low rumbling sensation. Was there an earthquake? That's what it was called, right? When the world shook? Snapping awake, his armor adorning his form within seconds, he whipped around to find the summon prowling towards a cowering pony that had approached him in his sleep. Calling the reptile back to him, he silently thanked Stendarr that the clannfear hadn't outright mauled the mare.

"Sir, t-the council requests your p-presence in the throne room in two hours. They wish to f-formally thank you for returning the Crystal Heart to us." the female managed to say, though her eyes kept darting to his summon.

"I'll head there momentarily, thank you." Stroking the creatures frill, he admonished it. "Be nice, you. You know not everyone is an enemy."

After having delivered the message, and being assured that the lizard wouldn't attack her as soon as her back was turned, she made her way back to the gate. The lost however, soon found his eyes glued to her retreating form. More specifically, the hypnotically swaying part of her.

He was knocked out of his hormone-induced stupor by a nudge from his side, and a chirrup from the clannfear. "Sorry, buddy, got a little lost for a second there. We should get going. We'll grab a snack on the way, if your good." The reptile perked up at the mention of food.

The outlander started to the gate, his mind already wandering again. 'Crassius, your smut book's got nothing on the real thing.' he thought to himself. He knew he was pretty deprived when it came to interactions, especially with the opposite sex, but that was ridiculous. If something that simple was setting him off, maybe he was worse off than he thought? Only one way to remedy the situation. He'd have to do some studying. You know, for science.

Author's Note

Corprus is the perfect torture disease. You can't cure it, you can't get something else that will kill you when you have it, your body gets deformed, and eventually the person's mind is destroyed by the pain. The stronger a person is mentally, the more they suffer before they break.

If I'm completely honest, I'm still deciding what to do with this story after the meeting, and even the end result of it. Do I want him to run shit, or do I want him to go cause trouble for the rest of the planet? Decisions, decisions...

You Want Me to What?

'Idiots, every single one of them.' The wanderer thought to himself as he unequipped his armor in his new room. After helping to retrieve the Heart, he was asked by a council to lead the city, though on closer inspection of the terms, his power was almost non-existent. The were probably looking for a way to chain him to the city as a protector. No way in hell that was happening. After so many years stuck with only two islands to wander, he was going to explore again. They were on the verge of panic, most of the city still shaking from a nightmare they couldn't remember, and to lose such a powerful being to wanderlust? He managed to settle them down by promising to magically mark his room, allowing him to teleport back to the city in case of an attack. In that vein, he'd asked if they had some way to contact him, and the council had provided him with a triangular amethyst imbued with a simple alert spell. The gem would glow and emit a soft tone when its brother was activated. With the assurance that their super soldier wouldn't be out of reach, he finally convinced the council to not try to physically stop him (not that they could).

A brand new world, full of things that didn't exist back on Nirn and, and where ever he came from before. That had been brought up as well at the meeting; his name. He couldn't for the life of him remember it, as he'd been called by his titles for so long they were all he remembered.

Moon and Star, Nerevarine, Saint Neravar, Arch-Mage, Master of the Fighters Guild, General of the Imperial Legion, Spymaster of the Blades, and Grandmaster of House Hlaalu, and his personal favorite, Outlander. But none of those mattered here, strange as it was to admit. He was now in a world with no link to Nirn, and thus all of his accomplishments were unknown to the locals. In the end it suited him just fine, but one couldn't go around calling themselves a high ranking member of a group that didn't exist in this world, could they? He supposed he'd just take a new name. What was one more to add to his list? The ponies seemed to like the idea of two words that were in no way suited for names, so he should probably go with something similar.

'The names always seemed to be related to their jobs too, oddly enough. Do they change their names every time they get a new job? Seems like a waste of time to me. Ah well, what do I do well? Stealth obviously, but I can also match most monsters I've met head on now that I've gotten some good gear and learned how to fight. Stealth Assault? Sneaky Punch? Sneak Attack Criti- no, that was an attack bonus. What about Hidden Strike?'

As he pondered these things, he lowered himself into a prepared bath, the warm water sending tingles up and down his strange body. By the Nine, the wonders of a hot bath. It felt wonderful no matter what you were. Relaxing into the warm waters, he made his plans. He'd leave some of his more abstract gear in this room under a powerful lock spell( which he, of course, knew the counter to by heart) and would journey south to the other lands of the world. There was still that second heavy presence he'd felt to the south, and the longer he thought about it, the stronger the pull of his curiosity became. After all, the first powerful presence was a barrier that was sealing off an entire city. Would the second source be just as fantastic? The idea of wandering a new world seeking adventure thrilled him. Dozing in the luxury of hot water, his alien ears flicked at the sound of the howling winds picking up outside, hiding the storm outside from view. Under the water his lips curled into a smile.

Cloaked Storm it is.'

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The next morning he was woken from his sleep by a rapid knocking at the door. Moving the fluffy blankets he'd immersed himself in after his bath, he wobbled sleepily over to the door, to be greeted by a servant that offered to escort him to the dining hall for breakfast.

"Will there be pancakes?" the outlander asked? The servant seemed confused a moment, but nodded.

Storm grinned at the ideas of more foods he hadn't had in years. "And bacon?" That seemed to confuse the butler, as he just stood there looking lost. Storm became irate, though. What idiot has never heard of bacon? It was wonderful, beautiful, a crisp, delicious...meat. Oh, yea that may do it. His ears flattened at the realization. Most of the locals were probably herbivores. His poor Clanfear. Wait, was he an herbivore now? Rushing over to the mirror in the room, he used the flats of his hooves to push his lips back, getting a good view of his teeth. Strangely, they seemed similar to his old teeth. What had changed, were his eyes.

"How the hell did I not see that before?" He muttered. Gazing back at him were two green eyes with slit pupils. It seemed to solidify his predatory heritage. Bacon was a go, and all was right in the world. Unless pigs talked. Oh god he hoped they didn't talk. What kind of world has talking cows and pigs? How would he enjoy a cheeseburger when the creature it was made from could ask him how his day was?

"Sir? Are you well?"

The wanderer snapped out of his musings at the inquiry, turning to the servant. "Yea, yea I'm good, just still learning what changes occurred when I busted out of that hell hole."

The servant raised an eyebrow at the remark. He'd been told to expect some odd remarks and quirks from the stallion, but the mad pony was starting to wear on him.

<-(0)->

Breakfast was a rather interesting affair. The utensils were similar to those used by bipeds in other worlds, yet the ponies managed to pick them up with the magic hooves. Already having done it by accident, Storm managed to eat relatively easily, before throwing his plans in the face of the current ruler. Unsurprisingly she seemed upset, the mare swearing to lock him out of the city if he left so soon, but was soon settled by a few nearby lords and ladies.

They'd seen the road outside of town, right at the edge of the barrier. On one side the road was pristine, on the other it was gone. Not buried under snow, but simply not there anymore, eroded by time. Having been brought up during the meeting the previous night, Storm had mentioned the barrier he'd come across while looking for the town, as well as his involvement in breaking it. So when he'd mentioned his desire to leave, the nobility asked that he contact whatever civilizations now existed to the south to possibly renew trade agreements, and was made the unofficial diplomat until such a time that the kingdom could find a proper politician to do the job.

"At least I have my freedom again, even if it's on a flimsy leash." Cloaked Storm said. It wasn't like he couldn't break contact with the kingdom if he needed to. After all, he could easily slip into the shadows, never to be seen again if he so chose. Wait a couple decades, come back for his gear, most likely in long term storage, and leave. And that was if he decided to not just walk in with his stealth armor on. It would be a piece of cake.

At that last thought he drooled, even as he stepped through the shimmering barrier and slipped on his cold resistance bangle and his stealth armor. "Oh god, cake. I haven't had one of those in soooo long."

Giggling madly at the thoughts of foods barely remembered, the displaced being trotted merrily through the blizzard, a blur in the morning light humming a lively tune to itself despite the desolate landscape that surrounded it.

Author's Note

I'll be honest, I don't like this, as it feels short, but I need to get him out of the kingdom. There so much for him to ruin out there in happy pony land and the world beyond, I just can't wait anymore.

I also can't think of a cleaner way to leave. Hopefully next chapter is easier. I'm already imagining his first run-in with the Royal Guard. Or any pony police force for that matter.

"Sir, I'll need you to disarm. You can't have weapons here."

"HAHAHAHAHA no."