Gorrog had been watching The Baron warily ever since they had left the decimated outpost where he was held. His strength was slowly returning to him, and as far as he could tell, they were headed away from any pony settlements, and were building sizable gap between them and the outpost.
A couple rocks tumbled down the path as Gorrog put his foot down and looked down, they were taking a roundabout route to his fortress to cause as much confusion to their whereabouts as possible. They were taking a path through the mountains, which would bring close to the Griffon Kingdom, which as Abkesh had informed him was risking exposure to a second nation, but Gorrog and the Baron had both agreed that it was better than having the full force of the Equestrian military brought down on them.
The Baron had impressed Gorrog with his skills as a warrior, and in his size. He was considerably taller than the Hell Knights, about fifteen feet tall he was stood half again as tall as a Hell Knight and was very muscular. But Gorrog was suspicious of him, as he was the first Baron alive for a long time.
“Gorrog, Baron I see a pony, it is going a different way than us but, it’s dangerously close.”
They all looked down upon the lone pony and his lonely walk, with a sack over his back. Than the Baron pointed and said.
“It moved”
“What did?”
“The sack on his back, it bulged outward and then retraced.”
Gorrog watched the pony with keen interest; he shifted his weight and wondered if it was a good idea to explore his discovery. He looked down on the pony from their vantage point and noticed the small dirt path he was walking on, his thoughts were fixated on the sack, curious at what was inside it and the chance to find out about the situation of his current enemies was very important.
“We should take this pony now, before he gets to a village, otherwise they will track us down, and might even send search teams out for us.”
“Gorrog, that is a useless waste of time, we need to get back the Hell Gate and for you to reopen it. Every second we waste, makes it ever more likely well be discovered.”
“Baron, we will be discovered either way, it is only a matter of time before a Pegasus does a sweep over us and reports back to their higher ups, so why not indulge in a little expedition and discover knowledge of our current enemies?”
“As you will.”
Gorrog looked at the pony, his back was turned to them, and the light in the sky was dying, so surprising him would be easy, so long as he was quiet. But he had also infiltrated a city on high alert to a demonic assault, so one lone pony would be easy.
He vaulted over the overhang and slid down the sloop, his large feet, kicked up a few rocks and they went tumbling down with him.
He followed the pony for several minutes always staying behind the last rise or in the larger dips in the ground as he stalked his prey. The pony wasn’t aware of him at all, as he moved in for the kill. Than he saw it.
The village spouted out of nowhere, in the hilly environment it was easy to miss, but something was wrong with it. His nostrils flared and he took a strong whiff off the air. Something he had never smelt before was permeating the air, yet he couldn’t quite place it, sweet smelling, but also repulsive to a mortal’s nose.
He crested the hill and watched as the pony entered one of the houses at the edge of the village, which was unusually inactive. This fact alone made Gorrog suspicious but he moved ahead, careful to watch his heavy step as to not alert his prey to his presence.
He looked though one of the filth stained windows of the house and saw the pony, in one hand was a knife, in the other was a small torch, and after a good look at its facial features, recognized it as female. The smile on its face, was odd to Gorrog as it contained no warmth, but a cruel malice and a depravedness not out of place on a Maggot. He inhaled, wondering where this would go when the mare reached for the bag and untied it.
From out of the bag tumbled a foal and this extremely puzzled Gorrog, what was this mare doing?
He smiled whatever that pony had in store for the other pony, paled in comparison to what he had in store for them. His mouth opened and a stream of drool poured down it. Gorrog slowly edged around the house, and when he reached the door, slammed his foot into the ground, announcing his presence in the most dramatic way he could, he kicked the door down. He poked his head into the small house, the short roof constraining how high he could stand.
Gorrog’s gaze wandered around the darkened room, he only light coming the window he had been looking in from and the door behind him. Maneuvering his body though the small door was difficult so he just slammed though the door frame, leaving a hole in the wall and clouding the air with a cloud of dust.
He walked further into the house, alert for the mare and foal. A strange smell was in the air and he followed it, hunched over to accommodate his raw size, in a room that was despite being obviously made for pegasi to use as well as the other types of pony, was only about eight feet high.
He followed his nose further into the house and found a door blocked his way, he put his ear to the door and heard muffled panting noises, along with whimpering.
He pulled back his fist and punched the door off its hinges, breaking it in half and sending it flying into the room, putting a hole in the ceiling in the process. A cloud of dust obscured his vision yet a smell pervaded the room, the smell of fetid meat. Snorting he made his way inside, and saw a crushed cot, with a set of leather restraints on it.
Something creaked next to him and he looked down. Buried under a pile of wood from the new hole in the ceiling was the foal. Leering down on it he almost missed something trying to dart around him.
Sticking out his fist, Gorrog sent the pony into one of the stone walls of the basement. He lurched forward, conjuring a plasma ball to light the room, and got a good look at the mare, she was what the ponies would call attractive with a long neck and light pink fur, and overall she was indistinguishable from the main portion of the population. If not for the large scar that ran down the left side of her face, it was roughly similar to one that a Maggot would deliver with its pincer hand.
“The Shadow of Death has come for you.” A voice said behind Gorrog and followed by almost insane laughter.
He ignored it and reached down for the mare, and noticed a wet streak running down her leg. Lifting her up with one hand he brought her up to his face. Her neck while limp did not appear broken.
Smiling Gorrog placed her body on the ground, and started towards the pile of wood. Reaching down he lifted a thick beam and tossed it aside. Picking up the cowering foal, he brought him over to the other pony.
In his hand a fireball formed, shedding more light on the room, and the terror on the foal’s face became ever more apparent as he looked at the mare. The light catching on his curiously small horn.
“The time has come for bitter things little one.”
Gorrog reached down and using the claws that tipped his fingers cut the throat of the mare. The foal starting pushing against Gorrog’s hand as Gorrog turned towards to him, and plunged hi fingers into the wound he had cut.
He placed the foal on the ground, and using his other hand; he drew a pentagram on his forehead, using the blood of the mare as his paint.
“What are you doing?”
Gorrog ignored the question and then raising his hand started to cut a pentagram into the pony’s flesh surrounding his horn. The foal struggled screaming and thrashing but to no avail as Gorrog’s strength far outmatched his and he felt chips of bone fly off as his claw cut through it.
After several agonizing moments Gorrog lifted his hand from the foal’s forehead. On it now was a pentagram, and Gorrog smiled at his work, though in the process the foal had passed out from the pain.
He slapped the foal across the face, front hand, back hand for a few seconds until he awoke. The foal jumped in Gorrog’s grasp and stared at him, his eyes wide and full of fear. Gorrog however instead of the distain he normally would see in those eyes and ignited the pentagram on his head. The flames glowed the color of his plasma balls and their shadows danced across their faces, and he focused his power on to the pentagram on the pony’s forehead, channeling in the power of Hell and the pony’s pentagram answered flames jumping across its surface.
“And so Little Horn is born.”