Once upon a time, on a sunny day that would (by the accounting of most) be no different than any other, the wind gently blew across the lush green summer grass and crossed the downtrodden dirt road to carry the occasional stray blade of green or unidentifiable bit of fluff caught on the breeze towards the most famous forest in Equestria; the Everfree. There was only a single pony present to witness this mundane experience as he traveled along said road towards the next settlement.
While the breeze was certainly welcome in the summer heat, the off-white pony was far too preoccupied with his personal thoughts to produce much marvel at the majestic beauty of nature, even as it ruffled his two-toned rust red and brown mane and tail while passing by. His musings were directed at the goal of this particular journey, started about three months prior; the town of Ponyville. It was a simple and unassuming name as far as the stallion thought, but the reports he had received about the place were far from either. Dragons, Chimera, Diamond Dogs, and more were reported within the last two years alone. For someplace supposedly “sleeping in the shadow of the capital”, it seemed to be some weird nexus of crazy-dangerous and nopony seemed to have any idea why; at least none he had questioned or interviewed.
This particular pony was Rough’n Tumble, an earth pony agent of the crown officially known as an Outrider of the Barding Order but more commonly referred to by the masses as a “fixer”: one who traveled the land to deal with dangerous beasts, uprisings (if one were ever to occur), and to investigate anything that might threaten the safety or security of the realm. Despite the noble branding, Rough’n Tumble himself felt he was an amalgamation of monster-hunting thug, two-bit detective, and trouble-snuffing bloodhound. Most ponies looked upon him like an unwelcome relative at Hearth’s Warming dinner due to his…unique visage and the speculative reputation of his order. Make no mistake, ponies liked the idea of an Iron Hoof of Justice out there in the world, just not on their own front lawns, you know?
Despite the sensational news stories that seemed to fill papers and magazines these days about Ponyville, the surrounding area, and the “Heroes of Equestria” dealing with all kinds of problems, not once had Tumble been called to the area to assist or even investigate. Celestia had even sent out a short message to all agents that “the areas immediately around Canterlot are well protected” and that his order was to continue their good work on the fringes of the empire and even in a few foreign lands. While he usually wouldn’t question the princess in most things, he found this beyond strange. He was, after all, one of the most accomplished and dangerous agents in Barding, despite being an earth pony.
Having attained Grandmaster status of both the Rolling Earth and Shattering Stone styles of martial arts, he was also in possession of a few powerful trinkets he’d been awarded over the years for meritorious service or looted from the troves of dangerous criminals he’d dealt with. Even if he had lost an eye (his left, now covered by a black eye patch) and his right foreleg was a rune-etched metal prosthetic, he’d turned these supposed handicaps into advantages through training and the use of minor magical artifacts.
In spite of his fairly young age of twenty-four, his various wounds and multitude of scars led others to believe he was quite a few years older. His quiet and terse manner of speech gave the mistaken impression that he didn’t like ponies even though it was simply a habit of spending most of his time alone on the road or facing off against dangerous things that held no interest in discourse. He’d tried of course; believe you me, but few things he dealt with seemed willing to talk. Rough’n Tumble may not have been the happiest of ponies, but neither was he a bitter or reclusive stallion as many had assumed him to be. He craved friends, like every other pony did he figured, but so far he hadn’t had much luck and his job kept him too busy to reach anything close to brooding about it.
Right now however, he was on medical leave due to barely surviving an encounter with some crazy unicorn that had turned herself into an undead mage, also known as a lich. He’d managed to finally bring the monster down, but the collection of diseases, poisons, and entropic magic nearly overwhelmed all of his trinkets and gadgets despite his meticulous preparation. He was bedridden in Vanhoover General for three weeks and then ordered by the Princesses via scroll to take some time off and “visit family”. He was slightly hurt at the suggestion, since his family had been gone for some time but he didn’t hold it against them as he figured they simply forgot or were never informed about his specific circumstances. He was only one pony out of an entire kingdom after all.
Thus, he decided that he was going to get eyes (or eye in his case) on this anomalous place called Ponyville and see if there was something below the surface going on there or if it really was just coincidence; which he didn’t believe in anyway. “Coincidence” was usually the result of sloppy investigation or outright denial of reality and he wanted no part of it. While he was aware that the Elements of Harmony supposedly lived in the not-so-sleepy town, he knew almost nothing about them due to no small part on behalf of the Princesses’ media blackout as they seemed to want to keep their private lives intact as much as possible. This didn’t bother the stallion much. If Celestia entrusted the most powerful weapon Equestria had with these young mares, then that was a good enough seal of approval for him.
Rough’n Tumble paused a moment because he was craving a smoke. Most ponies shied away from the potent grass, but Tumble had developed a taste for in while in the northern Griffin Kingdoms. They grew a smooth and heady strain of tobacco that seemed to flourish in the crisp air and Tumble had purchased a small cask for his own use on the long roads. Even griffins were impressed with his hoof-rolled smokes, as most of them preferred a pipe. Since walking with three hooves was a pain in the flank, he decided that cigarettes were his method of delivery. It took him many nights of fumbling around the campfire to learn how to roll a cigarette with hooves, but his diligence paid off and now he was smoking like a pro.
With practiced ease, the stallion slid a rolled smoke from underneath his saddle bags and into his mouth, then rubbed the anklet around his left foreleg along the runed right foreleg to produce a small globe of fire cradled in his left frog. Bringing it up to the cigarette, the end began to glow bright red and he stomped his hoof once against the ground to snuff the flame while taking a deep drag on the fine tobacco. Letting out a long plume of smoke, the stallion checked the horizon and gaged that he had about four or so more hours of sunlight before night fell. Shifting the saddlebags on his back, he rolled his withers a few times and continued on his way, wondering just what kind of ponies lived in such a vortex of trouble.
Author's Note
If this story interests you, please leave a like or a comment, or both! 
