Author's Note

This is a part of the Jest Days of Christmas, where I update something every single day of December. Go check out the link for the full list and check back everyday for a new update!

Stabbin' A Lion

I stomped back to the tower at a much slower pace, my mind distant, one hand absently gripping Pig Sticka. As usual, none of the wildlife dared bother me, nor did I give them much mind as they were both not a challenge, and I was tired. The fight had been more brutal than anticipated and returning Rainbow Dash back to Ponyville had sapped the last of my strength.

It had been worth it though, as my countenance was grim, and my demeanor likely off-putting to most. Getting in those positive diplomacy points early would only help me later, as it sure would be hard to protect a group of people who are actively trying to kill you. Plus winning over Loyalty of all ponies would help to ensure that I wouldn't get friendship lasered, though I doubted that would even harm me.

I may look evil to most casual observers but I harbored no ill will, quite the opposite. Nor had I done anything that would earn me some sort of karmic punishment like Discord or Nightmare Moon. Still, ensuring that getting blasted was off the table early helped my anxiety, almost as much as keeping a hand on Pig Sticka.

The little short blade had proved quite effective, though had taken almost as much of a beating as I had. Who would have known that chopping through bone and brain would take a toll on a blade? It would need sharpening and a bit of fixing up, but first things first I thought to myself, I needed to take a long rest.

Shortly after thinking as much, I was home, and face to face with a new issue. Namely that there was an absolute horde of parasprites feasting upon the remains of the creatures I had just butchered. Occasionally one would stop, and belch out a spawn before they both would go back to taking tiny bites out of quill-covered hide.

I thought about going in there swinging, or maybe starting a fire, but I was simply too tired to care about all that. Choosing instead the peaceful option, I awkwardly stepped into the courtyard and started to make my way back to the tower. Maneuvering around the piles of bodies, and bloated parasprites, I did my best not to step on any of the things.

“Sorry. Kom'n throo. Step lively now. Woops, hope yer only need wun uv dose,” I murmured.

Despite my clumsy ass lumbering through their number the parasprites made no effort to stop me. They didn't even seem to be aware of my presence either, and just drunkedly floating past me without a care in the world. I made a note of their appetite and the fact that they were most likely scavengers rather than true predators before stepping up to the tower.

Here the bodies were thick but the parasprites were few, with the swarm having not had the chance to move this far. A good thing too, as I didn't want to accidentally startle the horde and have to fight a few thousand of the things. At least not until I got a good nap and maybe some armor going but that would come later.

I chucked the corpses outside and shut the door, or at least I tried to anyway. The aged wood and rusted metal couldn't take the abuse I had put it through and the whole dang thing snapped off. With a frown, I placed the door back into its spot as best I could and piled some rocks around it in order to keep it mostly closed.

It wasn't a permanent solution, but it was all I was capable of given my current condition. With that grim thought in mind, I cleared away the quills as best as I could and lay down on the dirt floor. Sure the old me likely wouldn't have found it comfortable, but Orks had different standards for comfort, so I actually found this not half bad. A bit stiff, but still not the worst place I’d ever slept before, oddly enough.

Slumber found me quickly, ushering me into a dreamless void that existed both for far too long and no time at all. When I awoke I sensed that the majority of my injuries had healed up and a visual inspection confirmed this. Between the rather pleasant rest, and the post-fight boost I was back at pretty much a hundred percent. I still had some lingering aches and pains though, so ork healing evidently wasn't perfect though I never assumed it was.

Heck, I had assumed it was much worse than what it turned out to be, though that was likely due to my own accelerated development. Orks in Warhammer forty kay were tough and healed quickly but not as fast as I had just done, that was for sure. Still, I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth so I just took it in stride and focused elsewhere, namely on the grounds of my little fort.

Peeking out from behind the door, I found that the parasprites had moved on, or at least most had. A few clumps of the things remained atop the highest points of the ruined castle, content to simply watch me. I wasn't sure why those few had decided to stick around, but it's not like they could talk so I couldn't exactly ask them.

I just pushed the door fully out of the way and tromped over to the forge only to find out my next problem. There were a lot of bones around here, that and I had no metal left to work with, not even the really rusted variety. Glancing down at the discarded quills I started to wonder if they could be used in some way.

Though my more human sensibilities said that was stupid, my orky instinct was telling me to give it a shot. Listening to the more brutish voice in my mind, I gathered up a great armload of the things and started to prepare. The forge was lit and tended, a bucket of the pointy spikes was readied, and in time was placed into the white-hot flames.

For several minutes I did nothing but work the bellows, tend the coals, and wait. The ork part of my brain quickly got bored, but my older instincts were intrigued by what I saw in the pot. The quills hadn't burned, nor had they even darkened. Rather they seemed completely unaffected by the fire.

Then, just as even my endless curiosity was beginning to wane, the quills burst into flame and then melted. I withdrew the bucket and got to work reinforcing Pig Sticka and making it as long as a true Longsword. With that done, I began to wonder what else I could do with the quills.

The most obvious answer was either another weapon or some armor but instinct or not I wasn't skilled enough to do so. Or was I? For the moment my brain settled on armor, I could feel the blueprint of a cuirass pop into my mind. The end result would likely be a pain to put on, but it was thick and covered both my front and back so it was worth it in my mind.

I spent almost the entire rest of the day forging this thing, failing several times in the process. Though it would feel great to have some serious protection, I was starting to get antsy by the end of it. Sure making the armor was a struggle, but it wasn't the same as a fight, and by then I was raring for a good scrap.

Between my new cuirass being in need of a metaphorical live fire testing, I also felt bloody amazing. I had a big sword, and some better digs, and though it may have cost me all of the quills, I still felt as though I could take on the world. With that thought in mind, I nodded, and headed out of the fort in a random direction, choosing to let the forest take me where it willed.

I probably should have moved with more deliberate intent, but my wander aimlessly strategy had worked so far, so why change?

I laid Pig Sticka on my shoulder, cutting edge pointed away from me, and picked up the pace. The forest called to me, and I eagerly replied, stomping through the bush with little care as to what I may find. I could feel as though there was a fight in the deeper, darker area of the woods and so that was where I went, my passage startling creatures both big as well as small.

Such minor concerns barely even entered my mind, nor did anything else really, not until I had found the carcass of a large bear.

“Ya're a large wun, aintcha?” I muttered.

Looking around, there had clearly been a fight, one semi-recently too, given all the destroyed foliage and torn-up earth. The struggle had likely gone on for some time too, given the path of destruction I could see leading deeper into the woods. Saplings had been crushed, old oak trees battered, and in some places, the earth had been churned into a mass of bloody mud.

It was a grim sight, though not nearly as grim as the bear itself, which would have looked alive had it not been for the fact that its belly was currently spilled all over the forest floor. For its eyes were wide, and its body seemingly locked into position, as if it had been frozen like that due to poison or perhaps magic. It was nasty, but a poke to the head revealed that it was indeed dead, so I didn't feel too bad for the thing.

“‘Dat musta been quite 'da scrap. Gud on ya big git. Yer put up wun hell uv a fight,” I remarked. “Now it's time for yer ta rest, an' for me ta take up ‘da struggle.”

With that little promise made, I proceed off into the woods, following after the footsteps of the bear’s killer. I didn't know why, but it felt important that I begin tracking it immediately, not only so I didn't lose it but also because I felt strangely obligated. The bear hadn't been eaten, indicating to me that there was something wrong in the forest, and there was an odd compulsion that spurred me on.

Either a predator had gone mad, or some foreign creature had moved in and was attempting to set up shop, I reasoned. Either way, the natural order of the forest had been disturbed and I was going to set it all right again. That fact didn't actually have that much, I was just looking for the best fight I could find, and all that moral stuff was secondary. Not like it wasn't a concern at all mind you, but it was nice to know that I was picking a fight with something that deserved the krumpin that was coming for it.

As I stomped off after the critter, I felt myself occasionally getting turned around or lost only to stumble back onto the beast’s trail. It almost felt a bit like the forest itself was guiding me, which was a distinct possibility given the weirdness of this place. Either that or my orky instincts were pushing me towards where I could find the best possible fight.

The question of why, or how wasn't really a concern of mine, just the fight that I knew was coming. Soon too, as my pulse had started to quicken, and my body was growing hot, preparing itself for the scrap to come. The forest hadn't changed much and I didn't know why I felt so certain I was about to find the bear’s killer but I just did.

Sure enough, my wanderings soon ended, and I discovered what looked to be the creature’s lair. The cave entrance was fairly wide, with piles of half-eaten corpses piled on either side, their blood turning the exit into a muddy quagmire. Normally this wouldn't be the case, but around the rocky opening, there was no plant life to speak of, not even the hardy forest grasses that were ubiquitous everywhere else.

The cave itself was rather strange as well, as this was the only hill for miles in every direction. It reminded me of a burial mound or perhaps some kind of ancient Stone Age temple perhaps. This assumption was backed up by the two tall obelisks that stood about ten, or fifteen feet from the entrance, extending straight out from the opening.

Pitch black, and radiating an uncomfortable energy, they resembled necron monoliths, only in miniature. Though foreboding, and unpleasant to look at, they weren't powered, nor did I detect a field around them. I didn't have the time to inspect them more thoroughly so I just wrote them off as weird pony monuments and stepped between them.

This, I learned, was not a smart idea as I heard the distant sound of an alarm go off somewhere deeper in the cave. It was at about that point that I felt a bit stupid, as beast or not, the creatures of the Everfree were still smart. They may not understand how or why the odd klaxon sounded, but they could figure out what it meant.

An intruder was near.

Sure enough, something that sounded almost like an enormous lion roared from far deeper into the cave. A moment later large padded feet thundered toward me at a rapid pace, prompting me to think of some advantage I could gain on the monster. Glancing above the cave entrance, I decided exactly what that advantage was, and took off at a sprint.

My large frame, and long legs enabled me to climb the rubble-strewn hill relatively quickly. Allowing me to stand atop the cave entrance, Pig Stick in both hands, ready to stab whatever may emerge from underground. I didn't have to wait long though, as an enormous creature with the mane of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and the wings of a bat appeared.

A manticore, only not like any I had ever seen from the show before, as it lacked the bright colors of its kin. It was covered in scars and injuries most of which were old, but some of which were new, signifying to me that it was an advanced age. It also favored its right leg, though there was no visible injury to indicate as to why that may be the case.

An old lion seeking its end was dangerous, and doubly so when it had paralytic venom and a pair of wings.

I didn't contemplate this fact for long though, and leaped from my position, a war cry already spilling from my lips. Again, I ruined any advantage I may have gained from stealth, though this time the creature I was stalking didn't panic. It didn't even look my way before acting, throwing its body to the side just before I was about to slam down atop it with Pig Sticka in hand.

My blade thumped into the mud, sending globs of bloody earth in all directions and inadvertently leaving it embedded in the ground. I tried to wrench it out quickly but felt something large slam into my back with the force of a cannonball. Sent flying to the ground, I scrambled into a stand quickly, a hand reaching around to the backside of my armor. The quill-forged cuirass had held up, validating my earlier desire to create something more protective then the front-facing breastplate.

I then turned to my foe, who was standing across from me, its eyes narrowed and its wings outstretched. It was studying me, likely trying to figure out what I was or what weaknesses I may possess. Though interesting, I was more concerned by how it was standing beside Pig Sticka, clearly aware of what the sword was.

“Yer've fought huntaz before,” I reasoned aloud. “Ya fink kus ya've turned away some silly poniez dat ya'll be able ta smash me. But 'dat kant be furtha from 'da truth, ya ugyl git!”

I started running at the thing, a hand going down and scooping up as much of the muddy goop as I could grab. As I ran I roared the orkish battle cry, while it simply roared back at me, matching my ferocity though not eclipsing it. My arm was cocked, and ready, the beast I was fighting doing the same with its tail, preparing to deliver a potent poisonous payload.

Before we met, I weaved to the right, drawing its eye, and giving me the first chance to throw the mud directly at its face. It was barely even able to register the goop flying at it before it was blinded, its eyes covered in the stuff. Instinctively it recoiled in order to protect itself, abandoning its attempt at stinging me and inadvertently opening itself up.

For instead of going after Pig Sticka I decided to lay into the monster with a punch to the face. Its nose crunched and I could feel blood paint my knuckles. The beast roared in pain and recoiled further, attempting to sting me before flying backward out of reach.

I didn't continue to press my advantage however, thus its stinger hit nothing but the empty air I had been standing in a second earlier. For I was already sprinting over to Pig Sticka, using the manticore’s pain and confusion to my advantage. The attack worked, though by the time I readied the weapon, my foe had cleared its face of mud and was flying above me.

Though I had my blade, it had gained an advantage that I had no hope of replicating, flight. It knew this and exploited the fact I had no wings to match it by whizzing past my head, its stinger lashing out as it passed. Its speed was incredible, and I only just barely managed to get Pig Sticka up in front of me before the stinger slammed home.

Though not as powerful as the previous attack, it was still enough to make my arms ache and my feet slide back a foot or so. While still reeling from this first attack, I saw the manticore turn once more, going around for another pass. I was faced with a conundrum, try and fight with it maintaining the high ground, or relocate in hopes of negating its advantageous position.

I chose the latter and sprinted towards the cave opening, the manticore quick on my heels. After a few long, loping steps I threw myself to the right, diving and rolling into the mud just before the stinger lashed out. I narrowly avoided the attack which whizzed over my head a millisecond before I hit the dirt. I scrambled back into a stand, and ran into the cave, going just fast enough that I was able to avoid the the next attempt to kill me.

Without the sound of wings flapping overhead, I turned around to face my foe but found that it was hovering just outside the cave, staring at me.

“What's da matta ya overgrown chicken? Kant fight on da ground like propa monsta. Ha!” I shouted at him, laughing loudly and pointedly at the creature.

That seemed to do the trick, as it dropped to the ground and began to walk toward me, its eyes glittering with murderous intent. I prepared for its charge by pulling my guard back until the handle to my weapon was close to my chest, its end pointing at my foe. Who in turn walked slowly, sizing me up as he moved to close the distance between us.

The coming struggle would be a tough one, as the cave wasn't large enough for me to really deliver any slashes with Pig Sticka. The walls were too close, the ceiling too low, but that kept my foe from being able to dodge either. There was only one major difference between us at this point, the fact that I had a thick layer of armor over my torso and it had no such protection.

The moment it got close enough, we both charged one another, my sword thrusting forward while it lashed out with its tail. I dodged under the attack and stabbed the monster in the left shoulder with all the strength I could muster. Though powerful, Pig Sticka’s end wasn't tapered like a professionally forged blade so it couldn't do nearly as much damage as a proper longsword.

That didn't matter though, as it stuck deep enough that I was able to push the creature back and up, onto two legs. Confused and in pain, the manticore roared and its tail slamming into the ceiling, unable to reach past its own bulk. Sensing this, it tried to scratch me with its claws, but between the damage I dealt to the left, and the old injury on its right they barely did anything to me. Sure they cut, and sure it hurt, but there was no true strength behind the attacks.

Unlike me, who was able to use one hand to keep the monster on its back legs, while the other struck hard. My fist slammed into its jaw once, twice then three times, breaking the bones beneath and turning its roar into an angry gurgle. By then it realized the position it was in and tried to back up out of the cave, using its wings as leverage. They were too big, however, and they hit either side of the cave wall when they were flapped.

Sensing its desire to flee, I wrenched Pig Sticka hard, severing enough muscle in its left foreleg to make it useless. A single punch to the knee joint on the right shattered the bone beneath and just like that it had to drag itself out of the cave by its back limbs alone. I was unable to stop from doing so in time, but I was able to follow it before it could take wing and run away.

It did manage a single flap before I cut off the left wing, severing it near the shoulder and causing the monster to crash to the ground. There it lay, jaw broken, forelegs shattered and one of its wings gone, bested but not completely. It felt a bit cruel what I had done to it, and that feeling of guilt came back to bite me when its stinger flung out and slammed into my shoulder.

“Gork damn ya, ya sneaky little git!” I shouted.

I then drove my sword into the creature’s spine, paralyzing it and dealing it a fatal blow. Unfortunately by then, the poison had begun to do its work, and I fell to the ground, barely able to move. Lying next to the dying creature, our eyes met, and the ghost of a smile came across its broken lips. I couldn't help but grin back and laugh at the creature.

“'Dat was a gud wun, I'll give ya 'dat. If yer wasn't quite so ol yer probably woulda torn me droat out,” I remarked. “Go wit' honor yer ol kodga. I'll rememba ya.”

I knew it didn't truly understand what I was saying, but the inflection behind my words seemed able to cross the species gap. For the manticore closed its eyes, and with a long, shuddering sigh, breathed its final breath. I watched it perish and continued to observe the manticore until long after it was gone.

“Whelp, I don't fink dis iz gonna kill me. Sure gonna stuck sitt'n ere dough,” I remarked aloud, to no one in particular.

Sure enough, the wave of healing that came with each victory ensured that the poison didn't in fact stop my heart. It still left me unable to move my arms and legs though, so that was unpleasant. I could still look around and more importantly, breathe, which was nice at least.

Looking around, I spied a group of pudgy parasprites that I recognized from the old fort that was my base. The sight of the colorful critters made me grin, and I was glad for a bit of company, even if we couldn't exactly chat.

“Kome ta check up on yer ol boss, huh? Well, don't botha. I'll be jus fine,” I exclaimed.

I’m not sure if it was my toxin-addled mind, but I could have sworn the parasprite relaxed a bit.

“Well, best settle in. Seems like I'm gonna be here a while. Wot ta do, wot ta do,” I muttered. “I know, a song.”

I cleared my throat. “Ninety-nine beaky gits on da wall. Ninety-nine beaky gits on 'da wall. Knock wun down, krump em real gud, ninety-eight beaky gits on da wall.”