The rise of Glorath

by ickda

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, Suicide / Self Harm, Horror, Profanity, Violence, Death, Human, Narcotics, Anthro, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Adventure
Length: 7666

A evil rises, can it be stopped?

This is the journal of a heor lost to the ages, he was the force that built this empire, He is the foundation that let us stand.

These are the heroic tails of Radiant horn, These are the words he saw this world with. May these words of his, be the biography, that shows what duty and honor truly are.
By the valor of the gods, and the duty of Men, May history remember his story.

Published 2021-07-06 15:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-07-23 06:57:10 UTC

2

Location unknown,
the castle of the two sisters.
Date unknown.

Raideint Horn was tasked with observing the cult. The orgy was of little interest to him. With his skill, he snuck and hid. He saw the acts in that dungeon. The things he saw robbed him of his mirth. before that night, he was a pony of great joy. He had a smile that would always seem to creep onto his face, a smirk, and a twinkle in his eyes.
His stomach was of a rock, his nerves of steel. He was picked as the most level-headed person to scout this out and report on his findings.

What they did to those mares, with hook and scalpel. no pony should be able to bleed like that and still live. No pony should be able to scream till their vocal cords shreded.
The unicorns were what drew the attention of the sisters. They were the most powerful ponies in the kingdom besides the mage of magic, the puple of the elder sister. Their horns were smashed, and they were boiled alive in acid.
That was the appetizer, but for the life of him, he could not remember what horrors took place, trying to dig them up, leaves him broken, near panic. Just remember but a fraction takes years from his life.
He went in with a vibrant coat, full of life, rich purple with a vibrant main of silk black. He left with a coat of silver. and a main of blackish gray.

he fled at some point, even the carnal magic could not break through the horror, and entice him into the party in the throne room.

He ran and ran. The night turned to day, the day turned to dusk, and yet he ran for everything he was worth. He ran till he dropped.

He woke to find himself in a stable. There knights of some foreign creature practicing the sword.
He called out to them, confused why he was left in filth. Their confusion plastered no their face as he spoke. More so when he yanked the gate open. He wanted to walk with confidence, but between the fatigue of the run, and the horrors, he could barely move with any confidence.
They asked what sort of horse he was, but he found the statement confusing, he was not a horse he stated, he was a pony of the unicorn tribe. What land was this they took him to?
Yet they told him, that they took him on wear, they found him collapsed in front of their gate. They asked him if that was magic they saw him perform, and they looked even more confused when he confirmed their suspicions.
From their words, he gathered that he was in a land called Vork. in the kingdom of Yarth the mighty. They had never heard of a land of talking beasts. A statement that drew much offense, perhaps even action, if he had any energy left to put forth such acts of pride.

They dragged me off to their captain, who in turn brought me to the high wizard, who I was told was looking for information on a magical malady in the ether. Apparently, I was of an oddity they were told to watch out for.

Left-wing of the castle
Mage's tower, floor 15.

On the entrance of the room, one sees piles of books, strewn all over the floor, the tables, shelves backed to bursting with even more books. Chairs were just improvised bookshelves, broken tables were propped up with even more books.

Yet as I was led further back, the shelves started to be filled with items that thrummed almost visibly with magic that made my horn ach. Some shelves had items that looked and felt mundane, others filled with herbs and flowers of all sorts.

At the back was the great mage Karthrac. I was told he was 250 years of age and served many a king and Queen. We found him in deep study, trying to pars out the malignant magic that he felt three days ago.

When I was introduced he lights up with a great passion, to study and learn, of quality, yet all of it was hampered by a dread. As he asked and propped about where I came from, and how I got here. The latter I had few answers.

I told him of the castle, and the things I saw there. Yet when he pushed for more, I passed out. When I woke, I found an apprentice warding the guards from me. Their great mage used magic to pry into things I could not recollect, and with a great scream of insanity, he flung himself from the tower in horror and fright at the things he saw. At the things I saw. If it were not for the apprentice, I fear the guards would have ended me in my fugue, for what I had done to the mage.

The only clue we had was the name Glorath. The last words the great mage ever uttered. The young Mage that saved me, nows of this evil, a myth used to scare children. A folk tale so old, that only tatters of its telling exist.

It was he, and his ilk, that cast such a great strain and shadow on the ether of their magic, I was told they found where the castle was from the prying, about all they really got before the mage lost himself to the horrors that robbed my innocents.

I am to be brought to the great Yarth to be judged. I have been told that all mind magic involving me is forbidden, by punishment of death. I took an oath, of strang magic, to never let such a thing happen again. When the words were spoken, it felt like my mind and skin burned with the anger of a thousand suns.

3

The throne room of Yarth the great.

A throne of gold and skull. A Majestic seat of power bedecked in grinning death. She sites, towering over her men and making me feel small. Even as her men tower over me, she is a behemoth of muscle.
I am told that I am to be blamed for the death of their great mage. A master that has served this kingdom for an eon, who was destined to outlive it. I am told if it weren't for the things that I lived, and the steel of my shattered mind, I would be dead, but Yarth finds that visions that could kill such a man, but leave me standing show I have some strength and perhaps.s I can be put to use to stop this demon from arising from the abyss.

So I was left to battle her weakest warrior that sits on her concule. A man that could fell an army and scare a drake with but a glair. I wonder as I am offered my pick of tools, what sort of men that lay on her councile if he is considered her weakest. I was told that their queen beat an elder dragon, naked with a butter knife drunk of her gourd, but surly they jest?

I pull twin scimitars off the rack, as a lith thing, of strung muscle, glides into the ring. He holds the look of a man that has seen into the abyss and taunted it for daring to exist. I can see how he could scare off a drake looking into those eyes. Only my training under the captain of the gourd, and my mission abroad leave me able to stare into those eyes. Yet still, For a second, I felt doubt.
I started it with a scream as I flung myself onto him, both of my swords sything the air in front of him.
With a broad sword, he swept my attacks and lunched me across the throne room. I could hear the chains, they beg for my blood, they beg for my flesh. The barbarians wish to feast upon me, But nay, they shell fest apond there warriors head!!

I launch three missiles, I swear if he had wings, I would say he flew, my blast ate chunks from the marble floors, and he flew, and swayed. Before I understood what was going on, my body acted on instinct. Our blades clashed, and we danced and jigged. my pelt was marred, he bled, and we danced some more.
No time for spells, for the concentration was not there, for the movement of this man, was that of myth. every ounce of my training was tested, every bit of skill I earned was mocked. We fought and time melted under our wreath, the chanting bled out as our ears rang to battle.
In the end, we were spent, yet we fought, for we knew the spears at the walls of the room thirsted for the week, we fought as our blood started to sing for blood. We fought despite the superficial flesh wounds bleeding us dry. In the end, he slipped, and my horn dug into his neck, speered into his mouth, and broke his braincase from beneath. I felt his life drizzle down my horn and bath my face in blood,. I felt my front get soaked in his spray as I yanked myself from this man, I tore his head off and shouted to the barbarians.
YOU WANTED TO FEAST, SO FEAST!!

There shocked silence brought some sanity to me, as I watched that mighty titan head sail in the air, and land at their queen's feet. I felt fear, for if that was their weakest, what foolishness has my blood lust just brought me?

Laughter apparently. It shook the halls, it drowned out the silence of her council. I felt it in my boons, and I swear it blew my blood-soaked main back.

The battle has sapped my strength, a strength I have yet to recover from my flight of panic, despite the dirt nap that led me to their stable, despite the weighting for the queen's judgment. The world sank to black as my ears rang. May the sun goddess have mercy and the barman queen judge me just.

4

Place guest sweet. Vip room.

I woke in a plush bed, of four posters, in the riches mahogany I ever saw, with purple silk curtains hanging from the posters, as I pulled myself from the bed, a servant insisted on caring for me. I asked why I am being treated like a king.
Apparently, my battle with their warrior, and my spirit after it was won, had earned me great respect and renown. The servant told me she is mine to use as I see fit, she shells serve till I die or she dies. I tried to set her free, for a slave sounded repugnant, but I had to beg her to stay after she tried to lunch herself of the balcony. Serving to death has a very strong meaning in a kingdom bound by magical oaths. How barbaric.

She bathed me and dressed me in my armor, which appears to have been serviced in my sleep. Apparently, I was out for almost a week. I was armed with scimitars bejeweled in ebony and gold glit. I am told there not mine yet, but once I agree on a job, they are to be considered payment. I would say it's rather persumtouse, but they may very well be the nicest swords I ever held, perhaps even better than the night queens very armaments.
I am told I am wanted as soon as I am awake and reading, that there is news of the castle of the two sissters.

The throne room:

As I met with the Yarth, she congratulated me on the battle. Then broke to the mission, after hearing its details, I understood even without payment, I am obligated by my oath to country and home, even if I may never see that realm ever again. Such evil must be stopped.
The scouts sent to search it out were mutilated and raped. They say there are profane beasts, things that when a described sound like abominations, of pony, griffon, or dragon. from there a number I can only assume those that partook of the flesh and their delights, in such debased fashion, were consumed by the evil, The profane sex magic, a mockery of ancient druid sexual magic, has morphed them into horrors of the abyss.

I am tasked, along with her second strongest warrior, her best mage, and a cleric, to seek out the other kingdomes, for if the demon Is truly Glorath, then the seven kingdoms will need to unite. I was also informed that there is a shattered city, of bings that resemble me, they have yet to contact them, but they wish me to seek them out, find out if they are friends or foes.

I am to leave imidetly, my companions are geared and ready at the gate. I am appalled to find that my servant is to travel with me. She is to be my page. It matters not what horrors I might need to trudge, she is to serve till death, and a death serving aid in combat is the noblest, or so I am told.

5

The fields of kindor
4 days later.

cast:
Radiant Horn- Battlemage.

Thesria - Paliden of valor

Shira - Cleric of the sacred tears

Servant of the house Horn

Gothroot - Warrior of Blood and Might, Second in command to lead the Hoard of Yarth

Shalvric - Head mage of the coucil of Yarth. To be proven in Valor

With but the Mage and claric, most of my companion's lust for the blood of the demons. What opposition we met in the wilds, they met with glee. The mage has yet to show his hand, He and the cleric stayed behind. I asked Gothroot why, and he laughed and said, to wast a mage on such rabble would be an insult to his might. The Paliden agreed.

We march south, to what was known as the wood of desilation, The say a great city had appeared and devastated much of the wood, what the city's foundation did not crush, the magical shock wave finished. I am told that much horror lived there and that much of it is gone.

From there we are to head further south, to the home of the elves, A journey I am told was almost impossible due to the wood, without heading around the mountains in the east. Then northwest to the tribes of the Lupins, A great beast, that pretends it is man. Much like their reaction to my people, I suspect we will not find many beasts once we reach their home.

We settle for the night as the moons fill their strange sky of magenta night.

Hours later, near dusk, I am haunted by a spectator, she claims to be lady night. She was ripped from her dreamscape and left adrift in this strange land's magical void. She tells me that her connection to her mortal coil is weakening and that if I do not act soon, she will die.
The mage has plans, but it will delay our course by three days. I urged my companies, and Gothwood seemed intice, if only for the abomination that we must hunt, for the regents need to teather her essence to this plain and to rip her mortal body from her realm. I am told That there is no way to send her back from which she came, as there is no hope I will ever see my home. Or meet my friends. Though I doubt they will recognize the husk of a pony I used to be.
My coat has lost its luster, and my main is limp. My hollowed eyes, look like they sank into my face. I don't even know who I am looking at in the mirror. My servant was startled when I smashed it rage.

Rage, I never fought with that, yet I feel that night sapped my kindness. In battle I no longer know who it is that is fighting. It is my mind moving me, it's my body fighting. These are my hooves and horn that I do battle with. But I no longer recognize my intent.

The other day in my frenzy I found that I ripped a bandit's neck out with my teeth. I threw up, even as The great warrior of Yarth commended me.

Three Days later, In the cave of splendid repulsion.

We enter this dank place, and the mage has gifted us with the sight of night. We are to travel deep in the bowls of this horrid cave in search of an abomination that is said to rob mortal men of their sanity. The cleric was left behind with our servant. I am told they do not have the will to this task.

We were met with goblins guarding the deepest bowls. They fought with might I once would have said was new to me, But Gothroot fights with more might. Sometimes I can not even see him move, I just see his target explode with the clash of his mighty hammer.
The swarm tries to press us, and the mage leaves the air smelling of brimstone and burnt flesh. my swords clang and cleave through them, as my battle rage digs me deeper into the hoards. My horn plunges into their guts, as I launch them with a twist of my neck, my hooves cleave their face in. In my rage I feel not the pain of there weapons, it only causes me to unleash raw manna. The rage and grief in my soul almost brought the cave down. When the lust left my eyes, I could see the swath I cut through them. I could feel the blood dripping down my eyes, as it clots into my main.

I see the others finish with their lot, far behind me. I feel week and am applied when I was told we must make camp, to replenish for what awaits.

We wake to the rot of goblin, our appetite was just a show we put forth, so that we may have the strength to meet the horror with it. We go deeper and deeper. The air almost seems like it wants to flee from us. It is heavy, and hard to breathe.

There is a great wind in this tunnel, and it smells of rot and terror. I am told it is not the wind, but the breadth of what awaits- us.
I did not believe such foolishness, till we came to its chamber, A large sleek pile of boils and tentacles. The warrior and paladin met it 1st, as the mage prepped some magic. The power in his spell thrummed in my horn, I felt it play the ether like a drum. It is what woke me from my flashbacks, it is what freed me from the panic that almost locked my bones.
As I snapped out of it, I saw the warrior leap several feet onto its back, where he hammered it, The paladin was fighting its tentacles on the ground, and I ran to join him, A blast of my horn gouging its eye from its face.
It spat something at us, and I felt my pelt burn, I saw a section of my pelt slop of into the ground, the pain freed me of the rest of my fear, it filled my blood with the song of battle, our paladin was down, his shield arm gone, but he was beneath my notice. With my scimitars held high, I flung at it, chopping tentacles off as they came to me. But before I could sink by blads into its face, Gothroot was flung at me, and before I could stand, I felt great pain as it ripped a tentacle through my barrel, Gothroot was fighting valiantly, to defend me and the paladin, even taking one of my swords, as he found his hammer ill-fitted for its rubbery tentacle.
I fear we were at our death, Gothroot was slammed into a wall and was to be gutted. When my horn blew magical feedback, my eyes blinded, as the mage cast a barbaric mockery of magic at it, It ripped from the ether, ripping holes in reality, as it smashed the abomination in the face, the heatwave burnt my coat.

I came too outside of the cave of horrors, our paladin lost an arm, and Gothroot carryed us both back, as I am told, He later found he had punctured a lung and broke three ribs. The cleric had to fight with the oaf to bring healing to him.
I have been informed they were able to heal the damage from the tentacles, But I have a not of scarred flesh on my right shoulder, from the acid burns. We got what is needed, but alas I found out we cant perform the spell, unless we find another of my kind, as the dream weave can only be accessed with mind magic, and my mind is tainted and bared by oath.

We traveled for a week, to reach the outskirts of the woods of desolation, though they should be renamed the field of desolation, for no wood grows here any longer. we can see the city in the distance, its majestic towers, broken, some of them fallen, It appears to be three days away, though I have seen pegasi fly overhead, as we marched ever closer.

By the 2 day, a rag-tag team of earth ponies and unicorns met us, they are scarred and battered, they call themselves the broken, their city's name was stolen from their minds, and thousands died on the 1st days, as hoards of abominations attacked.

I tell them of my Oath to the moon goddess and my aligence to the goddess of the sun. They tell me, harden by fire as they are, that they can not last long.
They have no food, and no supply to get more, and their children cry in fear, as their elderly die of shock. They can not last much longer.
I am informed by Shalvric and Gothroot that Yarth would be glad to impose sanctuary For them if they are willing to pledge their service to her. They agree. As most of them set to leave, we asked if any wish to serve the moon goddess, and a Ranger, offers his aid, not just in freeing her, but also to accompany us.
He is a pegasus, a motley thing, with many fresh-looking scars marring his pelt, as night falls he is too jittery to be able to fall asleep in aid of our goddess, So he is hit with a sleep spell, I am told I need to be out also, so that I may guide the goddess to him.

We are laid a pond a complex structure of runes, interlaced into spell diagrams, the blood of the abomination paints our flesh with archaic letters, of a dead toung only the highest-ranking mages of Yarth are allowed to learn. Its blood burns, softly on our pelts. As we pass out, the dream weave thrums as the mage lays out the spell latices, as he invokes the runes. The ghostly image of my Princess solidifies in front of me.

She is horrified by the black magic that is being done on us. She says it stinks, I tell her that not much can be done on this, as this is all they know, we are to bring her body here, she wants to go back home, but is sadly informed that there is no back, only this cursed land, or death

She almost picked death, till she learned of the city, of her ponies, the march they will take, will spend many a good life if she is not able to guide them. These humbling words bring resolve into her eyes, and she takes me to the paguses, I am told I must leave, for the magic to be done, is not magic I can be there for.

As the weave lights up, I am tossed for my magical induced slumber, to see the physical plan rip open. My ears are met with a screech of pain, as a blue form is ripped from our home, and tossed like a doll to our feet, her horn is burnt, and her flesh is covered in steaming blood. I can not fathom the magic that was used to do this. She wakes with a screech of pain and convulsions with a stroke.

The cleric rushes to beseech her god to save her, yet when the moon princess wakes, she remembers little of her past, only her days locked in the dream weave of this land. She is week, yet the sight of her ponies draws her to her hoofs.

We will part in the morning. Yet I worry for my princess. What has been done to her?

6

The fields south of Arkatosh

New player added.

Rainbow Bright - Scout

The woods of the enchanted forest of Arkatosh are but league ahead of us, the Elves not much further. Yet we walked into a siege of their lands. The abominations that used to be ponies are but a sick and twisted shadow of what they were. The griffons bloated with deseas can no longer fly, and the dragons are mangled carriers of disease.

Thankfully we do not need to fight those, as they were seen sinking into the sacred grove. The hellspawn is what blocks our path. It is they that we fight. If I had not seen the warrior's actions. I would have called him mad to attack their flank.

The scout was sent to tell the elves that a high mage of Yarth and her 2nd in command have taken to the flank. I am told this will enrage their pride, and bolster their confidence to send back up.

Gothroot sinks into them with abounded. Shalvric has brought the land to life, constructs of mud and rock rip from the earth to be launched, as lightning is called from the earth. The clerics chanting is a constant. It feels me with vigor, and all but the mightiest of wounds fall from me.

Yet it is the paladin, Thesria, She fights with such might, and without fear. Her shield forsaken with her arm, she hits with skill and melts around their attack, There blows never find the seams in her armor, always bouncing, or failing to deliver a devastating blow. We fight shoulder to shoulder as Shalvric sees that our flank is safe. my swords cleave and cut, and shell one of us stumble or seem to be overwhelming, a brother in arms, is there to meet them.

Yet even as our mage might seems to flag, and our energy seems to fail. As our clairc passes out from her toil. We hear the horns of eleven calvery. It fills me with fire and vim, With a roar, I funnel all my magic into a blast that cleaves their ranks into, as the elves fell there leftern most ranks, Gothroot and Thesria charge into their ranks, to be swallowed by their numbers.

Their battle rings, as the rage takes hold. All I know is the fight before me, and the balls of fire that melt any that get too close to my flank. I fight and cleave their ranks, till a giant clubs me. I come to my senses as Shira comes to administer aid. I try to get back up, but my barrel scream in protest, I beg her to back up from the hord surely will take us both.
Yet as I look to the battle, I see more corpses of demons and hellspawn, than those standing. Gothroot and Thesria fighting to bring down the rouge giant.

The elves Calvery meet with the front line as all that was left is vanquished, and they surround us. Stating that the demon hoards have them ready, and that Yarth shell not conquest there home, we are beaten and battered. To tell us to flee Back to our hold. I manage to get up, despite the protest of our cleric.

I tell them of Glorath and my mission. That we were to bring aid and see that the Elves were safe and aware. After some diplomacy. we were offered escort to the capitol, to be treated by their healers and rest.
So that we may talk to their Rulers.

7

Elven capitol of the earthen root.

The earth ponies back home would be envious if they saw what the elves have done with the trees. Even the library of the mage of magic is but a joke to the skill of these elves. Their towers are made of the mighty oak, some of them blended together, to make palaces that boggle the imagination.

The birch trees, grow and mingle to make their place a shiny white beacon. The sacred grove that surrounds them, keeps out all invaders. Yet the grove is sick, and their mighty trees seem to go pale as the days go on. The elves never saw the abominations that are my twisted kin. I thought they were to be used as the advance attack, yet all the elves say they fought were demons and giants.

They have used their mighty earthen magic, to graft a young sapling to Thesria. They cut what remained of her stump of an arm. The roots dug deep, you could see them crawl under her skin, and latch into her spine. Her screaming vibrated the windows of the hostible. The rest of the gange and I were treated and fed.

Sadly we have been unable to converse with their council, as the demons keep coming. Yet each time we have been able to repel them. It was on the eve of the last battle that they gave our paladin a new arm. I can not tell if I am impressed with the magic or repulsed, perhaps a bit of both.
We speak to the council the next day if the demon hoard permits us. Rainbow seems to think that we will have the time, as the next advancement is days away. I spent the evening with Thesria training, to help her get used to her strange new arm. Watching her fight, the way her body moves captivates me. She is as graceful as a butterfly, yet strong and mighty like a dragon.

The next day

We are woken, and my servant baths me, I still can not get used to her, yet she assures me that there is nothing short of death, that can break her bonds and oath.

After the embarrassment of bing dressed, I met with my companions to eat, we discussed what we are to do after we are done with the elves, there is a swamp that we need to move around, to reach their lands. This is what I was told, is why we could not visit the lupins before the elves, as this swamp blocked any path from the great city of Yarth.

The cleric and mage are both equally concerned for the elves, as there is a poisen that seems to be killing there woods. The cleric seems to think that her god has shown her the place where such infliction has sprung from.

Yet all too fast the morn is spent, and what is needed to say among friends and companions has been spoken. We are rushed to meet the council of elven wisdom. A league of seven of the oldest elves alive. There very fabric tied to these woods. I am told they are what remains of 12 great kingdomes. Brought to their knees by Glorath. Yet such advents are so old, that even the elders barely remember the tail. That their history before his strif was robbed from all that lived at that time. So that non could try to give him breath on this land again.

The magic that tied the great leaders to these woods is of the same that struct such times from their people. What malignant books of that beast remained were burnt, their heroes are forgotten. I am told they find the irony of his return bitter. That they lost so much history for apparently nothing.

The Throne Room

I was not expecting the elders to be such wizened things. They stand, in watching over their people for an eon, to guide their people through the sand of time. When it was said that they were tied to the Grove, I did not understand it was to mean that they were a part of it. They look like knotted wood, there legs, gon to time, melted into the floor. If I was not looking for elves I might of mistook them for trees, I almost did anyway.

They asked Shlvric If they could speak to the great Yarth, I was surprised that he could. He inchanted a wall, and it turned into a pool. Apparently, I found out that the elder were dying, there grove has been killed by foul beast not of any world the new or know. My kin had snuck deep into their grove, going deep into the sacred caves, and pools of enlightenment. There foul mutations of disease have sent a slow death to there home, and the battle that is to take place in the next day, is to be the diversion for the people to flee.

He is sending them to Yarth. We are urged to flee fast to the lands of the lupin, there is nothing left for us to do. The elder gave us each a potion of myth and legend. It is said to cheat death or heal any poison know or unknown. They elder were told that we are seen to be the ones that will deliver The means to end the demon king. But that to do so, we must unite the races, and find the Drowven stronghold. My companions insisted that such a place and people are but a myth. That such a task is a foolish waste of time. Yet the elves insite, that they will be found in the farthest northern reaches, in the coldest peek of the deadliest mountains.

That without seeking them out, all will be lost.

8

The outskirts of the great swamp.

We were tasked with leading the Eleves from their great home. The wood is dying, burning. The hord has come, and the groves defenders set out to seek one last great battle. May their hearts swell, as their valor offers the last of their kin a new hope.

The flight from the elves was haring, we led the vacation, but were stalled when we ran into an ambush. If we were not fleeing, our flanks would have crumbled. The air grew still, as the last of the trees darken and died to the poisoned earth.

At our heel were three giants, the dashed remains of the northern gate, the scout launched into the air, and saved the mage from a bloody griffon, but more of a Horse than any griphion I even saw.

The arrows embedded arrows in front of me were the starting bugle call as all three giants ran at us in Rage and hunger.

15 feet of muscle is halted by the mage's fire, the paladin and Garthroot took the flanks as I charged the middle, A massive bolt shattered its knee as my sword flew, I ran up the kneeling giant and split his, his blood spraying my face, and soaking my armour. It fell back and I lept from him,to esses the battle
I turned as Garthroot was pushed slightly back, Just to see the ape body slam it. I swear the earth shook under my hoof, He pulled himself up and slammed his massive hammer, into its face, and its jaw blew apart, the killing blow sank its forehead in.

Thesria was going slow, on the defensive, but wearing it down, it had thousand of cuts and had yet to breach her shield. It is but common brass, Yet I have seen it stop bolts without a dent. I don't know what forces the people wield, she says it's just the power of her faith, her oath to life.

I snap out of it and launched myself at The mammoth beast, swatting at its ankle, severing its tendon, and sinking it to its knee, I see her sink tho long sword into its eye ending the fight.

I Look and seeing the mage, and Gothroot, attacking the merger wall of spears, sent to back up the mighty giants, I share a glance with the paladin and bolt to the fray. A ball of heat sails over our head, we barely have time to note the foul-looking wolves coming from the flank. Their howls and burning flesh set the tone of the battle.

They fell broken, in most cases in a wet splat by the warrior's hammer. The lucky few who met me and Thesria' died a swift death, What will they had, broke has the forgotten gryphon, fell dead with its rider. As they fled Rainbow bright, fell drunkenly to the ground, badly wounded, With arrows studying his flank and wing.
We had to carry him as is, as it turned out our healer spent herself keeping him in the battle.
we fled as we led the survivors to a new fate. I can't tell if we are only sending them on a false wind. The travel to the gates of Yarth will be long and cold. Yet we have little time to worry, for we chase the end of time, and the clock is ticking. There fate is sadly their own.

We rushed out of the eleven dead lands As fast as we could. The mage has taken to the Bird that Mr bright cought.

9

9 days after the deep in the bog of despair.

The path through hell, is nerror, the places of rest few. The things in these swamps would rather see most of us dead. The night has stalked and attacked us most of the way. Tending to the brid pone has been problematic, as our cleric, was spent tending to the wounded, and the last fight. Apparently keeping the dolt in the air was rather taxing as he could not seem to miss the arrow fire.

My servant has been busy keeping him alive, and the cleric fed him some herbs. Garthroot has stopped most things from attacking, but a swamptical almost took out half the party. The bloody thing ambushed us, and by sheer surprise took Gothroot out, smashing his limp frame into a tree. Me, the mage, and Thesria managed to kill it off. Though if the mage's acid rain did not make it flinch so, I doubt she would have been able to angle her sword in its maw, for that death blow.

The very ground begs to dog our steps, sucking our feet in. The nights hunt us with all sorts of foul things. I even almost got rapped by a raping bush... If it was not for the mage..... I don't think I will ever look at a vine wall the same again.

I sit on watch with Thesria, the moon is full, and soon we shell retair our shift. One more day and these coursed woods will be gone. But the moon is nice, and the night is for once rather peaceful. We banter a little, but for the most, we enjoy the company. I pray that our new friends will last through this ordeal. Yet, I feel we all have come oh so close to death.

But if we give up, we may find that the inaction is worth then death. My people will suffer, and the people of this land will be corrupted, used. They will find many a cruel death. These thoughts drive me to that night, as I sink into my hands, as I sink into the earth.

But she comforts me, tells me stories of valor, of friends and family, lost. She tells me to hold on and be strong. She is right, I can't let those deaths go unpunished, I can't let more fail to the demon lord's cruel intentions. Not to act would be worst than death, even if I could guarantee my survival. I would be a dog and a cowered. Her words, her speech, it set me on fire.

Day 11, the outskirts to the fields of plenty, Owned by the 1st lupin tribe of the stage.

Hostiles on the lupin lands can start wars I am told. We may not be, but as far as they care, we are a war band. With Gorthroot in our midst' I am told we may be such a start, that it could even unify the 20 tribes, We may need that, but not in such a context.

We have been sending smoke signals for a day. Waiting and hoping someone will talk to us. I am told that it is unlikely, and even if we were, they would want to test our honor by some task, before a chief will ever see us.

Though that leaves me confused as to why they also tell me that the messenger is flying the chief flag, and the guards, seem to be wearing his body gourds colours.

Though the confusion only deepens when The chief exits their midst, and ask me by name, for some tea, asking the others to leave. They were confused and hesitant, but I sent them off. Why does he seem to know me, and what does one of such rank wish with a stranger to these lands?

The tea was good, and the small talk, drove me to anxiety, what does he want? He seems to understand the threat knocking at the gates. So why does this pretense?

Yet the more I learn, The more glad that he has offered me some mead to warm my heart. As I take a pull, from this spicy honeyed drink, he puts a foul cube on the table.

Apparently, once a pond a time, It was to be used as a weapon, It is said that it destroyed much of the land. Glorath used it to banish me and my man. My outrage and disbelief were stunted, as he gave me a letter.

If the words are to be believed, I am to use this cube, to travel in time, I am their savior, a great evil will attack them centers from know. If I don't, these lands of them will fall to blight, and this cube will fall to the demon's hand, and it will ruin us all.

Only then can we destroy this cursed relic. The lupins have found a way, It was a mission they spent so many winters on. So many leaders fell to times march. But the chief seems pleased, that he was able to serve me. But who is he? Who are is people? They seem to believe they owe me a life debt that non can pay.

1

Author's Note

I am keeping this away from friendship is magic, though this opening is indeed implied to be with the everfree. I also consider the city to be stolen to be the mainhatten, but it will never be referenced as such.

I have dysgraphia so this is going to be a challenge for me.

1

Scene- Castle of the two sissters.

In the dead of night In the castle of the two sisters, cultists form a ritual of dark intent and debased desire. They gather to summon the dark one. From the night you hear the moans of ponys rutting, the screeching of griffins, even the bassy tumble of dragons in carnal delight.

To most at the party, it is just a time of desire, to let loose. To, partake in their desires free of judgment.

Yet they do not understand the name of their meeting is more than just some words to add kink and spice. they do not understand that there are runes underneath their hoof and claws.

Under their passion and debased delight, they do not hear the screaming of virgins or the agony of dehorned unicorns. Yet even under their passion, some might feel the magical ether thrum to the acts in the castle.

As the magic thickens, the orgy grows more debased, More filthy as the inhibitions are robbed from them.

The throne room reeks of sex, piss, and even blood, yet the dungeons reek of burnt ether, rot, and death.

As the night storm grows with the violence and passion, the world of the alicorns rip asunder, The next day, the Princess's of the land will find one of the most major papulation centers gone, they will find the Woods of the ever-free ripped and mangled, with large swathes gone.

Any unicorn, alicorn, or other tribes of pony caught practicing magic, will find under that storm, a blown horn, shredded wing, or burnt and ripped muscles.
God forbid if an alicorn was caught using all three tribes' magic, for all that would be left is a black stain and gore.
They will find that many kind and caring ponies, will have gone mad, to bring a great slaughter on the land.

But they will never find their city, nor the remains of the wood of ever, no will they ever see the castle of the two sisters. For with such profane magic, these things- have been ripped from the land, and the essence of its casting, leaving a foul scar on the magic of the land.