Damaged goods

Chapters

Prologue: Heroes and Horrors
Chapter 1: Answers and Assignments
Chapter 2: Progress
Author's note.

Prologue: Heroes and Horrors

Damaged Goods

Prologue: Heroes and Horrors

By: Elwynn13

"The dream is over."

What is the nature of a hero? This question has been the topic of many an argument all over Equestria, from Appleloosa to Hoofington. The answers vary massively from pony to pony, running the full gamut of concepts, from the obvious (strength, courage) to the…unique (circumstance, recklessness.) However, the one thing that every single pony arguing about heroes seems to forget still holds true: there's more than one type of hero. There's the kind that everyone has heard of and looks up to, the image of the masked crusader of righteousness and morality. Then there’s the less noticed and more morally shaky types of heroes that will do whatever it takes to get the job done, even if what they have to do is more evil than whatever they were stopping- the ends justify the means.

Why is it, then, that so many forget the working-class heroes, the salt of the earth? Unlike the masked guardian, or the morally-gray whack jobs, these folks rarely have anything going for them outside of their own skills and knowledge- they don't have any real powers or traits that truly help them in their journeys, relying purely off of their friends, family, and previous experiences. Interestingly enough, the most recent example of this kind of hero (at least, that was mentioned) could be considered the elements of harmony- a group of (outside of the leader, who was, and is, Princess Celestia's personal protégée ) completely normal ponies, who have already stopped two chaotic evils in a short period of time, purely through the "magic of friendship."

Very few seem to realize that almost no heroes choose their roles, with most having their quests or missions thrust upon them- an excellent example is the Equestria key, even if he proved to be very spontaneous and destructive. Even now, with strange tidings throughout Equestria, many wannabe heroes are rising to the challenges presented to them, attempting to stop the recent influx of necromancers and demons… and being brutally murdered for their attempts at being better ponies.

Old zebra tales foretell of a group of six that will, in Equestria's darkest hour, rise up to assist the very heroes that have saved it time after time. Much like the elements of harmony, these are six beings that are foretold to be able to control great elemental powers: the elements of Wind, Fire, Nature, Darkness, Water, and Light. It is foretold that each bearer of an elemental power will be forced through multitudes of trials and tribulations, in order to prove their worth- not that anypony honestly believes in the tales of the zebras, at this point in time. even now, as the skies get darker and the winds get more frigid, many have begun discarding this tale as yet another old mare's tale- after all, not one of these mythical heroes has shown to the public eye, and you can only hold out for so long before you lose hope. However… just about everyone discarded the tale of the Mare in the moon and the elements of harmony as just another silly story, and look where that got them- if the elements hadn't made themselves noticed, ponykind would be living under a perpetual cover of night for over three years at this point in time.

The legends of the return of Destruction and Despair proved to be scarily accurate, with the skies turning an eerie shade of black, the Canterlot mountains beginning to break apart, and the binds between multiple mortal realms beginning to tear apart, all of the signs were there, and the reappearance of the Equestria key, and his subsequent disappearance have done nothing to soothe the fears of the few ponies in the know, Princess Celestia herself included. Even now, Equestria tries to return to how things were before discord's initial return… with little success. Even the nearby Griffon empire has been forced through tough times, with their economy falling apart.

No, life in Equestria certainly isn't as perfect as it was in the past, with necromancers, demonic spirits, and the very ground itself heaving with the fury of the ancients all coming to light, all one can hope for is a budding hero to come help them, or die trying. Still, life goes on, and, like many other races have in the past, ponies have begun to adapt to their new, and much less peaceful, surroundings- all ponies, except for the inhabitants of Ironpony pass, who have lived in the northern stretches of Equestria, the harshest place to reside. This has led them to live in constant paranoia for hundreds of years… yet, in these troubled times, their violent and nervous ways may prove to be a lifeline for all of ponykind…

-Southern Hoofington, 1:13 AM.-

A group of four ponies, all wearing the same uniform of leather barding, trot along silently through the night, escorting a wagon filled with equipment for central Hoofington's royal guards- the Hoofs’ been attacked very frequently, being in an indefensible location. Amongst the group is a crème colored earth pony mare with a silvery mane and an impressive set of daggers hanging from her flanks, an amber-colored unicorn stallion with a scarlet mane and a sickle held in his telekinesis. The other members, who are trailing behind the caravan ever so slightly, are an unarmed dark gray pegasus mare with a cobalt blue mane, gliding above an ink-black, undersized, unicorn buck with a dark gray mane who seems to be carrying a pipe wrench on his uniform.

The crème mare speaks up. "At this rate, we'll have this cargo to the guards by dawn. I can't believe our luck- we've avoided every potential disaster so far, from that explosion near Ponyville, to the crumbling bridge mere minutes ago!" The mare practically cheers at the fact, much to her colleagues' chagrin.

The black buck glares at her. "Every single time you brag about our luck, it goes sour. Remember our last job? You bragged that the bandits were pathetic, and we got attacked by demons. You comment that we've made it without casualties, and I step on a pitfall trap. My leg is still healing, you know," he says in an irritated, tired voice as he carefully adjusts his barding with magic.

The amber stallion, who practically towers over the other three, stomps loudly on the stone walkway. "Both of you, quiet. We don't need all this noise and these…" he glances around the area. "…ruins are a freakin' breeding ground for bandits. Whoever made them the easiest way into the Hoof proper, I'd love to feel their blood run over my sickl-"

The crème mare interrupts him with a hoof to his lips. "Please, we don't need to hear about your fantasies. We all have enough issues as is, thank you very much," she quickly states in a pained tone. Her ears perk up. "Do you hear that, Ochre?" She asks, her voice filled with concern.

The amber stallion shakes his head. "I don't hear anything. What do you think you're hearing? Bandits, or just Blackhide being careless with his weapon?" His voice rumbles out. The black buck shrinks back from Ochre, obviously frightened by stallion who could probably cave his head in.

The pegasus mare speaks up. "I hear it too. It sounds like dozens of hooves stampeding in our direction..." She realizes what she's saying. "Crap! Everypony, get your weapons on the ready. Ochre, let Blackhide take the hits. He seems to be the most durable. Do not let them get the cargo at any cost!" She hisses.

The swarm of bandits descends rapidly upon the group like a swarm of locusts, tearing at them with switchblades and bare hooves. Ochre makes a good show of slicing, hacking and ripping at the bandits with his sickle, occasionally stepping on a bandit that tries to get too close for comfort.

The crème mare continues stabbing the various attackers with her pair of daggers, wielding one in her mouth and setting the other, pointing outward, on the side of her uniform. “Celestia damn it, do these bastards ever stop coming? Kill one, and two take their place… Ochre, Midnight, Blackhide? How’re you three holding up?” She asks with audible stress, sweat dripping down her forehead as she retrieves her dagger from the dirt- the bandits have figured out how to disarm.

Midnight continues rolling in the dirt, struggling with the bandit on top of her. “Could do with a little help, even if it means using Blackhide as a shie-” That’s as far as she gets, as the assailant on top of her finally gets a clear slice at her neck with a surprisingly sharp switchblade. The colt keeps slashing at her as she chokes on her own blood, and with a final gurgle, dies.

Ochre growls and charges at the assailant, plowing into him. “You. Do. Not. Hurt. My. Colleagues. Unless. It's. Black. Hide! ” He snarls, punctuating each word with every slash of his sickle, the final cut tearing through the cartilage in the bandit’s neck. With a sickening thud, the corpse hits the ground. The head, on the other hand, gets caught in his telekinesis and stuffed in his saddlebags as a grim trophy, earning him a pair of disturbed looks from his companions. "What? The fucker deserved it, alright? Stop looking at me like that or you'll be next. You especially, Blackhide." The colt in question immediately averts his gaze, sneaking towards the fallen wagon. He quietly grasps a singular gray orb in his magic and pockets it. Just in case this defense fails, the buck thinks grimly.

All the while, the crème colored mare is having a tough fight against three separate bandits, all wearing makeshift barding clearly made of weak fabric. It would hardly absorb a weak kick, much less rigorous stabbing. The biggest of the bandits, a mare with a light brown coat, takes advantage of crème's momentary distraction, and tackles her. The pair slam into the ground, a loud snap sounding as the bandit's full weight snaps crème's spine.

The bandit gets to her hooves and dusts herself off. "Two down, one to go…" She mutters to herself with a small grin as she picks up the fallen guard's daggers. She sneaks towards the huge stallion, sweat beading on her forehead. If she screws this up, she's as good as paint. As she nears the stallion, a whistle is heard.

An average sized, yet powerful looking, orange-coated earth pony mare with a white mane whistles once more, and amazingly, every single bandit in the ruins stops attacking for looting, and moves towards her. "Alright, all you bandits. Listen up… first, restrain the big stallion. Second, somepony tie up the little buck," she shouts with a voice full of authority. Right on cue, six bandits swarm Ochre and pin him down. Even with his ridiculous amounts of muscle, the Stallion couldn’t do much to six normal-sized ponies. A large buck tackles Blackhide, and while he's stunned, ties him up. The mare sifts through the wagon's contents quickly. "Right, now that those two are taken care of, listen up, this shit's important. Firstly, good job on taking this caravan, we had received word that it contained some impressively valuable relics, and, from looking at these…yeah, it does. Secondly, take the big one back to the bunkers. I have plans for someone of his sheer power, and he seems easy enough to manipulate." She chuckles creepily and her eyes meet with Blackhide's. "As for the little one, leave us alone for a few minutes." Blackhide gulps. This is not going to end well for me, he thinks with a surge of panic.

Sure enough, every bandit in the area works on dragging Ochre off to… the bunkers, wherever those are. After mere minutes, the area consists of the wagon, the bandit mare, and Blackhide. The mare calmly sits down in front of the black buck. "So. I bet you're wondering, why did I choose to spare you? Truth be told, I think that you have potential."

Blackhide raises an eyebrow. "Potential? Me? Erm…I hate to point out the painfully obvious, but…I hid that entire fight," he says with concern in his voice. You don't want to be snarky when you're unable to move.

She pulls a knife from under her armor and cuts his binds loose. "Look, I may be a bandit, but at least I recognize someone who deserves freedom when I see him. Your friend there, he'll never truly be free- he's practically an organic weapon on his own, so he'll probably always be watched, no matter where he goes. But you? You're runty, nondescript and, judging by the fact that I only noticed you because of your magic’s glow, rather sneaky. All three are good traits to have these days, especially for someone who travels a lot. But, to the point. I want you to deliver a message to the owner of this caravan. If you do this, I may even let you join my tribe.” Blackhide rises to his hooves slowly and looks around, trying to spot a safe way out of the ruins. “Stay right there, Blackhide. Deliver this message.” She leans in and whispers something in the black buck’s ear. “Got it?” Blackhide nods vigorously. “Good. Tell your employer that it’s from Maple Thorn. He’ll know what it means. Now… Get. Fucking. Moving. Or. I’ll. Send. The. Entire. Tribe. On. Your. Undersized. Flank!” She roars at him, and he takes the opportunity to gallop out of the ruins as fast as he can, terrified out of his skull. “Seems like a nice stallion. I kind of hope we meet again, preferably under more positive circumstances,” she mutters under her breath.

Blackhide gallops on through the night, making haste for Appleloosa, a trading post docked in the middle of... nowhere. The rain continues, increasing in power and quantity until it's a torrent of water perpetually coming, without a single break. He takes refuge in a cave for a couple minutes to take stock of his equipment, and to move his wrench into his saddlebags. No reason to let it get rusty… I may have a use for it…eventually. Not that I fight, or have any need for a weapon in my daily life, his thoughts shifting haphazardly as the torrential downpour continues outside. He sighs. "May as well bed down here for the night, I doubt I'm going to get anywhere in this rain," he mutters nervously to himself, looking around the cavern.

The cavern is of the kind found in so many places throughout Equestria – bland, barren, and just deep enough to get out of the elements. At least it's dry enough to start a fire, or it would be if I had anything to light, or if I had anything to start a fire with, Blackhide thinks with disdain. Well, I guess I'll just get some shuteye in the corner- just a couple hoursssszz… Blackhide falls asleep on the spot, not even moving deeper into the cave before drifting into the embrace of sleep.

- Nondescript cave, northeast of Appleloosa, 5:19 A.M.-

Several hours later, the lone black buck gathers his possessions and trots off into the early desert sun, the sand already starting to heat up under his hooves as he makes haste to the southwest, to the small town of Appleloosa which was barely noticeable in the distance, a lone island in a veritable sea of sand. The sun has begun to rise, signaling the finale of yet another night, if the nights ever begin, that is, Blackhide muses as he trudges closer and closer to the town.

-Appleloosa north gate, 8:13 A.M.-

After much uneventful walking, Blackhide finally reaches the town and immediately makes a beeline for his hotel room to dump his equipment- he has things to do, like snag a bath and take that artifact to some sort of wizard- perhaps one of the town's few wizards could explain what the artifact is, and why Maple Thorn's bandits were willing to kill for it and the other artifacts…

________________________________________________________________________

Blackhide: Trait added.

Runt

Due to your small size, opponents have a more difficult time landing a fatal blow on you, or maybe your luck's just working overtime. Who knows?

(Author's note: Well, here we go. If you have any criticisms/ advice/ anger issues, feel free to place them in the comments. Hell, if you want to, feel free to chew me out in the comments for having shit for brains. Whatever you want to do. Massive thanks to Jaico for making this tripe worth reading, and Anunymau5 for letting me set my story in his universe!)

Chapter 1: Answers and Assignments

Damaged Goods

Chapter 1: Answers and Assignments

By: Elwynn13

"Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends…"

-Appleloosa, 9:11 A.M-

After ditching my weapon and most of my equipment in my room, I decide to take the orb to the local wizard. Yeah, it may just be nothing, but it could be something massive that I managed to save from the bandits. I approach old Eziramus’ library, hoping that he’s in. The library itself is an old building, with climbing ivy growing up the sides of the walls, slowly damaging the structural integrity of the building.

I walk in, immediately calling for the old colt. He owes me a favor, anyway- we’ll count this as one, if he’s even around. “Hey, Eziramus? You in here? I have something for you to look at!” I call, allowing myself to relax while I wait for him. Smart he may be, but he’s never been particularly limber.

The interior of the library is much more modern than the exterior, with various posters on the walls, books on just about anything you could think of (and a few others... 101 ways to please a tree? What?) There are yew coffee tables throughout the library where many ponies would sit and read (surprisingly, very few actually take books out. Most ponies use the library as a social gathering, akin to the bar, my personal preference.) The few seats scattered about are roughly carved maple benches. Not very comfortable, but at least they’re easy to sit on. After roughly twenty minutes and through a couple pages of the aforementioned book, Eziramus comes trotting down the stairs, looking thoroughly exhausted, panting and wheezing as he slowly makes his way down.

“What do you want, Blackhide? I know you said you have something for me to take a peek at, but you’ve used that excuse before. Let’s see it, whatever it is,” he looks me up and down. “You look tired. Have you gotten much sleep lately?” I shake my head. Of course I haven’t. He knows that I’m a chronic insomniac, and so does everyone else. I fish the enigmatic orb from out of my saddlebags. The orb is light gray with series of web-thin etchings encompassing it. It seems to glow in a dull light as I lift it towards Eziramus. The artifact hummed softly and having it in the open made me feel tingly all over, especially around the tip of my horn.

“The caravan that my team and I were escorting to Hoofington got hit. In the struggle, I managed to steal this from the wreckage before the bandits overtook us. Could you identify it, or did I grab a worthless piece of junk?” I eye the orb warily, not entirely sure what to expect from touching it, even via telekinesis. He takes it in his grip and looks it over, raising an eyebrow as he traces his hoof along the designs on the orb.

“I never thought I’d see one of these, much less touch one in my lifetime. Truly, this relic is an iconic piece of history – not a good part of history, but a part of history nonetheless – zebra history, to be precise.” He looks at me hard, his eyes narrowing to slits. I lean my weight onto my left hooves, getting impatient. He never has been very good at getting to the point. I gesture with my front right hoof, insisting that he get on with it.

“Could you get to the point? I have a killer headache, and I’d rather not be here all day.” I growl at him, narrowing my eyes and glaring at the old buck. He gulps and nods, eyes wide. I can be intimidating when I want to be, even if I am undersized, and even if my threats are empty.

“What you’ve come across is an old zebra artifact, one of the six that were rumored to have been lost – this is the same orb that the previous champion of darkness used in her journeys!” he rapid fires off, surprising me quite a bit. Never heard him speak that enthusiastically about anything ever before. I reach out to touch the orb, purely out of curiosity. “No, you must not ever touch this relic, it may have some side effects – legend has it, the previous champion was changed, body and soul, upon touching it with her hooves. Telekinesis looks to be safe, however.” he drones on in this manner for a good fifteen minutes before I interrupt him.

“How come it’s safe for you to hold it, but not the one who brought it to you? After all, I’ve been carrying it in my bags for hours now. If it has any side effects, I’m pretty sure that they would have come into play by now.” I deadpan, my mouth hurting as I overbite into my expression.

He steps closer to me, attempting to intimidate me. Not happening, mate – I’ve been through worse shit than an angry librarian. “You have to understand – not all souls are compatible with the artifacts – in fact, very few are. See how it seems to glow as it nears you?” He levitates the orb closer to me to demonstrate. Sure enough, it glows bright as day when it’s inches from my face. Thanks, I didn’t need to see in that eye anyway. “From what I’ve read on the subject, that could indicate one of three things. One, you’re the new champion of darkness. Very unlikely, especially since, well... all of the previous champions have been physically strong, and you...you’re, well, pardon me, but...you’re a runt. You barely have enough strength to use basic tools, much less survive the trials that they have to deal with,” he flippantly remarks.

Have I ever mentioned why I hate libraries? It’s not the atmosphere, it’s the ponies.

“Second option is that you’re destined to carry it to the true champion. That’s much more likely, given, your... abilities. The last option is that it’s simply a screw-up, and the artifact isn’t detecting anything about you whatsoever. I hate to say it, Blackhide, but that’s probably the most likely of the three,” he says to me in a matter-of-factly voice, levitating the orb back into my saddlebags. “Still, you may as well carry it. Maybe you’ll find the true owner of it, rather than just having it sit around in a museum until the Griffons invade Equestria. Don’t laugh, it’s just a matter of time,” he says, his voice completely serious. He turns around and goes back to his duties of shelving books. I blink several times and walk towards the exit, thinking about what I’ve just been told.

-Appleloosa, 2:39 P.M-

After the eventful meeting with Eziramus, I find myself trotting my way towards the bar to grab a drink – I’m probably unemployed from that spectacular failure of a delivery, and a bottle of scotch sounds real good right about now. At least the walk gives me some time to gather my thoughts – time to think about where my life’s going. Given that I’m already in my early twenties, my lot in life is still changeable, and for good reason. As it stands, I’m a bit of a failure – I’m a pacifist in the more dangerous parts of Equestria, I don’t have any true purpose in life, and I’m not even particularly good at my job. I’ve only survived through sheer luck.

I sigh and continue trudging along, past the Appleseed hotel in all of its ramshackle glory – the broken windows and dilapidated floors are a mess, but hey, at least it’s cheap to rent a room. The wind slowly starts picking up speed, kicking up clouds of dust into the air. Some of it gets kicked up into my face, temporarily blinding me in my right eye. Luna damnit, that hurts, even after all the injuries I've received working with theCaravan Drivers. As I wipe the offending substance from my eye, I can hear heavy hoofsteps on wood. Shit, I’m near the Caravan Drivers building, aren’t I... after a minute or so, my eye stops hurting enough for me to look around. Sure enough, there it is. The large stallion glaring at me probably is less than impressed with me at the moment...

"BLACKHIDE! GET YOUR LAZY FLANK IN HERE!" My boss screams from the door of his shop, an old-fashioned, dark oak store with various knots in the wood. Oh, and that isn't my name by the way. My name's Fortunatus, or 'Lucky' for anyone who doesn't speak Latin, which is pretty much everyone, me included. This nickname stems from my only noticeable physical trait, an ink black coat (and being the size of a mare, but that's beside the point.) My boss, on the other hand, looks like something out of a comic book, with bright red eyes, a magenta coat, and an emerald-green mane. He may be bigger than me, but I can at least–

"STOP DAYDREAMING AND GET OVER HERE BEFORE I THROW YOUR LAZY FLANK OUT THE WINDOW AGAIN!" He screams at me and stomps, his voice beginning to get hoarse and ragged, given that he practically never stops screaming (honestly, nopony who works for him has ever heard him talk normally. I'm no exception.) When the merchant (he refuses to give out his name… most of his employees believe that there's a bounty on him for one of his many escapades) tells you to go to him, you get moving.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, bracing myself for the inevitable beating that I'm going to get. That group of bandits may not have killed, or even harmed, me, but seeing as they got away with the entire stock meant to be delivered to Hoofington's guards, you can just call me moss, given that he's probably going to chew me out to a record level.

He sighs, "Look. I know that you didn't mean to let those bandits get the relics and equipment from the caravans, but could you at least try to fight them, next time? After all, we provide you with weapons to deal with them. The world certainly isn't safe enough anymore to be gallivanting around unarmed. You, of all ponies, should know this." His tone is soft, surprisingly so. Sure enough, I can see his horn glowing with the gold aura of telekinesis as his whip lifts itself off of its hook behind the door.

"Whipping time?" I ask meekly. I can feel the scars on my flank hurting once more. Lovely. Only 23 and I've already got more scars than many of my elders, simply by doing my job… Having no true role in life sucks.

"No, of course not. You failed to protect thousands of bits worth of equipment, let your fellow caravaneers die to the bandits, and you failed to even get yourself killed, like I instructed you to do the LAST TIME this happened. ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID!? I'm not only going to whip you, I'm going to beat you within an inch of your pathetic, worthless life, and then I'm going TO SEND YOU AFTER THE BANDITS TO RETRIEVE EVERYTHING THEY TOOK!" He continues screaming in this fashion for approximately four more minutes, his voice cracking from anger several times over. While he yells, I decide to adjust my barding to a more comfortable position, given that he's about to lash out at me with his best friend, that fucking whip. Yes, his best friend is a weapon, given that nopony is insane enough to talk to him, let alone be friends with him, and here I am, interacting with him on a bi-weekly basis. My life sucks.

My barding is made of light leather plates overlapping each other in a fashion that has helped me survive plenty of attacks in the past. Shame that said attacks were mostly hoof strikes and whip lashings, all of which have been from my colleagues and employer, respectively.

"Still here? Excellent. Time to have me some fun… shame you probably won't return from your journey. Shame, I'm going to have to find somepony else who just takes the whipping and doesn't complain, even though he's clearly hurting…or do you like it? Is that it? Do you enjoy the feeling of the whip slashing into your weak, undersized body?" He lashes the whip around my hind legs, dropping me face first onto the ground. I am not going to miss this one bit…

-Appleloosa, 4:12 P.M-

As I limp away from the Caravan Driversbuilding, one of my colleagues catches up with me. She is a dark-cream colored Pegasus pony, with ruby eyes and a long chocolate brown mane that hides one of her eyes. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure if she even has both eyes, given that one of them, the left eye, is hidden at all times.

"He really gave you a massive beat down, didn't he, Lucky? I mean, I know that you're his favorite victim and all, but an hour and a half? How are you even still conscious?" She asks, concern layering her voice. Good old Sky Gem, she's pretty much my only friend at work, and she's the only pony who seems concerned at the level of beatings I get for screwing up.

"I-It's fine. I'm used to it, y'know? First fifteen minutes was the worst of it, and it got easier as he got more exhausted. He's only mortal, like the rest of us," I assure her in the kindest tone I can muster. Truth be told, I'm in incredible pain and will be surprised if I survive the trip to Ironpony Pass, much less the hunt for for the stolen goods.

She looks at me with concern, her expression one of a mother who found that her son's getting into fights at school and she says simply: "Lucky… you don't have to act so tough with me. I understand that you're hurt. These days, we all are. Yes, that includes the merchant, and it includes me. Please understand… I'm always here for you, Lucky. Even if you aren't there for yourself, there's ponies that are here for you and are willing to follow you to Tartarus and back…you just need to find them. Remember the Elements of Harmony? These days, we all need to take a page from their books and rely on our friends, and trust them with our lives." She sighs. "Now, why don't we see if we can't get you to the infirmary… those open wounds are going to get infected if we keep standing around in the dusty plains."

-Appleloosa infirmary, 4:28 P.M.-

Sky and I trot into the infirmary, a mere fifteen minutes away from my workplace, looking to get some medical attention of some sort for my open wounds- I don’t carry medical supplies, there’s no reason to. As soon as we walk in, I can smell various chemicals... and the overhanging stench of death. Who doesn’t love going to a place where ponies go to die? Apparently, I love it, given how much time I spend here. A singular mare is trotting along with a clipboard and pencil in her telekinesis, rapidly scratching down some report. Good old Rosebud, always attempting to look busy, even when she isn’t. She looks over towards the pair of us and waves her hoof. As we get closer, she looks more apprehensive. I can see her eyes scanning over my various open wounds- this isn’t the first time I’ve been in here to get whip injuries patched up.

"Lucky, I could have sworn that last time this happened, I told you to get some more protective barding. Yet, here you are once more, same old barding, same old joker on your flank and same old scars," Rosebud says to me, glaring at me as if I'm about to lose an eye. Or grow a second head. Or grow a second head with three eyes.

Rosebud is a light-red unicorn mare with a short-cut mane of light gold. She wears a white surgical coat, like every single nurse and doctor in Equestria (at least, of the baker's dozen of nurses and doctors that I've met.) She has a kind, if worried, expression on her face, as if she has bad news. Granted… if I was in good condition, I wouldn't be here at all.

The infirmary itself is the same as any medical facility anywhere in Equestria- clean floors, excellent lighting, medical supplies in every nook and cranny… oh, and sick or dying ponies. Still, these days, it's not much of a surprise to see folks injured or worse. Rosebud begins to glare at me, looking irritated by my apparent lack of focus.

"Blackhide, didn't you come in here to ask me something? After all, you're the one who dragged himself in here, looking for medical attention. You're hurt. That's not much of a surprise to either of us, so spill. Why are you here? Just wanted to get a look at my flanks before you went off on yet another adventure?" She teases me- I can immediately feel my face go red, and she stifles a laugh. "Seriously, though. What's wrong, Lucky?"

I sigh. "Well, tomorrow, I'm to leave for Ironpony pass, in order to retrieve some crucial goods that were stolen in the most recent attack on our caravans. Y'know, the caravans that I was supposed to be guarding?" I say in a depressed tone of voice and look dejectedly at the floor.

Rosebud looks at me with concern. "Ironpony pass? That's a death sentence. Are you sure you have to go through with this? Isn't there some way you can worm your way out of this deal, like you have before?" She continues tending to a sick pony, having apparently decided to do her job for once.

"I'm well aware of the imminent danger. Shame is, the merchant is one screw-up away from ripping my head off and taking it as a trophy, so…I'm stuck. My hooves are tied, and he knows it. I don't even know if I'll have any help for this one…" I say, dread filling my already stressed voice. I adjust my barding once again, an action that's become a nervous habit.

Sky steps in between the two of us and shakes her head. "Lucky…you know that no matter what happens, I'll follow you. This job is no exception. Even if it may put both of us in an early grave, better die young, satisfied, than grow old with regrets. You may believe that you're trash, but you really aren't. You may be a wild card, but that's why I like you. You're always willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish your goals, even if it requires you to work with one group and then promptly stab them in the back. Metaphorically, of course, given that you can't seem to bring yourself to injure anything, living or not." She practically growls this, with a glare that just screams 'and I dare you to argue with me on this.'

I gulp. My…friend is not one to be argued with. I've seen her do some…interesting things to a bandit, simply for threatening somepony she's close to. Even if she's willing to follow me to the ends of the world, does that mean that I will be able to go there? Ironpony pass… may as well just kill me now, save the spirits the effort needed to kill me then.

"So…it's settled. I'm leaving tomorrow for Ironpony pass. If you wish to come with me, Sky, meet me outside my hotel room at 6:00 A.M. tomorrow. Gather whatever equipment and supplies you need for a long trip…I have a feeling we won't be able to return for quite a long time." I turn my gaze towards Rosebud. "Hope you fare better than I in the coming days… May Luna watch over you with her protective gaze, and may your path always be clear, unlike mine." I finish my somewhat preachy blessing, and wave my foreleg at Rosebud. "See you next time I nearly die!" I readjust my barding once more, and head for the exit door, only to get blocked by several bags of medical supplies, floating in a rose-red telekinesis field.

"Wait, Lucky. If you're going to go through with this, take some potions and drugs. You may not like medicine…or needles, for that matter… but they may be useful to you or your friend on your journey. Please, take care of yourself." Rosebud says, her voice warm as she continues, oddly enough, working on the same sick pony while she talks to me.

I nod, put the supplies in my saddlebags, and trot out the door back to the desert trading post.

-Appleloosa, 4:52 P.M.-

I trudge out into the searing early summer sunlight and glance around me. I really don't get enough chances to just look at my surroundings, and I would miss so many awesome sights and sounds. Appleloosa itself is a western town the likes of which are all over the place in books. Dust, tumbleweeds, and everypony with half a brain are wearing a hat to keep the sun out of their eyes. Naturally, my hat's sitting in my hotel room, growing dust like it always is. Never been a fan of hats, even if it means ignoring common sense for comfort. To the north is the 'salt lick saloon' also known as a place where ponies go to drink enough cider to knock themselves unconscious. To the south, the Bonemeal plains, an incredibly dry, uninhabitable area. There's no resources, no fertile land, nothing that could be used. Barely any animals can even survive there, and the few that can are rather scarce in numbers anyway.

The east stretches out towards the rest of Equestria proper, all of the more well-known cities and towns. This grouping includes Canterlot, Ponyville, Cloudsdale, and my hometown -- Manehattan. Even so, there's not much to be done around Appleloosa, with everything notable elsewhere. Still, it's a quiet town, and it's always easy to get some rest and relaxation here, even for those of us with mediocre jobs that spend most of our time abroad. The west…has the rest of Appleloosa. Stores, hotels and more rodeos than you can shake a stick at. Granted, the stores are all overpriced and don't stock much, but in the middle of the desert, you take what you can get, even if it's a horrible idea to settle for it.

Without further stalling, I decide to trudge off towards the north to get nice and drunk before I set off on my journey. It's going to be a long trip, filled with hardships and, most likely, fights.

-The Salt Lick Saloon, 5:12 P.M.-

Sky and I walk into the saloon with different intentions in mind. She's interested in recruiting some ponies to help us on our journey, and I'm just interested in getting some cider into myself to keep me numb for the first leg of the journey. She immediately heads to a table in the corner of the rustic (I call it ramshackle) building and sits down, beginning to speak to some colts. Typical Sky, always hitting on anything male.

I make a beeline for the bar and sit down. I have my work cut out for me, getting enough cider in me before Sky notices that I'm doing it. The bartender, a unicorn mare with a light blue coat, trots over to me.

"So…what'll you have, Lucky? You certainly don't look like your usual self, outside of being covered in whip cuts." She gives me an appraising look. "Are you interested in your usual, or are you just here to talk?" She says with an aside glance towards my companion, who's already laughing like a drunk in the corner… yep, that's definitely the Sky that I know.

I shake my head. "I'm just here for a drink or three, given that I'm headed out to Ironpony pass in the morning." That's probably going to raise a crowd…

The bartender's jaw drops. "IRONPONY PASS!? ARE YOU INSANE, LUCKY? HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY OFF THE BLOODY DEEP END, OR ARE YOU JUST SUICIDAL!?" She screams at me, her face turning a marvelous shade of rutabaga purple.

I give her a stern, calm look, my mouth becoming a singular hard line. "It's not of my own accord, alright? That caravan that got hit the other day had some important artifacts in it, and bandits got away with all of them. The merchant's scouts have tracked the bandits down to Ironpony pass, so… he's decided to send his most disposable employee to go retrieve everything that the bandits stole, and deliver it to its destination." I sigh and levitate a list out of my saddlebags, engulfing it with a rust brown telekinesis field. "Here, this is a list of everything the bandits took. Does any of it sound valuable enough to send me after it?"

As she reads the list, she looks more and more amazed, until I can see the gleam in her eyes. That's a familiar sign, the universal sign for greed — she's interested in getting her hooves on some of the relics and equipment that the bandits took. She looks up at me, and levitates the list back into my saddlebags. "Do you, by any chance, need any help with this job? After all, I can be pretty useful in a fight, if I have to," she says in a quick, excited tone of voice. Interesting how fast her mood changes when there's potential loot to be had.

I shake my head. "No, I think I'll be fine with Sky. The two of us are capable enough that a few bandits shouldn't be a concern. After all, remember what happened to the last group that attacked her?" I ask, attempting to keep my voice level. The bartender goes pale. She simply nods. Good, she does remember. "Now, how about that scotch that I ordered?"

-The Salt Lick Saloon, Entrance, 8:12 P.M.-

Several hours (and drinks) later, I'm in a much better mood. I canter in a lazy fashion towards the west, intending to get my barding reinforced. Sky flies over me and waves.

"Hey Lucky, Where're you goin'? I mean, you sheem pretty sloshed, shouldn't you be heading home to, y'know, get some shleep?" She slurs out, not looking too sober herself. I notice that her flying pattern has become somewhat erratic, moving in tight loops and lazy curves.

I sigh. She never has been able to hold her alcohol. "I'm heading to the tailor's shop— I need to get him to take a look at my barding. If I'm going north, I'll need much more cover than it's providing- currently, it'll keep my chest nice and safe, and my entire hind half a nice target, given that it doesn't even—"

She crashes into the dirt. "Jusht do it, okay? I don't have tiiime to lishten to yer entire life story, you get me?" She mutters as she gets up. She's really not sounding too good, her voice sounding exhausted, yet perky at the same time. For crying out loud, I can smell the alcohol on her several yards away…

I help her to her hooves with my magic. "Sky, are you feeling alright? You don't sound too good. Perhaps you should head home yourself. I'm sober enough to get my barding dealt with and to stock up on what few supplies I need, but you…you're slurring half your words. You can barely even fly, and you're… Luna damn it, you're not even awake." My voice trails off as I look closely at my friend. She's laying face-first in the dirt, snoring softly. Seriously… she fell asleep mid conversation?

-Western Appleloosa, 8:34 P.M.-

After taking Sky home and dumping her unceremoniously in bed, I return to the western drag of Appleloosa. I continue walking west, passing by the food stalls — I really don't need anything to eat… at the moment, at least. Maybe I'll swing by there later, after I deal with my barding. I begin to move at a full gallop. I'd rather not have to encounter more merchants than I need to, or, heaven forbid, running into my boss.

Eventually, I manage to make my way to the very edge of the town, the location of the tailor's shop. I walk into the building as quietly as possible, which for me, isn't quietly at all. The tailor, an earth pony stallion with a dirt brown coat and unkempt mane, looks up at me quickly with a jump.

"What's up, Lucky? You look a bit on edge. Are you going somewhere dangerous?" He rapidly says in a cheerful tone of voice. I have never had any idea how he can speak so quickly, but I can barely ever make out what he's saying.

"…Yeah, I'm heading up to Ironpony pass. Before you make a fuss about it and how it's suicide, I'm well aware of it. The merchant is going to bloody well kill me if I don't, so…I'm going to do it. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of beating me to death. Anyway, to business. I'm here to-"

"Ironpony pass? You may want to get barding that covers more of you than your chest and back." He states, matter-of-factly.

I sigh. "Yeah, that's why I came here. Is there any way you could add some extra armor to my barding, so that it covers my legs and flank?" I ask my voice desperate. I need to have some way to protect myself, other than hiding behind Sky. I mean, I'm as big of a fan of healing potions and painkillers as the next buck, but I'd rather just not need them perpetually.

He nods. "Yeah, I should be able to do that. Would you stand still for a minute, while I take your measurements?" I grin and levitate my barding and saddlebags off. He quickly retrieves a measuring tape, and starts taking my measurements.

While he checks my sizes, I look back at my flank to check the damage from earlier. Trios of deep whip slashes dig deep into my cutie mark, effectively cutting the joker card into thirds. How appropriate… as I die more and more, the card gets more damaged. Even with the damage, the card remains unmistakably clear in its meaning. Thanks to my nature as a wild card, I can't hold a normal job- I don't have any true purpose on life, unlike most ponies.

-Appleloosa, 11:12 P.M.-

After several uneventful hours of standing around idly while the tailor adjusted my barding, I finally leave the store. I stretch and yawn… Jeez, it's getting late, and I need to meet Sky in front of my hotel room at 6 AM… I break into a gallop. My legs may be hurting, but I need to get some sleep before I leave to, well, die. On the plus side, my barding has been successfully improved- it now covers my front and back legs, as well as my flank- with my joker engraved over where it is normally anyway.

Eventually, I get back to my hotel room. It may be dirty and dilapidated, but its home. As soon as I open the door, I toss my saddlebags into the corner with my magic- a worrisome 'crunch' sound can be heard as they connect with the corner. I pull off my barding (no reason to sleep with it on, after all) and drag myself onto the bed. The room itself is dirty, with books and various junk strewn about the floor, the floorboards are partly torn up and termite-eaten, and the walls are cracked and decaying. All in all, this is where I live when I'm not doing stupid things because my boss told me to.

I close my eyes and think about the day. Today's been one of hell of a mess, from a shitty beginning with the rain, to being effectively sent to my death, to being beat an inch within my life. I sigh and roll over; my horn spearing the pillow like it has so many times before. Some ponies go through their entire lives without getting any injury worse than a paper cut or a bad scrape; I consider it normal to have healing wounds at all times. Perhaps a look at my life is in order… sleep overtakes me, mercifully.

-The apple seed hotel, Lucky's room, 5:43 A.M.-

I slowly drift into consciousness. Well, that's a good sign- I didn't die in my sleep, so there's that. I honestly wonder what time it is…perhaps I should get up and check the clock? I open my eyes and blearily look for the clock amidst the various junk in the room. Spotting it, I engulf it in my telekinesis and pull it out of its hiding spot. Sure enough, it isn't 6 yet, but I only have about a quarter of an hour to spare, so…better get my gear together quickly.

Moving in a blur of magic and concern, I gather up my barding and quickly put it on and pull my saddlebags on (after I loaded them with food, the medical supplies from Rosebud, a canteen, and the book Ironpony and you- A beginner's guide on survival in the north) over my freshly armored barding. I look for my unused weapon — a pipe wrench, issued to me by the merchant to protect myself with. May as well carry it, just in case Sky's sword breaks or something. After a couple minutes of searching, I find the wrench under the bed. The simple black paint job has already begun to chip and peel away, leaving the weapon looking old and battered. I levitate it into the small loop of leather on my flank, designed purely for this purpose.

I give the room one final glance, open the door, and step outside. Standing outside is Sky, completely unarmored, save for the very light fur coat that she's wearing that looks like one strong look will tear it in half, and carrying her signature long sword on her flank in the same manner that I'm carrying my wrench.

She looks at me carefully, eyes narrowing as if she’s deep in thought. "Well, nice to see that you planned ahead for this… are you geared for travelling north, or for the bloody end of the world?" She grins and laughs. "Still, I never thought I'd see the day where you carry a weapon, Lucky! What brought this change on, is it that we're both probably going to die, so we may as well die fighting?"

I blink a couple of times and look at her strangely, raising an eyebrow. "Erm… I'm carrying a weapon in case your sword breaks. You know me- I don't fight. I'll take the hits for you, but I refuse to harm anypony or anything, even if it's beating me to death." I practically whisper, my voice strangely level.

She sighs. "You're impossible, you know that? For somepony who's been injured from fights time after time, you're ridiculously adamant about not fighting back." She shakes her head and starts walking to the north gate. Not knowing what to say, I follow her with heavy spirits.

________________________________________________________________________

Lucky: Trait added.

Wild card

Thanks to having a completely pointless purpose in life, you have no issues with switching sides so often that "traitor" would be a compliment.

(Author’s Note: As usual, thanks for reading. Massive thanks to Jaico for making this tripe worth reading, and Anunymau5 for letting me set my story in his universe! Also, this chapter took a bit of fixing up. Sorry about the delay, there were quite a few technical errors throughout.)

Chapter 2: Progress

Damaged Goods

By: Elwynn13

Edited By: Jaico

Chapter 2: Progress

“Time passes by, direction unknown.”

A day later, I find myself trudging along through the desert, much like what we’ve been doing since we departed Appleloosa. We're making good progress towards Ironpony, but… seriously, there's nothing here! Nothing but dirt, sand, wind and a blood trail. You know, the usual things that you’d find in the middle of of the desert. I motion for Sky to follow me, pointing my wrench at the blood. It seems to be leading northwest, towards what Sky's map refers to as Oasis. I seriously doubt that any place with that name is going to be pleasant. "Could be something interesting," I say with a chuckle, "or it could lead us into an ambush. Either way, let's check it out." I grin like an idiot and begin to follow the blood trail; from what I can see, the trail seems to go on for approximately ten meters, leading into a ruined building. Stone, moss growing on the sides and no door to be seen. A large concrete pipe is laying in a destroyed chunk of the wall, allowing potential access.

Sky shakes her head before following after me on land. "You know, this is never a good idea in books, so why should it be a good idea now?" Her complaints sound exasperated.

"You know, it's never too late to leave and go back to Appleloosa if you're getting cold hooves about things. I'm perfectly fine doing this on my own if I have to," I repeat myself from earlier in the day.

"You know damn well that I don't trust you travelling on your own, especially in the northern lands with your atrocious luck. Knowing you, you'd end up half-crippled and blind if left to your own devices," she comments dryly, crouching under a chunk of pipe that the blood trail has led us to. “Besides, Appleloosa is boring. Who knows what you’ll get into in your trip?” I attempt to follow her under, struggling a bit before I back out again – my bags and armor are too bulky to slip through such a compressed area. I lift my saddlebags off and float them through after her, then I follow her through the pipe.

We follow the trail for a few more meters and come up to a desecrated corpse.

Geez, whoever passed through here sure was overdrawn at the blood bank.

"Lovely, just a bandit. How do you think he died? Those rips don't look like a pony's hoofwork." I point at his various wounds, most of which look like they came from claws rather than standard weaponry. "Look at that. Those slashes don't seem like what could be done with a sword or spear, much less a hoof."

Sky preoccupies herself with examining the corpse even more closely. "Quick question: are manticores common anywhere outside of the mainland? If so, we may have a problem."

She trails off, looking closely at the gouges on the pony's chest. They seem to be turning a light shade of green around the edges — that could indicate a poisoned wound, not that it matters much to this bandit or us. I shrug and shake my head.

I examine the area. The derelict building that we find ourselves in is rather sparse and outside of the aforementioned bandit and his saddlebags, there is very little he-- hold on...

"Sky, what's that in the corner? I think I can see something sticking out." I point towards a partially-obscured object jutting out from the ground. It looks vaguely like a ring, but I'm too far away to get a good look at it. I levitate my wrench over and tap it a couple times. It doesn't seem to react explosively, and it doesn't melt my wrench so it should be safe enough to touch. Sky trots over to the object and reaches down to grab at it, then pauses.

"Looks like a handle of some sort. This looks really old, Lucky, maybe I shouldn't be grabbing it with my mouth?" she helpfully suggests, much like how one would suggest that licking a bag of manure is a bad idea. I nod and move closer to the handle in question, keeping a grasp on my wrench with my telekinesis field just in case.

I look at the handle for myself. It seems to be incredibly rusty, dirty and growing moss on the inner edges. It would appear to be connected to a trap door, which is mostly concealed by moss, dirt and a chunk of fallen I-beam from the rafters. I'm honestly amazed that I even noticed this amidst all the copious crap strewn about. I nod slowly and wrap the handle in my magic. "Ready? I have no idea what we'll find in here," I say with the barest hints of apprehension in my voice. Sky nods, clearly having decided to hold her tongue for once.

I pull at the handle as hard as my magic allows, but to no avail. I stop pulling, sweat dripping down my face. "Not a chance in Tartarus… This bloody thing is rusted-shut tighter then a socialite's wallet." I look around the room, hoping to find something of use. "Any suggestions, Sky? I'm out of ideas, unless you feel that I should smack it with my wrench for a while." A sheepish grin appears on her face. I sigh and start swinging at the trapdoor's hinges. One of these days…

***

...Eventually, the hinges snap in a cascade of rust, causing the trapdoor to awkwardly sag in its frame. I toss the ruined door to the side, narrowly missing Sky with it.

"Hey! Watch where you're throwing potentially painful pieces of lumber!"

"Eh, doesn’t matter, I missed. So let's check out where this pit leads. Your wings haven't locked up or anything, right?" Sky nods. "Good. I'll head down first, just in case something's waiting for us down there," I say with a nervous laugh. I'd rather not get more injuries, but... what the hay, right?

I climb down the hole. As I descend, I can discern a…rather…nasty… I vomit. Dear Luna, that bloody well smells! It's as if someone took a corpse, shoved a bag of garlic into a skunk's corpse, then put the whole deal in a pestle and mortar and sprayed the result all over the place. It's incredibly dark, the only light source being from my magic. Unicorns: Nature's light bulb.

Damp, dark, derelict and dirty. Yep, that’s about right. All we need now is something breathing down my neck, and this area will be complete.

I feel my pegasus companion land next to me. She immediately taps me on the shoulder with a hoof, audibly holding back her own nausea.

"Lucky… I hate to be a buzzkill, but this place reeks worse then that month where you couldn't take a bath," she comments with a tone of disgusted bemusement. Laugh it up, Sky. One of these days, you'll do something so stupid that it'll be perfect blackmail material. "I'm not entirely sure if I can take this smell for much longer…" From the look of her, it's rather clear that she can't—her face is incredibly pale, like a smoker going through withdrawals.

I nod. "To be honest, I'm only going to have a look at our surroundings, and then I'm going to make my way back out of here. If you want to pick through that bandit's saddlebags while I scout ahead, be my guest," I say with an air of false perkiness, needing to use every ounce of willpower to keep myself from emptying my bowels again. We all have our facades to maintain, even when it's pointless. My friend waves her hoof and flies back out of the tunnel.

I take a good look around the tunnel that I find myself in, having gotten used to the stomach flipping stench. Outside of the smell, it's a rather drab tunnel, being made of surprisingly well-weathered concrete that has visibly suffered through years of abandonment, with cracks reaching out like greedy little suckers across the walls. There's dirt (Probably trailed in by...something. I don’t know what, I don’t really care either), vomit and eggs here, nothing to really make note of, outside of the fact that there are eggs in a filthy, locked basement in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. I edge closer to the eggs in question, making sure I don't disturb them. The eggs are a light gray, surrounded by mud piled into a makeshift nest. I move my wrench around the area, making sure to make note of anything out of the norm. There, in the corner. There's a pile of mangled bodies with chunks torn out. Those tears can't be from a weapon, and they seem to nearly match the damage to the corpse above.

My eyes slide out of focus while I do the math. The mutilated and unlooted body, poisoned wounds, the stench coming from everywhere in here... Oh, and the growling, can't forget the growling. That, at least, is probably just Sky trying to scare me. I turn around, swinging my wrench lightly, playing along... and collide with a very large, clearly hungry manticore. It rapidly recovers from the pathetic hit and lunges, slashing at me with the vigor of a lion on the hunt. Which, honestly, it kind of is. If not for my armor, I would have been liberated of a leg. Instead, the slash amounts to tearing a nice hole in my side and ripping a chunk out of my flesh. The slash may not have been fatal, but it served its intended purpose, causing me to let down my guard and fumble my wrench.

It stabs its tail into the wound, and I can feel the stinger go clear through, coming out the other side with a sickening sucking noise.

Yeah, this'll be no problem, huh, Fortunatus?

I lose consciousness as I feel the chill of death seep through my limbs. Just before I black out, I can see the outline of Sky charging at the manticore, sword in her mouth. Bloody moron, what's she doing...

***

Pain; what a funny concept. You go through life learning that pain is a sign of success, and at the same time, a sign of failure, a sign of progress. The pain of success shows you that you've finally made it, even if you've broken every single one of your personal code of ethics to get there. Failure should be clear enough, given my current status; progress, doubly so. Ever hear the saying 'no pain, no gain'? It's true, to be honest. Only the luckiest of folks make it through life unscathed or even relatively intact. Once in a while, the pain gets to be too much to handle, and you turn to external methods of tuning it out; drugs, potions, or even cancelling it out with worse pain.

Look, I don’t know how pain cancels out pain. I just...yeah, moving on.

As it turns out, I’ve somehow survived my injuries. As I come to, pain fills every ounce of my being, body and soul. Through the pain, I can hear the pages of a book turning… Sky? I can also hear, very clearly, my heart beating heavily in my ears. I also seem to have a splitting headache; that's probably just a hangover, more than anything; wouldn't be the first time. I slowly open my eyes and start looking around. I'm still in the abandoned building, next to the bandit's corpse. Sky is sitting on the aforementioned corpse reading a book. Survival In the Northern Reaches…When did she pick that up, anyways? I feel awful, but I'm still alive. As alive as I can get, I guess. I sit up, the light hurting my eyes. Yep, I'm hung over; lovely. When was the last time I even had alcohol? I groan and hold my head.

"Welcome back to the world of the living. I used every last zebra healing brew that we had on you, by the way, so don't ask. Also before you ask, yes, you're probably still dying. Why the hell didn't you call for help as soon as you saw it, anyway?" She stomps her hooves, her voice more than a little frustrated with me. I get on all fours gradually, tuning out the pain from my hangover. I notice that the door's been stuffed back in its frame, and is being held in there by copious chunks of rubble.

I shake my head wearily. "I didn't want you to throw yourself into harms way for my sake. I'm more than durable enough to take a bit of a beating, and you damn well know it." I growl at her. I'm not in the mood for the third degree. “By the way, what is in those brews? My mouth feels like I’ve gargled sandpaper and apples,” I say with a grimace.

"I'm pretty sure that you may be either high or hung over, so the light probably hurts like crazy. You deserve it for that little stunt. Now, come over here and check out what I found in that bandit's saddlebags; you're probably going to love this!" She quietly adds 'as much as you love anything…' under her breath. I pretend not to have heard that. I notice that there's a light trail of blood going from the base of the trap door to where I woke up…was I really that messed up? I look at my side, where the stinger impaled me. Thankfully, the injuries seem to have healed for the most part, leaving a very ragged scar along the flesh where the stinger made its entrance. The exit wound, on the other hand, seems to be bandaged rather than healed magically. Guess that's where we ran out of potions.

I weakly stagger over to Sky, having a tough time walking, much less making haste of any kind. The hangover is bad, and the blood loss isn't helping. The result? I'm more lightheaded than an alcoholic Griffin. Brilliant they may be, but… let's just leave it with ‘they really like their whiskey’. I shake my head and look at the spilled contents of the saddlebags, if you could even call them that, given that they're more like a pair of burlap sacks secured with twine. Amongst the strewn items are the usual, various pieces of junk, crap like filthy magazines, a bottle of rum and… a vial of something amber-like. Not touching that. However, there are also two items of note along with all the aforementioned junk. Nonetheless, I carefully snag the bottle of rum. What the hell, right?

The first one is, quite simply, a much more detailed map of the northern lands than the one Sky already has. Someone's taken the liberty of scratching in various smaller towns, as well as comments next to them (I guess I have something to read during my next hospital visit.) I nod and levitate the map into Sky's saddlebags. I have no need for the map, given that she knows how to actually read the damned things, an accomplishment that I've never been able to match. She chuckles at my nonchalant reaction to the map.

"That's not the best part, though. You'll probably like this a lot more," she says with all of her usual enthusiasm. The 'best part', as it turns out, is the second item of the note. An impressive looking orb that seems to, like the last orb I've encountered, glow dully. It, unlike the last orb I encountered, doesn't change its brightness according to my proximity; Odd. The orb is a bright shade of vermilion with the same etchings as the orb of darkness, with the sole difference of having lines of what appears to be brass running through the veins. I wrap it in my telekinesis and a stable, comforting warmth spreads through my entire body. A warmth that strengthens my resolve and helps me bear my injuries. I lift it into my bags, and the warmth becomes noticeably stronger than the lightheadedness from my current condition. As soon as I release my magical grip on the artifact, the heat dissipates and I'm reduced to needing help standing up. My legs buckle under me and I find myself lying in the dirt. I begin shivering profusely, the encompassing warmth of the desert completely absent… my friend simply looks at me and shakes her head.

Yeah, this trip will be an easy in-and-out, won't it, little Fortunatus?

***

After several hours of lying in the dirt, I've finally worked up the willpower to begin moving again. I unsteadily get to my hooves, my entire body sore. The pain has receded to a dull throbbing, and my headache has become much more bearable; still sensitive to light, but at least the headache has gotten less…obtrusive, if that makes any sense. Able to concentrate a bit more, I look around the one room building, examining the area to try to piece together what happened while I was out. As mentioned before, there's blood going from the trapdoor to where I woke up. That's obvious enough; getting impaled by a Manticore is usually fatal.

…If Sky wasn't nearby to save me…

I shake my head and banish the thought. I don't need to dwell on the past, what's done is done. Other than the blood, there's a chunk of my barding, torn, snatched by a chunk of timber. I'll admit, in a way, pain makes life a bit more… bearable; it reminds you that you're alive, even if it chastises you for your errors simultaneously. I slowly trudge over to my pegasus companion, still sitting there reading her book.

"Hey…how are you holding up? You certainly look forlorn,” I say with a rough voice. Geez, how badly did that…thing… mess me up? Sky looks over at me and sighs. She's no worse for wear than earlier, outside of her coat being completely absent. Guess that got destroyed in the fight.

Wait a second...we weren’t carrying any bandages, as far as I know.

"I'm fine. To be honest, I'm concerned for you, considering that we haven't even been gone a week and you're already on the brink of death." She gets to her hooves and slips her saddlebags onto her back in one deft motion. How pegasi manage such agility without magic is beyond me. She looks at me, her expression an odd mixture of exhaustion and concern. "Now, if you're done lying around, we should get moving. The town of Oasis is a short gallop from here, apparently being nestled in the base of the Femur Mountains." She picks up my wrench in her mouth and tosses it to me. "Get your equipment together. This building is starting to give me the creeps…" Her voice trails off as she looks at the trapdoor. I simply nod and retrace my steps out of the ruined building.

***

Hours later, we're still walking as the sun begins to set. My pegasus friend is looking tired, with her flight having become lethargic. We can't rest yet, even if both of us are ready to pass out. We've been following Sky's map for the entire walk, and there's no sign of the promised town. My winged companion lands and turns to me, her expression is one of frustration, with her eyebrows angled hard.

I sigh and levitate the warm orb to my friend. "Keep a hold of this, it should help keep your strength up." I cough and a shiver runs down my spine. "At least, that's what it does for me. With anything zebra, who knows what it'll do. They've always been fans of dabbling in things that should be left well alone, so…"

Sky raises an eyebrow then shakes her head. "I'll pass. You probably need it more than me, and, since it's related to zebras…" She spits on the ground. "Striped cowards, the lot of them. If they aren't hiding out in forests, they're intentionally raising a fuss about being mistreated due to their appearance. Maybe, just maybe, if they'd avoid being thieves and actually work a day in their lives…"

"SKY! Settle down, they're no zebras in earshot. Let's just…let's… cripe, what are we going to do? I figured for sure that we'd at least be at a town by now," I mutter, my voice trailing off as I realize how appropriate Oasis' name is…

"Sorry about that. I'm not sure what came over me there," she says with a small laugh. Good old Sky… always able to make light of a situation. I shake my head and continue walking, albeit rather slowly. "Hey. Keep your head up; we can't give up this early. We still have plenty of items to recover, and I wouldn't know where to begin, "she says cheerfully, her voice beginning to perk up. Great to see that she's still herself, even if she's clearly attempting to sound concerned.

I sigh and turn to look at her, stopping in my tracks. "Look. I'm quiet because I feel like a chunk of regurgitated meat. It's nothing to do with you, and I'm not giving up at the first hurdle. Even if this little escapade kills me, I'll bloody well do my job right for once. Besides, it's great to be seeing some new locals, huh?" I say with the slightest hint of sarcasm. I know I should be serious about this job, but…why stress about the path to our goal? A thought occurs to my exhausted brain. "Erm… Sky… Just a quick question."

She flaps her wings impatiently. "What's up?"

"About that abandoned house earlier, how did that bandit get mutilated?"

"What do you mean?" she asks as she fishes the map out of her bags.

"Well, I had to break the lock to go in there — bad idea, I know — but... that corpse was fresh, and I recognize him from the attack. How did the manticore, and I'm assuming it was the manticore, get to him through a locked door?"

She silently stares at the map, her mouth moving a bit as she works out where we are. She puts down the map and simply shrugs with her wings. "Well, from the looks of it, we aren't too far from Oasis. To be honest, I could probably be there within half an hour if I flew ahead—"

"I'm telling ya, the Canterlot mountain moved since the last time we were in the mainland, Tind," a gruff male voice sounds from behind us. I nearly jump at this; how long were they trailing us? Sky is similarly startled, quickly stuffing the map back in her bags.

"And I'm telling you, you need to lay off the moon dust. Mountains don't move and you damned well know it," a relaxed female voice retorts. I shoot a look over my shoulder, glancing at the pair. The stallion is a rather mature earth pony, appearing to be at least at the middle of his life, if not older. It's far too dark to make out his coat colour or even his eye colour here, but I can make out a pair of amber goggles hanging on his forehead. The mare, 'Tind', on the other hoof… Bright. Freaking. Neon. Green. Her coat hurts my eyes when I look at it. She appears to be much younger, barely out of her twenties. It’s too dark to make out their cutie marks.

I open my mouth to speak but quickly get cut off by the stallion. “‘Ey, you folks don’t look like ya’re from around here. What brings ya out ‘ere?” He cheerfully questions us; Sky and ‘Tind’ seem to be glaring at each other, or maybe they’re just exchanging a glance. I can’t tell anymore.

Damn this low visibility.

I blink and respond, “We’re trailing some bandits that hit our caravan a couple days ago. Their leader called herself ‘Maple Thorn’, if that means anything to you.” The wind starts picking up speed once more, kicking up sand into my eyes. “Son of a-!” I drop onto my haunches and start wiping the sand out. Twice in as many days? Seriously? The stallion has a dumbfounded expression on his face, as if I just insulted his mother and then asked for money.

“Did ya say ‘Maple Thorn’?” the Stallion asks quietly, looking away.

“Aye, that I did. Why?”

He takes a deep breath. “Right. So, the thing ya need to know, and I say this ‘onestly, is that what yer doing is looking to die. Maple Thorn and ‘er bandits are some of the most vicious tribals in the northern reaches,” he calmly explains as Sky and ‘Tind’ argue about something. I smile and nod, ignoring the mares.

“Sounds about right. My name’s Lucky, by the way.”

“Flint,” he says with a small grin. “Where are ya’ folks ‘eading, anyway?”

“Oasis, but we’re having an awful time of it. To be honest about it, we’re hopelessly lost.”

“Oasis? Tind and I are going that way. Ya’ want to tag along?”

My eyes light up. “I’m definitely interested in that offer.” I grin and look towards my companion. Sure enough, she and Tind are still arguing. “Sky? Did you hear Flint through your arbitrary spat?” She nods, shoving Tind away from her. “And could you please refrain from attacking friendlies? I’d rather not have to watch my back all the time if I can avoid it.”

And so, our new guide leads us on through the night.

***

“And then ‘e says, ‘tell the bartender about the time ya’ called the witch doctor a striped son o’ a mare’,“ Flint says with a laugh. He stops in his tracks and waves a hoof. “The best part, the absolute best part o’ all that? It’s a true story! I witnessed it! Some o’ the people ya’ meet in Manehattan are great fun, ya’ know?” We’ve been travelling with the pair for a couple hours, and we’ve devolved to swapping jokes and stories. As it turns out, Flint and Tind are, essentially, travelling salesponies. According to their stories (some of which are rather...unique), they’ve been all across equestria. “‘ey, we’re coming to the Gravule desert. Follow my movement exactly, or you’ll be lost in the sandstorm. Trust me, ya’ don’t want to get lost out ‘ere,” he instructs calmly, stopping in front of me.

I raise an eyebrow and narrow my eyes. "What d'you mean, 'You'll be lost in the sandstorm'? I'm pretty sure that I'm more than capable of following you, even if I screw up my movement, I should be able to wander my way out of the storm," I say with a smirk, giving the warm artifact a quick squeeze with my magic; can't let myself give up just yet. I receive my answer in the form of a smack upside the head and a roll of the eyes. What, he's already getting tired of my questions?

Several hours of listening to me talk probably does that.

"What I mean, Black'ide, is that the Gravule desert is protected with a powerful spell, causing any who don't follow a specific route through the storm to seemingly disappear. As far as I know, none who've gotten lost in the sandstorm have ever returned," he says with a hint of boredom creeping into his voice.

Seriously? “Who was strong enough and messed up enough to cast a bloody hex on an entire desert?” I frown. “And, for that matter, why up north? From what I understand, everything north of the mainland is screwed up.” I rub my eyes. This day is going great- nearly died, I’ve gotten lost, and I’ve found an item on the list, and now I’ve found that somebody was depraved enough to hex an entire desert.

Flint pulls his goggles over his eyes. “If I knew, I’d go murder the bastard. As it stands, nopony knows,” he begins. Tind is pacing above us impatiently. I notice that her eyes are shut. How is she flying like that?

“Well, needless to say, most folk just put up with it or avoid leaving the north by land. If things were optimal, I’d take a boat along the coast, but...” He coughs and resumes walking northeast. “Trade routes ‘ave been dangerous of late. By land, they tend to get lost in the storm ‘ere. By air, bandits attack them.” He stops and scratches his chin, pondering something. “Now that I think about it, even if they get past the sandstorm, they usually attack anyone who doesn’t immediately duck into Oasis.”

Lovely. Of course I can’t avoid bandits. “And by water? I can imagine that somebody’s tried just, y’know, sailing along the coast,” I retort, taking a closer look at the stallion. Matte brown. No wonder I couldn’t make out what colour he was earlier. Even now, it’s hard to tell—even with what little light remains—the sandstorm makes seeing hard (and somewhat painful, to boot.)

He smiles. “Of course they’ve tried. Unnatural storms ‘ave been brewing off the coast, all the way up to Stormcaller, every ship that’s been sent has been found, crashed and looted, on the coast. No, the only simple way to get anything into the reaches is, well...” he coughs and points a hoof north. “In most cases, randomly wandering through the storm. It’s not un’eard of to get lucky and make yer way through—’ell, that’s how I made it my first time,” he says proudly.

O-kay... Our guide got through a potentially fatal sandstorm through luck alone.

That’s reassuring. Sky and Tind exchange a look, and the former lands.

“Look, as much as I’d love to hang around in a sandstorm at night, maybe you two should save your chattering for a later time, like when we get to...oh, I don’t know... a town?” She deadpans and glides back up to where the other pegasus is waiting.

Flint nods. “Right. Black’ide, stay with me. Sky, follow Tind,” he orders, his tone suddenly serious. This just makes both my pegasus companion and me uneasy.

“Why should I follow her, huh? I can barely stand her, for crying out loud!” The tired mare cries out, asking what’s on both our minds.

Tind snorts. “Well, if you want to follow the land-bound folk through a veritable maze of a sandstorm, be my guest. Thing is, for those of us who can fly, we can just go over it. Turns out, whoever set the hex, they only hexed the vertical plane to the average height of a pony. Pegasi, as long as they don’t land, can just fly straight over,” she says mockingly, her hoof on her chin.

I’m already getting tired of her, and I’ve only known her for a few hours. Sky looks at me and raises an eyebrow. I simply nod. At least she won’t be alone. “See you there, hopefully,” I say with an impish grin.

The pair fly off to the north, towards the horizon. Yeah, this is going to be just fine.

Flint smacks me across the back of my head again. “Let’s go. Fall be’ind me, and I’m leaving you in the storm. Are we understood?” I nod. The desert night is starting to get really cold, and my barding barely constitutes as clothing; I’m freezing my rear off.

***

“East. Go east,” Flint calls out. We’ve been traversing the storm for a solid twenty minutes now, and the cumulative effect of the sand on my eyes is starting to kick in. Seeing’s getting hard, the sand’s perpetually buffeting my face, and, to be honest (and rather petty) I could go for a drink right about now; something straight out of Appleloosa’s bar would be great.

“How close are we, mate? I can barely keep my eyes open, and I’m really starting to feel the blood loss,” I shout over the storm’s continued din. If I ever get my hooves on whoever cast this bloody spell...I’ll probably ask them nicely to remove it, and if they refuse, I’d question them about why they put it up in the first place.

A little spineless, are we, Fortunatus? You’d just...question them? You wouldn’t even blackmail them, or try to threaten them into dispelling the area, ensuring safe passage for travellers?

Yeah, this fucking storm is worth way more than a kind questioning, it’s worth a wrench down the fucking throat!

A spike of pain surges through my forehead. Great, I’m hearing voices now, just what I need on top of my injuries! Flint remains silent as we trudge through the storm. Conversation is nigh impossible with the sheer volume of the storm, and neither of us would want to talk anyway.

“Do keep up, pacifist. We’re almost there, just another half a mile,” Flint shouts, his voice barely audible. We’re passing a wooden post that’s inexplicably still standing, despite the constant barrage of the sand on it. It would appear that someone, pony or otherwise, has left a ragged, somehow clean white, scarf tied to the middle of the post, its frayed material flapping with reckless abandon in the wind. I grin and pull it off of the post. Surprisingly, the knot comes undone incredibly easily, requiring just a light pull to come loose.

Doesn’t it seem a bit...convenient that it would come off that easily, despite being tied tight enough to withstand the storm?

I quickly tie the scarf over my mouth. I am getting so tired of sand. To be honest, I don’t care if it’s actually stopping me from breathing any sand in, it makes me feel better about being out here. I gallop after Flint, my eyes struggling to make out his shape in the storm. “Hey, wait up!” I shout into the storm; I doubt he heard it, but...

***

“‘old up a second, if ya’re still with me,” Flint says, his tone indifferent, holding his hoof out at the edge of the storm, tripping me. He jumps upon hearing me hit the ground, turning in a panic. “You’re not too agile, are ya, Black’ide?” I shake my head, getting to my hooves once more. I really hope this doesn’t become a common occurrence. “Nice scarf, by the way. Ya steal it from one of the marking poles?” I nod. “Right, I’m not one to argue. Anyway, we’re actually at the end of the,” he clears his throat, “trail, it’s just a quick gallop north to Oasis from here. Don’t get distracted, just run. The nearby gangs love attacking folks who are just coming out of the storm,” he comments, his voice caustic.

When did he get so bitter? We all do what he need to in order to make a living these days. “Let me guess. They take advantage of the fact that any traveller is likely exhausted and disoriented, and take them down before anypony knows that they were ever there?”

He looks surprised, pushing his goggles back up to his forehead. “Actually, yes.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at me. Cerulean eyes under amber goggles. How odd. “‘ow do ya know so much about the ambush strategies of gangers?” He asks, his voice suspicious.

I hold my hooves up in defense, shaking them. “Because I’ve fallen victim to them plenty of times! Those monsters aren’t exactly original in their strategies; get ambushed by one, you’ve been ambushed by them all,” I retort, my voice uneven and nervous. On the plus side, the storm’s to our backs now; we finally got out of that bloody desert. Next time, I’m getting Sky to carry me over that cursed desert.

What? She’s strong enough to lift me. She’s done it before, unicorns aren’t very heavy, you know!

“Prove it, little one.”

“You can’t be serious. How can I prove that I’ve been ambushed before? I can’t extract my memories and show them to you, or I would; only the strongest of unicorn magi are capable of memory magic!”

“Fine. I’ll just ask yer marefriend when I see ‘er,” he snarls.

What?

“Marefriend? What are you going on about, mate?”

“The pegasus; come on, ya’ know what I’m talking about,” he says with a smirk.

“Mate, we’re just friends. Besides, I don’t swing that way,” I comment dryly. Some people...

He will not be deterred.

“Well then... who sent you? Celestia? The cult of discord? Or are you really just some poor sod with shit for brains and an inability to disobey an order?”

“Nobody sent me! I’m just retrieving some stolen goods, and I need to trail some bastard bandits down to do it, is that so bloody surprising? Is revenge unheard of up north, or are you just dense?”

He pokes me in the snout. “Two ponies, travelling north, chatting like old friends? Nobody in their right minds comes up here. Yer cover story is just pathetic; ‘oh no, my caravan got hit! I’m going to chase down one o’ the most dangerous groups o’ bandits to the farthest points in the northern reaches to retrieve some items!’ Do ya really expect anyone to buy that? Ya should’ve stayed in Los Pegasus, Black’ide,” he snorts, “if ya’ve ever actually been there. The more I find out about you, the less likely I find that any o’ it is actually true,” he accuses, his voice practically a whisper. “Oh, and by the way? Revenge is well known up here. Ya don’t swear vengeance against bandits, gangers, or tribals. Ya will just get yerself killed, if yer fortunate,” he huffs and continues trotting north.

Maybe you shouldn’t tell folks about yourself, l’il Lucky. Your life is...unique, we’ll say that. Most ponies aren’t very well travelled, and as such tend to call bullshit on anyone as young as you who claims they are.

Does my life really seem that fabricated?

Yes. Now stop pissing around and get your flank to the town, you heard what Flint said. Honestly, how did you do anything before me?

A couple things. First, who are you? Second, what are you? Third, you’ve done nothing but make my head hurt and snark at me. You’re like Ochre all over again, except you’re not visible, and you’re marginally less painful to be around.

All will be revealed in due time, little Fortunatus, all in due time.

I roll my eyes and gallop after Flint. “Hey, wait up!” He doesn’t even break his stride as he rapidly turns and clocks me. Hard.

“Bugger off. I may be in the mood to deal with ya in the morning, but yer voice is really starting to grate on me, Black’ide,” he growls.

Dear Luna, are his eyes on fire!? I think I’ll let him cool off for a while; maybe there’s a good bar in town?

***

I stand at the gate to Oasis. This place is...rather underwhelming, honestly. From my position at the south gate, I can make out three main streets, all dirt. What few buildings I can make out are all poorly constructed, slum-styled shacks. One building stands out; It’s the only one in the town that’s made of stone, and even so, the stone is visibly chipped and cracked...I give it a year, three tops, before it falls apart. Given the air of importance coming off the building, it’s more than likely some sort of town hall, or maybe I’m just suffering from sleep deprivation, blood loss, and alcohol withdrawal. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hallucinated feeling things that don’t exist; my time in Los Pegasus was mostly spent in a booze-and-drug fueled haze.

Oh boy, time to wander through a dirty, probably vermin infested, village; I doubt I can even call this a full-fledged town, much less a city. All I need now is to be obstructed by a bum and get mugged, and this will feel just like home!

I sigh and limp off to find a hotel, motel, inn, tavern, or even a cardboard box.

These days are strange...Isn’t life grand?

Lucky: Trait added.

Cool story, bro: Your history is less than believable. When introducing yourself, you have a much lower chance of being judged positively. This trait is negated whenever you have physical proof of your stories. Shame that most of your proof is back home, huh?

(Author’s notes: This thing still on? Right. Sorry about the two month hiatus, I’ve been making quite a few revisions to my notes. That, and I’m lazy as hell. The next chapter will be put out much quicker, so there’s that. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, both of you. If you didn’t, please tell me what you didn’t like in the comments. Or just thumbs down and laugh at it. Either way... Ciao.)

Author's note.

Right, here we are once more. I'm in the progress of rewriting this story's plot, as my planned direction strayed far away from what I've already written. Upon completion, I'll add the revised chapters into this, or simply replace the chapters that already exist. I'll figure something out.