The guest

A zebra quietly slunk through the thick underbrush of the Everfree forest, his hoofsteps barely audible even to himself. From the lowly squirrel to the great timberwolf, none noticed him as he slipped soundlessly towards a still distant cave. Shrouded by the light of a half moon, neither predator nor prey was aware of his presence, allowing the zebra to maintain a brisk pace.

Though a shawl hung loose about his body, anyone could see that the male was strong, his muscles visible even through the thick cloth which obscured most of his form. The deep hood which left his face hidden in shadow occasionally tilted back enough to reveal his muzzle which was pure black from the top of his jaw upwards.

An ill omen in his homeland, few equestrians understood the significance of a zebra being born without the familiar markings on their face. Fewer still could tell what the strange symbols which hung from his golden earrings meant, or why he had left said homeland.

Corded muscles tensed and released as he leapt over a fallen log before slipping soundlessly through a bramble bush. Emerging out into the otherside the zebra began to ascend a short hill that led to a sharp cliff face which in turn contained his temporary home. Making his way up the brief incline, the zebra’s thoughts went back to the last place he truly called home.

Shunned for his special talent, and cast out for his curiosity the much younger zebra had struggled to survive. Many years and many failures later and that same zebra no longer had to worry about merely eeking out a pathetic existence in the woods. For his preparations were nearly complete, and with one final ritual he would have all he needed to truly live as he wished.

With a whole trio of slaves to serve under him, and do his every bidding.

That was neither here nor there however, as he had yet to complete the last, and most crucial part of his plan. Deftly crawling under the low ceiling which marked the entrance to his cave home, the zebra emerged out into a much larger area. Though it was only a single circular room, the space had served its purpose adequately up until this point.

It had enough space for a wide, shallow pot to rest atop a softly burning fire while also providing a convenient chimney directly above. This hole was naturally occurring, and with a little extra work could easily handle all the smoke the zebra’s meagre fire could produce. Other than that there was a simple, if rather small bed off to one side, as well as the only object he had brought with him from his homeland.

A simple wooden chest wrought with iron and secured with a rather plain padlock, the key to which hung loose around his neck. Upon fully entering the cave the zebra threw aside his cloak, and gave his body a brief shake. The jaunt through the woods had not lasted terribly long, but it was just enough to leave his fur covered with the faint sheen of sweat.

Running a blanket across his body, the zebra took a moment to appreciate the strength of his hooves and the impressive physique he cut. Years spent amongst the forest’s inhabitants had left the male with little choice but to become fit or die trying. Though by no means a body builder, the zebra’s slim, well defined muscles had served him well since he had left his homeland behind.

Even still, the zebra knew that would change, and that he would become more powerful soon enough. To that end, the zebra tossed aside the grungy blanket he had used, and fished the herb he had been looking for out of the pocket of his cloak. The small hoof full of jagged leaves may not look like much to most people, but to the zebra it was an incredible sight.

For apparently the plant they grew off of was not native to this world, and contained strange, chaotic properties. Mixed with ash, the thestrals used it to heal minor illnesses, while most zebras avoided the plant due to its other, more sinister applications. Only they, the shamans of his home understood that this plant’s leaves could be used in a truly dark ritual.

One the zebra was about to begin the second he remedied the sorry state of his mane. Running a hoof through the mess of a mohawk, the zebra quickly fixed the minor issue before gathering the rest of what he required. With a load of specialty ingredients scavenged from far and wide, the zebra began to carefully build the necessary brew.

As he got to work, his face began to glow faintly with a deep, unearthly green light. One which seemed to emanate from the barely noticeable skull pattern now visible on his face. Where before he had no stripes to speak of, now that he had begun to work his magic, the zebra had gained a rather unsettling emerald countenance.

This alien feature combined with the black swirls upon his flanks that indicated his destiny, marked him as a practitioner of dark voodoo. To any shaman or elder it was a sign that the zebra was to be shunned at best or outright killed if they pursued their destiny. It was the mark of death that few bore, and fewer still lived long enough to truly understand the true depth thereof.

The cave dwelling zebra was a rare breed made rarer still by his mere survival, though that would change in time. Provided his plan was a success.

To that end the zebra tossed in the final ingredient, his eyes now glowing the same shade as the skull pattern which adorned his head. Pulling forth a knife from the now open chest, the zebra carefully opened up a small wound on his hoof. Hovering the injured limb over the now boiling pot, he counted six drops of blood before quickly staunching the small cut.

The mixture within the cauldron pulsed and churned, bubbling violently as it switched from a deep purple color to a dark green. A smile slowly graced the zebra’s features as the brew switched colors, signifying that it was nearly complete. So great was his pride that the male didn't even mind the scent of sulfur which now wafted from the strange concoction.

He watched closely as it began to turn, as if it were being mixed by an unseen hand. Faster and faster it spun until the brew became a whirling green vortex which slowly began to shrink in on itself. Over the course of only a few minutes the potion had shrunk down to only half of its original size and it showed no sign of stopping.

The zebra carefully gripped a bucket of water in his hooves, ready to douse the flames in a moment’s notice. Something he did only a few seconds later when the swirling liquid stopped moving. The second water hit fire, smoke billowed out from under the cauldron, filling the room completely and blinding the zebra.

Though tempted to wave his hooves in order to help dismiss the smoke a little faster, the zebra resisted the urge to do so. This was all part of the process, one he did not wish to ruin just because he was being impatient. Especially considering it had taken him literal years to gather all the necessary ingredients and prepare for this moment.

As the seconds ticked by the zebra’s heart rate slowly increased until finally, at long last he could see the vial’s worth of liquid sitting at the bottom of the cauldron. The small puddle had lost its glow, though it remained the exact same shade of green it had moments earlier. The sight made the zebra’s eyes grow wider still, and he grabbed a spare cup before awkwardly filling it with the liquid.

The large cauldron made the process rather nerve racking, but in the end he managed to fill his container without spilling even a single drop. Dropping the cauldron back into its place, the zebra grinned excitedly and grabbed the small wooden cup in both forehooves. This was it, the moment of truth, the culmination of years of scavenging the forest, of scoping out the town and observing its inhabitants.

All he had to do now was imbibe the potent substance, survive the transformation, and set his true plan into motion. Carefully he brought the container to his lips before throwing it back all at once, swallowing every last bit in a single go. Despite the speed at which he had drunk the substance a tiny drop had hit his tongue and nearly made him gag.

The zebra pushed down that urge, swallowing hard in order to ensure every last of the brew ended up in his belly. The thick liquid crawled down his throat, as if it were reluctant to be drunk and was drawing it out for as long as possible. Seconds ticked by as the zebra’s heart pounded noisily in his chest.

Then it hit him, and the power of his brew began to spread through his body like a dozen bolts of lightning. There was no slow build or warning, only the dull sensation of something hitting his belly before every nerve in his body suddenly came to life. It felt like his very soul was on fire, the innermost part of his being roiling in agony as panic threatened to ruin the entire thing.

Staving off the desire to collapse into a moaning, writhing heap of pain, the zebra held out, keeping his eyes screwed tightly shut. His muscles bulged and twisted, his body contorting as the potion ran its course. Seconds turned into minutes before finally, at long last he had done it.

Gasping for breath, the zebra looked down at himself, noting that although he didn't look terribly different, he sure felt like a new person. Since he wasn't dead, his creation had evidently functioned exactly as intended, meaning he was ready for the next step.

“Pound, Pumpkin, and the elder Cake, all shall be mine soon enough,” he muttered, a wolfish smile crossing his now plain black face.