A Hero Untold

Wolfram jolted awake. He was in a room made of basic wooden planks for the wall, floor, and ceiling alike. There was an unlit candle on a table beside his bed. Currently the only light source was the dull grey light of a cloudy morning seeping through some blinds hung over a window. Wolfram was lying haphazardly over the sheets on the bed. He knew it was cold in the room because his face had only thin fur on it, though the rest of his body was well insulated. Wolfram began to shift into a more wakeful position. However that triggered an uncomfortable response in his abdomen.

His stomach felt like it was overflowing, Wolfram struggled to remember what had happened. He pondered for some time, while also forcing himself upright, and putting his armoured jacket on. It didn't take long to remember the pink pony had taken him to a bakery, and looking in his pouch he noticed that his finance had dropped significantly. With those clues he recalled eating far too much, and having to pay a bill. A very large bill.

Stumbling forward in gluttonous agony, Wolfram opened the door to the room he had awoken in. He found that he was on the second floor of what looked to be an inn. The second level was more of a catwalk around the building's perimeter that lead to the doors of each room, so he could see down to the common floor. It was almost completely empty. The only figures were a middle aged male earth pony bustling around behind the counter, seemingly getting ready for business, along with a juvenile male unicorn, a bit younger than Wolfram, who was systematically pulling stools off of tables and placing them down on the floor.

Wolfram walked down the stairs with caution, he was not feeling to athletic at the moment.

"Excuse me," Wolfram began to ask "I seem to have lost all sense of location. Where am I?"

The pony behind the counter laughed "Your first time drinking, I'll bet. Well, son, you did a fine job keeping up with the adults, for your age."

"I drank?" Wolfram was bewildered. He had told himself many times that he wouldn't indulge in alcohol.

"Like a berzerk after a battle! You drank some of the toughest ponies I've met under the table."

This was a little too much for Wolfram to understand. He walked over to one of the stools that was put down already, and took a seat before the bartender spoke again.

"You're up early, too. No headache?"

Wolfram did not have a headache. The notion quickly came to him that perhaps his resilience came from the leftover effects of the 'metabolic hyperactivity solution,' or whatever Amp had called it. Wolfram only shook his head in response, even if he didn't have a headache he was badly rested, and had eaten too much. Wolfram had an inquiry.

"My memory is shot, did anything important happen in regards to me last night?"

"Not that I can recall, except someone came here with you. A pink mare, she followed you in the door, but left quickly. Something about packing for Canterlot." The bartender helped his best.

"Great. What time is it?

"Half past six. AM, that is."

Wolfram groaned and dropped his head on the table with a loud thud. All he could think to himself was 'Why am I up so early?' But at least it gave him a head start on the day. He did have a job to do, and he didn't have much else on his schedule.

He stood up dejectedly, and began marching toward the door. The bartender offered him breakfast first, but Wolfram had more than enough food to last him a while in his stomach. Slowly his memories returned in fragments. Pinkie Pie was in fact heading over to Canterlot, with most of her better friends as well. Some wedding thing that Wolfram didn't care about.

He held the map which Amp had provided in front of him for a moment, trying to understand her chaotic notes. She drew octagons all over some places, and scribbled in notes like 'Manticore here in afternoon' or 'Corrupt dryads, do not provoke.' Amp had a surprisingly detailed understanding of the Everfree forest, the only problem was trying to translate her notes. They mostly made sense to her.

Once Wolfram had determined what path Amp wanted him to take, he marched south toward the forest's outskirts. It didn't take him long, the town was dangerously close to the place. Wolfram still didn't understand the placement. He walked up to the forest without any fear. He had never encountered magical enemies before, but he was certain he'd done enough reading to fight them effectively.

The forest was eerie, without a doubt. But Wolfram knew that places like this had unnerving effects, he was determined to ignore them.  The trees all seemed to loom over him, no matter what side of them he was on, they always looked like they were bent over toward him. The underbrush was all gnarled and thorny, However the trip was primarily uneventful, save for a few creatures skittering away from Wolfram's presence.

Before long he had made it to his target without a hitch. A few stone columns stood before him, rough granite obelisks. They marked the path to a heavy iron door on a stone tomb. Amp had written that it was called a "barrow" on the back of the map. It supposedly held the honourable dead of an ancient civilization. Amp was very adamant that it wasn't grave robbing if the owner had been dead for over an eon, and Wolfram wasn't about to argue with eight hundred bits.

He marched down the path, and up to the iron door. It had been barred shut from the outside. Wolfram easily removed the device, and opened the door. The smell of dust and mould wafted out from the crypt, wolfram reeled back in disgust, and held his snout in his  sleeve for a moment. He eventually shook it off, and went in, breathing through his mouth.

Wolfram pulled a flare from his satchel, Amp had supplied him with basic items before he left. He popped the cap off, igniting the red cylinder. It made a soft hissing sound and gave off considerable light. at least ten meters around him were clearly illuminated. He could see the barrow had a stair case which led deep underground from here. The walls around him were lined with stony shelves holding skeletons and dried up corpses.

Wolfram stayed as calm as he could, but being surrounded by that much death was disturbing. He walked down the staircase for some time, he was too busy staring at the dead bodies to keep track of how long exactly. But eventually the ground leveled out into a hallway with just as many corpses  in it.

He could see down the hallway what looked to be a sarcophagus of some kind. It was beyond the clear light of his flare, so the guess was not certain. It was a mere silhouette in the darkness. It seemed to radiate a feeling of cold foreboding. Wolfram had already convinced himself that he was going to do what he came to do no matter what enchantments of fear had been placed on his encounters.

Determined to retrieve the artifact he was looking for, Wolfram pushed himself forward. He normally considered himself brave, but even as he walked forward he was fighting the urge to bolt. Nearer to the sarcophagus now, he saw an ornate chest made of steel and brass in between him and the coffin. Wolfram had certainly read enough to know these things were usually trapped. So he looked around for an artificial limb of sorts to open it with.

He found a few rusted swords in the possession of some of the unprotected corpses nearer to the sarcophagus. He picked one up, and used it from a few feet away to pry open the lid of the chest. Just as he had expected, a barrage of projectiles flew from the walls and right through the space that he would have been standing in had he not foresaw the trap. The barrage went on for some time, seeming a bit excessive.

As it ended, Wolfram stepped up to the chest, and felt the floor shift under his feet. Out of instinct,he jumped backward, and narrowly avoided a falling rock which landed and split in half on the floor in front of the chest. That made enough noise to wake the dead. Wolfram thought. Realizing his surroundings, he quickly took back that remark. He once more stepped up to the now open chest, not noticing any traps this time.

He looked inside and saw a collection of things. Some ancient looking brass coins, probably of little worth now, but he took them anyway. A large iron key, he looked around for a lock, and found one on the sarcophagus, he silently hoped that the sword he was looking for was not inside there. Beyond that, there was a large heavy tome. A strange alphabet was engraved on the front. It was archaic, and made entirely of ninety and forty-five degree angle lines. The angular runes held some familiarity to Wolfram, but he couldn't recall where from. He reached into the box, and picked the book up.

At the first moment of contact, Wolfram remembered the runes. He could read them, even. 'Northern Memories,' the cover had written on it. Wolfram was bewildered, unable to remember ever seeing the alphabet before. Below the title, there was a series of three engravings, they looked similar to the alphabet, but more complex. He couldn't recognize their meaning off the top of his head.

Wolfram remembered his original goal. He put the book into his satchel, and searched the area for a sword. Leaving the sarcophagus for last intentionally. Eventually he had searched just about every corner of the area, except the stone and iron coffin. With a sense of dread, Wolfram raised the key to the keyhole on the sarcophagus. He put it in,and twisted clockwise first, it didn't budge, so he tried counter-clockwise. He heard the mechanism fall into place, and pulled the key out again. Placing it in his bag, he opened the sarcophagus. His heart jumped and skittered for a moment, as a partially in tact pony leaped out of the coffin at him. He jumped backward, and assumed a combative stance. But the pony collapsed to the floor with a thud, and the clatter of steel on stone.

With some hesitation Wolfram stepped forward to inspect the now motionless attacker. He nudged the body, and it rolled over limply. Wolfram laughed to himself.

"It's dead. Like it could have been anything else." He continued to chuckle.

Under it's previous location was an amazing sword. It gleamed with a mirror finish, the handle was wrapped with steel wire for a grip and the crossguard was a multi-layered and spiked masterpiece. Wolfram had to consciously shake himself from the sense of sheer awe at the craftsmanship. He picked it up, and gave it a few swings, standing bipedal for a moment. Bipedal combat was an art which very few ponies knew. But it was very popular in the past, now weapons like swords that can't be used four legged were mostly ceremonial.

Wolfram had intentionally trained himself in bipedal combat, figuring that someday it might get him the upper hoof. The sword was perfectly balanced, and even though it was thick and strong, it was surprisingly light. The base of the blood groove had some of the complex engravings that the book had. Once again three of them, and once again Wolfram couldn't understand them. Wolfram chuckled lightly at the greatness of the weapon, he found a way to keep it in his satchel without a sheathe, and began his journey back up to the surface.

Behind him though, something was stirring. Wolfram did not notice. The form that he had presumed dead was pulling itself upward, as though by magic. It did not contact the ground, so much as float back upright. Like a puppet on strings. It lurched forward, Raising a hoof clumsily, trying to strike Wolfram in the back.

It succeeded in this motion. Wolfram felt the sharp pain of a blow to the back of his neck. before spinning around in defense. Once he saw his attacker he was quickly unnerved. For just a moment he stood still in shock, and just a moment was long enough to get hit again. This time in the shoulder, his armoured jacket absorbed most of the blow, but he still felt the unearthly strength of it. Wolfram figured now was as good a time as any to try bipedal combat, so he quickly drew his new sword, and took a swing at the undead. He cut a massive gash along it's gut, but it didn't flinch.

Now alert to his surroundings, Wolfram saw more of the corpses beginning to shift about. Utter horror overtook him, and he swung once more at the first undead. Striking its neck, he almost beheaded it, but it still stood in forbearance to Wolfram's fatal strike. It sputtered some ancient tongue at him.

"Hel, Jotuns, vetr langr! Rythja!" It was hard to understand, but it almost sounded like it was trying to warn Wolfram.

Wolfram ignored it, and charged up the steps of the barrow, flare in one front hoof and sword in the other. Unfortunately walking bipedal was a lot slower than normal. The pursuers were beginning to gain on him, so he had to turn around and fend a few off. He struck at them with the blade, and kicked a few as well. They were eternally off balance, and he knocked them back down the stairs with ease. Even causing them to fall in unison, like a set of dominoes sometimes. But they showed no yield, and got back up after every strike.

Wolfram did his best to knock most of the frontal ones down, and began retreating again. He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, and soon found himself in the light of day again. The undead legion chased him without yield, Wolfram looked behind him once he had escaped, only to find them halted. They stood at the edge of the shadow, almost miming a wall. They growled, and sputtered at Wolfram. Occasionally letting out fragments of their archaic tongue.

Wolfram did not question their refusal to continue, he simply trotted away at a brisk pace. He headed back toward the town, planning to return to Amp quickly, and hoping that he would not have to deal with legions of unstoppable corpses again.