Mountain of Misfortune

by Kiernan

Chapter the Seventh: Lost Histories

Sam huffed as they climbed the stairs. They turned and twisted as the stairs kept going up and up. “Are you still listening?” they called out. “I could use a break. A chair, some water… I know it’s a bit much to ask, but I’ve been climbing these stairs for at least fifteen minutes.”

As Sam rounded the next corner, the floor flattened out. A short distance away, an archway lit up the area. There was a light in the next room, free from the bounds of the flashlight. With a small sigh of relief, they leaped forward, rushing into the light.

The room was very large, just like the rooms with the cave paintings. This one, however, rather than being a flat sheet of wall, was a rotunda, starting and ending with the single entrance. The light came from an oculus in the ceiling, which, despite the fact that it was well after nightfall, shone down into the room as if the sun were directly overhead. It fell directly onto a blue and pink crystal fountain that burbled up water from the ground and dropped it into a basin below, which drained back down into the stone.

The water was neither stagnant nor stinky, so Sam scooped up a small amount, swished it around in their cheeks, and held it on their tongue for a moment. Everything seemed to indicate that it was clean and safe to drink. This was, after all, the very definition of a mountain spring, so this was, by definition, mountain spring water.

After drinking a fair amount, Sam looked around. Like those below, these walls were smooth and covered in paint. Thanks to the light from above, they could see the whole thing. It was divided up into six sections, denoted by a carved pillar between each one, barring the last one which had a doorway that was sliding closed.

“I understand,” called Sam. “You want me to see these paintings before I go. Right?”

They stepped up to the first one. Commander Hurricane was featured prominently, inspiring a field of troops. Or at least, that’s what he seemed to be doing. He was holding up a sword, shouting something at a team of cheering bat ponies. For all Sam knew, he was telling them that they were having taquitos for dinner that night. In all likelihood, though, if somepony decided to immortalise a moment on a wall like this, it was likely a huge event. Most plausible, he was rallying them for a fight.

“Did you want me to talk about them?” asked Sam. “This one, I can’t tell where it is, but it was before a battle, right?”

No response. Whatever magic this was, it was at least able to carve words into the stone, or something, right? It was able to answer their calls for a way forward and some water. A simple yes or no would do.

Sam shook their head and moved to the right, where the next painting hung. This one showed a herd of crystal ponies, being directed by a couple of bat ponies across a field. The crystal ponies were chained up. Sam knew that Sombra had done this, but was unaware that the bat ponies had, too.

As this was much clearer an image than the first one, it was obvious that there was something off about these crystal ponies, too. They weren’t just regular crystal ponies, but something else. Some of them did seem to be regular crystal ponies, but there were so many more with alterations not common on crystal ponies. Sam knew that transparency was an issue with paint, but a lot of these crystal ponies were solid through, and had stony growths on some of their joints.

“I’m guessing these aren’t actually crystal ponies, but some kind of precursor to them? Maybe a rock pony? Or perhaps they were always called Earth ponies, just, they used to be more akin to the earth?”

The next painting also had a clarifying detail. Once more, Commander Hurricane was standing on an elevated platform, and it looked like somepony shy was standing behind him; Private Pansy, perhaps? A whole squad of bicorns were tied up, each of them sporting two nubs where their horns used to be, all looking up at the stage.

Commander Hurricane was holding a kukri, stained red with the blood of the bicorn he was butchering for all to see. This bicorn, like all of the others bound below, had two nubs, meaning the previous painting where the unicorns had two horns was a conscious decision.

The bicorn Commander Hurricane was displaying seemed to still be clinging to life, despite the circumstances surrounding his current predicament. Hanging by his neck, his organs had been spilled in front of him, being collected in a basket by a small crystal pony whose mane and tail had seemingly been shaved off.

While this seemed to be needlessly cruel, Sam kept a brave face. This was a dark time in Equestria’s history, to be sure, and even more so, they were in the middle of a war. While it would seem to be too far to go by today’s standards, the bat ponies from thousands of years ago probably would have done something like this.

“May I ask what’s the point of this?” sighed Sam. “I already know things were bad back then. I can’t go back and make everything right. Things are so very different today, and I can’t think of something common enough that I can do something and simultaneously bad enough that I want to. If you’re trying to call me to action, You’re going to need to be a lot more specific.”

The next image was just as gruesome. Earthen crystal ponies were tied up in a bin, with a few bat ponies bleeding everywhere around them. A pile of wings was scattered about behind a table, with joyous bicorns laughing as one with magic wrapping around a gnarly-looking knife chopped and hacked at the left wing of a captured and bound bat pony. It seemed as if the bat ponies that had been captured by the unicorns were having their wings removed and turned into a facsimile of modern earth ponies, and then put in the same place as the earth ponies, as if they were the same. Granted, a pegasus without wings would bear a lot of resemblance to an earth pony, but still, it wasn’t the same.

It did cause a bit of a reaction in Sam, though, as it seemed to suggest that being an earth pony was a bigger insult than death. If being an earth pony was considered torture, then they were glad to live in a time when this sort of thought was significantly less common. It still showed up from time to time, but it was rare, and never so intense as this. It reminded them of something they’d heard a while ago; that art was all about how it could make you feel, and that good art was anything that caused you to feel powerful emotions. To that end, this must have been good art. Despite that fact, though, Sam didn’t want to hang this on any wall.

“I have made clear my intentions,” shouted Sam. “I don’t want to stay here. I had hoped we had come to an understanding. I’m not here to cause you harm. I know you don’t like earth ponies, but I honestly mean you no ill will. I just want to reunite with my friends and go home.”

They paused for a moment before moving on to the next one. Things were starting to become uncomfortable, and Sam was almost afraid to continue. Whoever was in control of the situation, they were unhappy. It wasn’t enough to just wait for things to play out. Sam had been honest, just wanting to leave, just wanting to take their friends out of this place and go somewhere where they would be harmless. With a deep breath, Sam shook their head and moved on to the next painting. If nothing else, perhaps commenting on each one would earn some kind of insight, if it didn’t open the door.

This one was a bit more tame. Commander Hurricane was back, as was Private Pansy, now confirmed. They were in an infirmary, tending to wounded soldiers. For once, the earth pony stand-ins were not being beaten, but shown some modicum of respect. It wasn’t a lot, as their whole body of work here was to act as assistants to the doctors; carrying their stuff, bringing them things, moving the wounded around, and other menial tasks that required little to no brainpower. Any jobs that required thought were left up to the bat ponies. That would certainly be a mistake, as Sam could spot several malpractice cases in this image.

This painting, along with the last two, seemed to paint the bat ponies as the greatest force for all that was good. While the bicorns would torture and demean their foes, making them wish that they were dead, the bat ponies would instead grant that wish, making an example of the captured foes before ending their existence entirely. It also painted the bat ponies as caring about each other, at least enough to ensure that their injuries healed up properly.

“I understand that you have a lot of respect for Commander Hurricane. To be honest, I thought he was kind of a dick, but a lot of that mostly comes from the fact that, had we both lived at the same time, he’d have forced me to give him half of the food that I grew, or he’d rain hellfire down onto my fields. If I were a pegasus, he probably wouldn’t hate me, but I’m not. I can’t control the circumstances of my birth any more than anypony else. I don’t understand where all of this hatred is coming from.”

There was but one painting left, and it marked a very clear stylistic change. Two horizontal lines divided the painting into three. At the top, the bat ponies reveled and rejoiced in their victory over the dreadful bicorns.

This was made obvious by the bottom section, which contained the bodies of the bicorns, beheaded and stripped of their flesh, but for every body, there was a skull somewhere else in the painting, either as a trophy on display in the clouds above or set as a reminder in the middle section.

And that is where all the earth ponies were. Some wore smiles, others donned looks akin to beaten dogs, but all of them worked, and with very few bat ponies there to maintain the workflow.

For as gruesome as it was, though, it did display something spectacular. While it wasn’t as good as the current situation, where the races lived in relative harmony, not just the three that were spoken of in the legend, but many more on top of that, this still displayed a modicum of peace. While the earth ponies were enslaved and the bat ponies reaped the reward, there was no visible fighting. There was no competing to find who was the most important, just the two remaining races living together in harmony.

“While I stand behind the deeper meaning in this, there is something that I have to say. Peace does not have to come at the cost of other ponies’ lives. My friends are unicorns, and we see each other as equals. In fact, I just called them my friends. You and I could be friends, too. All I want right now is to go home with the ponies I love. Please, just… Open the door and let us out. That’s all I ask. Whatever you want, just tell me, and I’ll do what I can.”

The sound of sliding stone rumbled through the room as the door opened. Taking one last swig of water from the fountain, Sam walked to the entrance. While the next room was very dark, a glowing paint lit up the trail and one of the walls. It also covered the stalactites and stalagmites.

As Sam followed the path painted before them, they noticed several breaks. As they came to the first one, it pointed toward the painted wall. As the pillars stood in front of it, the image was one of Sam, standing out in the middle of a field.

Feeling a bit on edge, they moved to the next break in the line. This one had Sam looking up from their field work to put on a straw hat and pick up a garden hoe.

At the next break, The field was ploughed, and when the line ended, the field was planted and crops were growing out of the ground.

“You want me to be a farmer… I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I’m an accountant. I don’t know jack shit about agriculture. You’re asking the wrong pony.”

There was no more line to follow, and no response. Sam clicked the flashlight back on and waved it around a bit. With the light on it, the painted path was entirely invisible, only able to exist in the dark.

“I may not know anything about agriculture, but I know that food production is way up since then. The number of ponies starving to death per year is at its lowest point in recorded history. Sixteen reported cases in the last year. There’s plenty of food. I can even bring you some, if you let me go. I promise, I’ll bring you something to eat as soon as I have my friends back.”

Suddenly, the ground gave way under Sam’s hooves, and they fell into a tunnel. It was a very steep slope, and they started sliding down, unable to find purchase with their hooves. They managed to hold onto their flashlight, but that didn’t much matter, as they soon found themself all the way outside, quite a bit higher than they expected to be.

It was only at this point that they lost their stability, going from sliding on their hooves to tumbling through the air. Sam didn’t stay in the air, not being a pegasus nor a bat pony, or even a breezie. Every second or so, there was contact with the ground; either a rock or a patch of dirt.

Soon, the dirt gave way to grass, being much softer, but no less impactful. There was no slowing down, however, until they hit the first tree. By the time they hit the fourth, there was friction enough to stop.

Sam groaned as loud as their lungs would let them. Being hit on the head multiple times in rapid succession had disoriented them quite a bit. They could tell where up was because the trees were growing that way, not because they could feel the force of gravity.

For several minutes, they just lay there, thankfully in the beam of their flashlight shining through the grass, letting their body readjust to the new situation. Only when they were sure that they were able to see in front of them, hear their own voice talking back to them, and able to feel the pull of the earth properly did they feel comfortable doing a systems check.

“One, two, three, four, five…” moaned Sam. Aside from checking their hearing, it was good to make sure that they still knew how to count. Following that, they watched their front hooves as they tried to move them. First at the wrists, then the elbows, and finally, the shoulders. Nothing seemed to be broken, and any visible cuts were minor, at worst.

With all of that, Sam brought their hooves to their neck, checking it for any immediate damage. Finding none, they looked left, then right, then up. Nothing but soreness and stiffness; nothing seemed out of place.

Rocking up onto their elbows, they checked their ability to hold their neck upright without the ground beneath them, and then their ability to look down. Their stomach and chest were scratched up pretty badly, but everything still looked to be intact at a glance.

Lowering down to the ground, Sam slowly rolled onto their back and inspected their back legs for damage. There was a fair bit of blood, but nothing but skin was broken. It was gruesome to look at, and there was always the danger of infection, but no breaks after multiple collisions was a welcome bit of news.

Sitting up was going to be a chore, as they were still on an incline, and their tail was up over their head. If Sam was going to sit up, or even stand up, turning around the other way was mandatory.

With a few deep breaths, Sam managed to lift their body up onto their hooves. It was quite a bit more difficult than they were expecting, and they immediately fell sideways onto a tree trunk; the very same one that had stopped their descent. It hurt a lot, but having anything to help support them at this stage was a welcome addition to the equation.

For a few minutes, they just stood there, letting their body adjust to being upright again. While they had spent most of the day and half the night upright, that tumble had done quite a bit of damage to their inner ear. Staying up on their hooves was now an ordeal.

Still, after about half an hour, Sam picked up the flashlight and started taking steps back down the mountain. While they had promised to bring back food, they would need to go find some, first, and the closest source was in their bag. If their friends were released, too, their bags were in the same spot, unless something had happened to the bags while they were gone. At this point, bears would have been surprising.

They managed to make it back before sunrise. Neither Art nor Abi had returned, and their packs were right where they had been left. There was no way that Sam could make it to the camp site, either. They were staying here for the morning.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” they called into the darkness. “Send my friends to me, and we’ll all drop in a little something for you before we go. I think you’ll find this very fair.”

Rifling through Art’s bag for a snack, Sam lay down at the mouth of the cave, looking inward with the flashlight they’d only just been able to hang onto. After a snack of carrot and broccoli chips, they laid their head down on the ground, exhausted from the hike back.

Comments

[Mix-up]

Fun read Almost hope that Art become some sort of Mushroom monstrosity, keep it up.

[Kiernan]

11738185
The story is finished, and while I plan to do more with the lore, there's not really a sequel to this.

Art is dead, though. All the way dead, not coming back. That pool of liquid is based off the pitcher plant, and the mushrooms are some combination of peat moss and the mushrooms from Grounded. He and his sister are dead.

Glad you liked it, though.