The hooded pony stood over the runic circles carved into the floor beneath him. The sandstone floor was covered in dust and sweat baring the meticulously clean center. The building itself was an oddity, made of sandstone with a flat roof and large pillars holding it up. The walls covered in holes and pot-marks from the countless storms that have battered the stone. The occasional feint pictograph bird barely visible being the only colour apart from the yellow sand or tame orange of the flickering torches. In a corner of the room a small living quarters was set up; a smoldering fire sat beneath an old iron pot, A tattered desk covered with papers and a rusting bronze knife, The bed was not much more than some padding, On top of the bed sat some scattered medical supplies.
Two goats and two deer laid tied down, their necks strapped to narrow channels that led to the array. Outside the door a light shimmering shield and tattered tarp was all that kept the inhabitants of the cave from the raging sandstorm outside. When the pony seemed satisfied with his work he began chanting and marched over to a jagged bronze dagger left on his table. His eloquent and incomprehensible voice woke the goat closest to him. She struggled against her bonds and found she could not move an inch. To her side the chanting pony removed his hood and cut his left hoof and held it above the array, which pulsed a deep red in response. He then hobbled still chanting to the goat and placed the dagger carefully under its neck.
He cut.
Her neck, slit open, gushed blood into the channel and then onto the runes. Her gargled screams barely audible as the pony hobbled and pressed his bloody hoof to another section of the array. Marching up to a male goat he placed his knife under its neck.
He carved.
The goats death rattles providing symphony to the Pony's chants as he marched to the two deer who were struggling frantically against their bonds.
He slit.
He sliced.
As the deer and the goats died blood pooling onto the array, which pulsated in deep blues yellows and reds, the pony removed his hood revealing his soft copper mane and amber eyes. His pelt was silver and his lips, cracked and bloody, were twisted in a smile.
CRACK
A crack appeared in the ground in the center of the circle, shattering out in several directions. It pulsed a pure blood red and sand poured from the room into an emerging whirlwind in the center. It was painted as bloody sand before it scattered leaving a thin mist in the air, and a naked Human lying bare in the center of the room. His hair light short and scruffy. Body, relative to the pony, large and toned. A single scar decorated his shoulder, deep and circular. His body was singed.
The pony hobbled over to his desk, grabbing the coils of rope and chains, before going to tie up the unconscious Human to one of the crumbling pillars. Finding the restraints sufficient he hobbled towards the bed, passing out halfway there.
The Badlands. To say it lived up to its name would be an understatement, this place was awful. At least Recruit Icewind thought so. Instead of the ice and forest he was used to there was a vast expanse of sand and... not much else. From his lookout post he could see a grand total of; six cactuses -or was it cacti-, two stretches of train track heading to the east, and one small pond. This pond was the largest open body of water for miles, and it was a measly six hoof lengths from end to end, just large enough for the fat alligator that lived there to stay conceived. Needless to say the Guard didn't bother Snappy, even when he nabbed a bird or two.
Why would you hurt one of biggest sources of entertainment present on watch?
Being on watch was torturous. Long hours with little present, and you could only talk with your partner so much before you know everything. For Icewind that took two watches, his partner Sandhoof was about as boring as the desert landscape. Bland, dry... beige. All those described Sandhoof. No matter how interesting a question you asked he had a knack at making it dull. Marefriend? nah. Funny stories? That one time he climbed that mountain which, by the way, was more an over glorified hill. The funny thing? He got to the top and realised he only had oatmeal. He hated oatmeal. I know, crazy. So why did Icewind put up with him?
"I managed to sneak us some cider." Sandhoofs dull voice sounded.
Sandhoof could get anything, I mean who's going to question the guy with no interesting stories right? Dull as a rock... Until his third cider, then he was the funniest thing that Celestia has ever graced upon this world. So when he uttered those holy words Icewind turned to face him with the biggest grin he could muster and said "You legend." Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
The old pony sat watching the cage intently. Behind him was an old patchy tarp which -not for lack of trying- was failing to cover the small pile of corpses in the corner. The pony had a set of medical tools to its right, and a sandwich to its left. Hay and cucumber. It was sat on a box placed out of reach from the Human in the cage, which was stirring. Its skin was naturally dark with its right wrapped in salves and bandages to treat the burns it had sustained. It woke and turned towards the pony wide eyed -For it's species anyway- and slowly backed away till it reached the other set of bars where it jolted forward. Its hands... no its entire body was shaking as it stood and looked around the cage. Slowly it began to calm and whispered in a foreign tongue as it moved its hands slowly across the bandages, wincing at the pain. It looked at the pony eyes, somehow, even wider and...
It bowed.
It began chanting and praising and crying out.
"I am a Unicorn, what are you?" The pony spoke.
The man looked on into the ponies eyes quietly.
"My name is Hayweather, what is yours?" The pony spoke
The man looked on quietly.
With a huff he levitated a board of clay and drew a caricature of a unicorn and pointed to it. "Uni-corn" Hayweather spoke as eloquently as he could.
"Hay-pillar" The man responded.
"Uni... Corn" Hayweather spoke again... and again... and again.
Until the Humans tenth try, "Unicorn" it spoke with a thick accent. But there was no doubt he got it right. Hayweather continued this drawing a Human, pointing to it and tilting his head. It took Hay eight tries to get it to the point where the Human nodded happily.
