Dreamwalker's Tale: Project Greenwood

He was trekking through the Everfree Forest for hours already, and he had another hour or so before he would reach his destination, it seemed. Rock stopped at a small creek and took a couple of sips. He opened his saddlebags with his teeth and pulled the stupid map out. The moment it started to paint his surroundings in artistic flourishes with stylized trees and moving symbols representing timberwolf packs and whatnot, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. He stared at the shovel on his back and growled a little. They dressed him up with ‘equipment’ that he would ‘need’ like he was not capable of doing his job otherwise.

Following commands again did not sit right with Rock Solid. For all he could tell, Iron Hoof was a decent leader. But that mattered little to him, as he only saw yet another stallion wearing some weird-ass armor and feeling undeserved pride because of it. And it unsettled Rock how eerily similar Iron Hoof’s armor looked to those old pictures of ancient day guard armor he found in books when he was still a wee little recruit himself.

As far as he was concerned, he was done with the guard. They could all go die in a ditch. And he cared not what faction Iron Hoof belonged to. Maybe he was some fancy-schmancy mercenary leader. Maybe he was a member of a revolutionist underground network. It did not matter.

But — following Iron Hoof’s orders and instructions had been part of the deal. So here he was, with a magical map and a supposedly magical shovel. Their mutual employer Wildfire had tried to tell him about this ancient pony hero who saved his village with this shovel or something, but again — he did not care. And the old coot was smart enough to notice that quickly, so he shut up and let him leave to do his thing.

Rock did not mind wandering through the Everfree. On the contrary, he quite liked it here. Most of the predators did not make a fuss. If they wanted one dead, they straight up went for it. He could respect that. Even if he still beat them to a bloody pulp. Or whatever that green stuff had been that had seeped out of those timberwolves. Manticores were a bit more difficult, but still manageable. And that was the fun part: Living here, walking around in this place, even sleeping in these woods was a challenge. It was primal, it was basic, it was survival. This was the stuff he was made for.

But he could respect Iron Hoof. He managed to get by in the forest as well. He generally seemed to be cut from a different cloth. An old-school stallion after his tastes. But he allowed himself to be weak. He had a soft spot for that shy pegasus colt Wildfire had dragged in like a lost kitten. He snorted in frustration, rolled up the map, stashed it away and moved on. His target destination had not moved.

When he reached the area, it did not look any different from other parts of the forest. Densely packed with gnarled and twisted trees, the canopies overhead so tightly interwoven that it became dark as night in some places, thick and thorny underbrush in all directions and a constant buzzing of insects and birds and the rustling of small predators going about their day. He appreciated the wilderness. The wildness. Some creatures had tried their luck. Tried to subdue him. Make a meal out of him. And he had shown them his superiority. He was the alpha predator now. Wherever he went, he was the biggest threat. And any challenger was more than welcome to try his luck. He would beat them, too.

Not his target though. Rock Solid was not as stupid as some ponies took him for. A tatzlwurm was a wholly different beast. He had never seen one. But he heard the stories. Everypony knew the stories.

He grabbed the stupid shovel, put the miner’s helmet from his saddlebag onto his head and lit it and started to dig. And it quickly became apparent why the shovel was supposedly magical. He removed decently large chunks of earth with each hit, the work went by fast and easy, he encountered no resistance by stony terrain and did not even feel fatigued when his work was done. It was a cheater's way of doing things, as far as he was concerned. That said, he had to work within a given timeframe. He simply did not have the time to do it properly.

His idea would have been to track where the beast had emerged last. And they did emerge occasionally. To place another air ventilation hole in their network of underground tunnels. To take a literal breather. To hunt for food, which they usually found on the surface.

From there, he could have followed the tunnels to his target. But that would have taken days, maybe even weeks, and Wildfire — for all his scholarly patience — was not that patient, it seemed.

Rock had dug a ramp down into the tunnel network. A steep incline, but it was still possible to run up and escape the tunnels if necessary. And there he found it. A living, breathing tatzlwurm. The creature was truly massive. He walked alongside its body. It seemed to sleep. And according to Wildfire, it would continue to do so for a couple more weeks, maybe even months. It had a proper meal a few days ago and now it was time to rest. That obviously implied that it probably would not mind a snack in between if he got careless. But that was the reason why Iron Hoof decided to send him in. He was tough. And quick. And resilient.

But he was not patient.

Rock Solid hated the nature of his assignment down here. To keep away from the most dangerous part of the tatzlwurm — its head — he walked down the body’s length and dug a little alcove into the wall near its rear. He placed the helmet down as a light source, walked over to the creature’s backend and gave it a good, solid whack with his shovel. Not at full force, of course. His orders were to let it sleep. But the sudden sensation stirred it enough to make it move for a moment. Like a sleeping pony scratching an itchy spot in the middle of the night. Its movement alone was enough to make the earth rumble and tremble. A few seconds, and the tatzlwurm went back to a more peaceful slumber.

And Rock Solid sat down in his alcove and sighed. This was stupid. Were they really expecting him to sit here for days, only occasionally getting up to slap the beast?

Slap the beast. That thought made him chuckle.

That was his order, yes. But five minutes later, he could already feel himself getting bored. So he grabbed the helmet once more, left his saddlebags with the map and the shovel behind — because screw those toys — and went back up. Not only was the air better up there, less stale and pungent since no tatzlwurm constantly breathed and farted into it, but there was actual daylight. And a lot more to see and experience than just tunnel walls. Maybe he could kill a couple of hours by exploring the tatzlwurm’s tunnel network at some point, but right now with his frustration levels way too high to sit still for extended periods, he needed a decent distraction. So he went off to search for something to beat up.

He did not have to go far before a supposedly threatening growl emanated from a nearby clearing. A manticore, probably. That would do just fine…

Days later and his agitation was at an all-time high again.

Rock could not take as many strolls as he would need to become less twitchy. He grew familiar with his surroundings and he did not like that, not one bit. He recognized trees and oriented himself on rock formations. There were basically no large threats remaining. They had all tried their luck and a solid hierarchy was established. With him at the helm of it all. It should have been a point of pride, an accomplishment. But he felt nothing. Just ever-increasing boredom.

At one point, it got so bad that he regretted the absence of a city or town nearby, or a pub to get a few drinks in. He quite liked the slight buzz alcohol gave him. Not once in his life did he get black-out drunk though. It just seemed like it was impossible for him. And he had tried several times.

When he started to miss a dozen pints of beer or whatever harder stuff they had to offer, his frustration peeked and he uprooted a tree with a solid kick. The trunk cracked and then the whole thing went down with a muffled thud, as the leaves and branches cushioned the fall. He did not scream. He growled.

And then he returned to his joke of a ‘post’.

Over the course of these days, he had also grown familiar with his charge. This beast was a good two hundred feet long from head to tail. He had tried to lever one of its scales away with the magical shovel, but an impressive amount of muscles beneath the scaled hide contracted and the thing clamped shut. He had brushed through its reddish mane, but cared little about the surprisingly soft hair. The head was sleek, smooth. Perfect to push through solid rock, he assumed. And from its weird, three-part mouth hung a couple of rubbery black tentacles. They oozed, probably saliva, and occasionally twitched. Maybe the tatzlwurm was dreaming.

And that was the full extent of his study.

Rock Solid assumed that there were countless eggheads out there, frothing at the mouth, eager to be in his place and study this magnificent creature in full detail. And magnificent it was.

Not for the first time, he walked along the length of this monster and marveled at its sheer size. Imagined the unfathomable destruction it could cause, if only it chose to. He raised his hoof and placed it on its scales. The beast did not even feel that. He was too tiny for it to notice his presence. Too insignificant.

It was an insult, really. Every time he picked up that stupid shovel and slapped this creature’s booty like some three-bit-whore, it was an insult to the force of destruction that lied slumbering. “They should treat you better,” he growled. This was a monster. A monster! Not just a convenient tool in some eggheads arsenal. Like all the other big-brain fools, Wildfire seemed to believe that he could use this creature, that he could wield it like just another pawn in his games.

Why was it that the sheer endless arrogance of unicorns usually caused so much grief? Was a superiority complex just an inherent trait of all unicorns, baked into their frail bodies?

Maybe they needed to be taught a lesson.

“They don’t give you the respect they ought to,” he said to the beast beside him as he walked further up ahead. “They think they can control you. They think they understand you. Enough that they think they can manipulate you into doing their bidding. But you are a wild creature. You are mighty and powerful, you are a force of destruction and they should fear you! You bow to nopony! And they. Will. Cower!”

With his mind quickly made up, Rock Solid turned around and cantered back to the small alcove he had used as a shelter. He flung his saddlebag over his back, grabbed the dumb helmet and put it on and picked up the shovel.

Pony hero my ass, most ponies are wimps!, he spat in thought and lifted his head high — and therefore the shovel between his teeth. A solid whack and the tatzlwurm shook once more to get rid of whatever was bothering it. But this time, Rock Solid was not done. Oh no. He hit it again a dozen feet up its body length. And again. And again.

Until the enormous monster finally awoke. Disgruntled and foul-tempered, as it should be. Because some nasty, stupid-ass ponies meddled with its might.

Rock Solid ran up to and then past its head. Two of the dozen tentacles hanging from the creature’s mouth managed to catch his hindleg and wrapped around it. He could feel the paralyzing poison numb his skin and the muscle beneath, but he was Rock Solid and he did not care. He hit one tentacle off with the shovel and kicked the other to the ground to stomp on it. The beast screeched in pain and relented, withdrew its tentacles and turned his newly opened eyes upon him.

They were blind like a mole, he assumed.

Still, there was no reason to dawdle any longer. “Come and get some, beasty!” he yelled into the tatzlwurm’s face.

The massive jaws opened wide, as wide as the tunnel would allow and a dozen tentacles shot out. The creature screamed in outrage and Rock felt a flutter in his heart. This. This was how this monster was supposed to look like, to behave like. He turned and ran past the tatzlwurm’s head, back to the ramp he had dug. The creature needed a moment to turn around, but it was astonishing with what speed it could dig new tunnels.

“Wormed its way through,” Rock chuckled in amusement.

For the first time in days, he felt awake again, alive again. His hooves thundered onto the ground, he barreled through thick underbrush and past trees, and the earth rumbled and quaked beneath him due to his unseen pursuer.

“Follow me!” he yelled back at the creature when it broke through the forest floor. It missed him. Not by much. But maybe on purpose. He liked that thought. Maybe it was playing with him. Like a cat with its food.

Rock knew that there was a village nearby. Nopony had said anything about it, but he assumed that his orders to occasionally stir the tatzlwurm into movement was meant to do something with the inhabitants of that town. And he was done being patient.

So he led the creature there. Straight bee-line. He plowed through everything in its path, swatted a couple of overly curious foxes and even a regular old wolf away with his shovel and continued straight ahead, until the village walls came into sight. At that point, he executed his formidable plan.

He abruptly stopped running and ducked into a thicket.

He knew that this beast oriented itself via vibrations. But it currently burrowed beneath the earth at top speed. Which he assumed caused a lot of vibrations as well. That should make it difficult to properly and precisely track him while it was moving itself. Therefore, with him stopping and the vibrations of his hoofsteps suddenly gone, it should focus on the next best thing it could notice. And that was probably a bunch of ponies walking around in that village.

It was genius, really.

And a grim, satisfied smile grew on his face when the earthquakes continued… right on past him. A moment later, the beast erupted from the ground once more.

They will know fear.

The evenings were Rock Solid’s favorite time of day. The day's work was done. Everything calmed down again. Time to rest and relax a little, to eat and then go to sleep. And really, despite his farewell to supposedly more civilized society, not much had changed. Iron Hoof sat close by and stirred the large wooden ladle in the massive metal pot that hung over their campfire. The kid sat on a log on the other side of it, keeping his distance from Rock — which he could appreciate, at least. He actually found it hilarious how much that colt dreaded his presence. Maybe he too had heard stories about him. But he would not let his expression betray that. And the nice smell of a good, old-fashioned stew hung in the air.

Life was good.

Well, that was until it wasn’t anymore. Rock Solid sat on his log with his soup bowl beside him when all of a sudden, he could feel it. The rapid build-up of residual magic. He had not expected their employer to show his mug around camp so soon after. But it was all the same to him. That said…

“You might wanna take cover or something,” he warned Iron Hoof with a dark and twisted grin. He could respect the stallion for his capabilities, but it still just did not sit right with him to be under the command of a uniform-wearer again. So this was all the warning he would get. And he immediately whiffed it.

Iron Hoof tensed up. “You said your mission was a success!” he spat.

Rock’s grin turned sideways. “It was.”

“According to whom?” his ‘leader’ inquired.

But it was too late. Rock was not sure if he could have come up with an adequately snarky reply in time anyway, so he did not mind things escalating at this point. An invisible shockwave of pure force raced through the forest. The wind it pushed along in its wake was surprisingly hot and Rock, intrigued by this observation, looked over his shoulder towards the epicenter of the spell.

There was a patch of ground completely burned. The grass was gray and crumbled to ashes. The tree nearby glowed in orange from the heat of the arrival while the rest of its trunk was blackened. A radius of several feet around the spot were just… dead. Burnt.

“Huh,” was all Rock mustered, seeing that.

And of course, in the middle of it all stood their employer. Wildfire did not hesitate. The moment his softly glowing horn cooled down somewhat, he lit it up again, raised his head and shot a volley of stun rays. There was fierce anger in his eyes. The colt was hit immediately, Iron Hoof froze in place a second later.

“You illiterate, boorish, incompetent imbecile!” spouted Wildfire.

“Lots o’ words,” Rock nonchalantly replied as a barrage of stun rays hit his back and fizzled out without doing much of anything. He knew he was only fanning the flames of Wildfire's anger, but truth be told — that was the point. It was very amusing to see the usually well-composed, scholarly, smarmy egghead lose his cool and throw a temper tantrum.

As expected, the unicorn tried to double down on his usage of magic. And while not all spells failed, it became apparent rather fast that even a capable caster like Wildfire, if confronted with the need to concentrate while being agitated and the inherent magical resistance Rock Solid had, needed to take a step back and reevaluate his approach.

And he did.

He grabbed Rock Solid instead, and even though his telekinesis flickered and threatened to fail at any second, Wildfire raised him up into the air and then used excessive force to smash him into the ground. What he had not accounted for however, was the simple fact that he lifted him up with a band of magic around his barrel. Therefore, Rock had his legs free to brace for impact. When he came crashing down, he exerted most of the force via his earth pony magic and sent it as ripples through the soil, in turn generating his own little earthquake. It felt kind of funky.

“That was fun,” he commented with a chuckle.

Wildfires' rage reached white-hot levels and several things in and around their campsite started to lift off the ground, grabbed fiercely in the unicorn's telekinesis. Rocks. Logs. Burning hot coals from their campfire. Saddlebags. Even the massive pot of stew.

It was a sad day for the stew.

And a moment later, all the various items started to pelt Rock in a seemingly endless barrage, as every item was lifted up again as soon as it had landed a hit. And they did hit him with enough force to hurt. In theory it was meant to be enough force to break bones if only a smidgeon more willpower was added, but due to his physique, Rock merely felt the onslaught.

One of the saddlebags slapped him into his face. It made Rock think about being mauled by a grandma. “This is getting ridiculous,” he commented while the metal pot that once contained stew hit his back again. The ladle hit his head, a few rocks hit his legs. It would certainly leave a bunch of bruises, but why would he care about those?

After probably a minute or so, Wildfire realized what Rock had stated to be true. He was a spellcaster. A unicorn. A scholar. A supposedly refined being. It was unbecoming of him to act like this. To lose control over himself and his powers so utterly. So he held his assault and put all the various bits and pieces back down.

Including Iron Hoof’s sword, which he had grabbed in the last wave to end this cretin. “I should finish you off for good,” Wildfire spat.

With his magic relenting, the stun rays effects were lifted as well. And while the young stallion on the other side used this opportunity to quickly fly past the tree line to hide somewhere safer, Iron Hoof merely stood up and positioned himself between Rock and Wildfire. “If I may?” he asked. Wildfire was utterly unwilling to listen to him. First and foremost because he probably had something very reasonable to say. So he remained still and silent, but the former day guard continued anyway. “You told me that I am your campaign. You paid me a fortune for my services. You told me that I am a leader. That I would be most successful in supporting your endeavor by leading those who you recruited. I have worked with these two for a couple of weeks now. Rock is… difficult to control.” And the stallion in question shot him a threatening glare. He was under nopony’s control whatsoever. “I told you that your idea to deploy him for this particular mission was less than optimal. You ignored my advice. That said, he is stronger than any regular pony I have ever seen. And while I have heard of earth pony resistance to magic, I have never heard of anything like this either. We need him.”

Wildfire wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, took a couple of deep breaths to steady his nerves again and when he opened his eyes once more, he felt calmer. And he looked less like a maniac ready and willing to burn down the entire forest. “I must apologize for my slip of control,” he opened and focused his attention entirely on Iron Hoof. Because he already knew that Rock was grinning like the bumbling idiot that he was, and if he saw that, he might just lose it again. “I should not have made such frivolous use of property that does not belong to me.” With that, he gave Iron Hoof his sword back. “That said, I am… displeased, to say the least. This mission was an utter failure. Not only did your recruit show severe neglect of responsibilities by leaving his post time and time again, he willfully decided to go against his direct orders to not wake the creature, and furthermore decided to lead it to the village. Future plans involving this beast have thus been thoroughly derailed. My safety was endangered. Lives were endangered. How do you intend to rectify this, commander? What disciplinary action do you intend to deliver?”

Iron Hoof was as surprised to hear anything about ‘disciplinary actions’ as Rock Solid was. The latter furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Now wait just a darn minute, tinderbox. This wasn’t part of the deal!”

Wildfire's head snapped around and his gaze fixed itself on Rock. “Be glad that I allow you to breathe, you pestilent waste of space!”

Rock did not care for Wildfire's insults. They sounded funny. He used big words because he believed them to be more threatening or intimidating or something. But now he wanted to hurt him, and the fun was over. Rock stepped forward. “I get a say in this,” he growled.

Wildfires horn lit up. The corona was bright enough that one could assume he was about to cast another long-range teleport. But no, nothing of that ilk. He simply charged an abundance of energy into his attempt to overcome Rock's magic resistance. And a second later, the enormous earth pony collapsed to the ground, gasping for air but unable to breathe in, clutching his throat with his hooves.

“Do you now?” Wildfire asked and turned his attention back to Iron Hoof. “You have a minute or two to answer before the conundrum becomes obsolete.”

Iron Hoof grimaced and shook his head. “This is not how the guard worked or operated. Ever. We are working under completely different circumstances here, with you constantly changing the rules, interfering with my training, disregarding my suggestions. I will think about adequate consequences, but I will do so on my own time.”

The gasping noises slowly went quieter. Iron Hoof held Wildfire's gaze for a couple of seconds more before the unicorn relented and dispelled his magic with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But you better do come up with something — or I will.”

Rock took one deep breath and rose to his hooves again. The impulse to attack the wizard was there and it was almost irresistible. But instead, he held his hooves and resorted to words. “I don’t ‘do’ sneaking. I don’t patiently wait around for days. I don’t do detailed work or finishing touches.”

Wildfire whipped around once more and stomped up to the stallion two sizes larger than himself. “You will do exactly what I command you to do!”

“What I command him to do!” Iron Hoof intervened resolutely.

Rock stared down at the unicorn and grimaced. He was still far from threatening. But he could see it plain as day in his murderous eyes. This stallion would try to get him killed. He would not do it himself. That was not how Wildfire ‘ticked’. He would make it seem like the inevitable result of Rock Solid’s own shortcomings.

So, if he would try to get him killed anyway, why hold back? “I told you,” Rock growled in a deep, rumbling voice as he lowered his head to get on eye-level with Wildfire. “I told you when you came to me: You better know who you’re recruiting, wizard. You better know who I am and what I do. Don’t pretend this little mishap isn’t on you.”

Both stallions glowered at each other for a couple of seconds longer before Iron Hoof once again stepped in to defuse the situation. “That’s enough,” he cut in. “It’s been a long day for all of us. And we just lost our stew. Icy, could you fetch more water, please? Rock, get some more veggies.”

Rock Solid did not move.

“Now,” the commander insisted.

Only when Rock finally caved in and went to their hopefully not completely ruined stash of food did Iron Hoof turn to Wildfire. “Are you ready to listen to me this time? Because if I’m allowed to be honest here, I don’t appreciate wasting my time and breath.” Wildfire grimaced, but made a gesture for him to continue. After all, this old day guard had proven himself not just a capable leader and even a decent negotiator, but somepony who could keep a clear head on his shoulders even in dire situations. His input was probably worth listening to.

Iron Hoof nodded. “Icy is… fragile. And he’s young, barely worth calling him a stallion. Your idea for his deployment is nothing I can support. It’s too direct of an approach and his training will still take a couple of days just to reach the point where I can send him on scouting missions. I have a different idea though. I talked to him and we figured something out that could achieve what you hope for while still being somewhat subtle or at least hard to trace back to you.”

Wildfire looked over to Rock. He had dismissed Iron Hoof's advice once. “I am listening,” the wizard hesitantly replied.