Fallout Equestria: Old World Rock
Fallout Equestria: Old World Rock
A lone figure walked across the wasteland.
She was swathed in robes which hid her face, a guitar strapped across her back. Steady hoof-falls carried her further across the sandy soil towards a distant half-ruined town. Its walls rising from amongst the collapsed buildings of a ruined city.
From far away, the peal of an electric guitar mixed with disharmonic sounds of screams and the crash of bass. In an instant the lone figure was off, rushing through broken ruins and leaping from fallen girder to cracked concrete, closing on the small settlement. The sounds of screaming grew louder, mixing with the percussion of rushing hooves.
Within those shadowed walls were ponies, along with darker things. Ghouls ran with ragged, sagging skin. They chased the local ponies from their homes, sending them fleeing towards the gate, and the cloaked figure. In a moment the ghouls fell dead to the ground, their heads rolling slowly across the town, still gnashing teeth in rage. The figure stood on her hind legs, holding a blade in a forehoof. A zebra fighting stance, rare in the wasteland.
A soft ‘thump, thump’ interrupted the discordant music streaming from the center of the town, as the two zombified heads collided with the makeshift bandstand. A dark figure upon it, striped black and white, bearing a tophat marked with skulls, peered down over the edge. In his hooves was a black guitar, to his back three ghouls upon instruments of dark intent. Drums made from pony hide stretched across stolen bones, keyboard which seemed to sound with the voices of souls long lost, a writhing guitar of shadows and tears.
But for the moment the music had stopped, as the guitarist peered in confusion at the decapitated heads. His gaze turned upwards as the ghouls converged upon the lone wanderer. The sound of metal against long dead flesh was clear as the unknown warrior danced through the ranks of ghouls, cutting limbs and slicing heads. In moments, two dozen ghouls lay dead nearby.
The guitarist laughed. “A hero has come forth to challenge my power? Now, now, cloaked friend there’s no need to be dour.” The cloaked figure turned her head towards the guitarist with faintly visible eyes beneath her cloak. “I can see you too know the touch of song. But these ponies here are in the wrong!” He swept a hoof around the surroundings with a dark, resounding laugh. “They would banish that which they do not understand. They wish to hoard this place and keep the land.” A grin cracked across his striped face, the zebra handling his guitar briefly. “But they’ll see the truth of metal’s power. And today they learn to cower!”
He struck a new chord as the band began to play. The sound was not the harmonious music of rock and roll, but discordant horror of crashing metal and wailing souls. The zombies, cut to pieces moments ago, began to rise anew and pull themselves together again. Shambling in the direction of the lone warrior a second time. Though cutting them to pieces seemed as effortless to her as breathing, their unending march would be enough to wear anyone down.
The cloaked figure leaped from amidst the horde to land in the center of the square. Ponies of the town cowered in the shadows far away as the figure spoke. “Of metal’s power I know well and true. So in this case there is only one thing left to do.” She sheathed her weapon and pulled the guitar from her back. It was a thing of beauty and pride. Its red and white construction shining dimly even in the poor lighting beneath a cloudy sky.
Amidst the town the zombies still stalked, closing closer on the heroic figure. In a moment one of them leaped and grabbed at her cloak, pulling it away to reveal another zebra standing beneath. But she didn’t seem perturbed by this moment of exposure, instead a smile spread across her lips. “Metal’s power may be enough to match your goal. But I know the power of rock and roll!” She struck a pose for which a thousand performers would have sold their souls, as she began to jam.
The zebra of metal’s veil laughed his dark laugh as he watched the start of his foe’s performance. “What hope have you without a band? You’ll be hurled by metal off this land!” He struck a discordant chord as his band provided music to bleed the ears. But amidst the chaos the ponies of the town could hear, new instruments joining the hero so near.
The source of those new sounds, a trumpet, drum and more, was a mystery to all who watched. As the heroic zebra raised her head with a grin. “Though your band is clearly strong I am not alone. I walk with a power I am certain you have never known.” The music grew louder as she continued to play. The steady thump and thrum coming in harmonic mix which would not allow anyone to break away. Even the ghouls had stopped, watching and listening with empty minds.
Far above, the clouds rumbled in concurrence with the ongoing rock battle. Things grew more intense as each side attempted to outdo the other. The hero’s words were steady and strong, filled with conviction of purpose in song. “These ponies have freedom and health. All you want is subjugation and wealth!”
The voice of black metal returned her jabs with equal ease. “What I want is to teach them a lesson true. To show them the power of the things they never knew!” His voice ended in harsh laughter, each word spoken from the depths of his lungs in such a way that most would hear only the angry sound of noise.
“Each day brings new light and life, and hope for an end of gloom. This world ill has need of the music of doom!”
“Two hundred years of death and decay. In that state the world will stay! What purpose is there in light and hope? All it gives you is another reason to mope!”
“From past’s grand endeavours do we learn what we could be. It is this bright future which I still see. Given time and effort even lifeless lands can bloom again. On that day will all ponies and zebras win!”
“Hah, no hero will come from earth’s embrace. That is the reality you should face! All the world is dead or dying in this time. I find its embrace to be sublime!”
“Heroes are not born of sorrow’s embrace. But rather from the darkness that they face. In these times of sorrow and loss do heroes find their start. Whether together or far, far apart!”
Back and forth the conflict raged, each matching the other’s skill. As their words clashed the music rose to deafening heights. Upon the clouds far above the crack of thunder marked the start of a storm. Rain fell upon the duelists to dampen their manes. But something more magical was revealed. As raindrops fell around the hero’s head, it revealed spirits of music which were long dead. Rock, jazz, swing and hop stood by her side, the spirits of dead ponies playing instruments of spectral strength.
The zebra of darkest metal stood for a moment in awe. The ghosts of music long past were his foes, and things were turning against him as they cascaded from high to low. Rain beat down as zombies swayed in time, not with the discordant music but with rock’s sweet rhyme. The ponies of the town had gathered too, watching the display with stunned silence and shock.
As the music reached its highest point, the clouds rumbled and the heroic zebra raised her hoof high. Lightning streaked from sky above and down to her waiting pick, leaping from her grasp to the guitar’s embrace. With a single stroke she played a chord. The force blasted the black metal zebra from his stand, hurling his band to the ground as instruments unraveled. The black guitar’s strings snapped in harmony’s embrace.
Fires erupted with a rumble from the earth, raging upwards past the zombies in a myriad of colors and bursting far above, tiny sparks falling back to earth. The heroic zebra slid to a stop as the music halted with a low reverberation. The surrounding ponies stood in quiet awe as the last of the zombies vanished in multicolored fire.
The dark zebra, top hat having fallen from his head opened his eyes with a groan to see the broken guitar. In an instant he was upon it, trying to piece it back together. “No. NO!” A dark smoke rose from amongst the cracked pieces of the broken guitar. The panic on his face was clear for all to see.
A dark figure seized up the zebra with a laugh. “Now you have failed metal’s test! Your minions have faced a greater power and been laid to rest!” It shook the zebra with wicked glee. “But you have let our power go to waste. Lost what we gave you in your haste!” The zebra yelped and let out pleading sounds of apology. “Now you pay metal’s price. This time we shall not play nice!” For a moment the spirit hung with darkness, before turning to face the hero with a gaunt, skeletal hoof. “As for you who took our pawn!” There was the briefest of pauses before it gave a sign long forgotten with its hooves. “Rock on.” The spirit swirled and vanished back into the ground, dragging the pleading zebra with it to an early grave.
As the heroic zebra went to retrieve her cloak a shout went up amongst the waiting crowd. From all around her came the cheers of ponies free from fear’s embrace. The local ponies had a new figure they adored. But victory on this day was its own reward. A call of ‘encore’ was heard and repeated. At first the zebra turned to leave, before their desires did she perceive. With a smile she retrieved her axe, as she was joined by spectral sax. Through the storm the music grew. The power of rock was something these ponies knew.
By dawn the next day their hero had vanished. But the events of that day would not be forgotten. For it was written on walls and repeated to children. The stories of the black guitar and a hero of times long past. Creating a legend which in the wasteland would last. Away from the town would the story spread, as far away their hero’s hooves did tread.
A lone figure walked across the wasteland. But with spirits in tow, Rock was a gift for the wasteland to know.