Damaged goods

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.)