Dreamwalker's Tale: Project Greenwood

Iron Hoof had everything under control. Even as his adversary grabbed him by his mane, dragged him a few steps over and forcefully pushed his muzzle into a larger puddle, he kept telling himself: He had everything under control.

Thinking quickly, as per usual, he ignored his disgust and swallowed some of the finest back alley-water Manehattan had to offer. His tongue curled in protest, his throat tried to close up, his stomach rebelled immediately, but he managed to lower the water level enough that he could flare his nostrils and breathe. Not that the puddle smelled any better than it tasted, but at least his opponent would not be able to drown him.

And the idiot took a while to notice. He probably had not considered that Iron Hoof would stoop this low. Whatever the case may be, Iron Hoof used the advantage by doing… nothing.

A minute passed by without him struggling. Only then did the considerably larger unicorn notice what his younger earth pony captive had done. “Ew. For fuck’s sake, what a disgusting prick!” He grabbed his mane even tighter in his magic, ripped Iron Hoof’s head back and flung the teenager off to the side.

Everything was under control. The surrounding buildings had no windows on the ground level, no doors. Just gray, disinterested concrete walls. A dead end with no witnesses. His target blocked the exit. But that was fine. He was not done here. He did not wish to leave just yet.

Iron Hoof stood back up again. The unicorn was retching. His stomach seemed indecisive if it wanted to give up that fine cuisine he had dined on this morning. “Let me help you with that,” Iron Hoof proclaimed and charged his target. His fiery orange mane whipped past him, flinging droplets of the putrid puddle water everywhere. Then a swift turn, a solid kick. His back hoof, covered in pale blue coat, connected to the side of his foe. To his belly, to be precise.

The unicorn was flung into the wall and now he really puked. “You’re welcome,” Iron Hoof jovially offered. He took the time to gather some saliva and spit it to the side to at least try and get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. While his opponent quickly recovered, he braced for the next round. And there would be a next round. There was always a next round. Because this guy's gang was older, they were larger and stronger and thought they had the upper hoof against just about anypony.

In this fight, Iron Hoof's ragtag band of misfits were the underdogs. And right now, most of both gangs were scattered anyway, merrily chasing each other around the block.

Iron Hoof did not have time to bother worrying about the nature of his life or the long-lasting impact of this turf war. Because there would be one next week, most likely. And the week after that. Territory got lost and reclaimed, expanded and demolished. At the end of the day, it was about survival for most of them. The higher ups in the west might preach about ‘friendship’ and ‘unity’, but that message did ring a bit hollow when it had to compete with growling, empty stomachs. Or with the sight of a gang exclusively consisting of unicorns pummeling their enemies into the ground with their magic.

Iron Hoof knew no other life. This was the way he had been raised. Sort of. It would have been more accurate to say that the streets raised him. It had taken him years in service to others before he mustered the strength and courage to form his own gang. And now here he was, bracing for yet another contender.

The older unicorn, himself barely an adult, charged his horn. His muzzle was distorted into a spiteful scowl. Anger was good, Iron Hoof told himself. It made his enemy more predictable and less cautious. It clouded his mind and judgment.

At this point, there were two options. Either this prick would shoot him with a jolt of magic, or he would throw something at him. A jolt he could tank. It felt awful, like somepony was running an electrical current straight through his body, buuut he could take it. He knew that because he had done so before. A few minutes earlier, in fact. But they had clashed with this particular gang in the past months as well.

A throw was more dangerous though. They both knew that. An unexpected hit from a brick could straight up kill somepony. And judging by the hate in his eyes, this guy would not mind becoming a murderer today. Iron Hoof's ears swiveled around, listening for any sounds. Telekinesis was silent, sure — but the items it moved usually were not.

There!

Right behind him. How predictable. Iron Hoof dropped to his knees and rolled to the side as a metal bar flung straight past. The force behind the attack lodged it into a wall, a few inches deep before it stopped. That thing, he realized, would have skewered him like a lance. So he really was after his hide now.

Maybe it was time to make this more personal. He charged his foe and swung at him. The unicorn dodged, obviously. He was not that slow. And he retaliated with a punch of his own. Iron Hoof simply took it. Then hit his opponent's lower jaw with an uppercut. The unicorn recoiled, only to swing around and hit him straight in the chest with a double kick.

While Iron Hoof staggered backwards, his enemy already set after him. He failed to recover in time and got hit once more. And again. And again. This guy really got into a rhythm, much to Iron Hoof’s dismay. His snout was aflame with pain. His throat hurt from a kick, his chest burned, there was a constant, loud, incessant ringing in his ears, everything felt awful and then, with one final assault, his opponent charged his hoof with additional magic and hit him to the ground.

Everything was under control. Even as he coughed up a bit of blood and spit it out. His chest rose and fell in heaving breaths. Sweat stained his coat. His muscles started to ache. They had been at this for a few minutes now, and Iron Hoof knew his body well enough to realize that he could not go on for much longer.

Hurry up already, he silently pleaded. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to get up again.

Just another day in paradise.

“Don’t,” hissed his enemy and pushed him back down. He tried again though, only to be met with more force. “I said: Don’t! Do you have a fucking death wish or what?”

Iron Hoof tried again. This time however, he saw the attempt to keep him on the ground coming. He quickly grabbed the foreleg of his foe tightly and rolled onto his other side, dragging his opponent along. The unicorn lost balance, struggled to keep standing. It allowed Iron Hoof to get back up. His legs trembled. His ragged breaths came in short bursts. But a smile graced his lips. “Come on, buddy. Let’s dance. I can do this all day.”

The unicorn stared at him in sheer disbelief. Amusement too, Iron Hoof guessed. “You don’t know when you’re done, do you?” A grim smile grew on his foe's face. “Have it your way then. I hope you had a good breakfast, ‘cus it was your last meal!”

Iron Hoof was distracted. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that his opponent charged him. And he was ready to do whatever was required. But he saw a fine line of sparks rise up in the air. And then, with a loud boom, the firework rocket went off.

His adversary abruptly stopped and ducked his head, apparently expecting some sort of backstabbing, reinforcement, sneak attack, whatever. He looked towards the loud noise and saw a massive pink heart in the sky. “What the fuck…?” The glitter quickly faded. The heart dissolved. But when he turned his attention back to his target, he saw it escape.

Iron Hoof turned heel, ran towards one of the lower of the three buildings and channeled all his remaining strength into an impressive leap. His earth pony magic surged into his rear legs and he catapulted himself high up, just high enough to reach the lower rooftop of one of the buildings forming this dead end.

Knowing that the fight was over, that he did not have to take any more punishment, that they had won — it gave Iron Hoof a second wind. “You see, my friend, you fought to defeat me. However, I fought merely to stall you. I win. Good day, sir, and thanks for your business.” He bowed in a mocking gesture and quickly ran out of sight before his adversary could recover from his shock and decide to fling everything that was not nailed down at him.

They had successfully cleared the entire stash of a rival gang. That would serve them a devastating hit. But more importantly: It meant that his own crew was cared for. Food for weeks. That was worth a lot. Now he only needed to make sure that none of his folks were seriously injured and all made it back to their hideout in one piece. He was worried about Tiny and Hazard especially, seeing as the former was the youngest member of his group and the latter was the newest.

And he would need to have a talk with Sizzle. The firework rocket was a great idea. But a pink heart? Like… really?

Iron Hoof opened his eyes.

He felt every bone in his body. And they all whined about how awful life was. How every day was just more pain. He gave a dismissive snort and rose from his cot. As sergeant, he had his own tent. He walked over to a small bowl with water, drank a few gulps and then decided to just dunk his head in. He did not like how sluggish his movement was. The coldness quickly seeped into his head and left him wide awake. Good.

While the water still trickled down from his now partially drenched mane, he proceeded to put on his gear. A belt to hold his sword and a first aid kit. And one piece after another, he clasped himself in armor. Day Guard armor. He wore it with pride from the day he first joined the ranks.

The added weight felt good. It symbolized the weight of responsibility. The weight of dreams. A better Equestria needed defenders. And rarely had any day been boring as a guard. There were always wild monsters to drive off. They roamed the lands solo or in packs and depending on what they were sent out to fight this time, he sometimes commanded two dozen soldiers or more.

Of course, everything had changed once the Crystal Empire attacked.

He still knew very little about King Sombra. Just another evil unicorn, mad with power and hellbent on subjugating the world. The first attack had been a preemptive one. At least that was what Princess Luna assumed. Equestrias border was close to that of the Crystal Empire. Not that any Equestrian had known the Empire was even there. For all Iron Hoof understood, they could have just stayed hidden. But no, apparently they felt threatened by the rising nation. By their powerful leaders especially. He could not fault them. He had seen Princess Celestia fight. She was a powerhouse. She could floor stronger stallions than him with a single strike. And yet he saw worry plastered all over her face when they engaged the enemy.

He did not understand why.

Until the day she sent him out to get some captives. The enemy was running low on supplies on the southeastern border. They were supposed to attack the reinforcements. Take them out. Take the supplies. And the southeastern front should collapse. And it did. Everything went smoothly, according to plan. Princess Luna was a remarkable strategist.

But something else happened on that mission.

Iron Hoof fastened the straps of his leather neck-plating. And finally, he lowered his helmet onto his head. His amber eyes vanished under the illusion. Now he was a pegasus. White coat, blue eyes, striped blue mane, wearing golden armor. He did not like it. But he understood the necessity. Every time Princess Celestia entered a battlefield, all the enemy troops tried to pile on her. Because she was recognizable. If the enemy was able to make out who was of higher rank, who was a more capable soldier than others, it would allow them to strike precisely where it hurt.

A deep sigh and he walked to the back of his tent. There was not much else in here. Just his cot, the bowl and a little table. With a necklace on it. An unshapely crystal pendant on a leather strap, nothing more. It was not clear, cut or polished, it was not valuable as such. But it was valuable to him.

After the attack on the supply route, they had deemed it better to strip their enemies. Not just of weapons, but of their armor as well. Partially because some of his soldiers were scared of the enemy. And he could not allow for that. They needed to see that there were no demons under those helmets, but ponies. Just ponies. Ponies that bled and could be fought like any other regular enemy.

He removed the helmet of one of them. There was this colt underneath. Barely old enough to be called a stallion. Amber Glow, as he later learned. A young crystal pony, a unicorn. A mind-reader. Iron Hoof touched the crystal on the necklace with care. He remembered the confusion in his eyes. Disoriented, scared. So incredibly scared. And then Amber noticed the others. Noticed his captors. Noticed his situation. And what did he do?

He broke down in tears of relief. Thanking them.

It had left Iron Hoof shell-shocked. This colt groveled at their hooves, begging them to take him with them. Begging them to remove the helmets of the other enemy soldiers. And every time they did, it was the same reaction, more or less.

Iron Hoof had been curious. He looked into the helmet, but it looked like a piece of protective gear, nothing more. And Amber Glow, the foolish colt, had charged. His hooves in irons, every movement awkward, but with the urgency of the desperate. He had charged his captor to… get that helmet away from his head.

It was baffling.

That evening, Princess Celestia asked him to visit her in her tent. She explained some of the more uncomfortable truths about this war. That the helmets were enchanted. That every poor bastard they fought out there was a mind-controlled husk. It had always astounded him how they managed to march through literal fire. Now he realized: They had no choice. They were forced into absolute obedience.

They had not been fighting an army.

They had been fighting a sea of slaves.

It changed him. Not just his attitude towards the enemy, or towards the war itself. It changed him. On a fundamental level. If something like this was possible… he could not imagine the horror. He visited Amber Glow several times while the poor bastard recovered in a medical tent. They talked for hours and he learned a lot about the way crystal ponies lived. How their entire culture was being suppressed. Families living in fear that soldiers would knock on their door, take their young, stuff them into armor. Armor they might never get rid of again.

That night in Princess Celestia’s tent and over the course of his conversations with Amber Glow, he saw the face of True Evil. And for maybe the first time in his life, Iron Hoof was truly scared. This thing that wore a face, this creature that called himself ‘King Sombra’, it needed to be defeated. Put down. Asap. With whatever means were necessary.

The necklace had been Amber Glow's parting gift. A family heirloom. His wounds were treated, he had recovered enough to move him. Further back, away from the frontlines. Into a little camp where they kept their prisoners of war. Or freed slaves. It was the same at this point, really.

Iron Hoof sighed and grabbed the necklace. He put it on and shoved the crystal beneath his armor. It was a talisman of good luck, he told himself. A reminder what this fight truly was. They were fighting to free other ponies from oppression. They were not an invading force, but their helpers. Aides. Saviors. It was what every freed enemy soldier called them.

Feeling as ready as he would get, Iron Hoof stood up and left his tent. “Ready in five!” he yelled into the much larger troop tents. Everypony inside immediately started to scurry around. They had short nights. He wished he could let them sleep. He wished he could sleep for a single decent night himself. But they needed to push. This war needed to end. The sooner, the better. A philosophy Princess Celestia and Princess Luna seemed to share.

The former told him that they had not made the knowledge about the mind-control armor public because not everypony was able to deal with it. But they put it in his hooves to decide if he wanted to tell those under his command. And he had. Almost immediately. A few left. Asked to be transferred to other groups. Away from the frontlines.

Some of them had killed. Some of them had crippled. Some of them could not continue this fight, knowing that they had done. The damage they had inflicted.

Within five minutes, his current underlings all stood at attention in three neat lines in front of their tents. He walked up and down the line, inspecting their appearance. Iron Hoof cared little if their armors were muddy, if their weapons were polished, if their manes were disheveled. What was important was that their mane could not be easily grabbed. That their weapons were sharp. That their armor sat tightly. And they knew him well enough not to disappoint. Some thought it was funny how he ruled with an Iron Hoof. He did not mind the jokes at all. Everypony needed some sort of vent.

After his inspection, his eyes searched the horizon in the east. The sun was slowly coming up. A new dawn. “Alright, listen up, muddies.” Muddies. A slang term from home. However, here on the frontlines, it was used to describe those serving as the grunts. The first line of attack. Those who directly engaged the enemy. It also sounded similar to ‘buddies’, which made him favor this term even more. Because fighting side by side, he considered these ponies his brothers in arms. “We are Hammer One. Our partner groups Anvil and the other Hammers are currently preparing a few miles in that direction. In a few hours, we will engage the enemy in a pincer maneuver in an attempt to distract the enemy forces and close off their exit route. The other hammers will join, so don’t puss out, this is a large-scale effort. With any luck, it will be the last offense in this war. We will keep the enemy forces occupied so Princess Celestia and Princess Luna can engage King Sombra directly. Remember: Every one of those soldiers on the field is just a poor bastard with a mind-control helmet. If you get a chance, damage or remove them. Don’t kill them if you don’t have to. Don’t inflict crippling or long-lasting injuries if you don’t have to. Whatever damage you cause our medics will have to stitch back together. That said, remember that they don’t have a choice either. They will not show you mercy. They simply can not. Don’t plead, don’t bargain, don’t reason. If push comes to shove and it's either them or you, I expect you to save your own skin. See that as an order, if it makes you feel any better. Am I understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the bellowed response.

“Then move!” He pointed his hoof to the east. In file, they turned and moved. And in the privacy of his own mind, while walking in front of his brothers, Iron Hoof prayed. He prayed to Celestia. Not the Princess he served, but the Goddess who redefined his life. Who showed him a different path. Who freed him from a life of violence. The latter especially was a funny thought, seeing where he was, what he was wearing and what he was doing. But never before joining the Guard had he felt so at peace.

Hours later, they engaged the enemy on a wide open field. The cold northern winds howled from the mountains and made most of them wish they were back home. Dense conifer forests concealed the advance of several hammer-groups closing in to cut off the escape route. The Equestrian army lacked the numbers to defeat them, but just like in that alleyway: Defeat was not the goal they aimed for.

Armies clashed and as usual, the battle was a hectic mess of screams and shouts. Commands were bellowed, lines pushed and broken, yells of pain and anger rose in patterns of ebb and flow.

Iron Hoof studied his opponents. Their movements. Their strengths and weaknesses. Their behavior. Dodged attacks. Slashed with his sword. Charged another foe to ram his shoulder into the target. He did not defeat him. He did not have to. He staggered his target, and that was enough for one of his allies to take him down. He did not fight alone.

Off in the distance, near the Crystal Palace, another battle happened. Sometimes with spells of such raw power and magnitude that even the battling forces on the ground miles and miles away could witness them. A mixture of light and shadow. The darkness vied for dominance, but fought a losing battle. Crystal shards black as night flew past agile wings, missing their targets. Beams of concentrated sunlight bore holes into a mostly insubstantial body, only for said holes to close up again. It was hard to pin a sorcerer down who could become a living shadow at will.

“Sergeant! Something’s happening!” yelled one of his soldiers over the chaos. He pointed towards the sky in the direction of the palace.

Iron Hoof growled at him, fool that he was, and threw his blade. It cut deep into the leg of a charging enemy and toppled him. He spun around and kicked another foe in the face who saw the loss of that blade as a moment of weakness. “Concentrate, you dumbass!” he shouted.

But there was a moment. A very brief moment. It allowed him to take a look. To see a tiny speck in the sky. The Crystal Heart? Could that be? They had heard rumors of this artifact from so many of the freed captives. It seemed to rise into the sky, rotating so quickly on its vertical axis that it was almost impossible to make out its shape. Something was happening, that was a given.

Then he felt it.

A warmth emanated from his chest. Iron Hoof pulled the necklace out and saw the crystal glow. Its light grew more intense by the second. He considered ripping the necklace off. And that turned out to be a mistake: He considered.

Precious seconds spent contemplating options. A massive explosion rang in his ears. It was centered on the spinning artifact, but the effect was felt everywhere. All the enemy soldiers stopped fighting, their bodies suddenly aglow, becoming transparent almost. Crystallized.

And much to Iron Hoof's bewilderment, the same happened to him. It felt strange as a wave of magic washed over him. Through him. Changed him.

“Sergeant!” some of his underlings yelled.

Strange how muffled their voices sounded. How distant.

“What is happening?!” another voice cried out in confusion.

He felt light. His eyes glazed over, his body floaty. And indeed, he could not even feel the ground beneath his hooves anymore.

“Retreat!” yelled a booming voice. The Royal Canterlot Voice. Luna’s voice, he vaguely remembered. Even his mind started to slip. Why would Luna order a full retreat though? What was happening with the Crystal Heart? With King Sombra? With him?

Then, darkness.

The Everfree Forest. A scar on Equestrian soil. An infamous hideout for scoundrels and villains alike. A breeding ground for monsters of all kinds. And currently the best spot he could think of to lay low after the disaster that was his last job.

The forest was dense. The gnarled and twisted trees kept curious gazes at bay. Even with his campfire illuminating the surrounding area. The fire kept some of the creatures away. Gnats, for example. And timberwolves. But Iron Hoof cared more about the gnats. With a pack of timberwolves he could deal. And their stinking breath gave them away early enough. Gnats on the other hoof were just devious.

He bit down on his stick and rearranged it above the fire. Three potatoes were on the other end, right above the flames. They should be ready in a couple of minutes.

Iron Hoof still wore his guard armor. It was the best piece of protection he had ever worn. And sometimes, on some days, he told himself that this was the only reason why he kept it. Why he still wore it. Especially here in the Everfree Forest, one was better off never getting out of armor.

But deep down, he knew the truth. Deep down, there was still a spark of pride. A piece of the guard who donned this armor to stand for what was important. But he did not recognize the Equestria he returned to. The soldiers had grown fat and soft. There was peace. All-encompassing peace, as it seemed at first. He did not recognize this world. But he did realize that it probably did not need him anymore. He was a relic. A remnant of a more brutal past.

His ears, still trained from years of war, swiveled towards a source of a different sound. Different, because forests were never quiet, especially not at night. Something moved in the dark. A twig snapped under weight. Something was coming closer.

He remained calm. Outwardly still. While he took stock of his options. Escape routes. The position of his supplies, saddlebags, tent. Where his weapon was. The direction the intruder came from in relation to how quickly he could reach his sword.

“Your name is Iron Hoof?” a voice from the dark spoke. Perfect Ponish. The voice was surprisingly gentle. Male, middle-aged. A strange accent. Not Equestrian, as far as he could tell. But then again, that might have changed over the past one thousand years as well.

Just thinking about that number made him feel old and tired.

“Sure is,” he replied to the darkness.

“Why?”

Iron Hoof snorted in amusement. This did not sound like an opponent, nor like a beast. He had danced with chimeras in the past. They were fierce creatures, clever and manipulative if need be. But never did they attempt to be charming. This guy, whoever he was, tried. It was frightening how effortless this voice made him want to like him.

In reply to the question, he raised one of his front hooves roughly in the direction of the voice. A muddy silver horseshoe shone brightly in the campfire's light. “Because I excel at hoof-to-hoof combat. I’ve been told I have a wicked uppercut.”

“Hmmm,” the voice responded in doubt. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

He snorted again and shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t pay me enough to be convincing. Or to satiate your idle curiosity. Hey, come to think of it, you don’t pay me at all.”

Silence. A good few seconds. Even the forest itself seemed to quiet down for a moment. “It is true then? You are for hire?”

Well, well, well. How did his old buddy Sizzle keep saying? Opportunity strikes at odd times. Here he was, recovering from a semi-disaster. And another job offer just happened to stumble upon him. Interesting. “I am,” he replied. “But I don’t think you can afford my service, oh mysterious voice in the dark.”

“Oh I can pay, believe me.” As if to prove his statement, a faint golden glow lit up in the treeline. And a little item silently floated over to him. For a fraction of a second, Iron Hoof could make out the sharp jawline of a muzzle. With the campfire providing the only light, it was impossible to tell the coat color, but that mattered little. A unicorn, apparently. He had no issues working with dragons or griffons or anyone else as long as they paid properly, but that guideline alone often proved controversial already. As if mercenaries were just gifts, public services.

The item his potential new employer offered was one he immediately recognized though. And Iron Hoof shook his head. “I’m not an idiot. I am not going to touch that.”

The pendant on the necklace had a unique and easily recognizable shape. A triangular form with a polished rhomboid ruby in the middle. Metal wings of black feathers sprouted left and right, with red highlights. And a stylized unicorn head emerged from the top, with another red highlight for an eye.

An alicorn amulet.

“Oh? So you know what this is. How interesting,” the voice pondered.

He remembered only a single encounter with a creature wearing one of these. The poor sod had been twisted by the corrupting magic beyond recognition. It had taken them weeks to track him down, and days of continued battle with several severe injuries to take him out. It was a case of pure luck that no casualties had been caused.

“If you try to trick me again, we will both have a very unfortunate night,” he threatened his guest.

“Fret not, boy,” the voice patronized him. “It is only crafted to look like one of those. As an additional security measure, if you will.” Seeing as Iron Hoof looked rather unconvinced, the item floated back to the treeline from whence it had emerged. A click was heard as the clasp of the necklace closed around the unicorn's neck. The ruby glowed faintly as it activated. No immediate transformation took place. No evil laughter bubbled forth.

“What does it do?” Iron Hoof asked. He did not like taking unnecessary risks. But the fact of the matter was: He needed the money. And if this stallion wanted him dead, he could probably have taken other options than offer him a cursed amulet.

“It accesses a gateway to an extradimensional space.” The explanation fell on deaf ears, it seemed. A sigh escaped from the treeline. Ignoramus. “It opens a door to a treasure room. Which holds your payment.” To further prove the point — that the amulet itself was harmless — he demonstrated its function by opening said door.

Iron Hoof stared in a mixture of awe and disbelief as a faintly glowing door frame appeared out of nowhere. The wooden texture reminded him of oakwood. The door itself was brighter, like birch. It opened on its own and indeed, there was a room behind it. He got up and walked around the door, only to notice once more how utterly weird magic was. The door had no backside. The door seemed to be fully two-dimensional, in fact. And as soon as he crossed over to the other side of the door, there simply was no door. Nothing was visible from the other side. He could even put his hoof through the point where he knew the door was.

However, Iron Hoof knew that this demonstration did not serve to teach him about the quirks of unicorn magic. He dared to glance into the ‘extradimensional space’, but hesitated to set hoof in. What he could see was a plain room. A concrete box, more or less. But it was filled with bits and shiny trinkets. Chalices of silver, with embedded gemstones. A crown or two. Several golden horseshoes. A peytral, crafted entirely of emerald, from the looks of it.

He whistled quietly. “That’s enough to steamroll an entire campaign,” he noted.

“My plans have been interfered with,” the voice noted with disdain. A moment later, a defeated sigh followed. “But I cannot respond with force. I need something more subtle. You will be my campaign. Do we have a deal?”

Iron Hoof still marveled at the incredible treasure hoard. And that was exactly the term that tickled his mind. A treasure hoard. “This could be a dragon hoard,” he stated.

“It is,” the voice admitted nonchalantly.

That… made Iron Hoof hesitate even further. Messing with dragons was dangerous business. Especially when their hoards were involved. “And the dragon this hoard belongs to?”

“Will not trouble you at all,” the voice coldly replied. The implications were chilling indeed. A unicorn capable of subduing a dragon. Depending on the size and age of the dragon, that was entirely possible. But this hoard looked like it belonged to a huge one. And that was a rather uncomfortable statement about the might of his new employer.

Because there was no way he could say ‘no’ to that offer.

It bewildered him a little why a powerful spellcaster like this guy would need the aid of somepony like him. But he did not get paid to ask questions.

“Do we have a deal?” the voice asked again.

Iron Hoof stared at the hoard. Then at his little, rundown camp. His sword could use a good polish. He needed to replace a few of the leather straps on his armor. He had meant to do that two weeks ago, but funds were tight. He sighed. “Sure. What now? And what should I call you?”

The charming voice seemed content. Satisfied. “Good, good. You may call me Wildfire,” the voice instructed. A click was heard and the ‘alicorn amulet’ floated back over into a waiting hoof. “I will send a couple of recruits your way. Work with them. You are a leader without anypony to lead. Let us change that. Instructions for your first task will follow shortly. We will be in touch. Farewell, sergeant.”

Hearing his rank made Iron Hoof grimace. He had not told anypony about his past ever since he returned a couple of years ago. His employer was gone. He could feel it. This looming presence had lifted. Yet he still felt strangely naked. At his new employer's mercy. His eyes trailed down to the amulet in his hoof. He hobbled over to his log, sat down and stared into the fire with a deep sigh. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”