Act 2 Part 2: Conspiracies, Secret Plots, and Politics.

It has been a while, hasn't it? This journal has been rotting away in my closet for about three years now. Waterlogged and damaged, it is of no use, so I've copied down all the entries that I could into this new one. It's been a painful few years, running, hiding, staying alive, taming beasts of this horrifying forest. Each day is a struggle, but now I've finally nestled myself in.

A few days ago, I came across information detailing a group of Zebra witch-doctors attempting to revive an 'ancient evil'. Imagine my surprise when I come along and find out that it was an orc, a green-skinned humanoid usually described as dumb, but strong and adaptable. However, the orcs of this world are different. They are smart and strong, heavily magically reliant though, hugely adaptable like humans. They are the closest equivalent to humans on this world. Maybe along the evolutionary tree we changed in some way. Either way this opens for me the possibility of disguising myself as one of these creatures.

Also, while dealing with those necromancers, I encountered a party of minotaur adventurers on their way to do the same thing. One in particular stood out, this assassin or rogue or whatever class he would be in Magic the Gathering or whatever board game you would find this class in. I think someone called him Bedlam. Anyway, this guy is especially important, due to the color of his eye. The sclera was yellow, the iris was red. It was odd that I remember this from somewhere, but I swear this has to be important in some way. I can just feel it, like there's something going on here that is much bigger than me.

Whatever it is, Vallard is in an excellent position to get news about politics and other important things, he said sarcastically. I really need to get some news, but the outskirts of the land to the north are not safe, and neither are the lands in all the other directions. Equestria has a hand in pretty much all the other lands, whether it be spies, peace councils, or other such things. If I were to go in any direction, I would be caught and probably sentenced to my death. I can't say that it wouldn't be better than living in such a sorry state, waking up each morning and having to change my bandages, the itching burning me like...

[A dried liquid is on the page.]

Anyway, there are many fates worse than death. Spending the rest of my life in a dank cell, nothing to ease the pain of the itching, would be horrible and cruel, but I wouldn't put it past any of these rulers. The Two Sisters claim to be goddesses, claim to control the sun and moon, they must be egomaniacs. The other rulers are dictatorial. The minotaurs are ruled over by a feudal system, the griffons in a similar state, the dragons disorganized but forced to listen to the most powerful of their kin, and the other races of the world in dictator-like kingdoms or otherwise. A few rulers claim to be gods, like the Two Sisters.

I can't escape anything this time. I can't run away from my problems. Facing them head-on is my only option, and likely those adventurers will report to their king about this, telling them about the Warg-Tamer of the Everfree. Then, the Two Sisters will come in, swooping down to kill me.

Give me a moment while I go take a smoke break.

Alright, now I'm ready to continue, I suppose. This situation isn't ideal, not in any way. I need to escape, but there is no where to hide. Either face my death by their hand, or mine. A grim situation. A situation in which I need a plan. I have heard rumors of shapeshifters, bug-like ones that can turn others into their kind. Maybe, if I find one, I can force them to transform me. I know it's a long shot. I know it's not going to be easy to find one, much less make it do what I want it to. But, if I can, I may just live long enough to tell this to my own children. Either get what I want, or die trying, damn it.

Before I go, if anyone finds this journal and wonders who wrote it, my name is Asrael. I don't think anyone is reading this, but who knows? Maybe in the future someone will find this and put in a museum, claiming it to be the diary of some mystical long extinct creature. No matter the case, I will probably not live very long either way, if I get one of those creatures to transform me or not.

Maybe, though, thousands of years later, I will live on in some form. Written word, preserved skeleton or artifacts. But, that is enough of that. I need to get onto the tasks for the day.

"Hey, you ever wonder why we keep getting these relatively safe posts?" A guard I choose to name Annoying Prick said.

"No, but I wonder how you keep fucking forgetting my answer you dimwit! Seriously, each time we get a safe post you ask this question, and each time we get a dangerous post you ask me the same thing except inverted!" The other guard, who I choose to name Horace the Horse yelled back in reply to Annoying Prick's question.

Annoying Prick then sniffled, then started crying. Horace the horse just stood there, looking kind of annoyed. Meanwhile, I inhaled deeply. Then, I put the pipe to my lips, blowing hard. Horace fell over, and I quickly did the same with Prick. I grinned in success as I hid the bodies in the bushes, unconscious and tripping on hard, addictive drugs but not dead.

With that little task complete, the small Solar Guard platoon could easily be taken care of. I would leave those two and one of the other eight in the camp alive. That pony in the camp would take care of the other two. But, if I could get in and out without alerting anyone, all of them would survive. This depended upon my ability to be stealthy, which I didn't doubt considering I could sneak up behind a manticore easily, but that was out in the forest, where I had the lay of the land and the advantage of home turf. Here, in this small encampment, this was the home turf of the soldiers. Of course, I had surveyed the area before coming down here, but you can only see so much with a make-shift spyglass.

I was slightly afraid, but then I looked down to the hatchet and kris I had in my hands, and I calmed considerably. I crouched, keeping low to the ground as I liked, gliding over the grass and branches as if I floated over them. Carefully, my bandage wrapped feet stepped over roots and rocks, as I came from the underbrush, slowly approaching a small camp. Four tents were set out in a half circle formation, with a wagon on the other side. In the middle of the camp was a firepit that was still crackling with embers, probably having been tended earlier. I kept my guard raised, even though those ponies were probably comfortable in their enchanted blankets. I didn't have such luxuries, so I was hoping to find some of them on my supply run.

As I glided over to the wagon, I replaced my weapons in their sheathes, then took my lockpick set from my belt. I began picking the small padlock to the door on the back of the wagon, it only taking about a minute to set all the pins into position. That done, I replaced my tools with my weapons, carefully entering the wagon and closing the door behind me.

Inside, I found the jackpot. Enough food to feed me for days! Blankets galore! I must have cut one of Celestia's arteries! This must be one of those caravans that were carrying much needed supplies to the main fort in the Everfree, Midnight's Heart. It was nestled between the four sections of the Everfree, giving it the ability to mobilize a force to flush me out quickly, which was why I had been looking for these supply wagons. Each one I ransacked meant less food for them, and that was a deadly thing in winter. Less blankets also meant less battle-ready troopers, as they could have frostbite or other such cold-related problems.

Then I realized my luck here. This can't be a coincidence. This can't be. This has to be some kind of trap, right? I filled my pack with some of the blankets, took a few of the crates of food out, then burned the rest. I took one trunk full of much-needed vegetables, as well as a pouch of tobacco. I was relieved to find that, and almost immediately rolled a cigarette. I decided to wait, but I put the tobacco in one of my pouches on my belt. That way, it would never be stolen, especially since I put it into my front pocket.

Gliding my way out of the camp, I could almost hear the alarm in their voices as they shot awoke and desperately began trying to extinguish the fires. I was wary of pegasi, so I stuck to the shade and used a particular tree that had a small space under its giant roots where I could hide in the shade. Guessing by the smell, it was a den of coyotes before they moved elsewhere and hibernated for the winter. Once the flying ponies I could almost swear were there were gone, I hastened my movements back to my camp.

I found it razed to the ground, everything I had worked for burned. Then, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, then only darkness.

The Princess of the Night grimly looked over their captive. He obviously had an addiction to tobacco, judging by the smell of his clothes and the bandage wraps he used to cover his horribly disfigured body. Burn scars covered every inch of him, yes, even down there. It was almost as if this creature had been through Tartarus and back, but they knew these scars were old. Very old. Maybe six years, judging by medical scans.

Luna and Celestia both were worried. Obviously this creature killed only out of necessity, as they noted that it even defaulted to using heavily addictive hallucinogenics over killing. After much deliberation, they decided to try rehabilitation. After all, it was a much better alternative than the one the nobles were clamoring for. In his new life, he would have many enemies, so they decided it was best for them to give him access to a position he could best be observed and rehabilitated, therefore they decided he would be sent to Ponyville, where Twilight and her friends would attempt to help him. In the meanwhile, he could be useful to the crown's particular needs regarding recent gangs popping up in cities all across the allied territories, which the crown couldn't legally deal with unless they hired a mercenary.

And a mercenary he shall be, at least when they find the gangs and have a good idea of their positioning and their threat level.

Author's Note

This chapter was mainly filler, but soon we will have some action.