Dreamwalker's Tale: Project Greenwood

The Everfree Forest was dangerous terrain to navigate. Especially for those who knew nothing about its many inhabitants. One had to look out for patches of Poison Joke and Stranglevines as much as the more well-known hazards like timberwolf packs.

Iron Hoof knew enough to get around. Not enough to make this hostile place his home or anything like that, but enough to get around. One of the reasons why he preferred for his camp to stay near the border of the forest, to allow for a decently quick exit should the necessity arise. Of course, standing right outside the forest did not quite cut it for most situations. A manticore on the prowl would not just give up its hunt just because there were no trees in the way anymore. But as an earth pony, Iron Hoof felt the connection to the land when his hooves touched down on Equestrian soil. A connection that was still there within the premises of the forest, but it seemed distorted, weakened. In here, he would not dare to fight a manticore. But outside he might survive such an encounter.

He ducked low to the ground when he heard a rustle nearby. His ears trained themselves on the source, he tried to gauge distance. And breathed a sigh of relief when a few seconds later, a squirrel gave its last panicked squeak as a nightly predator found its meal.

He felt naked without his armor. Vulnerable. But leaving it at camp had been the smarter choice. It added another layer to his plausible deniability should he encounter anypony else. Ideally, that would not happen of course. There was a reason why he went through all this effort to sneak around. But he had been told that the village nearby, Greenwood, had a dragon, a griffon and a pegasus. Fliers were fast. If one of them decided to keep watch through the night, or go for a patrol flight over the surrounding area, he might be spotted.

Iron Hoof snuck up to a larger collection of bushes and underbrush and made his way inside so he could sit down and take a breather. Sneaking was most certainly not his strength. It was tiresome and annoying. And as soon as he took a deeper breath, he started to regret certain life choices. Again. It was not the first time this night that he had made that particular mistake, but apparently he was slow on the uptake tonight.

Wildfire had given him clear instructions, two vials and a little satchel with powder. While Iron Hoof had an inherent appreciation for the former, he really started to regret ever using the latter. ‘Alpha manticore musk’, Wildfire had said. A great deterrent for both timberwolves, younger manticores and just about any other creature that was capable of moving out of the way. Cragadiles would not care, sure, but he had no plans of going anywhere near any large body of water.

Having a natural shield seemed convenient, but dear Celestia, the smell.

He resumed to keep his breaths shallow and moved on. The longer he lingered in one place, the stronger the odor would become and at some point, no shallow breathing would be able to save him from that pungent odor.

A couple of minutes passed and he finally beheld his target. In between the gnarled and twisted trees, he could see the deteriorated walls of the castle ruins. It was therefore time to add the last layer to his ‘disguise’. It was made infinitely easier by the fact that it had rained only two days ago and the forest floor took a while to absorb all that water.

He quickly found a puddle of sufficient size, sat down on his haunches and got to work. His bright orange mane and tail vanished under a thick layer of mud. Not only would that help with visibility, it would add to the story he intended to present in case he was discovered. The poor sod who got lost in the woods, had been running for days from monsters of all kinds and now finally hoped to find safety and shelter.

While the cover story was in theory a good one, he knew his rather lacking acting skills. He was a soldier, not a scoundrel or actor. But as Princess Luna said time and time again back in the day: ‘Tis better to has't a planeth and not needeth it, than needeth it and not has't one.

He did not appreciate how his now wet and sticky mane and tail clung to his backside and neck. The mud was cold enough to draw all warmth through his skin. But ignoring these influences, that was finally something he was good at. Blending out discomfort and pain, how his muscles ached as the cold seeped in. Standard fare for a day guard.

Iron Hoof continued towards the ruins. He could see the lights of Greenwood, probably from wall-mounted torches on the other side as they illuminated parts of the forest in a different light than the occasional bioluminescent fungus or insect. And he had every intention to stay clear of those areas. He instead entered the ruins from the backside through a gap in the walls.

Getting close and getting in had been easy. The old castle of the two sisters was in an awful state. Dilapidated, crumbling, abandoned. It was a shame, really. He had been in these halls, patrolled these corridors. Back before the curse of king Sombra, this castle had been more his home than the actual house containing his actual possessions. He had found his calling wearing that armor.

And now the sound of his hoofsteps was muffled by the squelchy, moldy carpet. The once proud banners picturing the heraldry of the diarchy limply hung in tatters. And every so often, he could hear the stone work as the nightly cold seeped into it. Considering the circumstances, it was a small miracle that the castle was still in this good of a shape. One thousand years of neglect and lacking maintenance. One thousand years surrounded by the chaotic, ever-changing forest, subjected to the freak weather. And on top of all of that: It had somehow survived the initial clash between the sisters.

That was really something he could not wrap his head around. How quickly things must have fallen apart after the liberation of the Crystal Empire. Had he ever seen any signs? Had they been there, and he merely failed to notice? How many holes in these once sacred walls had been blasted by his princesses fighting each other?

A shame.

Despite how icky it felt to walk on what remained of the carpet, he still did it. Because he could not afford to be caught. Out in the forest, his story would have worked just fine. Probably. But in here, that was an entirely different matter. He could pretend to have stumbled into the ruins to escape predators outside, sure. But there were numerous gaps in those deteriorated walls. How convincing would his story be if whoever found him had to be convinced of the fact that he managed to lose whatever creature was after his hide?

Wildfire had never asked how familiar he was with the old castle. He did not care, Iron Hoof assumed. Or maybe he did not know that any connection between the two was even remotely possible. Either way, the sorcerer had given him a precise description of the path he was supposed to take. Which, according to Wildfire, was chosen for quick and easy access as well as safety, as some parts were in even worse shape than the outer walls. And the last thing the old unicorn wanted was for his lackey to be buried beneath a collapsing ceiling.

That said, Iron Hoof remembered the layout well enough to know where his employer wanted to guide him. The main staircase that led to the basement.

Once Iron Hoof arrived at the top of it, he quickly understood why he carried those two vials. He was told the passage was not possible without them and that the contents of these vials would turn him into a cloud. Whatever alchemy went into them, it was impressive work if it was capable of such feats. Though Iron Hoof had really hoped to get by without having to drink them. He did not trust this stallion more than he needed to and after seeing the collapse and the sheer size of some of those boulders that blocked the staircase, he made a simple, slight change of plan.

He turned and checked the other staircases first.

There were two more, one of them concealed behind a secret door in a wall. The first one was located in the former kitchen area. Dinners for galas and guests alike had been prepared here. The finest cuisine in all of Equestria. Fit to serve the princesses. It had been considered a great honor to be invited as a chef to work at the palace. A badge that guaranteed that, if one were to leave the employment of the crowns at some point, one's reputation would ensure financial safety for years to come.

Now it was just another empty room with a few crumbled, rotten pieces of wood where once tables and cabinets stood.

Iron Hoof was no gourmet. He had tasted the food from this kitchen a couple of times. It was good. Pretty good. Although he never understood the fuss everypony else made about it. Maybe his tongue was just not fancy enough.

In the corner of the room was what remained of a wooden trapdoor after all these years. He tried to open it up, but it simply broke apart as soon as his hoof touched the solid-looking surface. He managed to quickly chomp down on the largest piece and kept it from falling into the pitch-black abyss beneath, although his attempts to keep the silence intact was rewarded with the taste of foul, rotten wood in his mouth.

He laid the piece off to the side and looked down. The stairs were still there. That said — that ladder was made out of wood. Again: It looked solid. As if it was in decent shape. Ready and eager to carry his weight. But that trapdoor had looked very much the same and he was not willing to take that chance.

And with how narrow the passageway was, even a pegasus would not be able to fly down there. He heard that some unicorns were capable of imitating flight via levitating themselves. Maybe a unicorn would have been able to get down there without breaking its neck.

He shook his head and moved on to the next target. And what a drag that turned out to be! It took him almost an hour walking up and down the hallways of the castle. He tried to remember where that damn secret passage was. And he was sure that he knew. But the wall would not budge. So he became unsure and inspected other parts of the wall. Other walls in other hallways. Until he remembered that there had been some kind of switch or something to open the passageway. With that resurfaced information equipped, he returned to the spot he initially suspected and searched for loose stones he could push in, or for sconces to pull. Those had been Princess Celestia’s and Princess Luna’s favorite means of activation. Those and pressure plates.

A small shudder ran through him as he remembered the pressure plates. His only first-hoof experience with the sisters' ongoing prank-war.

This time, it only took him about five more minutes before he found the relevant sconce. It was a little rusty, but after a second careful attempt with a smidge more force, he managed to pull it down. Where it immediately got stuck. He heard a part of an old mechanic move behind the wall, and it sounded as rusty as the sconce looked. Then something rattled, something screeched quietly and something snapped.

Then silence followed.

“Figures,” Iron Hoof sighed. He tried to push the wall open a couple more times, just to make sure, but it would not budge. Back to the main staircase then. Apparently there really was no way around drinking whatever Wildfire had brewed up. The thought occurred to him that maybe he had not brewed it himself. Maybe he had simply bought it from somepony with appropriate alchemical knowledge. Even though Iron Hoof could not tell if Wildfire had alchemical knowledge. He simply seemed like the kind of unicorn that would take a single look at an alchemical setup, compare it to his own magic and sneer in superiority.

Though Iron Hoof could not decide if the thought that these concoctions might have been bought made it better or worse.

He sat down on top of the rubble, took the first vial from his belt and removed the stopper. A brief, cautious sniff and he was surprised to find that the mixture had no scent at all. “Well, bottom’s up.” He gulped down the entire content in one swig. And was surprised again to learn that it had no discernable taste either. He was just about to furrow his brow in thought when his stomach responded with an upset rumble and a second later, his entire body just — poof — dissolved.

Reformed, reshaped, restructured, whatever. He was a cloud. Wildfire had warned him that it was in his best interest not to dawdle, as the transformation had a very brief duration and even the slightest gust of wind would pose quite an interesting problem.

He tried to move forward. Lift a hoof, consciously.

It worked.

So he stared at the very narrow gaps out of non-existent eyes. How his senses still functioned in this state was beyond him and he was not the type to get nightmares over failed attempts to figure this out. Instead he moved forward, pressed his muzzle against the biggest gap that he could see — a whole three inches wide, wow — and tried to simply roll with it when he felt his entire head squeeze in. It did not hurt. Even as his head was deformed, it did not even feel uncomfortable, even though he could feel the stone pressing against his skull. Or rather, the other way around. He tried to dig forward and in time realized that it was less about conscious movement of his body parts and more about his intentions.

He thought about moving forward, so he did.

Clouds moved agonizingly slowly and he tried to stave off the thought of what would happen were the transformation to end while he was still squished in between these boulders. Instead he simply followed his eyes and ears and the sense of air current. He emerged on the other side and reformed into his full pony shape, mere seconds before the transformation ended and he was a creature of blood and flesh once more. “Cutting it a little short there,” he grumbled.

It was dark beyond the collapse. Even after several seconds of staring into the pitch-black void, he still failed to make out anything. “Incento,” he quietly uttered. And much to his relief, the old enchanted sconces still worked. With a snap and a spark, the fires lit up and illuminated the staircase leading down. Rough, hewn stone. Every now and then, the actual individual cellars branched off to both sides.

He followed the stairs deeper and deeper, past several cellars which once upon a time contained all the castle staff needed in reserve. Tools and cloth, dyes and crates full of durable food, barrels of water and wine — the stuff a fortress could survive on were it suddenly surrounded and under siege.

It was telling, really.

The old castle had been constructed in a time when Equestria still had plenty of enemies. Griffons and dragons to the east, Kirin to the west, Yaks and bugbears to the north and the arimaspi to the south. Surrounded by hostiles. Or in the kirin’s case at least non-allies.

Yet after his return, the political climate and landscape had changed so dramatically, he barely recognized this world anymore. None of the old foes were still enemies. The Griffon Empire was in shambles and what remained was now allied with Equestria, which in turn sent support to rebuild their civilization. The dragonlands were open to not just visitors, but tourists.

Tourists!

The yaks had a cultural exchange program. The kirin were not fierce warriors anymore, but rather several independent communities, all of which had withdrawn from the world at large. Well… the arimaspi were still somewhat hostile. But only towards those who did not respect their borders. And the bugbears, while still a threat, had been pushed back by such a degree that a single one witnessed in Equestria was something the whole nation would write newspaper articles about. For months.

And they have newspapers now.

Many of these changes were reflected in the new castle in Canterlot. He had been there. Once. After his return. He had been so confused. Apparently a bunch of Equestrian national heroes had battled a reemerging king Sombra and defeated him for good this time. He had failed to notice them or the fighting. He had been disoriented. He searched for his comrades. For his princesses. And found neither. Eventually, some of the crystal ponies could enlighten him to his fate.

It took some time after that.

But he needed to see for himself. He needed to see this new Equestria. This new palace. This new capital city. Canterlot was full of snobbish unicorns. The guards were soft, squishy, lazy. The day guard had become a laughing stock and the night guard seemed to have no cohesion anymore. The entire city was indefensible as far as he was concerned. Who’s idea was it to build on a mountainside?!

He barely recognized anything.

And he did not dare approach the princesses. With his mind befuddled, his world gone, this new day and age so peaceful and… soft. They had no need for him anymore.

Iron Hoof's mood darkened. Something that was quickly reflected in his expression. Eventually, he reached his destination. The stairs went further down, but the seventh cellar on the right was his target. He opened the door and just as Wildfire had said, found a completely empty room. Thirty by thirty feet, ten feet high. Like all the other cellars, it was hewn into the solid stone that made up the foundation beneath this castle. One sconce on every wall, with the door being off-center in one corner.

“Vera Monstra,” he said the phrase he had been given. Nothing immediately happened, but after he blinked once, the room had indeed changed, albeit only slightly. It was still very much empty, but there was an assortment of strange glyphs on the ground now. He cautiously stepped closer to inspect one of them. They had been carved into the stone floor. No signs of tool work. So it was either done with acid — a very precise application of it — or magic. And there seemed to be some sort of glowing paste in them. Maybe some sort of alchemical reagent. He was no expert on any of this, so Iron Hoof decided to stay clear, not walk directly over them and heed Wildfire’s words: Get in, do your job, get out.

He looked around and found the little chisel his employer had mentioned. The tool laid discarded in a corner of the room, ready to be used. Iron Hoof picked it up and carried it over to the glyph he was supposed to manipulate. The shape had been described in detail and Wildfire even went so far as to draw it in the dirt, just to make sure that he would not mess up whatever this was for.

A line shaped like a C or a crescent moon. Two lines in parallel crossed the thicker middle section horizontally. His job was simply to add a third line. He stood there for a moment and looked at the glyphs again. Two dozen of them, aligned in a circle that encompassed almost the entire room, but the center featured only a single glyph. Some of them repeated in patterns, but the middle one was unique. He could even spot other C-glyphs which already had three bars. So maybe he was merely here to finish up work that had not gotten done in time?

He placed the chisel and sighed. A hammer would have been nice. In the absence of the right tool however, a guard had to make due with what he had. And what Iron Hoof had was earth pony strength. He held the chisel in place with a hoof, raised the other and slammed it down. It was not exactly graceful work. He was no stone mason, no artisan. It was clumsy. But what mattered at the end was not how it looked or how silly he felt, but that the job got done.

As soon as the third line was finished, the strange, almost oily looking glowing substance that filled these glyphs expanded to fill the newly created third line. He had briefly wondered how it refrained from doing that before and seeing how it seemed to have a mind of its own now, it only further solidified his suspicion that this was some magic macguffin.

Once the line was evenly filled, something changed in the glyph arrangement. Some of them changed their eerie glow from a ghostly-pale greenish to a soft bright blue. And that middle rune changed as well. Some of the lines rearranged themselves. It almost looked like a blooming flower now, with petals and all. And one glyph in the outer circle shone a tad brighter than the others. Which one it was changed, however. And it took Iron Hoof only seconds to realize what this was.

The brighter glowing rune changed with each second. The next one was the one beside it. Clockwise. Clockwise. It was a clock. Or a timer of some kind.

He watched it make one full circle and one of the petals from the central glyph vanished. Iron Hoof grimaced. He was not keen on sticking around long enough to see what this glyph circle would do once the timer ran out. This thing surely looked too intricate to be a mere alarm clock. And his employer had gone to some lengths to ensure that he would not mess up and this thing would stay hidden.

Right, time to go. He cautiously stepped around glyphs to make his way over to the door again, put the chisel down next to the door and closed it. He trotted up the stairs, back to the blockade and consumed the content of the second vial. This time, knowing roughly how much time he had, he wasted none of it as he made his way through the collapsed section. Once back outside, he waited for just a few moments for his body to return. The old castle had more holes than windows at this point, and that resulted in some hallways being a tad too windy for his liking. He had no intention to get blown around as a cloud. Especially since manifesting mid-air and falling was a real possibility.

With his task done, he sighed and stepped onto the moldy, soggy, rotten carpet once more. He would take a long, preferably hot bath once he was back at camp.

Iron Hoof exited the castle the way he came in, with nopony in Greenwood any wiser. And he was already a good distance away when he stopped and looked back.

Wildfire had first captured an entire dragon hoard and made sure that the dragon it belonged to would not become a problem later on and then had spent this massive fortune to recruit him and a bunch of weirdos. You are my campaign, echoed the sorcerer’s voice in his head. He was a good soldier. He had climbed the ranks because of it. But Iron Hoof knew that despite his pride in his talents, he was not that good. Something big was going on. This stallion did not like meddling. Obviously. He had started his employment explicitly as a countermeasure because his plans had been interfered with.

So, he would not interfere. He was smart enough to not do that.

But his gut feeling told him that not only was this entire thing something bigger, it also told him that out of all the shady employers he had worked for in the past few years as a mercenary, Wildfire was the strangest and the most dangerous. By far.

And no matter how far he had fallen from grace, no matter how shady his businesses went, he would not allow for any harm to come to the princesses or Equestria as a whole. Extortion was one thing. Blackmail. Roughing somepony up. He usually shied away from outright assassinations, but modern ponies usually already caved if a few good kicks landed. But he had heard stories of the villains that had emerged over the years. Changeling queens and shadow ponies.

If Wildfire had aspirations to become the next Lord Tirek, then Iron Hoof had a responsibility to ponykind to stop him. It really was that easy. His loyalty, ultimately, lay with the crown. Still did. Always would.

“Fuck,” Iron Hoof quietly grumbled before he turned around. He would search for a good spot to watch from afar. Some sort of chaos was about to happen and it would most likely involve that little village out in front of the ruins.

His two companions had both noticed how quiet he was. They knew him for less than a month and both could already tell that despite how taciturn Iron Hoof could be, this was strange behavior for him. But the old soldier had a lot to think about. And despite his best efforts, it just… it did not get any easier. He contemplated opening up to the other two, telling them all he knew and all he suspected, but while he would have liked some input on the matter, he knew well enough that it might paint a bright red target on their heads as well.

And he really wanted to keep the kid safe, at least. No, he would carry that burden alone, for now. Iron Hoof sighed. Not for the first time this evening. The other two were currently out in the woods, training. So when he heard hoofsteps, from the wrong direction as well, he knew his employer had returned.

“You did not retreat!” hissed Wildfire. The clear accusation in his voice only helped to underline how pissed he was. Although Iron Hoof suspected that him witnessing the events unfold was not the main reason for his crankiness.

“That is true,” he freely admitted, “however: You did not command me to either.”

Wildfire, as per usual, stayed near the treeline, half-hidden in the shadows beside a thicker trunk. He remained silent for a moment. Maybe seething in anger. Maybe contemplating. Probably the latter, actually. As far as Iron Hoof could tell, this stallion was not the type to linger on emotions overly. “I do not pay you to satiate your idle curiosity,” Wildfire chided him.

It almost made him chuckle. He remembered a scene from his youth, when his own dad had tried — and failed — to chide him. That failure was the result of small Iron Hoof deconstructing the entire educational premise on which the chiding was based. He was not the smartest pony around, but he was not dumb either. And more importantly, he almost always had his wits about. “That… is true as well,” Iron Hoof replied with a well-hidden smirk, completely unfazed by the tone his employer used. “This was a fully private interest, payment not required.”

“I do not appreciate you taking ‘interest’ in my affairs,” Wildfire responded. And the icy voice already made clear that there was a threat in there. And a warning to treat carefully.

Iron Hoof sighed. He wanted to mollify this clearly agitated, frustrated unicorn, but at the same time…

He shook his head. No. He had two soldiers to look after. One was dangerous in his own right, and in all the wrong ways too, but the other one was less of an adult than he would like to be seen as. Iron Hoof wondered for a brief moment if that was the reason for Wildfire's weird choices. To tie him down with the responsibility for a recruit that was still more colt than stallion. Plus one that was a clear and obvious danger to everypony. “Why so grumpy?” he asked as a diversion. “Your plan worked, didn’t it? Just not quite as intended, but still. It worked.”

Again, silence. The fire crackled. Iron Hoof did not bother looking towards his employer. If he did not have the decency to step into the light and talk face to face like a normal pony, why should he then bother looking towards him. Wildfire probably preferred it this way anyway.

“And what, pray tell, do you think I intended?” the sorcerer asked, again in that chilling, emotionless voice. That said, before Iron Hoof could reply, a quiet sigh followed. An unexpected sound that actually made the old soldier look up and over. He was even about to ask if the sorcerer was okay when he saw him shake his head. “It did not.”

For a brief moment, Wildfire seemed almost troubled. Conflicted.

Iron Hoof thought back to the previous night. To his own thought: If Wildfire wanted to become the next Lord Tirek…

Bittersweet irony, really.

“I think you’re a smart one,” the old soldier answered. “I think you were confident that they would find a solution for the Tirek-fiasco. I don’t see you as the kind of pony that unleashes someone like Tirek without doing their homework first and properly researching him and his abilities, because quite frankly, if he gets too much of a power boost, I doubt even you could stand against him.” He himself had been lucky. When Tirek attacked Equestria, he had been in Griffonstone. To intimidate a couple of griffon merchants. He had told his employer multiple times that that was not how griffons worked, but that idiot had no wish to listen. And he still paid, so Iron Hoof merely shrugged and took the next train. Dodged a bullet, as they said. But in the aftermath, he had heard more than his fair share of stories. From many, many traumatized ponies who, for the first time in their lives, had felt truly lost. Because their destinies had been ripped from them. “However, you did not expect your friend to just straight up kill him — honestly, that caught me off-guard as well. He seemed so… I don’t know. Bland. Unassuming. You wanted to keep them occupied and in that regard, the mission was a success — I’ve seen soldiers battle their inner demons after their first kill for months. I don’t think your buddy will recover quite so quickly. I do have to wonder though why you do this to somepony who seems so intent on befriending you — couldn’t you just ask nicely? “Keep your muzzle out of my ruins” or something like that?”

Wildfire grumbled in dissatisfaction. “You are more perceptive than you look.” The sorcerer sighed again. “I miscalculated, that is true. He seems quite gentle most of the time, but apparently, there is a certain strength beneath that I did not anticipate.”

Iron Hoof stared at the conflicted stallion. It became clearer and clearer that he wished to keep his new friend away from his plans, but at the same time, the sorcerer willingly became increasingly entangled in this whole friendship-business. The wear and tear became more visible. “No refunds,” muttered the old soldier in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Wildfire silently chuckled and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Both parties fell silent for a moment that stretched further and further. Maybe this was a good moment. To ask. To try and get some clarity. “You know,” Iron Hoof started, “you pay me a lot. A fortune. And I’m good at what I’m doing. And I know when I’m not good at something. In that case, I’m usually good enough to find somepony else who’s good at it. Point being: I could be of considerable help if I knew what this whole thing was about. I get it if you don’t want to involve the other two. I won’t tell them. And I don’t mind continuing with our current status quo either. I’m offering help. So, that being said: What’s all this really about, Wildfire?”

He hesitated. Iron Hoof watched the unicorn hesitate and struggle with himself. It was good information to have. There was no immediate ‘no’. No outrage or indignation. He would decline, of course. Wildfire would refuse his offer. And that was fine. Knowing that things could change was enough. He could work with that. Worm his way in. Earn trust.

And if necessary, dismantle the thing from inside.

“In time, Iron Hoof,” answered the sorcerer meanwhile. “In time.” Two voices became audible. They had been drowned out by the nightly forest so far, but as they neared camp again, they became louder. They would return within a few minutes. “Tell me. How are your recruits doing?”

Iron Hoof’s gaze followed Wildfire’s in the direction of the nearing voices. “Good. They accept me as their leader. Teamwork has been established. Icy is almost ready for deployment.” He turned back to look at Wildfire, but the sorcerer was gone. Of course he was. “I hate when he does that.”