1422 Post Celestial Dominion, Homeland, Equestria.

“Calling to order State Commander Colt Creed for the case 65231-Z.”

“Present.”

The judge slammed his gavel down to the pedestal and the crowd of Equines ran silent. The only ones still standing were Colt Creed, the Commander of Canterlot’s MHO Division, and the accused criminal. The Judge sighed as he took a peek at the time left.

“Case 65231-Z, the accused party is in violation of the Monster Hunter’s Organization, hereby referred to as the MHO, trade rules for engagement with Monsters, Demonic Entities, and Spectral Beings.” The Judge had to remove his glasses and rub the eyes underneath. “This includes 47 accounts of disobedience, 32 accounts of ruthless violence against MHO Alleged Members, 184 accounts of hunting Beasts without an active permit nor permission from your commanding officer, and 213 accounts of…”

The Judge had to re-read this one several times.

“... 213 accounts of sparing monsters with a Death Warrant placed onto their head?”

The defendant, a Pegasis of white fur and a single tired, burning cyan eye, said nothing. He just continued staring into the Judge’s soul. Suddenly, the chains and wraps that littered his body seemed less sturdy against his hardened frame.

The Judge wiped sweat from his forehead. “Regiment Commander, what is the stated punishment for the above crimes in the M.H.O Hunter’s Rulebook?”

Colt Creed stood up, surprisingly short for an Earth Pony General, his orange coat and soot-black mane shining with a sheet of sweat that soaked through his uniform. It was unbearably hot, the Judge thanking his ancestors for the creation of localized frost magic.

“For the crime of Disobedience, 24 hours community service per count. For attacking MHO Aligned organizations or members, Civil Arrest for up to 2 months per count. For hunting without an authorized license or permission, forced return to basic training, and permanent removal of official Hunter Status if the count exceeds 10 counts.” The commander adjusted his tie.

“On terms of sparing beasts, to be frank, there haven’t been any rules dedicated to this action, as nopony actually disobeys a Kill Order. This is a first for us, your Honor.”

The Judge sighed and returned his gaze to the defendant. “Flame Storm, do you have any defense for your actions?”

The pegasus was still silent, his freakishly tall frame only making the sounds of his left wing, the only one remaining, softly cracking and creaking echoing throughout the court. The Judge bit his lip. “In that case, Commander, what is your proposed action?”

Colt furrowed his brows and snarled. “Death. This bastard has put us back thousands upon thousands of bonds, not to mention the risks of letting those Werewolves go in the eastern Canterlot block.” His glare became toxic. “Thankfully, we caught them before they could escape. They’ll be executed once this little issue is dealt with. Shame about the filly, but the cursed cannot be allowed free, much as Rookie here wants to believe.”

The Accused finally made some form of motion, that being the straining against the chains binding his body. The Judge didn’t have any trust in metal, considering the notes he had on how the Accused had lifted an Earth Pony Juggernaut over his head. 500 pounds of pure muscle, and 60 pounds of armor, thrown around like a damn Pillow.

“I have to disagree, Commander.” The Judge sighed. “As you know, we are in the middle of a Monster Epidemic. Every day, there’s news of some new attack, or a town falling to those damnable beasts.”

He raised his gavel, and turned to the silent court beside him. Ever since Equiis had been drowned in monsters rising from the darkest depths of Tartarus, diplomacy and democracy had been thrown away. The Court was simply a group of Canterlot’s wise elders, those who had yet to fall to the Hoards, and they made every decision. One nodded, and the Judge brought his gavel down.

“Monster Hunter Sargent Flame Storm, you will be stripped of your rank, uniform, and title, and will be assigned to the Ponyville branch of the MHO. In all likelihood, you will die in a week’s time, but you will serve to the end. As Celestia Demands.”

“As Celestia Demands.” The Court mimicked.

Two guards flanked Flame Storm, and he was led away, the silence only broken by the heavy hooffalls of the three. The Judge sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

“I highly doubt this is a wise idea, your honor.” Colt growled. “He’s a danger to us all, he Cannot be allowed free reign.”

“I doubt you have a better idea.” The Judge scoffed. “If we ordered him to Death, he’d have an excuse to lash out. And I Know for a fact that you, nor any of your soldiers, have the gaul to attack him.”

Colt raised a brow. “He’s but a single Stallion, and there is three hundred and seventy two of us! I train my men day in, day out to be efficient killers, and that’s without mentioning the Unicorns. or the Pegasi we armed with bombs.”

To be honest, the Judge couldn’t help but Laugh. “Efficient? I took a walk just yesterday, Colt, and I saw one of your soldiers trying to bum a drink off of a barmaid by saying he was a, what was it…” He chuckled. “That’s right, a ‘Big Shot Soldier’. He got man-handled and thrown out by the same barmaid.”

Colt rolled his eyes. “That’s just one example.”

“Yes, and here’s a second. Last week, I saw a group trying to gang up on a Royal Guardswoman for her weekly salary. Turns out, I actually sent those punks to jail about 5 years ago for the same swindling scam.” The Judge leaned in close. “She laid them flat out on their asses without even trying. One of them started crying for his mama, Colt.”

Colt looked away from the Judge’s furrowed brow.

“You know how bad that looks, Colt. Eight Hunters get beaten half to Tartarus by one Guard, how do you think the Ponies you’re meant to protect feel? They see those sorry sacks of shit wander into every bar you can find just to get drunk and get some tail, and if they don’t get their way, they call for their rich parents. You aren’t operating a military operation, you’re running a Daycare.”

The Judge leaned back and rubbed his gray-lined mane. “Flame Storm was the only one with actual experience. No background, no bitching, no care about the pay. He came here to fight.” He took a long sip of his tea. “And now, you forced my hand, and he’s now being shipped off to a town where every new recruit we’ve sent has either died a horrible death, or has been shipped back for insubordination.”

Colt bit his lip and turned hoof, done with the insulting truths. The Judge just rubbed his eyes and leaned back.

“We might as well be hiring the Royal Guard for all the trouble you’ve gotten us into…”

The prison carrier Flame Storm had been saddled up into the back of was bumpy.

That’s all he really cared about. The chains binding his wrists and arms hardly bothered him, nor did the lingering summer heat, slowly fading into the fall’s cold biting air. Well, there was also the horrific smell of the guards outside the bars, leading the tamed Timberwolves, but it wasn’t any worse than the smell of an undead infested cavern, or most of Colt’s soldiers after a day of training, heh.

Frankly, he was more worried about accidentally breaking the chains. They skimped on the materials for them, clearly using any good metals on weapons and armor, leaving poor copper and aluminum to attempt holding prisoners. It was honestly quite embarrassing, as even a baby Cockatrice could break them, with their weak and flabby little beaks.

Outside, he could hear the guards caring more about paltry gossip than actually focusing on the road ahead of them.

“So, this guy, Fire Weather or whatever, he’s a hunter?”

“Flame Storm, but yeah. Disgraced one, too. The Judge up in Canterlot actually denied the death penalty in favor of shipping him to Ponyville.”

“Weird, dude. I mean, you see this guy? He’s friggin’ Blind in one eye, only got one wing, and his hand barely works, no way he’s as deadly as ponies are saying.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, rumor is this guy took on a Werebear solo, and came back wearing it’s hide as a coat.”

“Bulllllll-shit!”

“That’s what I said!”

Flame Storm rolled his eyes. They were right, in that he didn’t wear the Werebear’s pelt as a coat, but he did kill it solo. Of course, not without some consequences, namely the new scar across his side, the three claws that the Werebear had left made his platemail as effective as a wet tissue.

But hey, it made room for him to get it into a strangle-hold and bring it down with a neck snap, so it was worth the blood loss.

“Any other news from those rich assholes?”

“Well, a group of werewolves got caught in the Eastern section of Canterlot, apparently the guy back here fought off every damn soldier sent their way to make an escape route for them. Didn’t work, and I heard they’re planning on executing them tonight.”

“Oh, wait, I think I heard about that one! Yeah, I think Princess Celestia pardoned them.”

“What?!” The first guard balked at his buddy.

“Yeah. I might be wrong though, the news is still really sparse.”

“Crazy if she did, though. Why would she give freaks like that a passing chance?”

‘Because one of them was a child, and the other two were her parents,’ Flame Storm internally growled. ‘They only lashed out because ponies like You tried killing them with no regard.’

His annoyance finally made him move just so, and one of the chains holding his arms taught snapped like a frayed rope. The guards didn’t notice, too enraptured by their own gossip to even notice the time. However, to Flame Storm’s “joy”, he began to notice the barren forests and hills morph into houses and Equines, civilization at last.

“Finally at Ponyville, Prisoner.” One of the guards called out. “Remember, you’re being watched at all times. Won’t even be able to use the outhouse without somepony having an arrow pointed at you.” He chuckled. “Not that you’ll be alive long enough to use it. Nopony lasts more than a few days out here, other than the locals.”

The prison carriage came to a halt, just before a massive forest that simply poured out darkness. The guards hopped down, dropped the gate that kept Flame Storm inside, and pulled him out. Almost just as quickly, they hopped back on and ushered the Timberwolves forward.

They pulled away laughing. “Have fun in the Everfree, Traitor!”

Flame Storm flexed his arms, shattering the remaining chains. Everfree, the name lingered in the back of his throat. He recognized it, distantly, murmurs from young fillies and colts who heard whispers not meant for them. A forest that grew freely, away from the Magic that bled from Earth Ponies, cloud formations that moved without the interference of Pegasi, and a flow of Dark Magic that could shake even the most bolstered Unicorn Sorcerer.

His nose twitched, and he breathed in deep the miasma that the Everfree exuded.

Smelled like…

Flame Storm rose a hand to his eye, to the half of his face embraced in burned and twisted flesh. His remaining eye sharpened.

Smelled like Rotten Memories.

Pushing aside old memories, he gave the forest another look, this time spotting an old log cabin just a few meters beyond the mouth. With no other direction or goal, he made his way in.

The door was stuck in place by vines and odd blue moss, but both relented once he gave the door a soft kick. The inside was, just like the outside, old and musty, smelling like the oldest tomes Canterlot’s library held. In the corner was a wooden bed, no mattress, covers, or pillow, seated next to a bedside table, whose lone drawer had been ripped in half. What looked like blood splattered it, likely years old by now.

Whoever lived here last likely suffered at the hands, claws, or even hooves of those that called the Everfree home.

In the opposite corner was a sink, tap still dripping water, somehow, and a single mirror, covered in dust. In the center of the single room cabin was a couch, table, and fireplace. The wood was ashen and sooty, but could still be used.

And on the final wall, the one closest to the door, was a newer table, with a stripped down MHO Radio. Flame Storm recognized it from his years of working for the MHO, these things were used for Prisoners or untrustworthy soldiers. His brow furrowed and gave it a once-over.

There was a note on it. Plucking it free, it read;

‘To Prisoner 665021,

Welcome to your new home. Whenever you are needed for Hunting Operations, we will contact you on the radio. Do not attempt to leave this cabin at night, or we will activate the Kill Radius Spell outside of your cabin. Do Not leave unless given explicit orders.’

Flame Storm’s brow twitched. Kill Radius? He didn’t feel any magic in the area, nor any runes on the ground. He looked about, but saw nothing. Hm. Must have worn off years ago.

Now he was left with a little choice. Flame Storm could leave the cabin and fuck off, abandoning this foolish organization, or find a MHO operative to reinstate the Kill Radius.

Why would he do that, though? Simple. Running would lead to idiots following his trail for years on end in an attempt to kill him, which would make His duty difficult.

Simple as could be.

So, Flame Storm opened the door and left, looking out to the village, dusted in the Twilight’s fading embers. With a huff, he began his trek.

“Ponyville”, as it turned out, was a nosey place. The moment he had walked within town borders, ponies were looking at him in an instant. Some shied away into their homes, parents pulling their foals away from the road he walked, and a few guards gazing upon him in Shock.

Flame Storm was tempted to ask one of them where he could find any MHO members, but whenever he drew close, they scampered off, tails between their legs. It was really annoying, honestly. Honestly, living so close to a cursed forest, being accosted by Death every other week, and being the first line of defense between Canterlot and literally every militaristic threat possible, you’d think they’d have thicker skin.

So far, he thought he was somewhere in a market of sorts, silently missing his bag full of bits he stored at his old house, which was probably stolen by now, because some of the apples he saw on sale looked really good to his starved stomach. (Wasn’t it illegal to starve prisoners?)

To his surprise, something actually came up to him, that being a small brown and white dog, who ran head-first into his shin. She flopped over, looking up at him and sniffing the air. Flame Storm blinked at her, she blinked at him, and then jumped up with a bark, propping her legs up on his. Flame Storm couldn’t help but smile and kneel down to her level, letting him see her collar.

“Winona, huh? What are you doing here?” He muttered, flipping the collar over and scratching her chin.

“Winona, dagnabbit dog, where’dja go and get to now?!” A southern accent twitched Flame Storm’s ear, turning back and seeing a mare walking over. He waved to her.

“This your dog, ma’am?”

She sighed and notched her fists to her hips. “Yeah, she is.” Her brow furrowed. “Winona, ah’ done told you time an’ time again, not to run about all wild like that! I can’t stand seeing you end up getting’ hurt by some big ol’ mean freak!”

Winona barked and jumped up into the mare’s arms, and as Flame Storm stood, he took a better look at her.

The mare was almost as tall as he was, just standing under his chin, counting the ten-gallon hat she wore on top of a cream colored mane, combed over and tied down in a ponytail. Her orange fur was worn down with dirt and dust, but that, combined with the flannel and jeans, made it pretty clear she was a farmer of some sort.

She gave him a small smile, surprising Flame Storm with how green her eyes were. He’d seen perfectly carved and shined emeralds before, but even those failed to shimmer like hers.

“Well, I take it yer’ a newcomer, eh?” She stuck her hand out, lugging Winona under her arm. “Name’s Applejack, I’m the owner of the local farm, up north.”

He took her hand. “Flame Storm. Just got dropped off an hour ago.” He grumbled, his throat already growing irritated. Hopefully, being near a town like this can help him recover his voice from the Years of misuse it had taken.

“Hm, Flame Storm… I take it yer’ that prisoner that those shucks up in Canterlot were sendin’ to die?” Applejack eyed him up carefully, her grip becoming a lot tougher. Flame Storm simply nodded, and the mare chuckled. “Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Ponyville. I guess they didn’t give you any orders, or goals, or even a knife or something?”

“No, they did not.”

“Heh, Stallion of few words, huh? Guessin’ them scars on your neck are to blame. Shows you know what you’re doin’, I’d say. Hopefully, that means you can kill things better than those cowards in Town Hall.”

Flame Storm rose a brow.

“Ah, the Town Hall was converted into the Monster Hunter’s main base here in Ponyville. Good fat amount of luck that served! They never send anypony out to help with beasts, always just stay indoors and pray, or drink, depending on the week.” Applejack huffed. “Really, we’ve been holding out on our own for a while now. It’s a sad world when a big sister has to teach her baby sister how to kill.”

Flame Storm patted her back in understanding, distantly remembering his own sister teaching him how to swing a sword. Though, where he came from, death and violence from a young age was expected. Applejack sucked in a breath and righted her expression.

“Well, no point weeping over the necessary. I’m guessing you’re looking for Town Hall now, right?” Flame Storm nodded. “Well, screw dat’! Yer’ new in town, so yer’ gettin’ the whole nine mile tour. Those bumblefucks at the MHO can wait.”

The mare snorted. “Not like they can do anything. They might have taken our weapons away so they can swindle the mayor, but I’m down-right sure even mah’ sister can whip their keisters all the way down to New Reigno!” Applejack chortled. Flame Storm chuckled as well.

Applejack adjusted her hat and gave the stallion a bright smile. “Now then, let’s show you around. First things first, going somewhere to get some actual clothes on your back, those prison threadbear look like Big Mac’s mane in winter. Don’t worry, ah’ know a gal’ out to the east side of town, not too far from here.”

The walk over was filled with Applejack rambling on about the town, the ponies in it, businesses, but spent most of it yappin’ on about the pains in the ass that came with living here.

“You already know about the MHO suckers down in the town square, but there’s also a cursed burial ground about 20 minutes out of town, we gotta deal with a zombie apocalypse every other month, then we gotta deal with Cultists every other week, for some reason there’s some kinda, daemonic summoning stone, or something, underneath the local hospital. nopony’s ever seen it, but the crazies are always talking about it.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Flame Storm grumbled. “Why would anypony live here?”

Applejack tipped her hat. “Why, money, of course! Ponyville’s an absolute Nightmare to live in, but the soil is so impossibly rich, you can grow an apple orchard in a week.” She chuckled. “Heck, it’s why my family lives here in the first place, after my Granny founded the town way back when.” With a kick of her hoof, a small patch of grass formed underneath it, taking over the upturned path soil.

“Just a lil’ bit of Magic, and anything can grow here. Probably thanks to the Everfree’s dark magic, and all the cult shenanigans. Helps that we’re also dead center in Equestria, you can get dadgum anywhere just by taking the train here and hoofing it out.”

“Huh.” Flame Storm murmured. His ear twitched. “Wait, your Grandmother founded the town?”

Applejack smiled. “Eyup. A loooong while back, she and the rest of the Apples went and moved here to find habitable land to thrive off of, and she done gone and discovered a new kind of apple, the Zapapple, and from there, a town sprouted on up! Of course, then we discovered it was all kinds of cursed, but- Oh, hey, we’re here.”

Flame Storm looked upon the building Applejack had led him too, and raised a brow. “Rather… bright.”

“Heheh, yeah, that’s Rarity for ya’. We’re not quite Friends, but I’ve known her an’ her sister for a while now. Heck, Applebloom became good friends with the kid.” She adjusted her shirt collar to be a little more straight. “Now, Rarity is pretty… obsessive when it comes to lookin’ all fancy like. Thankfully, she’s got this deal going on with the MHO, free clothes or whatnot for defending the town, so you won’t have to worry about paying. Though, from what I’ve heard, nopony’s taken advantage of the deal.”

She blew a lock of hair out of her eye. “Darn Canterlot air musta gotten to their heads, heh.” And with one last straightening of her clothes, she pulled the door open.

Entering the room with a bell’s chime, a white furred mare was distracted from the preening she was giving her royal purple mane. She was dressed in an ornate blue dress, though going off of the messy stitches and loose straps, it wasn’t quite finished. “Ah, Applejack! Oh, and who might… you… be?”

Rarity had to careen her neck back a bit to stare into the white Stallion’s eye. Fair, considering the height difference of 5’5 to 6’6.

She coughed into her hand and shook her head slightly. “My apologies, I don’t seem to recognize you, mister…?”

“Flame Storm.”

“Heh, he’s not much of a talker, Rarity.” Applejack spoke up from the wall she decided to lean against. “He’s that MHO Prisoner all them soldier boys were yappin’ about yesterday. Course, they didn’t actually prepare for his arrival, so I’m showing him around town.” She left the wall and patted Flame Storm’s shoulder. “They’re probably gonna throw him to the woods damn near buck-naked, so I decided to drag him over here to make use of that deal you made.”

Rarity tapped her chin, before snapping her fingers. “Ah, yes, the clothing deal! You’ll have to excuse me, nopony has taken the deal yet, though they have made a deal about me helping with the wounded…” She trailed off. She shook her head just as fast, quickly turning away and to a rack of clothes her magic had pulled up instinctively once the door had rang. “You’re a lot taller than most clients I see, so I might have to stitch some things together. I’m going to guess you’re looking for a more Roughneck Style, something that won’t come apart easily, but also nothing too eye-catching?”

Flame Storm blinked a few times silently, before hesitantly nodding. Applejack chuckled from beside him, while Rarity simply smiled.

“Good, I’ll be riiight back!” She hummed, making her way to the second floor, followed by the sounds of doors and shelves being opened and closed. After only a few minutes, she returned bearing a bundle of clothes and cloth. “Here, I found a few shirts that should be large enough for somepony your stature, though the pants will need a little adjusting. Here,” Rarity shoved the shirts into Flame Storm’s hands and turned him to another room. “There’s a changing room just over there, see which shirt fits best.”

Flame Storm was ushered off, and Rarity took a seat with her tools. Applejack sat down on a nearby sofa, normally used for Rarity’s fainting spells. “Y’sure they’re gonna fit? Accounting for his wing, and all that.”

“I’m quite sure. It’s one of the plus sized shirts I had left over from last year’s parade led by Cold Stone, a shame the line never went anywhere, but they’ve been gathering dust in the closet.” She explained, gutting the pair of lavender pants she had sourced and readjusting its waistband with spare materials. “I’d have gone with darker tones, but I’m fresh out of black cloth, don’t even have a single flat of navy blue… Hmph, this will do.”

The fashionista reached over and grabbed ahold of a black vest, one with a large red pin stuck into it, and began looking over it. “This was going to be a parting gift, but the client never paid up, so I guess it can serve a new purpose. Let’s see here…”

A few minutes later, Flame Storm walked out of the changing room, now wearing one of the tan long sleeve shirts Rarity had given him. It fit surprisingly well, and the series of buttons around his wing made taking it off and putting it on actually quite easy, for once. For most times, he simply wore the same shirt for days on end to avoid the impossible amounts of agony that came with moving his wing. “It fits well, Rarity.”

“That’s grand, Darling! Here, I’ve finished the pants, and I’ll have a vest ready in juuuust a moment!”

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh shush Darling, it won’t just serve as a fashion piece. The prior commissioner hand delivered me absolutely exquisite materials, including some Dragon’s Hide Leather.” She giggled behind her hand. “It’s not as effective as platemail, but it will help.” With that, she shoved both articles into his hands and pushed him off into the changing room once more.

“Didn’t you just say the vest wasn’t done?”

Rarity giggled. “Magic, my dear friend. You would not believe how fast you can make a cross stitch when you aren’t actually holding the needle.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Dadgum magic…”

Flame Storm returned, now dressed in the firm vest. Its collar was loose, showing off a good part of his new shirt, however his line of work wasn't usually concerned with stabbing, so it was enough. Really, more than enough, considering that he rarely wore much armor on hunts, sans a plate of steel armor over his chest, a result of his more fast-set and volatile fighting style.

“Oh, Darling, you look absolutely Dashing! Have you thought about pulling your mane back?” Rarity gushed, but her question was met with the stallion’s eye darting away. For a moment, his hand flexed, as if he wanted to reach up to his messy mane, but he held it still.

“... I’d rather not.”

Rarity pouted at the response. “I think you’d look quite refined, but everypony’s got their limits.” She waved him off and returned to her mirror, picking up the brush she had dropped. “Now then, off you go. I’m quite sure you and Applejack still have quite a lot to go over, hm?”

Applejack raised a brow, surprised at Rarity simply letting go of an opportunity to make somepony ‘beautiful’, but didn’t lean on it. She waved to Flame Storm, instead, heading out the door. “She’s got a point. C’mon now, ah’ still gotta show ya’ the hospital, then town hall.”

Ponyville was… odd, Flame Storm decided. Small, yet gigantic. A town, yet also a city. Loud, yet deafeningly silent. Though, only when he was near. Ponies seemed to jump at the opportunity to talk to Applejack, but the instant they saw even a flash of Flame’s hair, they vanished, like fire to water.

It was almost unnerving. According to Applejack, the town had a couple hundred residents, but it was as crowded as an empty grave.

From there, the short tour ended at Town Hall, where the MHO’s banner, a pony skull highlighted by a Hoof, was placed at the very top. Normally where the Canterlot Battleflag was flown… How pretentious. Applejack shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Well, here we are. Kinda concerned about what they might do to ya’, seeing as you’ve been out all day, but that’s what they get for droppin’ you off in the ass end of nowhere.” With a tip of her hat, she gave Flame one last curt nod. “See you around, Flame. Don’t go dying anytime soon. And hey, if you got the free time, we could always use help around Sweet Apple Acres.”

Flame Storm returned the curt nod and turned to the lantern lit doors. With little fanfare, he pushed them open, exposing the innards of this operation.

Flame Storm blinked twice.

It was… empty? No, there was somepony in uniform sleeping at the desk that once likely belonged to the secretary, and some cots about. Whoever was at the front desk wasn’t having a good go about it, her sleep interrupted by twitches and spasms, nervous murmurs stumbling out of her mouth like a broken staircase. Flame Storm reached over, and lightly tapped the desk with his knuckle.

The mare shot up like a gun’s recoil, rubbing her eyes and looking around in a panic. “Who-what-where-how-... oh.” Her hands landed on the desk, and her brow furrowed. “Off drinking, I suppose. Uhm, who might you be, Mr…?” She stuck her hand out. Flame grasped it.

“Flame Storm. I’m the prisoner from Canterlot.”

The Secretary froze, coughed, and nodded. “A-Ah, yes, C-c-corporal Cobalt was waiting for you. He is, um…” She quickly stood up and opened the doors that likely led to the stairs that led to the main office upstairs. “He is… not here.”

Flame Storm looked down to the name tag that had fallen off due to her sudden awakening. ‘Marian Mare, Secretary.’

The Secretary part was new, though, shakely written over something starting with an M. ‘She’s likely the Mayor, before this Corporal Cobalt showed up, going off of what Applejack told me. Hm, doesn’t seem too happy with her demotion.’

“Um, Corporal Cobalt told me to give you this mission statement as soon as you got here, I put it… Ah, here.” Mayor Mare opened one of the drawers and pulled out a single sheet of paper, which she handed over. Flame looked it over.

‘FLAME STORM. PROCEDE INTO THE EVERFREE FOREST AND COLLECT One (1) ARIANDEL FLOWER.’

Flame Storm rose a brow. “Ariandel Flowers? Those only bloom in winter, and only in the far north. Mother used to collect them to make Kala Tea…” He murmured. “Ofstopi víg Logi…”

“Uh, what?” Marian muttered, passing back over from a momentary lapse into exhaustion induced slumber.

“Nothing, Ma’am.” Flame Storm placed the note back down onto her desk. “I must ask, however, would you happen to know any flower shops in town?”

“Oh, yeah, there’s, um, Roseluck’s shop on the other side of town, the stall covered in flowers. She should be closing up by now.”

Flame Storm hummed under his breath. “Thanks. You can go back to sleep now, Mayor.” Without further word, he left, a target in mind.

Marian Mare blinked, looked around, and returned to her desk, finally able to get back to sleep.

Thankfully, Miss Roseluck sold packets of a certain breed of flower seeds, though, only needing one seed was free. Thankfully, Flame Storm only needed one. Helped that it was stated on the sign, as Roseluck had looked up at his face, and then passed out, thankfully onto a carpeted floor.

The seed he had taken was of the Lalen family, a breed of flowers that only grew during the summer months, and this particular one, a Long-Day Lilly, vaguely resembled an Ariandel. The only difference was the faint glow that came from Ariandel petals, ones that cause an odd feeling of cold exhaustion within those who view it.

The only thing Flame Storm had to do now was to plant the seed and cultivate it.

In one night.

Frankly, less than one night. About 3 hours, actually.

He could totally do that, sure. He just needed to… Wait a minute, Applejack said Ponyville had an interesting effect on plant life. And the Everfree was chock-full of Dark Magic, and despite its name, Darker Magics were the best for cultivating Life of all sorts, largely by perversing the natural life forces in the world to over indulge in Expanding.

So, if he measured out the range between the Everfree’s corrupting influence, and Ponyville’s stable aura, and found the central line between Stable and Unstable, he should be able to make the seed grow and bloom in time. Theoretically.

Of course, Flame Storm considered the issues this could cause as he sprinted across town towards his new home. He could incite a mutation that makes the flower lash out and eat his face, or turn sentient and begin speaking in a language long dead, making his brain melt out of his ears, or a billion other things that can go wrong when fucking around with Dark Magic. However, Flame Storm was not one to care. If it went bad, he’d kill it, and then probably hide in the Everfree until the Corporal got bored of him and went back to drinking himself under the table.

Shouldn’t be too hard, and hey, another 17 years in another haunted forest doesn’t sound too bad either. Better than dealing with bureaucratic bullshit.

In a matter of minutes, he had found a point where the acrid stench of the Everfree was weakest, but the overwhelming grass-like scent of pure Earth Magic of Ponyville was weakest as well, easily a good 10 minutes from his new cabin. Flame Storm’s knee hit the dirt, and he produced the seed from his pocket. Using as much care as his hands could muster, he slowly carved out a hole, dropped the seed in, and covered it back up. With that done, all that was left was to wait. And to pass the time, Flame Storm let himself slump back onto his back, staring up at the dark night’s sky, right up at the Full Moon.

Two hours later, the stalk finally broke out of the dirt, pulling Flame Storm’s attention from pulling random words out of the Stars. “Huh, it actually worked.” He murmured. “I fully expected to be eaten alive tonight, this is a pleasant surprise.”

He stood up and reached down. The stem reacted to his presence, as Long-Days were sensitive to latent magic, and bloomed in full, the white petals gleaming off of the moonlight. Flame Storm smiled.

“Unless this Corporal Cobalt is a herbalist, he won’t notice the difference, now will he? Come here, little one. It’s time to tell a lie.”

Flame Storm frowned. The town hall was still empty, the former Mayor still passed out at her desk, now snoring like a Ursa Major trying to find a mate. This would be… annoying, even more so than it already was.

Hm, Marian Mare mumbled something about a bar, but where would it be? Applejack never mentioned a bar, and he hadn't seen one during their tour. He could wake Marian up, but that mare looked drop-dead exhausted, so he felt bad considering it. So, he went to Plan B:

Smell.

It was something he had learned to enhance during his years living in the woods alone, having to learn how to tell the difference between what was safe to eat or not, to determine if the sour smell in the air was Hydra’s Blood or a wet bear, and most importantly, Tracking.

Looking over to make sure Marian was still out cold, Flame Storm carefully made his way past her and into the staircase up to the main office, the doors to it being unlocked. Carefully opening it, he was surprised to see maps, tables filled with notes and booklets, and walls covered in weaponry. However…

Flame Storm took a step forward and let his hand run across the blade of an axe, and his brow furrowed. He wasn’t much of a master smith, but he had enough experience to tell cheap metal from good metal, and this axe was… rubbish. The edge was almost an inch thick, and there was already some cracking along the core. Either it was improperly treated, or some idiot has been trying to fight a Stone Golem with it.

Either way, it didn’t fill him with much confidence. He made an internal note to never take a weapon from this little armory. Aside from all that, he found the Corporal’s desk, noted by the metal slat with Cobalt Carousel's name engraved into it. Next to it was also a vase, with a wilted lily inside.

“Hmph, how fortunate.” Flame Storm muttered. He grabbed the dead flowers and tossed them into the trash bin next to the desk, and roused out a pad of paper and a pen.

“One (1) Ariandel Flower. I’m going to sleep. ~ Flame Storm.”

He penned it down to the table with a knife from the floor and turned tail to leave, exiting the building without a single noise, and returned to the forest.

The silence of the town was slowly breaking as the sun’s rays began to pierce the horizon. Flame Storm stared off at it with a solemn expression on his face, the beams striking his face. He softly remembered distant memories of a home that was long gone, the splash of saltwater on his face, and the faint smell of a burn pit.

Flame Storm shook his head. ‘Keep remembering things and you’ll lose it again, Flame. Keep yourself focused, just get to the cabin and bed.’

Heh, “bed”. A firm plank of wood, cold burrows, and a hollow room, with only a fireplace to keep him warm. With his luck, it’ll catch the floor on fire and take him down to Hell… Oh well, it’s a risk he’ll take.

Flame Storm finally arrived and pulled the door open, the forest’s darkness crawling over his skin as he entered the room. With a deep sigh, he looked down at himself. The slow crawling desolate feeling that had been haunting him since he got here paused when he saw the clothes that were generously handed to him. Slowly, that unbridled feeling of drowning faded.

Instead, a hollow numbness came forth in its stead. Better nothing than suffering, honestly.

He moved to the mirror, testing the faucet to see if it could actually work, and as expected, the dripping was all he could get. Which would be annoying in the future, but in the future, he can get it fixed, however the hell this pipe got water in the first place. With a disappointed sigh, he looked into the mirror and stopped.

Flame Storm looked… better. Even with his mane and fur all tattered, and his tail cut so short it might as well have been missing, the shirt and vest made him feel.

Clean. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long, Long time. His hand slowly raised up to his face, and carefully pulled his mane back. The mirror flickered as his mane moved past his eyes, and Flame Storm held back a wince.

Half of his face was a mangled mass of burned flesh, his left eye clouded and molten after years upon years of healing over as a scar. Even in its sad sorry state, the teal iris still managed to peek through, even if it looked disgusting. But the scar didn’t stop at his eye. It kept going back, to below his ear, pain piercing his mind with every twitch. With a solemn stare, he let his mane fall back, ideas of pining it back with a band which he had found in the pocket of his vest vanishing.

Flame Storm let his hands fall, instead turning to the fireplace. With a flick, Magic came through his veins, the feathers of his wing twitching to life. From his hand came a soft red light, and then a flame, his name sake, fluttering down from the tips of his fingers. Despite its miniscule size, the dried logs immediately went up, bathing the cabin in warmth and light. Flame Storm sighed as it bathed him, his muscles loosening. Being so close to his element, his nature, his Talent, it rejuvenated him. Not enough to replace sleep, however.

Flame Storm let the fire bathe his wing as he turned to the bed, carefully sitting down onto the old wood. Shit, that hurt. His back felt like an old spear being used ruthlessly to parry a sword, never works…

Nonetheless, he laid down, ready to end his first night in Ponyville. Though, he wasn’t fully in mind for the next day. Or the day after.

‘This was going to be an experience’ His mind murmured, as he fell into the silent void of Dreams. The silent, abandoned, but welcoming realm of Dreams.

Author's Note

Translations:
1: Old Norse : "Ofstopi víg Logi…" : "The Arrogant Man Wishes To Kill The Flame..."

So, FIMFiction's image insert part just, does not work? So, here's a direct link to the Tumblr post featuring Flame Storm's fully glory from the Cover Image.

https://www.tumblr.com/fxcf/744250075247673344/its-still-you-no-matter-what-has-happened-you?source=share

Seriously, tried like 20 different sites, didn't work on any of them, man :(

And if including external links in the AN is against rules, inform me and I'll remove it, no fuss.