A tavern sits atop a grassy hill overlooking the Everfree Forest. It is quiet, aside from the occasional knock of a mug hitting the wood of the table as it comes to rest. The patrons drink deep the amber liquid in an attempt to forget their troubles and relax after an arduous day.
The tavern has rooms where weary travelers can lay their heads down on soft pillows and wrap themselves in warm blankets, safe and secure from the dangers of the night.
This place of cold drink and warm bed has seen many a strange thing and has been the solace of many an odd character. But never in all its years of sitting alone on that hill has it encountered anyone like the pony that burst through its door the previous night.
He had crashed through the tavern door, running like the Devil himself was on his heels. His clothes were in tatters, blood dripping from the wounds that covered his body. He had shouted of monsters and demons from the deepest pits of nightmares, his eyes wild as he raved on about horrors that would chill a grown stallion to the bone.
In the middle of his ravings, he had let out a shriek that made the patrons’ blood run cold, before collapsing unconscious on the floor. The tavern keeper, a kind old soul, cleaned him and gave him room.
The pony had not been seen or heard since. His door was locked, and all attempts to speak with him have been responded with silence. A tray of food sits before the door to his room touched only by the flies that gorge themselves on the unguarded meal. Whatever he was doing in there, it was a mystery to all but him.
***
The pony sits at a desk, his hoof gripping tightly to a pistol, glad the old tavern keep had not taken it while he was unconscious. He set it on the table, picking up a quill in its place. He frantically began to write.
***
Dearest little brother,
It is with great sorrow and greater urgency that I write you now. It concerns my expedition into the ruins recently unearthed within the Everfree Forest, my foolish attempt to find the wealth hidden within its walls. You recall when last I wrote that I suggested you to follow in my hoofsteps, and gather your own band of fortune seekers to claim the treasures of those ancient halls.
I beg you now to disregard those words, to reject my offer and stay as far away from that accursed place as possible. I made a grave mistake going there, and I would not see it repeated in you. You must resist the urge of treasure and adventure, for there is only death and suffering in that place.
The scratch of the quill against the parchment is painful to my ears, for I know that each word I write brings me closer to being forced to retell the events that took place in that domain of wickedness, that I must relive the horrors I observed. But relive it I must, for you must know what lies there and why you should never set hoof on that corrupted soil. You must know of the folly of my companions and I, and of the fate that befell us because of our foolish greed.
You recall how the ruins first became known? A pegasus patrol, veered off course by buffeting winds, found themselves in the forbidden sky above the Forest. It was there that they first laid eyes upon the mysterious, abandoned manor sitting perched atop a lonely hill. They reported their findings to the capital, where the royal historians told of how in centuries past a nobleman, opulent and decadent, had once lived within the boundaries of that haunted forest.
History tells that he was possessed of great wealth, as well as great madness and mania. He was eccentric in his dealings, so none knew the source of his enormous wealth. Nor did anyone know what became of him. It seemed that he had simply…ceased to exist. Rumors abounded that his fascination with the occult had been his undoing. Stories told of him dabbling into dark and arcane rituals, sacrificing family and guests, and forming pacts with eldritch horrors. Such notions were, of course, mocked as superstition. All that was truly known was that the wealth held by this noble was beyond imagining.
They were sworn to secrecy, told never again to venture near that place. If only they had kept their word, so much suffering would have been avoided. Alas, we ponies are imperfect creatures. Through hubris, drink, or the foolish notion that simply telling one pony wouldn’t hurt inevitably leads to vows of silence being broken. Thus my fate, and the fates of the fools who followed me, was sealed.
Hearing tell of this trove of wealth, I committed myself to be its new owner. I would venture into that dark and unknown forest and claim that treasure as my own. Thus committed, I set about gathering trusted companions and swarthy workman to aid in my expedition. Any faith I had in a divine and benevolent power is now lost, but I thank whatever force may be that you had taken ill and could not join me then and there brother.
Once my team had been gathered, our carts filled with supplies and our carriages empty to haul back our bounty, we entered into those forbidden woods unseen by the guards charged with patrolling its borders. We thought we had crossed the threshold into a gold mine, but we were in reality entering the gates of Hell itself. But that would be revealed to us in time.
The first day of our excursion went perfectly, not a single problem befalling our group. Not one Timberwolf or any predator harassed us, nor did any misfortune befall our carts. We took it as a sign that fortune was on our side. But then the night came.
We laid our heads down in blissful slumber around a roaring fire, safe and content, eager for the next day to come and bring us closer to our goal. But the nightmares…by Celestia the nightmares! Never before in my life had I experienced such sleeping terrors. Worse, I could not awaken from them, forced to spend every moment being tormented by formless creatures and abominable horrors before the morning sun finally delivered me from the nightmare.
As I looked about the camp, I saw that my companions had suffered just as much as I, nightmares plaguing their sleep. We should have taken it as a sign, a sign that we were not meant to go any further into that uncharted and unholy forest. But we were not so wise, our minds consumed with greed, minds that scoffed at superstition.
Onward we went, pushing deeper into the forest until the sun was blocked by the trees and only our lanterns provided us light. That is when we saw the forest began to change. The green and healthy trees we were so used to seeing had been left behind, replaced by gnarled and wicked things that looked more beast than tree. The branches, blackened and twisted, appeared as grasping hands of some antediluvian creature. The air was heavy with corruption, and every step we took on that poisoned earth sent waves of unease through our bodies.
The forest itself seemed to watch us. Everywhere we looked we swore that there were unblinking eyes staring back at us. The bushes, thick and covered in malicious thorns, rustled as unknown beasts stalked beside our caravan. Unnatural, otherworldly noises assaulted our ears. Howls, shrieks, moans, even cackles berated our eardrums and caused us to sweat most profusely in fear that we may behold the source of such an unearthly cacophony.
Night fell, or at least we thought it had. The darkness pervaded the forest at all times, so we could only trust that our watches spoke truth. None of us wished to sleep that night, in fear of both the terrifying sounds and the nightmares of the previous night. But we all seemed to lose consciousness at once, as if a spell had been cast over us.
No nightmares came that night. But when we awoke, we saw that one of our number was missing. There were no hoofprints, or prints of any kind. There was no blood, nor sign of abduction. But our companion was gone, and the noises had ceased.
Again, we should have turned back then. We should have realized that this venture was doomed to much worse than failure. But we soldiered on; I soldiered on, set on achieving wealth beyond imagining. With little ceremony or remorse, we removed our missing member from our minds and pushed ever forward to our destiny. Oh what destiny awaited!
We drew closer to where we knew the manor stood, the pitted cobblestones marking our path. The closer we drew, the more the forest seemed to grow sick. The trees grew more ghastly, the screeching calls of some carrion bird grew louder, and the wind howled like a prowling wolf. We began to see strange markings carved on the trees, symbols of some lost or unknown culture. I still see them clearly in my mind, the shapes etched on my eyes like they were etched on the bark of those diseased trees. With growing unease we saw what appeared to be dried blood smeared on the path and the trees, and more than once we beheld a rope hanging from the branches, some still holding the skeletal remains of some unfortunate soul.
We could feel the hollowed earth beneath us, the grave of countless souls who have rested beneath the cursed soil for millennia. But ever forward we moved until we beheld the ancient manor, sitting atop a lonely hill overlooking the swampy moors that laid at the center of the forest.
The dilapidated manor, that festering abomination that was the gateway to our greatest horrors, looked just as opulent and decadent to reflect the pony it was built for. For us, it was a carcass for us to pick clean of anything valuable, a corpse to loot. And eager to loot it we were, as we wasted no time in entering the manor.
But as we made our way into the manor, we could not help but notice the surroundings. No life of any sort was to be seen in the proximity of the manor. Not a single blade of grass, not a single tree, not even the tiniest insect was to be found anywhere near that structure. And the swamps that surrounded the base of the hill on which it sat, the noxious fumes it spewed assaulting our senses. Even now, I swear I saw something rise up out of that bubbling cauldron of a swamp, a hand or claw bursting through the thick muck.
The rusted hinges of the massive door creaked as we pushed open the portal to that strange and fascinating world of the past, the antique arches and stone gargoyles telling us that all we had known had been left far behind. Inside, a scene of the remnants of what was once great imperial majesty graced our eyes. Drapes of finest color, magnificent furniture, windows adorned with stained scenes of splendor. All of these once were here.
Now, only ruin and copious amounts of dust remained in its place. The drapes were torn, the furniture busted, and the windows smashed to shards. This was a palace of desolation, with no valuables to be found. We searched furiously for some hint of treasure, but all we found were old books with strange text and the forgotten remains of what was once a home. Not a single gold piece or anything of significant worth was to found.
We were prepared to give up on our venture, but my damn stubbornness refused to allow me to do so. I and some of my companions began to dig under the very foundations of the manor itself, hoping that the eccentric owner had buried his wealth in his madness. It wasn’t long before we found…something.
A cave, or tunnel, or perhaps gateway would be a better word for what we found beneath the marble floors of that long-forgotten place. A gateway to a realm beyond our darkest nightmares, which we foolishly plunged headlong into.
We shared our discovery with the rest of our company, and presently delved into the pit, the grave that we had dug for ourselves. Inside, we found sights stranger than we had thought possible. Great stone structures of fantastic and terrifying beats beyond description, walls covered in those same mysterious symbols. The place reeked of a sickly sweet smell that I could not place, and an aura of foreboding pervaded it.
Torches adorned the wall that we lit as we passed, but the flames seemed…different. They burned with a strange color that only made the tunnel more chilling. But we continued on in search of our quarry. It wasn’t long before we came to regret our decision.
For quite some time, we believed that we had been hearing scratches against the wall, the pattering of some clawed foot against the stone floor. We had passed an open doorway, but decided to not pursue it. As our company passed by it, horrible withered hands grasped at one of our members, dragging him screaming into the darkness behind the doorway.
We had no time to pursue or mourn him, as the scratching sound we had heard grew much louder, and with horror we saw a swarm of unknown creatures with bright glowing eyes rushing towards us like a wave of locusts. We ran as fast as our legs would allow, but the poor pony at the rear of our group could not escape the swarm. We caught a glimpse of him being torn apart by the creatures, his screams bouncing off the stone walls and carrying on long after we had escaped the creatures.
We were now thoroughly trapped. We could not go back, as the creatures blocked our path. We could only keep moving forward. After much fleeing, we stopped to rest, but we could not forget what we had seen. One of us, more so than the others. He could not stop raving about what we had seen. He clutched at his head and drooled as he spouted how this would be our tomb, that we were doomed to die in this dismal place. We begged him to cease such talk, and assured him that we would find a way out. He would hear none of it, and slunk into a corner to, as he said, consult with the one who spoke to him. We did not know what to do with him, but we were tired and frightened. Like the night before, sleep came upon us like a malicious spell.
I dreamt that night of the scene of our companion’s painful death, ripped to shreds and devoured alive by the creatures. But the vision began to change. The unknown creatures transformed into our raving companion, and he continued to rip and devour our fellow traveler.
I awoke to the sound of something tearing, and I shouted my companions awake as I beheld a most horrific sight. Two more of our company lay dead, and standing above them with blood on his hooves and muzzle was our raving associate. He claimed he was commanded to kill us by something he called, The Old One. He pounced at me, pinned me to the ground and began to strangle me. I would have died if not for the quick reaction of my other companions, who took a heavy stone and bashed it against his head. He twitched but once before he became still.
Three of us left, we shook uncontrollably at what had happened. We could not bury them, and hearing that same scratching sound, we knew the creatures would be upon us again soon. We fled, hoping the bodies would distract the creatures and all us to escape. In our fleeing, another and much more hidden enemy assaulted us. Traps, ingenious and dastardly, became the bane of our attempted escape.
The first we encountered took the life of one of us. The poor stallion, he stepped on a loose tile and spears shot out from the wall and skewered him where he stood. He did not die immediately, twitching and straining against the spears, silently screaming with the spear that had pierced his throat. He looked at us for help, but we could do nothing. We walked past him as he attempted to scream louder for help, leaving him behind and praying he would die before the creatures came.
Now only two of us left. We were careful to avoid further traps and headed deeper into the passage. It seemed without end, and everything we passed looked the same. We began to hear voices, speaking to us in some ancient and dead language. I began to feel myself going mad, desperate for release. The whispers grew louder and louder, until they became all I could hear. The reeking smell grew stronger in my nostrils, and I beheld blood seeping from the cracks in the walls. My last companion claimed that there was no blood, but I knew there was. I knew what I saw and I knew he was lying! There was blood!
I remember little of what came next. I lost consciousness, and awoke to the sound of chanting. Bound by rope and leaning against a wall, I saw that I was in a large circular room with torches adorning the wall. Everywhere around me there were bones, piled high or impaled on stakes or hanging from rafters. Not far from me was the source of the chanting, a group of cloaked figures standing around a blood-stained stone altar that overlooked a massive black pit. I could not tell if they were ponies or some other form of strange creature, but one was dressed in most opulent and decadent robes.
They continued to chant as they lowered something unto the altar. I looked closer and saw that it was my last remaining companion, similarly bound as I and thrashing to escape. They placed him on the altar, and the finely dressed figure raised a knife high above his head as he continued to chant louder. He plunged the knife roughly into my companion, his screams of pain ringing in my ears. I saw him draw the knife across his chest, ripping it open as blood pooled around the altar.
The chanting seemed to shake the very stones that surrounded us. But I soon realized it wasn’t the chanting that had caused it. Arising from the pit was a massive eldritch creature, a construct of rotting flesh and puss with a lipless mouth that dripped blood unto the stone. It grabbed my still-living companion and swallowed him whole as the cloaked figures bowed in worship of the horror.
I could take no more. A blessedly sharp stone lay near me and I used it to cut my bonds. As soon as I was free, I fled as quickly as I could. I knew not where I was going, only that I had to get away, away from that colossus of evil. I ran faster than ever before in my life, never once looking behind me but always feeling and hearing my pursuers. I know not how I found my way out of that labyrinthine death trap, nor do I know how I found my way out of the forest and into the tavern where I now reside. I only know that I still heard the creatures and the chanting the entire time. I still hear them now, as I sit here writing you.
So many of us set out on this journey, but I alone fled lapping and wailing through the blood soaked halls of antiquity that had become the tomb of my companions.
That ruinous manor. It is a place of darkness, ravenous and clutching, seeking always to drag mortals into the deep, black abyss. To any who enter that place, the only mercy is swift death. Survival is a far worse fate. My mind is broken, haunted by the horrors I’ve seen and the death I’ve witnessed. I still hear the screams, I smell the blood of my friends and the sickening, putrid odor of their rotting flesh, and everywhere I turn I see the horrid abominations that claimed them.
I can bear it no more. The madness approaches. I can feel it like a sickness in my mind. I will not die a raving madman. With my last ounce of sanity, I write you this to save you from my fate and the fate of my company. Heed these words, for they are your salvation. Goodbye, little brother. Please remember me as I was before this ill-fated expedition. Before I stared into the gaping maw of Hell, and saw it stare back into me.
***
He sealed the letter inside the envelope, just as a dreadful howl assaulted his ears. Was it real or just a phantom that had followed him from that nightmarish pit? He saw clawed hands grasping at him, grotesque faces appearing on the walls and gnashing their teeth. They had come for him, but they would not have him. He took the pistol and fired, the rapport echoing all the way back to the Abyss.
***
A blood-stained envelope, unopened and unread, sits before an empty home as a carriage makes its way towards the Everfree Forest.