Fallout Equestria - The Eerie

Tonight was an especially cold night, which meant that come tomorrow morning leaving the fort would be hell. The wind was howling, and the sheer force of the gale made the dead, leafless trees creak and groan. We’d been walking for a solid hour by that point. Soft Gale had taken us to The Wall and caught us a cart headed north. In the distance, I saw the smaller, less impressive lighthouses of Melancholy Bay, and the tiny flickering lights of the boats still braving the dead oceans. I had no idea where we were going, but we seemed to be a few miles out from Wayward Watch; the fortress built a few miles from the coast to overlook Melancholy Bay.

My eyes were fixed on Gloom as she walked, along silently gossiping with the athletic mare beside her. Anxiety had plenty of time to build during the long stretches as we walked. What had I done? Overall I knew that getting even a little assistance from Red Eye would help the Rangers. Beyond the Enclave, Red Eye was the dominant force in the whole of Equestria. Having a stallion that powerful helping the Rangers was no doubt a good thing.

Nopony ever gets out of Fillydelphia. Slaves were said to never be able to escape from that city, and once in a blue moon when one did, they were hunted down mercilessly by Red Eye’s hunters and trappers. A lot of them were recaught and made a proper example of, but those that weren’t perpetually lived a life on the run. The greatest irony was that Gloom was safer here than anywhere else. The gates to hell were somewhere the hunters and trappers would never think to look for her.

And I just led Red Eye right to her.

There was nothing I could do. The worst part of this all was a disgusting pit of shame in my stomach. One that teased me and kept reminding me that not only was this all my fault, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I just hoped that those diplomats and envoys arrived when we were far into the Highlands, and were long gone when we returned.

We reached an elevator stop and Allure traded cigarettes with the soldiers standing around as we stood by waiting for the elevator to reach the top. I’d never been this far North along the wall, and I was noticing that. It was freezing here; the wind had a bitter and unforgiving chill to its usual bite. I definitely needed to pack warm clothes before we left.

We reached the bottom and followed a dirt path into a miserable and diseased looking woodland. Occasionally we wandered past a stallion hauling a massive cart filled with planks of lumber. They wore the baby blue vests the rangers gave out to hired civilian workers.

It took us awhile, but we made it to our destination in a small artificial clearing in the woods. I was amazed there were even living trees around me. While they were grey and deathly looking with murky green leaves blowing in the wind, they were, in fact, alive.

Ahead of us the clearing stretched perhaps a hundred metres in a wide circle. The area was covered in a light dusting of sawdust and woodchips and the air had a distinct and pleasant smell of freshly cut wood.

We’d arrived as most of the civilian workers were leaving the lumber yard and heading home for the night. All around us were giant logging machines - rusted shipping containers haphazardly converted into workshops that housed all manner of saws.

We met with a senior looking unicorn stallion wearing a ranger outfit (unlike his army of hired workers) in an old canvas tent. “I take it you are Allure,” he said, nodding to Allure before peering to me. “And you must be Ashes,” he added.

We both nodded, shaking hooves with the stallion. “Name’s Sapling, but folks call me Sap. You’ve got a strong body to you, Ashes. If you weren’t a ranger, you’d be right at home here. I could use more stock horses.”

I blinked and looked down at myself. If my coat wasn’t so dark I’d have probably blushed. “Uh, thanks?” I stammered, taking what I presumed was a compliment. I’d never been called ‘strong’ before, because I really wasn’t. I’d been called broad and stocky, but never strong. Perhaps he was just trying to be flattering, or he’d mistaken my large frame for strength.

Soft Gale tossed him some caps before we all headed off to a large container in the eastern corner. A stallion sighed as he lifted a small wooden crate up in his magic, rifling through it and digging out a number of small tools. He leant down and took out four tiny wooden disks only slightly bigger than a bottlecap. He spun them in his magic before setting them down on the workbench. On closer inspection, I could see that the sigil of the Alwhinny Rangers was seared into one side of all four of the disks; a simple rendition of the Wall and the lighthouse with two crossed swords behind it.

On the workbench, he separated them into pairs. “Now I hate to say such an embarrassing thing but...could you two show me your cutie marks?” he asked with a friendly enough looking smile. “We’re gonna make you two some identity tags”

Allure was more embarrassed than I was at the prospect. Perhaps she was just more defensive of such things as a mare, or perhaps it was because she was wearing more than I was and thus had to make more of a conscious effort to strip than I did.

I shifted my fatigues to show off my flank - a headstone with a chip taken out of the top of it. He nodded a thanks to me as he lifted a seal stamper and pressed the end down on the wooden chip. Magic wafts of smoke puffed up, and the workshop soon filled with the smell of burning wood as he took momentary glances at my cutie mark.

In the corner of my vision I saw Soft Gale lean in to peer at my cutie mark. “What the hell is that, a gravestone?” she asked, looking up at me.

    “Yes.” I replied in a voice so standoffish I surprised myself.

She leaned back to stand properly “How do you get a cutiemark of a gravestone? Did you kill some guy as a colt?”

I sighed and shook my head to her “No, my family runs the Graveyard in Darkwater Down...or at least used to run it. I got my cutie mark for being good at burying bodies.”

    “Oh, so if your destiny was to work at a graveyard, why did you join the Rangers?” she asked, looking into my face and cocking her eyebrow at me.

I shot Soft Gale a look and she seemed to get the message she was touching on some kind of nerve before she shrunk back “Right, sorry, I suppose it's none of my business.”

Sapling took the tool up and pushed it aside, and looked over to Allure who also held her own flank out, her green cheeks a flush red. I saw Soft Gale lean in and look at Allures flank as well.

It's possible I looked too.

    “I-its a harpoon,” she said, leaning to show us a small, dull coloured picture with a blush before leaning back to Sapling. “My family are spear and harpoon fishers. I got really good with a speargun, and I just got it one day out fishing.”

Soft Gale nodded before trotting back to her spot. “Suppose that’s where you got the aim from?” the mare asked, getting a small nod in reply. “The way light acts in water it shifts the image of the fish slightly ahead of where it actually is." she explained "So if you want to be good at harpoon fishing, you gotta learn how and when to lead the target, how much to lead it and stuff.”

I looked to the thin mare as she trotted back to stand beside me, pulling my fatigues back over my flanks. “What about you, nosy? What's your cutie mark?”

Soft Gale’s face stretched into an embarrassed look. “Its uh...not important. You’ll see it some day.”

As if by karma, I also happened to touch a nerve choosing not to press the issue as Sapling finished Allure’s badge.

    “Okay, so now we need something for the other one. We need a quote from you.” Sapling said, looking to us.

I gave her a confused look, and then gave that look to Soft Gale.

    “It’s a scout tradition. If you die we have something to write on the memorial wall and gravestone. It also doubles as a safeguard for Descending Dreams,” Gloom's voice spoke up behind me.

    “Descending Dreams?” I inquired to the small earthpony mare.

She shook her head. “Eerie can give you a unique kind of lucid dreaming sleep paralysis. Your brain can’t function legible sentences in your sleep, so having something to read close by is useful for checking if you’re dreaming or not,” she responded in a very rehearsed way. I had a feeling she’d repeated that same sentence a dozen times before.

I only had more confused looks to offer the mare. “It’s...complicated. I’ll tell you about it some other day. Don't worry about it for now.”

    “A fish spared today is two caught tomorrow,” Allure spoke up softly, blushing again as she realized we’d gone quiet while she spoke. “It's just something Dad used to say…”

Sapling nodded, putting the tool back to the blank disk burning away before looking to me.

    “Oh uh…how about...” I stammered trying to think of something thought provoking, before remembering back to the Pillbox on the wall this morning, “Rags that scheme, Steel that hates, Caves that Grow.”

Sapling nodded and got back to burning away “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Soft Gale questioned, looking to me.

I gave her a shrug “Just something I saw. Got me thinking when I read it. Can’t think of anything better to put down.”

Sapling burned and seared away on the tiny wooden disk before finally he leaned back, “There we are, two Ranger tag sets,” he mumbled, reaching over, taking another tool, and putting each disc under it and cranking a lever down to stamp it in. He punched a hole in each tag before he finally stood up and thread lengths of a thick string through them, passing them to me and Allure.

    “Congratulations, you’re all official Ranger Scouts,” he smiled, slapping me on my shoulder as I tied the tags over my neck, letting the disks rest on my chest.

    “Would love to stay around Sap, but we gotta’ go. We got a mission tomorrow morning, and we’re not going to get much done without sleep,” Gloom said warmly.

Sapling nodded and waved his hoof. “Not a problem. You two head on your way. I’ll catch you all some other day.”

We all said our pleasantries and left the logging camp. Heading back down along the dirt path toward the wall, Sapling yelled out and waved goodbye. “Good luck out there, you two!”

I looked back at Sapling as we walked, waving back to him. His chipper expression faded as he looked at us. He had the face of a stallion who had performed that same job a countless number of times before, and his clients never came back. I wondered if he expected me and Allure to die too.

I wouldn’t blame him.

For some reason that night, as I lied in my cot, staring at the ceiling trying to snatch what little sleep I could between the anxiety and excitement, I thought about the days to come, and the mission that lied ahead. I made peace as best I could that night, because I was probably going to die before this month was done.

As it became evident I would get no more sleep tonight I gave up and forced my sheets off my body and pushed myself from my cot. I quietly left the recruit barracks and walked down the halls, searching briefly for one of the hallway clocks. Eventually, I came to the deserted ‘library’ and administration rooms.

Two in the morning. Two and a half hours before I’d need to make my way to the armory. Plenty of time, I thought as I entered.

The library of the Lighthouse fort was a large room. It was as long as they could make it; four vaguely bedroom sized rooms with their walls knocked down, the width however was much more limited giving the library an extraordinary length for a room in the wall but shallow width.

On the North side was a collection of faded and rusted metal desks, each holding a terminal that glowed with weak, green screens. One computer was occupied by an old mare who peered back at me as I stepped in. She offered me a weak smile before looking back to stare at her screen. The edges of the room were populated by bookshelves, which were so numerous and so identical it was almost like the room had nothing but shelves for walls.

I headed to the empty administration desk and took two dirty ancient pieces of paper. I took the equally ruined pen and a carved wooden inkwell in my magic and trotted to one of the dozens of wooden tables..

_______

Dear Sister

Sorry I haven’t wrote to you in all this time. I’ve been fairly busy, and Ranger work is not at all interesting enough to talk about. Though a great deal has happened since I arrived. Two hours from now I will leave with the First Recon Company on my first expedition into Penumbra. I got promoted after training exercise went wrong. Apparently I seemed good enough to promote.

My squad leader is Captain Speakeasy. I’m not entirely sure if you remember or even know who he is, but he’s pretty famous around here. I’m glad I have him watching my stupid self. I feel a lot safer.

Just an update, as I write this your Envoys are not here yet, and I will likely not even be at the base when they do. Regardless, thank you for being worried enough to write.

Anyway that’s all I have to write about. I’ll write to you the day I get back to the fort, but that might be a few days if not weeks, depends how well things go.

~Ash

_____

I took the letter in my magic and gave it a few gentle shakes to let the ink dry before I slide it to one side, taking the blank paper, dipping my pen in the ink and beginning my second letter. As much as I resisted I let out a silent yawn my eyes growing heavy as I put the nib to the paper and began work.

_______

Dear Sister

If you are reading this, I have died.

Dad was right, I am so sorry, don’t grieve too hard about me.

This was nobody’s fault but my own.

~Ash

_____

* * * * * * * *

I’d been walking for a little bit. The world was a void to me. An endless flat plain of swirling purple and angry shapes just beyond my vision. There was no sound, there was no taste, no light. Just the swirling sickly purple surrounding me on all sides. Until a shape produced itself in the distance.

A wall - it stretched as far as my vision would allow. As I grew closer I noticed that it wasn’t just any wall, it was THE wall. Towering higher than my vision could permit was the mighty Lighthouse. Her reassuring glare of light pierced the clouds like they weren’t even there. I could tell from the angle and the silhouette of the wall that I was on the Equestrian mainland side of the wall.

With little where else to go I headed to the Grand Gates - the mighty triangular portal through the wall separating the wasteland from the land where daylight never shined.

    “Hello…?” I yelled out. My voice quickly being swallowed by the clouds and the dark as I stood in the massive hall where the Grand Gates would be. The lanes dead, the booths empty, and the gates wide open.

I sighed to myself, wandering the lonely void. My hooves clattered silent and echoless against the concrete floor as I finally reached the open mouth of the gate. I stared out into the Penumbra side of the Wall. A piercing shiver rushed up my spine. I could feel myself tense up, and my body begin to break into a cold sweat as I was filled with a great sense of dread.

Something was out there. Something was coming.

    “Why are your gates open, mister?” a soft, melodic yet distinct accent and innocent young filly's voice asked from behind me.

I snapped myself around staring back into the hall of the Grand Gate seeing the distorted silhouette of a distinctly filly shaped creature. I couldn’t manage a reply. I was...scared - terrified even. Where the hell was I and what was going on? Who was this girl, and why was I so scared of her?

    “You have all these defenses...it's so tall and big. Most ponies never get this kind of protection, but you have it and you leave the gates wide open…” she continued. The silhouette of her head scanned the massive hall. Her whole body spinning around to look. She eventually moved her head back, gazing out the open hole of the Penumbra side. Her ears twitched as she listened deeply.

I heard it too - a sound like rushing water from beyond the horizon. A sound so alien and so unbearable it made the inside of my head ache. It  was a sound so nightmarish I could not even hope to describe it. It flooded toward us, showing no intent to stop. It was somewhat on par with the most unbearable electronic screech mixed with the sound of feedback from a dying microphone, only so much worse.

    “H-he’s coming...no...no I’m so sorry! I Ied him right to you!” the filly suddenly cried out, her voice in a great deal of distress. Her shadowed head turned to me, “Y-you can’t let him in! No matter what, mister, please!”

The sound grew louder, and the torrent grew closer. A tidal wave was coming, and the pain only grew. At first it was little more than a headache, but soon my vision blurred, my stomach grew weak, and my body began to recoil. The sound became an impenetrable din. A symphony of pure hell. My vision failed, and soon I fell to my knees, screaming out in agony.

A thousand nails drove into my skull at once. My screams seemed only to bleed into the torrent of unbearable sound. A foul warm liquid drooled from my nose, and I tasted rusted iron in my mouth.

    “N-no! Don’t let him in!” the fillys voice screamed to me, her voice clear and gentle over the static. Her screeches were a relief compared to this all. “He likes to pretend, and he keeps pretending until you let him in!”

I clutched my head with my hooves, and in a final burst of adrenaline I roared out as loud as I could, throwing my hooves up and stomping. I forced my body to my hooves as I stumbled, pushing back against the agony to storm my way toward the sound.

I forced my eyes open to face the swirling mass of purple. My bleary eyes barely able to focus on one object in the fog; a tall and thin figure, but definitely a male one trotting toward me with grace. He had a poise much too refined and perfect for this hell.

He stepped toward me as I stormed toward him. My teeth grit so hard my jaw was about to snap.

He stopped only a few feet from me before I heard what sounded to be a horde of ponies, mares, fillies, stallions, colts,and even the distinct exotic throngs of a Zebra's tongue and the deep bellows only a griffin’s mighty chest could sound.

    “Interesting...” the choir of voices chanted each voice sounding just as curious and enthralled as the last.

* * * * *

I jolted out of my seat with a yelp, my head flinging up and spinning around. I was back in the library. I looked up and saw the confused face of Allure looking down at me, her body poised as if she’d frozen after trying to wake me up.

    “Y-you alright Ashes…?” she whispered, worriedly staring down at me as I panted. I was filled with relief that it was all just a deeply terrifying nightmare.

I swallowed and nodded, waving my hoof to her. “D-don’t worry about it...just a bad dream is all.” I breathed deeply, rising up on the bench and holding a hoof to my chest as I felt my heart racing. I took slow deep breaths to calm down.  What the fuck was that? What did I eat to have a nightmare that messed up? I had to calm down. It was just some creepy nightmare. Apparently you got more nightmares closer to Penumbra, and that's all it was. A nightmare.

She nodded. “Listen, I’ve been looking for you. It's four thirty. We need to get to the armory. You’re already late.”

I nodded my face, screwing up as my tongue licked the roof of my mouth and met the tang of rusted iron and copper. I shook my head in disgust.

    “Is...something wrong Ash?”

“No...no, it’s nothing. Let’s go,” I mumbled back to her, forcing myself to my hooves. I took the letters I’d left on the desk and stuffed them into the pocket of my fatigue. We quickly exited the room and ran downstairs rushing toward the armory and locker room stopping on the way at the tiny post office which sat a few halls down from where we were headed.

The postage office was fairly boring, but it worked for the rangers. It was just a couple dozen ponies that worked for a few caps and a warm dry place to stay. They were typically just hapless couriers that risked death to get things delivered.

They usually delivered letters to Alwhinny county for free, and for three caps you could get them to deliver something to Manehattan (given the address was reachable). Any further than that you were paying a lot of caps, and I really doubt I could get any of them to even dare go near Fillydelphia.

I passed him the first  letter, telling him about the Red Eye envoys coming in a few days. “Ask if they can carry this back to Fillydelphia. Tell them I am Private Ashes, that I am the younger brother of Councillor Dust, and this is a letter for her.”

The buck nodded looking up and down at me judgingly “Councillor Dust? whats a buck related to a Red Eye councilor doing on the wall, ay?” he asked in an odd accent I could not even hope to place.

“Don’t worry about it, just do me a favor would you?” I responded tiredly as I passed him a few caps tip, heading off with Allure and running the rest of the way to the locker rooms and the armory.

We busted in to a silent room with our compatriots already half kitted up to go. Soft Gale giggled at us from the far side of the room while the brown stallion I now knew as Corporal Express Route rolled his eyes. Speakeasy wasn’t in the room, nor Tall Tale.

    “Found him - he was passed out in the Library,” Allure said walking, over to her pile of gear sitting atop a bench.

Built into the far wall from the door was an opening into a room behind this one, the opening built into the concrete  was lined with steel and a bullet proof plexiglass. Behind it was a very tired and aged looking unicorn mare with a smoldering cigarette in her lips who gestured me over. As I approached she sauntered out of my vision, and returning promptly with a pile of my own equipment. She shoved it into the drop box and slid the hatch open for me.

    “Extra large - same size as your leathers,” she croaked, taking a drag on her cigarette before continuing, “Standard ceramic flak jacket with additional ceramic shoulder pads.” She trotted away in another direction and returned with a bolt action rifle and a combat knife along with a small dirtied and ruined cardboard box of ammunition and several clips for the rifle.

She put it all down in the slot under her bullet proof alcove. “Standard issue bolt action; five loaded clips, and 100 extra bullets.” she said, a hoof on the rifle before leaning over to the knife, “Standard issue combat knife, seven inch, carbon steel, has a compass in the hilt,” she mumbled out in a rehearsed manner.

I nodded and thanked her, taking my gear and my weapons in my magic. The new gear I got was noticeably heavier. I looked at it as I walked to a spare spot in the benches. Up until now I’d been wearing standard issue for recruits - just a really simple set of boiled leather armor which really sucked for anything more than teeth and claws. I suppose that was the point. Recruits were too useless for actual combat, and all they really had to worry about this close to the wall was the odd mutant.

The combat barding looked ancient; it was an eerie thought to think that some grunt back in the actual war may have been wearing this exact armor. I pushed that thought back as I stripped my fatigues off and stepped into the undersuit, zipping it up with my magic. It was very breathable - perhaps weaved with some kind of magically infused silk. It probably couldn’t exactly stop much in the way of bullets, but it wasn’t meant to.

That's what the plates were for. The undersuit had a rigging woven into it for the plates. I heaved the heavy vest over my head and wrapped it around my body, closing the clasps and tightening it around my chest.. After that, I slotted each of the additional ceramic plates into their proper place.

I stepped over to a mirror, and, while nobody was looking, smirked proudly at myself. Deep within a giddy foal woke up and observed my own large armored stature. I used to have dreams that I’d get to kit up like a Ranger, and here I was all these years later actually doing that.

Using the mirror as a guide I slid my combat knife into its leather sheath and slotted it into a strap on my shoulder. I fitted my bags and pack over my body, slipping all my clips into their place around my belt before finally slinging the rifle over my shoulder and letting it rest at my side. I made sure to take my letter out of my fatigues and put it back into my armor, and finally putting my boots back on.

    “Don’t we get helmets?” I heard Allure ask the mare, now just about as finished with her gear as I was.

Gloom shook her head at the mare. She pulled her mane back and tied it to keep it out of her face. Her mane still kept its straight non nonsense bangs but now she kept the rest of her mane tied up behind her head in a short ponytail  “Not if you’re a scout - it's not standard issue.” she replied.

I could see Allure’s face as she tried to mimic her superior’s behavior; pulling her own mane back and tying it.

    “Helmets are noisey. They get in the way, and can obstruct vision. All bad traits for a pony meant to be scouting,” Soft Gale piped up, adding to Gloom’s speech. “At least that's what we’re told. Personally I think it's because the heavy soldiers need them more.”

Allure nodded as the door swung open, and in stomped the huge armored figure of Speakeasy, just as imposing as the day we met on the roof. He looked around observing all of us.

He trotted over to Allure, taking her rifle in his magic before trotting back to the quartermaster and passing it back. “Cola, I would like a cast-scope put on this rifle.”

The mare snorted and gave him a short laugh as she butted her cigar out in ashtray. “And I want to live in Tenpony and have fifteen griffin butlers, but I don’t get what I want,” she replied. “Cast-scopes are way too valuable and way too in demand to pass out, Speak, especially not to a private’s rifle.”

    “She is my sniper pony. I need her to be able to use this at a distance.”

The elderly mare named Cola shrugged. “What can I do, Speak? Rules are rules. Something that valuable doesn’t go to a recruit.”

Speakeasy sighed and fished out a bunch of caps, dropping them under the slot. “Okay, well, I need a Cast-Scope for my rifle - me; Captain Speakeasy First Recon.” the massive unicorn said, giving her a wink.

The mare sighed and swore under her breath, taking a pad of papers out and scribbling down on it before throwing it away. She snatched the caps and the rifle, and soon returned with an odd shaped purple and black scope attached to the top of the weapon.

“You know the Council said they’d be cracking down on this? It's your flank on the line, not mine,” Cola grumbled to him, shoving the rifle back under the screen.

Speakeasy took the rifle in his magic, floating it back to Allure and putting it on the bench before her.

    “Sure, I will be keeping this in mind,” Speakeasy sung back smugly to the mare before trotting over and giving me a curious look up and down.

Allure’s face was bright red as she spoke up, “S-sir, How do I use this? It’s just...blank. There's nowhere to look in?”

    “It's not for your eyes, it's for your magic. Thermals and UV scopes don’t work in Eerie. Only thing that can cast through it is magic. The caster amplifies your spells and shoots them out in a straight line - kind of like a laser pointer, except with your magic. you can actually see pretty far into the Eerie with those.’

Speakeasy nodded to Allure. “What Gloom said; illumination spells work best. When we get to the Eerie front I will let you try it out, but for now we need to get going. The clock is ticking, and I want to meet the Eerie front by dusk.”

The brown stallion spoke up, “Where’s Tall Tale?”

    “At the gates already, chatting with our clients,” Speakeasy answered with a short yawn, walking to the door and pushing it open. “Let's go, fillies and mares. What is the expression; daylight is smoldering?” he laughed jovially, pushing the door open as we all stood up and followed him out into the winding hallways.

After walking the wall’s labyrinth of corridors we finally met a massive steel door guarded by two armed rangers. They nodded to us as we entered into a massive room. The largest I think I’d ever seen on the wall.

The room was adorned with all kinds of shapes and patterns. It was almost regal, like we’d stepped into the court of Canterlot to meet the royalty. The room was impossibly loud; there had to be a hundred ponies in here. I could see the occasional towering figure of some massive griffin, and even the occasional set of black and white stripes amongst the crowd.

They were all lined up in massive lanes separated by huge chain link fences. The furthest few lanes looked to be for carts and caravans, and the closer you got to the south side of the room the more narrow they got until it was a line for pony pulled carts. The last line seemed to be for ponies and travelers.

I knew where we were, it was exactly like it was in my dream. Just a lot more crowded and a lot louder.

The Grand Gates of Alwhinny; filtering and sifting through a tide of a thousand ponies a day, both coming in and out of the Highlands.

Where we were wasn’t crowded. This appeared to be a reserved area for special interest and VIPs, as the fences and gates to this area were shut by fearsome looking locks. All of them were guarded by rangers wearing some kind of riot gear in case disarray and chaos broke out, which it very often did in a place like this.

To our left was a large cart which was hauled by a rather miserable looking cow. It was very unusual to see cattle safe from mutation, but they did exist. This one stood around munching on hay boredly. As the shape and figure of our comrade Tall Tale conversed with a thin and lanky looking earth pony stallion with a very thick frizzy mane, which gave him the look of some DJ at a discotheque.

He was perched on the back of the caravan. He looked about my age, perhaps a few years younger, and he had a very pathetic looking level of facial hair. The look of a colt who was trying to grow it out, perhaps to look older, but his own body and hormones were letting him down.

I’d been there.

I would have beaten him in all aspects of age and maturity, but out of the caravan he sat in crawled a tiny figure; a filly little over cutie mark age. She was a rich velvety purple, her mane was a long and flawless late evening blue dotted with brilliant white in it, and her cutie mark was a big welcoming looking star which stuck out as if it really were a bright speck on the nighttime sky.

She had apparently caught me staring at her and had began to stare at me herself. Her huge foalish eyes stared deeply into my eyes.

Was it curiosity? Maybe it was simply a foal trying to get back at me. I didn’t pay it much mind, eventually looking away to Tall Tale who spun around taking a bored drink from his mouthpiece as his old tired voice spoke up.

    “We’re all ready to move out.”

Speakeasy nodded and smiled, talking briefly to the lanky young stallion to which the latter smiled in response and nodded cheerfully.

Speakeasy turned back and smiled to us. “Well look at this, Hearthswarming in October.” Speakeasy chuckled warmly before walking next to the cart and hurling his pack off into it. The tiny filly skipping aside to avoid the pack. “Mister Sticky here has graciously agreed to let us rest our non-essential gear in his cart. Are you not all so lucky this day.” the old stallion cried out, his voice laced with a sarcastic but harmless tone.

I wondered if Speakeasy was always in this good a mood for a mission.

We all threw our gear into the back one by one. Gloom and Soft Gale went first, and then Allure, the brown stallion who I'd learned was named Express Route, and lastly myself.

    “North!” I heard the Lanky stallion scold, reaching up to poking the filly harshly with his hoof. “You know that staring is rude, young mare!”

I turned my head up in time just to see the face of the young filly looking away in shame, her face bright red in embaressment. Evidently she’d been staring at me.

The lanky stallion pursed his lips and turned to me. “Don’t mind her, brother, she’s not out havin’ a go. She’s just young. Name is Sticky Wicket by the way,” his accented voice addressed me.

I gave a disarming chuckle in response turning to face the guy. “Don’t worry about it, she’s a cute filly. Is she yours?” I asked trying, my best to make conversation as we waited around for Speakeasy to trot to the gates and get the guards to open them up.

    “Aye, my pride and joy in this dark world of ours. My misses and I did name her Hop Skip, but uh... ever since the cutie mark she wants us to call her North Star. So that's her name; North Star.”

I nodded, looking to the filly who continued to stare at me, and gave her a nod and a smile before my eyes snapped to the sound of a sudden klaxon barking a single tone. Before us, two large chain link gates shuttered and slid open the guards and their riot gear moving into to place to ward off any that would take the opportunity.

    “Let’s get this show on the road, da?” Speakeasy yelled, “First Recon! On me!” he said, beginning to walk out the gate. departing out of the massive ornate Grand Gates of Alwhinny, and for the first, and maybe, last time.

* * * * * * * * *

The roads into Alwhinny remained crowded before they slowly bled away into nothing. Perhaps an hour or two after we left we had become the only feature to be seen on this road. A lone caravan trundling slowly along the ruined asphalt, escorted by a half dozen rangers clad in grey and black.

For some reason I had expected something more epic. For all the hype and all the terror and mystique, my experience with the infamous Penumbra Highlands thus far had been thoroughly unremarkable. As the massive wall shrunk behind us the highlands had been little more than a ruined asphalt road, and an almost serene unending mass of rolling hills carpeted in dead grass and cracked Earth with the occasional ruined homestead or cabin.

The road itself was impressive enough I suppose. It was massive, some kind of highway which was almost six lanes wide. With little else to occupy myself with I let my imagination take control, it was almost amazing to imagine this highway back before the war, back before all these cracks and ruined patches where the earth had reclaimed the road. How busy this highway had to be back then.

And now we were all that remained, a single cart a hoofful of soldiers and the occasional ruined truck, trailer or cart.

It was almost peaceful - some would even call it boring. All around me the rangers conversed and joked. Allure had been getting along with Soft Gale. Speakeasy had been chatting quietly with Tall Tale, so quietly that the only thing I heard was the raspy cackle and the jovial, deep chuckle of the both of them on occasion. Express Route chatted with Sticky Wicket, and Gloom enjoyed her own company much like how I was.

One thing remained the same though. North Star’s tiny face would still peek over the back of the cart and spy on me. What was it that she was so curious about, I wondered. I had looked back at her on occasion, even gave her the occasional soft smile or nod, but if I so much as looked back at her she’d duck away and hide from my sight.

Thinking about what it was she wanted was all that I had to keep my mind busy for a while, until dark and frightening shapes reared their ugly heads, crawling out from the mighty curving horizon. Their points looked almost razor sharp. Their edges jagged and fearsome like the back of some kind of demonic knife. Their sharp peaks towered above the earth, pointing up and stabbing into the clouds blanketing the skies.

    “Celestia be damned…” I heard Allure say, her eyes glued to the peaks. “Those are huge…”

I heard Speakeasy chuckle. “Better hope you never see Umbra Bluff, then. Those there just The Triplets, far from the tallest mountains out here,” Speakeasy said.

As I stared at the fearsome peaks I noticed that they were obscured in a thick swirling filter. The distant mountains were hiding behind a dark purple fog. As soon as I noticed it, I couldn’t unnotice it. What I initially thought was the overcast sky quickly came to light as a much more fearsome sight which stretched in massive black plumes rising across the curve of the whole of the horizon.

The Eerie.

For the first time in my life I was seeing the most infamous aspect of the this whole region. The massive angry swirling clouds of Eerie; the toxic fog that gave the Highlands their unnatural but characteristic eternal night.

I swallowed hard as we continued to walk toward it. Suddenly the highlands regained that familiar dread. Walking out here in the bright overcast had made me forget that. This whole region was trapped in a never ending darkness.

The night that never ended.

My daze was ended when Speakeasy hollered out warmly that he spotted a ruin on the distant. “Ahah, Coyote Rest Stop,” he said, pointing out a ruined and abandoned service station. “We meet again, old friend!”

Beneath the sign, which would typically hoist the some huge banner up and advertise the prices of their services, was a rather grim and miserable looking statue. It appeared to be some cartoonish looking dog which stood on its hind legs welcoming visitors into the stop, but decades in the elements without maintenance had left it ruined. Its colours faded, and half its canine head was caved in.

Speakeasy leant in and gave it a cynical looking kiss on its open coyote muzzle. “Where is my darling Coyote! Where is she, huh? Have you been looking after her, mister!” Speakeasy addressed the statue as giddy as a foal would, galloping to the roller door to the Service station, his hooves reaching down to try lift it.

The service station looked to have had work done to it. The main administration building, while decrepit, had once looked to have its windows boarded up and fortified with scrap metal. The rusted remnants of barbed wire swirled around rotten looking wooden frames dotted the roads and all around the perimeter of the rest stop.

This place looked like it was once the home for something; a miniature base long since abandoned. I looked over, and my jaw opened in shock as the roller door Speakeasy hauled screeched loudly,  rusted hinges and chains shifting, lifting the door up.

There, in one of the stalls made for a cart, stood a fearsome machine. An amalgamation of treads in the shape of almighty rhombus’, a mass of rusted and painted armor plates. The most prominent feature of all sat on top; a hard edged base that hefted a massive tube which stuck out above the machine. Printed in crude white paint across this base was a faded name this machine had once been donned “Coyote”

    “Holy fuck, is that a tank?” I blurted out, unable to help myself from swearing before I clutched my mouth in my hooves. I was embarrassed as I realized I’d just swore in front of some stallion's foal.

    “Indeed it is, private Ashes,” Speakeasy smiled, staring the machine up and down. “Not just any tank; an M-58 ‘Humble-pie’, my only love in this world.” I stared confused at the sight as a stallion twice my age climbed up onto the body of this massive machine, dusting the debris off the name. “How are you my sweetheart, are you well?” he chuckled to himself.

Tall Tale had apparently noticed my confused look and stepped up beside me. “Speakeasy used to be the gunner of Coyote. His first role was a tank operator when the Rangers still used these fuckin’ things.”

I turned to the ghoul and raised my brow to him. “The Rangers used to have tanks?”

Tall Tale gave a curt nod. “We used to have a LOT of them actually, the Rangers fielded at least a dozen of these things across all of the highlands. We also had almost double that with infantry fighting vehicles,” the ghoul croaked in his ancient voice. “Rangers used to run these goddamn highlands, Ash. Nothing short of the Zebras leftover from the invasion could deal with the hardware we fielded.”

I looked back at the tank aptly named “Coyote” as my commander had ceased to be just that, and had reverted to some kind of colt as he threw the hatch of the tank open and slipped into the belly of the frightening war machine.

    “So...why did we stop using them? I think a tank is a pretty big asset to just have sitting in some garage.”

Tall Tale shrugged. “Number of reasons; they were way too fuel hungry, we couldn’t afford to the ammo for the cannons, plus these things are steam powered. We just didn’t have the coal for it anymore but it was mainly because they were too cumbersome and slow. After the Ranger War, we just locked the tanks up and let the Steel Rangers become our walking tanks.”

    “The Ranger War?”

Tall Tale chuckled. “Oh yeah, I suppose that was way before you were born, right?” the old ghoul sighed out, his lips pulling into a smile. “The Alwhinny Rangers butted heads with the Steel Rangers about...it has to be fifty years ago, now. Some chapter from Manehattern, they showed up one day and uh...not so politely demanded we surrender the Wall to their command.”

I nodded as I kept staring at the tank, listening to the sound of hoofs clanging on steel as my commander climbed around inside it. “What happened?”

“We refused; obviously, so war,” Tall Tale responded. “A really big war for, you know, wasteland standards. It went for a while, and it was a hard slog, but we managed to push them back. The survivors remaining surrendered unconditionally. We absorbed most of the more lenient of the Manehattern chapter, with the hardliners refusing to back down and retreating back to Manehattern.”

“Thought you said we dominated this region?” I asked.

Tall Tale nodded weakly in response. “We did. We dominated all of it, pretty much, bar the occupied cities. Nobody could beat us, and we got used to winning. Then an army of stallions and mares in power armor showed up, and we severely underestimated how much we could take,” the ghoul said. “Trust me, I was there Ash. One Steel Ranger is as good as a dozen rangers. Power armor is faster and more agile than a tank, and they can carry the same firepower. We may have won the war, but they sure as hell left some scars we could never hope to heal.”

Tall Tale shrugged. “Well, Speak is on a nostalgia trip for the hour…” the old ghoul sighed, shaking his head before spinning around to the rest of the Rangers. “Hour for lunch then I guess. Rest the legs, fillies.”

Express Route looked to Tall Tale with a slight look of concern before looking to the mountains in the distance. “We have time for that?”

    “Yeah, we’ll be okay, we’re only about three hours from the Eerie front. Besides Speak doesn’t want us to go into the fog until dusk. Make the most use of that light.”

Soft Gale stretched her legs out and sat down her back to the cartwheels. Tall Tale wandered over and started rooting in his pack, sitting at the back of the Caravan.

    “Why do you and Speak have to use female adjectives as something negative, Tale? Some mares find that offensive, you know,” she tutted to the stallion with a proud smirk on her face.

Tall Tale gave her a rasping cackle in response. “Soft Gale, sweetheart, I’m two hundred and sixty eight years old. Give me a break. Besides, you’re the only one saying I meant it negatively, maybe I was complimenting you all and saying you were all outstanding young mares.”

I shot out a quiet laugh as I walked passed to the rear of the caravan. I could hear Allure giggle, and I saw Gloom smile and roll her eyes. I was met once again by the large curious eyes of the filly North Star, who stared at me as I flipped my pack open with my magic and fetched out a small protein bar. I took a bite out of it as I stared back at her.

    “W-we need to get out of here, Mister,” she whispered to me with a melodic and innocent young voice. Her tone was that of somepony truly terrified.

I raised a brow at her, leaning into her so nobody would hear me talk. “Sorry? why is that?” I spoke up before giving her as good a smile I could. “You don’t need to worry about Monsters and stuff, young mare. We’re Rangers - we can protect you,” I responded, trying to sound as much like a tough guy as possible..

    “N-no, we’re not safe...you let him in...” North Star said, staring at me, her eyes wide and terrified. “And now he’s coming to find you.”