It was a dark and stormy night when destiny decided to again interfere in the affairs of the mortal realm. A pounding, unrelenting rain had soaked the countryside, turning all roads into impassable muddy rivers of sticky muck and driving everypony into whatever shelter they could find.
All except for one.
A young stallion trudged through the deluge, his steps slow and methodical. Though there were a thousand other places he’d rather be at the moment, he had to press on. The fate of his young wife was at stake, to say nothing of his village and the surrounding areas.
But he needed to find some sort of shelter, and soon. He was literally soaked to the bone, and the cold evening air was sapping what little energy and strength he had left. The distant howl of timberwolves had been a steady companion since he had begun his journey, but they were growing uncomfortably close, and there were times he could swear he could see their glowing eyes in the bushes and brambles that lined the ‘road.’
In fact, when he first caught a glimpse of the lights in the distance, he mistook it for a timberwolf and nearly sent himself into the bushes for cover. It was several moments before he realized that the unmoving glint was an unmoving structure, but once he did, he let out a sigh of relief for the safety that a building like that would supply.
For a few moments, he worried that the light came from the torches of a guard on watch at a city’s gates, and that they would not allow him entrance at such a late hour, but to his great joy, he found a warm and comfortable looking inn, nestled in between two trees and with the smell of fresh bread pouring from the chimney.
Just as he took his first steps towards the oasis in the woods, though, his progress was halted by a most unexpected guard.
“Auch! Wouldda get a load of this dobber, thumpin’ about like some nanny goat in the springtime?” A tiny but sharp voice called out, and the equally tiny butt of a staff thumped the end of his nose. “State yer name’n business, and be quick about it.”
“My name is Dusty Roads, ma’am,” he replied, and he went cross-eyed in an attempt to focus on the tiny assailant in green robes. “My village has been attacked, and—”
“So yer seekin’ a company of heroes to go a-questin’ fer ya.” The diminutive druid spat to one side. “And what are you starin’ at?”
“Forgive me, but I’ve never met a… a… whatever you are.”
“Name’s Pansy,” the dark blue bumblebee sized fairy replied as she withdrew her staff. “An’ fer yer information, I’m a breezie. ‘Taint got many o’ them out yer way, I take it?”
Dusty shook his head. “I live in a small farming community of earth ponies, noble Pansy.”
“Aye, that explains it. C’mon then.” Pansy turned and motioned for him to follow her. “You must be the lucky sort. Group o’ adventures arrived naught but two hours ago. They should be able to help.”
Dusty let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I’ll pay whatever price they want, just so long as they can save my Maud.”
“That yer wife?”
“Yes. She—”
“Hold the story for inside,” Pansy said, with a suspicious glance to the trees around them. “Been a lot of brigands and cutthroats passin’ through lately. Can’t be too careful.”
Dusty said nothing more as he followed the breezie druid to the inn. Once at the door, his hoof reached for the latch and was promptly zapped by a tiny bolt of lightning.
“Ow!”
“Third rule of adventurin’.” Pansy chuckled and aimed her staff at the door. “Always assume a door is booby trapped.”
A beam of blue magic lept from Pansy’s staff, wrapped around the latch, and pushed the door open in one swift move. The druid then motioned for Dusty to enter first, and he did so carefully, lest he trip some other trap.
The inside of the inn, at first glance, was much like the inn in his own village, with a smattering of tables in front of a roaring hearth. Two chandeliers blazed overhead with the light of a hundred candles, and his stomach rumbled as the smell of bread practically ran him over.
There were few guests in the taproom that evening, but Dusty took a moment to look all of them over as he slowly walked towards the barkeep. In one corner sat a stern-looking, pale purple unicorn, who was decked out in armor that appeared to be made of bones, and with a skull staff leaning up next to her. A tankard was before her, but those deep violet eyes remained on him, unblinking and somehow piercing right to his heart.
In another corner sat a barbarian, who was currently unencumbered but had all of her gear in a nearby pile. Dusty was a bit confused to find that she was gleefully brading the silky smooth mane of a paladin into long plaits, and for some odd reason, she was rambling on about an enchanted ribbon that would give the svelte white mare increased stamina, if she would only wear it as a bow on her tail. The paladin was glaring furiously at a small wizard who sat with them, but the draconic summoner seemed to be unperturbed and giggled to himself as he watched the antics before him.
“Oy! Mud!” the breezie called out, and she jerked a hoof towards the straggling visitor. “Somepony ‘ere to see ya.”
The keep offered a warm smile and a hoof to shake, and Dusty couldn’t help but notice how unusually common he appeared to be. Typically, barkeeps were large ponies, with large bellies and even larger moustaches, but the yellow earth pony before him was so painfully normal that it hurt, somehow.
“Welcome to my humble establishment,” Mud offered as he placed a tankard on the bar in front of Dusty. “What can I get for you?”
“I’m looking for some adventurers,” Dusty began, but then he licked his parched lips as Mud filled the tankard with a fine-looking ale. Dusty hadn’t realized how thirsty he was up until that point—probably because he had been so focused on finding help, he noted to himself—but now that he could relax and catch his breath, his mouth felt as dry as a board. After taking a long draft, he continued. “My village was attacked two days ago by some sort of horrible army, and my wife was foalnapped, along with most of the villagers. I need somepony to go rescue her. And them.”
“I see.” Mud topped off the tankard and gave Dusty a reassuring smile. “Well, you’re in the right place. I’m sure there’s a creature here who will take up your cause. For a fee, of course.”
“I don’t care how much money it takes,” Dusty said, and he fought back the tears that were surging at the back of his eyes. “I just want my Maud back. Nothing else matters.”
When Dusty had walked into the inn, there had been a door just to Mud’s left, which he quickly assumed was the way back to the kitchen. But as soon as he had put the period on his last sentence, the door fairly exploded outward, leaving shards all over the room and one half of one hinge hanging limply from the frame.
Dusty fell off the barstool with the explosion, his eyes widening in dumbstruck amazement. The door’s former position was now filled with a mountain that was roughly shaped like an earth pony, her coat glistening in the candlelight from a thin, even coat of sweat from the ovens. Her fiery red mane matched her blazing yellow eyes, and all along her white body were the bold red tattoo lines of some fearsome warrior clan. In one hoof, she held an oversized war hammer that was easily as tall as she was long, and the head of it had to be the same size as his own.
If ever there was a pony who could rescue his wife, this mare was it.
“Bean!” she bellowed, the volume of the shouted name rattling the windows and floorboards. “I mean, Mud! Quickly, we must make haste! This poor stallion’s wife has been abducted, and who knows what perilous condition she may be in now! Garbunkle! Use one of your seeker spells to ascertain the mare’s whereabouts! Bonecrusher, to arms! We haven’t a moment to lose! Why are you just sitting there?! Time is of the essence!”
“You know, when I said you should try to act the way Brunhilde would act, I didn’t mean you should destroy our home,” Mud said as he rubbed the inside of his ear.
The massive mare gave Mud a sheepish grin, then turned back to evaluate the carnage she’d wrought. “At least I didn’t come through the wall this time.”
“Who are you?” Dusty breathlessly gasped.
“Oh! Forgive me, I have forgotten my manners.” The oversized maul slammed into the floor, and the living mountain offered a small curtsey. “Brunhilde, at your service.”
Dusty slowly picked himself up, and it took him several moments to look the gigantic mare over. “Are you a warrior, then?”
“Me?” Brunhilde tittered. “Oh, no. I’m just a humble cook. I run this inn with my husband, Mud,” she finished with a nuzzle to said husband’s cheek.
“A cook?” Dusty glanced to Mud in confusion, and got a nod in reply. “Forgive me, m’lady, but you don’t look like any cook I’ve ever met before.”
“That’s because she’s the luckiest mare on the planet,” the paladin in the corner grumbled. “I still say those dice were loaded.”
“Now, now, Gleaming Shield,” the barbarian chided. “We tested the dice repeatedly. Those twenties were all natural, and you know it. Quit being a sore loser.”
“Cheater.” Gleaming briefly stuck out her tongue at Brunhilde, then went back to sulking.
“Don’t mind her, Mister Dusty. She’s just upset that she’s a she,” Brunhilde said. “Now, about your wife and village. Did you happen to see who attacked you?”
Dusty slowly righted his stool and sat on it, and he hesitated as Brunhilde sat on the stool next to him. The severely stressed wood somehow held under her weight, despite the unholy groans of pain that it emitted. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight. We were…” he stalled, then shook his head. “We were attacked by skeletons.”
“Skeletons?” the pale pony in the back stood, and with a critical eye remaining on Dusty, she moved towards him. “What kind of skeletons?”
“The boney kind, I guess.”
“No. What I mean is, were they all skeleton, or did they still have some flesh and sinew on them?
Mud gagged slightly, but Dusty shook his head. “They were nothing but bone. Why?”
“This is the Squizard’s doing, then. Only he would have power sufficient enough to bring life to nothing more than the bones of the deceased.”
The small wizard lit up with delight. “Do you really think it’s the Squizard, Tonberry? We’ve not had any sight of him for weeks.”
“I’m sure of it, Garbunkle,” Tonberry solemnly said. “I will take up this quest for you, sir. My powers of necromancy will be needed to undo the evil he has created.”
“I shall accompany you, Tonberry,” the paladin proudly announced, and she thumped a hoof on her chest. “I am honor bound by oath and covenant to seek out and to destroy evil, wherever it may be. You have my blade.”
“And my axe,” Bonecrusher added, her hoof sliding along the edge of her weapon as she flashed a wicked grin. “It’s been far too long since I’ve bashed in some skulls.”
“I’m coming, too,” Garbunkle announced. “You’ll need a wizard to fight against a wizard, after all.”
“Ach, suppose I’ll need to chum along with you, ya bunch of dafties,” Pansy piped in.
“Mud?” Brunhilde glanced back to the barkeep, who was calmly sweeping up the shreds of door that had been scattered all around. “Go retrieve your exceptionally long and double-edged chef’s knife. We have work to do.”
“‘Fraid not,” Mud replied, his eyes still on the floor. “I just rolled a one. You and I have to stay here and tend to the inn.”
“What?” Brunhilde glanced over the newly formed fellowship, who all had sheepish grins. “He’s not serious, right?”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Garbunkle said. “The roll was a critical fail, and since you two are married in this campaign, you have to stay here.”
A sly grin came, and Brunhilde’s rear hoof wiggled, as if it was surreptitiously kicking something. “I do believe Mud didn’t look close enough at the die. As I see it, he rolled a fifteen.”
“What?” Mud hesitated for a moment. “No I didn’t. It was a one. You bumped it when no one was looking, didn’t you?”
“Me?” Brunhilde put a hoof to her chest in faux alarm. “You accuse me of manipulating the die? I would never do such a thing! You all made it very clear that the Rule of the Die is absolute, and that I should never, under any circumstances, upset the random number gods. I am merely pointing out that the die reads fifteen, not one.”
“Sure looks like a fifteen to me,” Gleaming Shield noted. “I see no reason why they cannot accompany us.”
“You are all a bunch of filthy cheaters,” Garbunkle said with a laugh. “But the die does say fifteen. Brunhilde and Mud are part of the Fellowship.”
“Outstanding!” Brunhilde thundered, and she slammed her war hammer through a nearby table. “Rest tonight, noble Dusty. At first light, we shall gather provisions and embark on our quest. You shall guide us to your village, and we shall pick up the trail from there. The foul Squizard shall rue the day he dared to ply his evil in these lands!”
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