The Northern Continent. A barren, frozen tundra of ice, snow, and more ice. It was the coldest place in the world, and naturally the most inhospitable. There were no trees to build shelter out of, no sources of readily available fresh water, and no soil to grow any food in. Though surprisingly, life had managed to find a way to thrive and multiply there at the top of the world. There were seals, their thick blubber and fur coats allowing them to swim in even the icy water, fearsome polar bears, who like seals were protected by layers of fat and even thicker fur coats than the former. Then there were his kind, the wolves, those who had thrived in the North since the dawn of time and still were, even without the technology the rest of the world's species had at their hooves, claws, and paws.
They prided themselves on being the epitome of hunters, their fearsome fangs and pack-like tactics allowing them easily able to take down any prey. They were the true rulers of the North, or so he once believed.
He was Artharius, first and only son of Terianas and Evelyn Stormpaws, the former alpha male and female of his pack. He had loved his parents dearly, and they had loved him as well. They had meant the world to him, and were everything the young pup had aspired to be, strong, skillful at hunting, and most of all: confident. However, despite all of their strengths, it wouldn’t be long before Artharius would learn they weren’t invincible.
One day, when Artharius was still a pup, he had learned his father and mother's hunting party had bitten off more than they could chew. They had taken on a polar bear with five other wolves, overconfident after two successful hunts in a row. The young pup was led out to see the sight of their attack, and the results were not pretty. He would never forget the sight of his parents' blood tinting the snow.
That was the last time he had seen his pack and his pup-hood's end. From then on, he was a lone wolf. He wondered the tundra for years, alone and without purpose, desperately trying to move on from what had transpired. Yet, for some reason, he could never defeat the demons within. On the brink of total despair, however, he had found one of the things he was looking for. On the top of an icy spire, he had found purpose, though this purpose wasn't given to him by himself. From there he set out from the arctic and into the world to complete his task.
Now, he was about to finish what he had set out to do long ago. Artharius had returned to the arctic, though he was no longer all alone. Behind him he dragged a sled with three bodies lying under heavy woolen blankets. If one were to look at them, it may appear that their souls had moved on, but upon closer inspection, one would realize that they were, in fact, still breathing. They were alive, but barely, having been in an imposed slumber for over two years, only awoken for an hour each day for feeding. Though believing this terse state could be called 'awake' was a poor description, it was more like a hypnotic trance. This comforted Artharius somewhat, at least they would never know what transpired and what was about to if they were always with their dreams.
They were ponies, creatures from a land called Equestria, and they were very, very far from home. It had taken Artharius so long to find their land he had lost count of the years he had been alive. However, they were who he needed to complete his task. In the distance he spotted the large spire of snow and ice that seemed to desire to scrape the heavens, and atop of it his master waited for him. Soon, he would set things right.
His pace picked up at that, his weary legs from many miles of travel yielding to an avaricious mind, thousands of paw prints being made in a matter of minutes. When he made it to the bottom of the spire, he didn't even bother to even gasp for breath. Instead, he continued his journey up a small, arduous path that circled around the outside of it, the snow fallen upon it providing decent traction enough for his paws. The weight of the sleigh and its three occupants was starting to bore down upon him a bit of a distance up, but nonetheless he tread lightly onward.
He finally allowed himself to gasp for breath when he reached the top, a somewhat large, circular plateau, and it truly was the top, the peak of the peak of the world. He guessed he must have been at least a good twenty-thousand paws upwards. Snow fell around him as he gazed upon the barren, but oddly beautiful tundra that stretched miles before him. In the distance shined a majestic borealis of green and blue, the two colors of it seemingly in a constant battle to overtake each other as they dance across the horizon in a snake-like slithering pattern.
However, he soon turned his attention to his true reason for travelling here, and that was certainly not for the view. Jutting out of the snow in the middle of the plateau was something that simply did not belong in North, but oddly had a fitting presence atop its icy throne. It was a stone pedestal of black marble; probably the only sign of civilization there was from there to the horizon. However, sitting upon it was something even stranger, an anomaly atop an anomaly.
It was a jagged, black war helmet with a number of jagged spikes sticking out of its top and a diamond shaped hole as a combination for one's nose and eyes. When he had first seen it, chills were sent through him that the North could never hope to give. However, now he looked on it with something besides fear: confusion. It was as if one part of him wished to approach while another was screaming for him to draw far from this place. Eventually though, the former overtook the latter. Artharius' frost-bitten eyelids narrowed in a stern resolve.
He crept closer to the helmet, waiting for it to know of his presence, and eventually so it did. Its voice was a deep rumble, as if the very world itself had learned to speak and wished to call his name.
"Artharius."
The young wolf's eyes widened at this. It had been so long since he heard the helmet speak to him he had forgotten how unnerving it could be. Nonetheless, he would heed its call.
"I am here, Lord of the North," he said, dipping his head in a respectful bow.
"And you have completed your task."
He tiled his head upwards to gaze upon the helmet once again. "Indeed I have. Three souls of the innocent await you."
"Bring them to me, then," it said, its voice sounding very pleased with the young wolf, though Artharius could hear a slight hint of impatience in it. "Bring them to me, and I will give you back what you have lost. I will return those who brought you forth into the world to it."
He would be returning the favor, wouldn't he?
Slowly, Artharius detached the rope he has used to pull the sled so very far from the girth he wore. Again, something within him was begging for him to stop what he was doing. He growled inwardly at this. He had had self-doubts the whole journey he had been on, but why now were they beginning to overwhelm him now? The ponies' deaths would be quick and painless. The last thing they would remember was their decent lives where they came from. Their loved ones would have to go through the pain of losing them, but at least they had time to spend with them. Artharias only had but six years to spend with his. It just wasn't fair, and yet a part of him was gnawing at his 'righteous' justifications. Why couldn't it just leave him be?
Growling again at his inner conscious, he made his way over to the sled where the three sacrifices slept. Carefully, he removed the thick woolen blankets that covered them with his paws, gazing upon their wool-coat wearing figures unnervingly. They slumbered peacefully without a care in the world, a world they'd never see again, two Earth ponies and a Pegasus. He gazed at their strange little markings they had near their hind quarters. One looked like something like the plants called 'daisies' he had seen in the distant lands he traveled, another like a mug of what the ponies called 'cider', and the last on the Pegasus, a lightning bolt.
Apparently, they represented what a pony's lot in life was. It was a crude, but effective and convenient system of labeling. He wondered how happy these three must have been when they received their own.
He shook his head at that. No, he mustn't be thinking of them as individuals. They were simply food for his master, and they were the key to getting back what was taken from him by the cruel, arbitrary mechanics of the universe. His thoughts, however, could not be squelched, them continuing a ferocious assault against his security. He wondered what sort of marking he would get if he were a pony, and a bloody wolf-fang came to mind. However, this wasn't the blood of an animal he had slaughtered in a hunt. It was the blood of innocents.
"Murderer...." his mind whispered.
Again he shook his head, his eyebrows narrowing. He wasn't a murderer! The world had forced him to do this....
"Bring forth your pray, hunter of the arctic null," the helmet’s voice echoed, as it had sensed a crack in the dam holding back his guilt.
The helmet was right, wasn't it? He was a hunter, and they were his pray. He had done nothing worse than what his parents did; nothing worse than what he was born to do. Agonized by his confusion, he began dragging his slay closer to his master, his legs seemingly being tied down by the weight of ill resolve. Still, he pressed forward, closing his eyes to the world as he did so. It was as if he didn't want to see what he was about to do.
"Not a murderer, not a bad wolf. Not a murderer, not a bad wolf. My parents would want this," he whispered to himself. "Not a murderer, not a bad wolf! Not a murderer, not a bad wolf!"
"Gooood...." the rumble that was the mask's voice oozed. "Just another step...."
And Artharius took it.
Immediately, he heard a sound straight out of hell. Three screams that each sounded like a thousand hide-pierced jungle cat's molded into one torrent of agony. His eyes jettisoned open as he gasped. Streams of blue energy cascaded into the jagged helmet before him. He twirled about to see them jetting out of the mouths of the innocent ponies he had just sent to the slaughter, their souls literally being eaten alive. However, something else struck him atop of that. Their eyes were open and their bodies were twitching and convulsing with agony. They knew very well what was happening.
"You said they would never know!" Artharius roared, twirling about to face the helmet with an icy glare that could rival the Spirit of Winter's, so loud it even drowned out the screams of the ponies' souls. "You said they would never know!" He repeated, a few tears forming and then freezing in his eyes.
"Not a murderer, not a bad wolf! Not a murderer, not a bad wolf!"
The Emperor of the North ignored him for now as he finished his meal, the souls finally finishing their death knells. All that could be heard now was the wind. A peculiar and horrible thing happened after that.
The helmet began to glow a dull blue.
Artharius stood still, paralyzed by what had just transpired, his eyes so wide it was as if there were no eyelids upon them at all.
"I. Am. Ready," the voice of nothing thundered. "Place my avatar upon your head, young wolf. Do so, and we will complete what you set out to do oh so long ago. Claim your birth right, your destiny."
Artharius remained frozen, his mind screaming at him the word that provided no consolation to his tormented soul in its time of need.
"Murderer!"
He was faced with a choice now. He could step forward and take the power he knew this... being had, or he could do what his decent side requested. An image flashed within of him tossing the helmet off the spire and to an icy fate below. He could then move on and attempt to make peace with what he had done.
Artharius gazed towards the helmet, the hypnotic aura around it actually calming him for some unexplainable reason, though only ever so slightly. He took an anguished step forward, and then another, his legs doing everything they could to keep him from moving. However, his tenacity prevailed. Eventually he was in paws-reach of the black helmet of old. Taking a heavy gulp and wincing, he gripped the helmet with his paws, almost involuntarily. Another image popped into his mind, this one of his parent’s faces, but he couldn't tell what they wanted him to do. It was now or never, dispose of the wretched thing or 'claim his birth right.'
A second passed by, him staying still as a statue, a million thoughts and emotions running through him at once. Anguish, regret, hope, sorrow, rage at himself and at the world. He closed his eyes, begging to whatever god there was to have mercy on him and....
Put on the helmet.
He hoped his eyes with a gasp, though he was no longer atop the spire of ice through the helmet’s face hole. A million images flashed before him. This being's history, his own history including his parent’s faces, his hopes and dreams, and the dreams of the being who was slowly taking hold of his mind, and when he saw its dreams, they were sure to become his nightmares. A single overwhelming emotion took place of all others at that, one which struck at every fiber of his being.
"No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
Regret.
The Doctor was in a poor mood. Being stranded in Ponyville for a year to this date wasn't exactly making him a bundle of joy, but what really had put him off was what Ditzy had gotten for lunch.
He really hated pears.
No matter though, they would have to fuel him for the time being. The TARDIS had been disabled for nearly a year; only able to travel with her impulse engines a short distance. He had hidden it away in a cave for now; for he didn't want any nosy ponies finding him working on it (Only Ditzy was to know who he really was for now), him trying to figure out exactly why it wasn't responding to any time-warp commands. Unfortunately, he was on the verge of giving up with this endeavor.
Ponyville had treated him kindly, and he had even gotten the job of becoming the town's sole clock repairer and 'time turner', the latter meaning he would be responsible for keeping the town's many clocks in sync. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it did suit him somewhat he supposed. It was still a long fall from Time Lord to being trapped on a planet merely reaching the Industrial Age in the form of a pony, but it wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him. Besides, here people really liked his bow tie, and bow ties were cool. They weren't so nice about his fez, at least the pony known as Rarity wasn't, but he couldn't ask for the world now, could he?
Oh, and they were very kind too. Even humans, who he loved very dearly, couldn't compare to ponies when it came to keeping an upbeat spirit, something he always tried to keep himself in.
Eventually, he made it to the cave where the TARDIS sat in slumber. He whipped his sonic screwdriver out of a small saddle bag Ditzy had kindly provided or him and used its flashlight mode to navigate. He thought he should have been able to do this in the dark easily by now, him having come in a thousand times already, but the one time he tried he ended up bumping his head on a stalagmite.
A few moments later and he had made it to his vessel. The beautiful, blue, time machine he had come to love over the years that-
Had nasty white graffiti on the front of it?!
It was in Equestrian, so it took a Doctor a moment to translate. When he did so, his eyes widened at the sight. He dropped his sonic screwdriver, it clattering to the cave's base. How could this be possible? There was just no way...
"R-Rose?" He gasped, looking around and half-expecting to find his old companion somewhere nearby. It was a foolish thought, though. She wasn't stranded in this universe, and there was no way she could have followed him here. Hell, he didn't even know how he had gotten here.
On the front door of his machine were words he had thought he had left far behind in his past, words which had no right belonging in this new universe he had transported to: Bad Wolf
