The Hellraven

by Mr Ignorable

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad
Length: 5285

An old myth brings to life a force more ancient and all encompassing than the very eldritch gods that lay beneath the surface of the sweet land of Equestria.

But,

He likes to go by…Mr. Grimm.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-01 10:34:58 UTC

Prologue: It's Mr. Grimm, if you would

In the distance, perched on an old gnarled tree, a raven cawed. A solitary creature sitting on an old forsaken and blackened husk that was once filled with life and brimming with good.

But now it sits, a disturbing omen in the graveyard it resides in.

The raven ruffles its feathers and takes off, circling once above the misty twilight night surrounding the oddly dark area,  before landing on the shoulder of a tall pony.

The tall pony smiles slightly and lets slip a half-hearted noise of amusement.

The two trek in silence for a bit. All around them are eerily desecrated grave-markers and open mausoleums; begging for a curious traveler to come and explore.

The tall pony knows this, and smiles. Those mausoleums? Those Crypts? Oh, the horrors that lay behind them were...not for the faint of heart...or rather, not for those who still have a beating heart.

He was a simple stallion...or thing, as a stallion would imply a male of the pony species more commonly referred to as..equines.

No, he was a thing.

The tall...thing wore but a simple vest with a simple Gibus. Tattered and torn with age, it was truly a site to take in. With it's many holes and many frayed ends. With its many loose ends it vaguely resembled something dug up from a grave and worn by the dead for the dance of macabre.

Still he walked, through the deathly silent graveyard. A thick mist seemed to seep from the cracked and unsacred earth.

The stallion thing heard the voices of the dead, they whispered in his ears almost like a warm sunday breeze. Their voices so soft one would almost mistake them for a thought.

But make no mistake, the dead do not like being taken lightly.

He chuckled deeply, maliciously as he listened to the half-words. The non-words, the mumbling, the unintelligible chatter of the dead.

He was almost through this gods forsaken cemetery which acted as a gateway of sorts. A layline if you will. It was a quicker mode of transportation.

There were many laylines scattered through the world. Some were simple caves in physical forms. Some were...different. This was one of the odder laylines.

Pondering for a moment, he clicked his tongue as he finally answered a question that'd been plaguing him.

Hadn't this layline been one of the more normal ones? What'd happened to twist it in this way?

Oh simple; he had passed through here once upon a time.

Silly, silly him.

He kept walking, this time the path littered with dead tree roots and cracks within the earth where gravestones seemed to erupted from the ground seemed to finally open up.

Ahead of him were the cemetery gates, massive twin steel bars that would strike fear into the hearts of any mortal creature. With their silver tipped spear heads and towering obsidian heights, they were a natural deterrent for the living to enter this place. It was funny, in a way the gates were one of the most terrifying things about the graveyard, but really they were there to keep normal, everyday creatures safe.

Well, that is to say keep them out, and keep all the bad things in.

Beyond the gates themselves was a yawning darkness not unlike a massive cave mouth. Mist tendrils freely floated like miniature elongated hot air balloons and seemed to curl and loosen like an octopus as he passed through them.

"And he said; pass through the land of the dead and you shall be good." He muttered to himself, casually trotting by the gates. The raven on his shoulder cawed once more. The tall stallion couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yes, that's not quite as I remember it, is it?"

===========

Flying through the great beyond, she stretched her hooves and felt content. There was no gravity to hold her back, there was only speed and sky.

She flew and flew, endlessly into the great stretching infinity. The most beautiful of sites, with nopony to tell her to tell her otherwise. No pony to pull her from her euphoria, and no pony to stop her she flew.

She was Rainbow Dash, master of the speed and of sound and-

Why was there a raven?

One minute she was alone, free like a bird.

The next, she felt an eerie feeling, as if somepony or...something was watching her. Turning to her left, she saw the small black creature keeping perfect pace.

The sheer shock of it simply..appearing out of the blue scared her so badly she ended up smacking it with her wing like one would a fly.

Screaming, Mr. Grimm flew out of Rainbow Dash's head and face-planted into the ground, oddly enough, his hat stayed squarely on his forehead, tilting at the exact angle a horn would.

"Well I do say, that was rather rude young lady." He muttered indignantly, dusting off his mothballed and eaten coat.

Rainbow Dash for her part, fell out of the tree she was sleeping in, flailing and yelping.

"What? Why me?" She nearly screeched, her voice still a bit horse from shock.

"Well, for one, you didn't have to hit me as such. That was rude and very un-ladylike." He stated indignantly.

She huffed.

"Oh big deal. It's not like you're hurt or anything." He drew a sharp gasp.

"Young lady! It is the principle of your reaction which was, how you so eloquently put it, 'the problem'. I swear you younglings know nothing of respect and etiquette." He snorted, lifting his nose into the air in a manner that all to loudly spoke for itself.

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes and snorted likewise, hers however was for a more annoyed and derisive purpose.

Well, that was before doing a double take.

"Wait a sec, how'd I hit you?" She asked. He grew a small but distant smile.

"Oh. Well, you see, I'm a rather avid fan of the dream. I have a rather horrid habit of viewing the dreams of others." He chuckled.

Rainbow Dash knew somewhere in the back of her head that what he said was wrong on some basic aspect of reality and physics, but she was all too occupied with the current question:

"Then why the hay am I supposed to apologize when you're the one peeping on me!" She shouted.

This made him stop, his eyes wide.

"....I never thought of it like that."

Dash flared her wings, taking a defensive stance with her rear up and her front down. Letting a solitary snort through her nostrils flare to life in the air, she shouted once again.

"Then go away!"

He stopped to consider a moment before nodding, a raised eyebrow and a downturned mouth signaled his understanding of her choice of words and mentality.

"Very well miss, I'll be on my way. Have a pleasant day." He tipped his hat, exposing a horn, before walking away.

Rainbow Dash shook her head furiously, sighing through her nostrils once more, trying to get the taste of that encounter of of her mind.

"Yeesh, that guy gives me the creeps." She muttered, once again nestling herself in the tree, and once more looking forward to the boundless blue yonder.

As the early bustle of the Ponyville market began in earnest, the denizens and merchants alike got a rather unexpected and curious surprise in the form of a visit.

Whilst on many a day the town would garner a fair bit of tourists and visitors, the latter usually checking in on relatives as they passed through on their ways to the Fillydelphia, Stonecolt, Stalliongrad, Appeloosa, or even the countries beyond.

Today however, their surprise came in the form of a stallion, toting a rather large raven on his shoulder. Talking to it as if it was able to respond.

"I know! But I simply must disagree! The proletariat was not a smart option at the time!"

It cawed, ruffling it's feathers.

"I know that of course! But at the time they didn't! It's a gradual thing. Ponies must see the benefits and risks of a monarchy, then they learn to govern themselves through capitalism and Democracy, then they will see the true beauty of Communism and the feeling of 'one for all'! It's been written in the very core of sentience since the beginning! I should know!"

It crowed again, flapping its wings a couple times before re-settling on the stallion's shoulder.

"You mustn't doubt your elder here! I know of this I tell you! I've been at many a countries downfall as they've taken down their tyrant only to install a ruling faction of democracy! Yes! I understand that maybe someday they'll finally understand the folly of their way but- oh now don't you quote him. Don't you do that on me. Of course I know when you're quoting him! You're my familiar for pete's sake!"

  Needless to say, he got many an odd stare and one rather hostile glare as he progressed down the main road. His destination unknown and his acts rather questionable.

That was, until he glanced upon a most peculiar site.

========

Scootaloo had quite the reputation for being a little hell starter. Some say she took after a certain cerulean mare. Others say she was flamboyant of her own right. Any way you cut it, she was a badapple, outspoken and unapologetic.

She had a reputation to keep, and secrets that would easily destroy it

For instance, a set of tap-dancing shoes, a tutu, a small gymnast's twirler. Any variety of dancing or gymnastic equipment would destroy the rough image she had made for herself.

A little known fact of the little filly was that she loved to dance, a secret only known by two of her closest friends and their elder sisters. If word was to get out, especially in the pony-eat-pony-if-you-act-girly-you-have-cooties world of hers. It was a tough world alright.

But here she was, caught with her proverbial pants down. She'd been making her way home from one of the late night dance sessions she so regularly attended when the poor filly had fallen asleep, only to be awoken as her arch-nemesi, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon gloated over the filly and teased her about her 'garish' as they so put it, tap-dancer's clogs.

"Look at her! I don't think I've ever seen such a sadder sight!" Cackled Diamond Tiara as she pointed to the blushing and flustering foal's shiny shoes.

"H-hey! Quit it!" Scootaloo could do nothing as the two bullies assaulted her with words, threats and words of shame and humiliation as they gloated over their find.

"Oh wait until the boys hear about this! I think, 'danceroo' is a fitting name don't you? You'll be wearing the title soon enough." Chimed Silver Spoon, the two cruel fillies sharing a devious giggle.

And suddenly, as if out of the blue, a shadow appeared, towering over the three. It stood behind Scootaloo, blocking out the sun.

"A wise man once told me; take no shame in what you do, or else take shame in your state of mind later." It chimed in a gentleman's base. Not too deep, but with a lilting accent that told of high culture.

"What may I do for you ladies on this fine morning?" Scootaloo looked up to the ground to be greeted by the warm smile of a rather tall, pale white stallion with a very dirty and moth eaten vest and blazer jacket along with a tall gibus filled with holes and frayed ends.

Something told her to run, as far and as long as possible. Something deep inside of her hated, loathed and feared this abomination of nature in front of her from his high cheekbones to his sickly pale white coat.

But something else told her to stay, to take a chance.

With no other alternative, she took the later option, firmly planted in the ground with jaw hanging agape.

"And who might you be?" Asked Diamond Tiara, the sass in her voice unmistakable.

"Me? Oh, a good samaritan." He replied.

"What's that?" Asked Silver Spoon, turning to Tiara as if she knew.

The stallion clucked his tongue. "Oh, pardon me. I forgot he doesn't exist in this world." he muttered.

Tiara shook her head once, clearing her thoughts of confusian.

"Well you can rest assured Mr...samaritan. Me and my...sister were only having a chat with our dear friend Scootaloo." She pointed to Scootaloo who once again downcast her eyes. Sadness filling her small heart upon Diamond's cruel enunciation of her name. It sounded as if the pomp filly was trying to spit out the disgusting aftertaste of pomegranate juice.

The stallion frowned once.

"It is pronounced 'My sister and I.' Young miss. And I certainly know a friend when I see one. You, are no such case." He stated.

This time it was Silver Spoon's turn to intrude.

"And who are you to judge?" She asked.

This time, the stallion's grin was not filled with warmth. In fact, the three fillies could feel the malice and foreboding dream flowing from it like the newly risen tide.

"The question my dear, is not who, but what. Am I to judge. And you three are in luck, for I am such a pony, or rather, such a monstrosity." Upon his last line, the light of the morning began to fade. And not in any sense due to passing of time. It began to fade due to something supernatural, something sinister.

"Many have I judged on my time on this earth, and in my eyes, I have seen the virtuous and the vile. I have seen the fortuitous and the fractured. Those of sound mine, and those who use sound to conquer mind."

The world began to become corrupted. Scootaloo's eyes widened as tendrils of black leaped across her vision, the blooming trees of early spring became replaced with sinister black gnarled carcasses. Their roots as dark as the stained souls trapped within their twisted and pointy limbs.

Where the sun should have been sat a blood red moon, the stars glistened with un-natural light.

"Stars? Moon?" She thought very, very vaguely. In the back of her mind, her sub-conscious working overtime on that particular thought which took the form of a nagging in her consciousness.

"I have seen those with wings upon their golden crested hearts, and those with shackles on theirs as they were condemned to the deepest pits. Cursing the name of that which sentenced them. Yes I have judged the many."

He turned to the three fillies, or rather half turned. His irises clouded over with glaring light. He seemed much taller, taller than was biologically possible, giving him a disjoined and un-natural look as the blood-red night of the moon reflected off the schleras of his eyes.

In the distance, Scootaloo swore she heard Ravens in the distance, flapping and cawing in agitation.

"In fact, you could say, I am the final judge." His shadow stretched and smiled, a smile more akin to a large slice across one's face than any action partaken in by the muscles of the face.

His last words were tipped with many. His voice seemed to fade as that of a young fillies, and old stallions, and a deeper, more sinister male's harmoniously, and sinisterly molded with his.

This however, snapped the two fillies out of their stupor, and they took off into the restored daytime, screaming and crying like blabbering messes.

As soon as the mysterious and disparate world came, it left, leaving only the shining, feel-good of the warm spring morning.

Scootaloo sat, firmly rooted by deep shock and equal parts fear.

"W-w-what are you?" She managed to stutter. This time the smile of warmth took dominance.

"I have many names young one. But the name I shall use for this occasion is Sir Hellraven. Sir Hellraven Grimm." He did a little bow, taking off his hat and placing it on his chest.

"But I'd much rather go by Mr. Grimm, if you would."

Chapter 1: Night is my emissary and harbinger

Out of the blue, Celestia felt a single instance of fear, malice, and darkness wash over her. A single black wave.

It was so brief, really it was more of a passing shock than anything to be truly noted.

But it had still happened, and it still concerned her.

The eerie dark...feeling lingered in the back of her mind as it struggled to comprehend just what had happened.

=======

"Oh my gosh! I've got to tell Sweetie Belle and Applebloom!" Mr. Grimm smiled happily, being led by the ear by an excited little sunset sanquine filly.

"Mmm? That sounds nice." He stated, his eyes closed as he let the filly lead him via hoof. Only catching bits and pieces of word through the little one's blistering manner of speech.

Sometime after his little performance, the raven had taken off. Mr. Grimm paid him no mind. It liked to do that sometimes, and truth be told, he'd prefer it not to interrupt his time. Of which he was enjoying.

That was, until he bumped into somepony.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry." He stuttered, opening his eyes in a panicked moment.

"Umm...Mr. Grimm?" Scootaloo pipped, turning around, he gasped and hastily scrambled to his feet. Underneath him was the giggling filly.

"For a full grown stallion, you really don't weigh much do you?" She jibbed, he blushed, eliciting another bout of giggles from his younger.

"If by that you mean I have a proper diet as a Gentleman should, then thank you." He bowed comically. Scootaloo, while not understanding the context of the joke, still understood that it was a joke, and laughed at such. Falling on her back with all fours in the air laughing her head off at the stallion's choice of words.

"Oh boy Mister. You sure do speak funny." She chocked out, the occasional giggle escaping her lips as she whipped tears of laughter.

Playing along, Mr. Grimm gasped in mock horror.

"Young miss! How dare you accuse me of my speech!" He put a hoof to his forehead while turning away.

"Oh mercy me! I curse the day Fortuna has forsaken me! Casting me into this land of vile barbarians waggling their crass tongues!"

His melodramatic acting sent the little filly into yet another bout of laughing fits. For his part, Mr. Grimm simply smiled and chuckled. A strange feeling arose in his chest. And for a moment, he stopped to seriously ponder what it was.

That moment however, was cut short.

"Mmmmmmmmmm." Turning back to the stallion whom he'd bumped. Mr. Grimm flinched and jumped back a bit. The other simply kept staring, directly into his eyes.

The other stallion had a simple grey coat with very light eyes.

But that wasn't his distinguishing feature.

The most notable thing about the grey one was the fact his muzzle was stained with jelly.

A lot of jelly.

"Um...may I...help..you?" Asked Grimm cautiously. The stallion only came closer, all regards for personal space thrown out the window.

For a long second, the two simply locked eyes. One set wide with panic and fear, the other narrowed with...sick pleasure.

Neither one of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the grey one opened his mouth.

"I like stallions."

==========

Rarity, a lady of pomp and circumstance was a delicate flower with petals that could steel in the face of adversity if the need arose. One who's versatility was only surpassed by her generosity, she was a creator and an artist. Her canvas was the mannequin, her paints were the sequins, the stitching machines and the fabrics. The burgundy and the sarsaparilla. The fuchsia and the dappled red setting sun. Truly what she created were fashionable masterpieces.

Artistic endeavors that would leave her soul soaring and her heart a flutter with the beauty. Currently she was in such a state, her magic working almost on it's own as she hummed and sashayed around the lounge of Carousel Boutique. Ribbons and fabric alike were cut, scissors gliding through the fabric like a kite through the breeze. Machinations working in perfect unison as they stapled, nailed, sewed, and brought together seemingly innocent pieces of different cloths to create the most cutting edge of clothes. The most daring and defying of dresses, the harmonious and harrying of hats. Truly a trend setter, Rarity stepped back after half an hour of being "in the zone" to admire her work.

Or she would have if a certain pale white stallion hadn't come barging in, as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Panting and leaning against the door, he whipped his sweat covered forehead with a hoof. The limp hair simply falling back into place along his forehead.

Rarity couldn't help but shrivel her nose at his appearance, he looked disheveled, and for some reason...unhealthy. Very sickly, unnaturally pale.

His eyes were sunken and black as the moonless sky. The patches of skin under his sockets were a deeply bruised purple, not helping the fact was his high cheekbones.

Really he looked more like a vagabond than a gentleman.

"I'm terribly sorry for interrupting you Miss...umm."

"Rarity." She stated plainly, still unaware of his intentions.

"Ah! Ms. Rarity. I am terribly sorry for my sudden interruption." He paused for a minute, taking in the sites of Carousel Boutique with it's fine dresses and suits.

"...And appearing in...such a way to you." He lowered his neck. Quickly perking up however.

"Though I must ask of you kind lady, would you please let an old tramp such as myself stay for a while? I've run into a very terrible fate in the streets. An awful stallions seeks Celestia knows what from me and I'm terribly scared it isn't something I'm willing to give." He elaborated skittishly, taking his hat off and nervously playing with the rim as he twisted the hat round and round.

Even if the deepest parts of her soul cried out to kick him out and hide in the nearest closet. She hadn't been knighted the Element of Generosity for nothing.

"Of course darling! Make yourself at home! I'll just put some tea on." She chirped, giving a reassuring smile before trotting off. Happy to leave his presence if only for an instance.

============

"A journey you say?"

"Yes indeed. An adventure of the mind and spirit across many lands. Friendly and otherwise."

The two had been talking for a while, Rarity had become enchanted by the mysterious stallion's mannerism and way of elocution. He had a lilting accent, though from where she couldn't place. All that she knew of it though, was that it sounded very familiar. Perhaps late late victorian.

"Do tell me more of your stories!" She hummed, taking a sip of her lukewarm tea. It'd cooled during his riveting recounting of a run in he had with a cannibalistic tribe of Zebras.

"Well, if you insist, I remember once my sortie into old Stalenvselle."

She giggled before stopping suddenly, her eyes wide.

"...If I remember, Stalensvelle was burned to the ground not 400 years ago." She blinked very rapidly for a few minutes before giggling slightly.

"Oh! You must be talking about the ruins! I've heard they've become popular once more!" She chimed.

In her peripheral vision, she saw the setting sun, now not more than a few strands of light reaching across the Twillght sky.

"Oh deary dear deary me! It's already nighttime!" She nearly shrieked in panic.

The stallion however, hadn't moved an inch.

"No. Not the ruins. The town."

That last sentence drew the fashionista's attention from the time, to the topic.

"The town?" Sitting back down, she noticed the intense look of thought painted across the stallion's face.

"Yes. The town."

The candlelights seemed to dim, the sound of chirping crickets, a common noise in Spring faded away.

All that remained was a deathly, and eerie quiet.

"Yes. The town." He repeated quietly once more.

========

It's a funny thing, loosing consciousness. One minute you could be perfectly awake, upright and dandy. The next you could be sprawled out over a work bench, drool coating your newest project. Rarity was such a case, often working late nights to ensure her clothing was fit to be worn by a queen.

During the years, she had grown to know the warning signals of loosing consciousness, the most prominent of them being the sensation of slipping.

And that's what she could feel. That slipping feeling as if she was loosing control over her own body.

One minute she was staring into the downcast face of her guest, the next she found herself floating over a quaint little town.

But there was something deeply amiss.

It was night, from what she could see, the town was late victorian with quaint cobblestone housing and shoddy stone pathways.

But as she gazed on, she noticed something; there was nopony in site.

Out of the shadows came a single pony.

"Here ye here ye! Ponies of Stelensvelle! Plague spreads to Stonecolt and Stalliongrad! Read all about it! From what she could see from her ethereal position, Rarity observed a little cart hitched to the stallion. A bell hung by a black collar chimed and tinkled in the night.

He stopped once to cough.

If she could, Rarity would have gasped,the tan, almost cappuccino stallion gasped for air as a fit of coughs ravaged his body, blood flying from his opened mouth.

His legs began to quiver as he held one hoof up to stem the flow of blood as he collapsed, his lungs heaving.

Then, she began to notice them.

The boils. The little pink spots of pus that seemed to pop up from beneath the coat hairs. Then she noticed his ribs as he turned onto his back, moaning and coughing. His ribs were visible against his stretched and malnourished skin. the bones and tendons of his legs visibly straining to keep the body alive. Writhing in the streets.

From the  dark, she heard clopping.

And soon, the tall dark figure of a pony appeared, a tall Gibus upon his head as  he strode calmly over to the stallion.

Oddly enough, as soon as he appeared, the mist thickened until it nearly blocked the faint lamp light.

From what she could see, he was wearing a coat that expanded at the back, an upturned collar reaching up to the middle of his hat blocked her from seeing the face and any defining features, but she knew it was familiar.

Underneath his nightblack coat was a vest, golden strings linked together by quicksilver linkets gave him an air of power and of Lordship.

But she knew he didn't need it.

"P-p-please sir. H-ha-have mercy." The smaller stallion noticed. His mane sticking to his scalp with perspiration as he pleaded, his eyes filled with tears as his master towered above him.

"Very well." And with that, the cape disintegrated in a flapping mess of wings and beaks, of talons and screams they were upon him.

She heard the caw of ravens.

And the writhing mess exploded into thousands of them.

The smaller stallion screamed once, his eyes wide in fear.

And in seconds tehy were upon him, the thousands of them. The taller stallion sighed once, placing his hat on his chest in memorial as the still-living stallion let out one pained cry of agony, and fell silent. Blood oozing from the still covered moshpit.

After a few minutes of this, the ravens/cape flew into the air, spiraling as they let mortal eyes observe what they had done.

The stallion's dead carcass was nothing mortal eyes should have ever observed. All forms of sickness had ravaged him. His skin was covered in boils, bruises, and black spots. His hairs of his mane had turned deathly grey, simply falling off his head. The liver spots sickly in all their shades of bruised purple, red, and blue.

His eyes had turned milky and yellow. Signs of cataracts and jaundice. His bones were pushed further against the skin. Almost as if the life and water had been evaporated from his very skin.

The keratin of his hooves was cracked and brown, the undersides seemed to be rotten as the disgusting mixture of dead meat and blood flowed freely from his cracked and broken hooves.

The taller stallion sighed again as he lifted his two front hooves in the air, almost as if he was raising a newborn foal.

The corpse rose in the air, supernatural blue light coursing from behind it's eye sockets.

"My carrier, it is time." The dark stallion muttered in basso profundo.

Thick tendrils of blue aether shot out from the corpse as it opened its mouth wide. Wider than it should have. The jawbone probably broken as the lower half stretched to the dead one's chest.

Almost as if sentient, they shot off, into open windows and through doors. Down chimneys and through mail flaps.

He lowered his front legs as soon as the deed had been done, turning and walking away as the first cries of agonies echoed through the night.

He kept walking, even as  doors opened and crying women and children flailed into the street, eyes rolled into the backs of their head as sacks of pus began bursting all over their skins. Some even began disintegrating, the skin peeling back to expose raw muscle to the night air.

Some even ran out on fire, blisters popping and bursting as they dropped and began rolling. The dark blue ethereal fires burning their very souls.

He kept walking, almost as if he couldn't see the hell wrought on these ponies by his acts. Others still came from their houses, covered in flesh eating beetles and spiders. Some even swatting at bees and locusts.

Others still tried coming out of their houses and businesses, only to be dragged back screaming by wispy blue tendrils.

And the dead kept filling the streets, the nauseating smell of burning flesh chocking some and making others faint. The disgusting scent of urine and fecal matter stung and tainted the night air as even more voided their bowels in their last few moments of life.

Still others came forth from their houses, one lady in a sunflower bonnet clawed at her eyes and throat as maggots emerged, the little white bugs digging holes in her skin like worms in apples.

And yet he kept walking.

Finally, when he'd gotten a good distance away from the town, he turned back. Blue and red fires burning the roofs and ponies alike.

"Living in filth, you have stained the souls of those you've raised and those you've met. In fire you burned your souls until they were blackened husks. And thus, this is my sentence to. You live as you die."

With that sentiment passed, he turned back to the darkness of the forest, walking off as ravens circled the air, cawing like wailers at a funeral pyre.

=======

Rarity awoke, gasping for air. She shivered slightly as the horrors of her dream replayed over and over again in her mind.

Sitting directly across from her, was her guest. The stallion.

"Do not think less of me for what I am Ms. Rarity. For I am merely the messenger. Night is my emissary and harbinger. Sickness and death are my tools and damnation is my cloak and shield. I am the darkness to the dark. I am the black knight and left hoof of the scale of justice."

"Y-y-y-you!" She finally managed to stutter.

He simply hung his head.

"ITS YOU! THE VAUDEVILLE BARON!"

Chapter 2: The mountains we hide...

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Chapter 3: ... and the skeletons in their caverns

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