Soulitude- second season

by JC Borch

Chapter 5: Brawls, Fights and Survival

It was early, but Lars was still trying to get comfortable. The room was sparsely and primitively furnished. Still, it kept the winds away and the bed was soft enough. He had almost fallen back asleep when a knock interrupted him. He swore under his breath before turning over.

“Who is it?” he yawned. “That you, Melon?”

“No. You wouldn’t know me, but I know all about you.”

“Just… just give me a moment, all right?” He swung his feet over the edge and into his golden boots. Drunk with sleep he tottered to the door. An old mare stood on the other side. Her coat was brightly orange and her dark olive mane tied up into short tail. She wore a common robe of dark green and red colours.

“You are the human, Lars Leland. My daughter told me that you are sort of a problem solver around the colony.” She was a no-nonsense pony with business in her eyes and face drawn into a tight mien. “My name is Dream Darling, and I have a problem for you. I can pay you very little, though.”

Lars held the door for her, but she remained in the doorway and flashed a courteous smile for a fraction of second. “Well, I’m not expecting a pay,” he said with a tired chortle. “What’s the problem then?”

“I’m worrying about my husband. He’s been getting drunk and starting fights in this very bar for some time now. I’ve tried asking him why, but he just keeps dismissing me. He has… he has never hit me before. I fear something is wrong with him.” She let a little emotion slip, for just a moment, but gathered herself with a cough and was back again.

Lars scratched his neck uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what you would have me do?” he asked. “I can fight him, but I don’t think that’s going to help any.”

Dream Darling shook her head. “He’s old and sickly. Whatever it is plaguing him, just let him get it out of his system.”

She bowed her head and backed out of the room. Only then did Lars realise he was barechested. He grabbed the sides of the purple suit still covering his legs and stretched it up. The material loosened to cover his arms and breast. The hole remained over his heart. The reminder, as always, made him wince in pain. He had nearly died that day. Just a smidgen to the left and he would be in the other world. He patted the hole. It served him as a reminder to never get cocky or feel safe behind a weapon. That was a lesson especially important with the stahlrim mace secured around his waist. Though powerful, it was not a shield and would never protect him. Only his own skill could do that. He nodded. Breakfast would have to wait.

Downstairs were wooden tables with benches, and simple iron chandeliers with candles. The morning’s first costumers sat around with their breakfast. Among them was an elderly pony slumped over a table. His coat was magenta and his fading mane retained traces of indigo. He was dressed, like his wife, in cheap clothes. His was a dark green shirt secured with a belt and some wool warmers bound around his legs. Dream Darling was talking to him as Lars came down the stairs, and he reached the bottom when her husband brushed her off, yelling.

“Hey! Calm down,” Lars shouted at him.

Unfocused eyes sought the human. Unsure legs supported him as he swung around. A slurry voice replied: “This has nothing to do with you. Go away.”

Still Lars approached him though the old pony gritted his teeth in frustration. His wife remained mutely behind him. “Tell me your name.”

“Phantom… Phantom Darling,” he grumbled and nearly passed out. It was just a belch that had lodged itself in his throat. He passed it silently with a long sigh.

“You want to tell me why you’re making all this trouble when you have a beautiful wife that worries about you?”

“S-shut up! I told you this has nothing to do with you.” Phantom staggered over to Lars and raised his hoof. The resulting impact hit Lars in the abdomen with all the force the old pony could muster. If it hurt him, Lars showed no emotion. “Take that! Eh, you want some more?”

Phantom reared on his hind legs and jabbed Lars several times in the chest with his front hoofs. Lars looked at him unflinching. He allowed Phantom to vent while the other patrons focused intently on their breakfast. The old pony grew tired quickly. Lars grabbed his arms and flipped him on his back. “I told you to calm down,” he said. “Now answer my question. Why are you doing this?”

The old pony wept pathetically and relaxed his limbs, so Lars got up on his feet again. “Do you have any idea what’s it like to grow old and useless? I thought I could come here to live out the rest of my years in peace with my family, but everywhere I turn I’m reminded of how insignificant I am. I can’t even get out of bed by myself. I just want to die so I can stop being a burden to everyone. Now fight me!” he sobbed and writhed on the ground.

“No. You have done your part for this world and you deserve your break. You mustn’t let your work define you or you will never find peace, you understand?” Lars said with heartfelt compassion and hard eyes. There was a similar fear in himself. If not for that, Lars might himself have retired.

Dream Darling approached them. Her husband rolled over so she couldn’t face him. She gave him a contemptuous look before turning to Lars. “Thank you. I don’t know of anyone else I could have asked. I’ll be sure to remind my husband if he ever does anything like this again.”

Lars gave her a reassuring, little smile. “You can always came to me. Take care of him, and yourself.”

She dragged Phantom up on his hooves and nudged him along.

As he was up anyway, Lars decided to take a trip to the Skaal Village after a solid breakfast of oatmeal and milk. The weather had gotten depressingly cloudy. Not like the heavy blanket before activating the pillars, but more like a sign that it was going to be a dreary day. Perhaps with light precipitation later. Undaunted, Lars braved the wastes and arrived in the village. The ponies greeted him with bows and smiles. They were beginning to hear more and more about his exploits. Versions of his previous adventures circulated orally in the village and got more fantastical for each storyteller. Even those who did not believe the tall tales could see the core of truth and nodded approvingly in his direction.

Even the Greathall greeted Lars with an air of friendliness. The ponies had finally taken to him and the fire burned to dispel his chill. The gathered ponies were still wary of him but accepted his presence. Even the guard by the door had an appreciative smile on his lips and nodded. Indeed, Heart-Fang himself stepped down from his dais to greet Lars. “A great evil that lurked upon our village has been vanquished. For a thousand years it has been a shadow looming over us. Finally we can breathe free,” he said and took a deep gulp of air.

“I may have vanquished one shadow, but the greatest of them all is still threatening the existence of all. I hope you have not forgotten about King Sombra,” Lars said, keeping his tone formal.

The smile faded from Heart-Fang’s face. He nodded. “Indeed, we have not forgotten about the shadow you call King Sombra. We of this village have been searching for him all over the wasteland. We should be close to finding him, if he is still here.”

Lars shifted his weight and knitted his brow. “What do you mean ‘if he’s still here’?” he asked somewhat indignantly. “Where else would he be?”

Heart-Fang returned to his throne up on the dais. “We have already designated King Sombra as a shadow, which might not be too far from the truth. To work the kind of magic he has been doing, one must almost assume he is more spirit than flesh. His hiding spot doesn’t necessarily have to be in this world,” he explained.

The guard pony by the door exited the Greathall as muffled sounds seeped in from outside. The creak of the door distracted Lars for a moment before replying. “I will not dispute that. I mean, the Elements of Harmony did a number on him. Whatever’s left could easily be spirit.”

Heart-Fang beamed from his dais. “I’m glad we reached an agreement then. My shaman is working hard to prove or disprove the theory. Now, for all your services to the Skaal, you will always be welcome here. You have passed all of our tests. There is nothing more we’re going to ask of you. So–” he started, but the guard pony from before re-entered with sweat pouring down his brow.

“W… w… werewolves!”

Heart-Fang jolted up from his seat and pounded his hooves into the stone dais. “What? No, that’s impossible. The elemental stones should be protecting us.”

Lars took the mace from the belt around his waist. “Don’t worry. I have a score to settle with those overgrown mutts, if they’re the same ones who attacked the fort.” The pallid guard pony held the door open, and Lars sped through it. He looked over his shoulder and gave Heart-Fang a thumb up. “Consider this one free of charge.”

The werewolves resembled the wolves of the Frozen Wasteland. They were just much bigger, with fur as dark as the night. Their eyes, red like blood, shone with intelligence and cunning, yet their attacks were savage. They launched themselves with their powerful limbs at the Skaal people. The guards, however, intercepted. They were dressed in greenish tinted metal with spiked pauldrons and helmets, revealing only the foremost part of their faces. Their weapons were long spears with flint tips or swords of finest steel. One werewolf already lay dead on the ground.

Three of them circled Lars from a distance with snarls and grunts. The first one pounced. Its speed took him by surprise. The werewolf latched on to his arm… and bit through his suit! He still had enough room to swing his mace. It sunk into the wolf’s skull between the eyes, and the beast finally released him. Lars looked over his shoulder to see if the guards were in distress, but they had also taken care of one. Lars’ help almost wasn’t needed either. The guards were effective and brutal all on their own.

The last two attacked together. Lars adjusted to their speed and rolled out of the way. He swiped at them, and the spikes on his club scratched the beast deeply. The wounds tried to close, but the frost bloomed around the edges and kept it open. It grunted as the other one leapt at him.

Another sideways sweep. The wolf was caught over the snout and whimpered and backed away. The two werewolves, with their injuries, took a moment to reconsider their strategy. Grabbing the mace with both hands, Lars rushed forward. The second werewolf snapped at his ankles. It couldn’t reach him. He brought the mace down and broke its back with a crunch. The beast lapsed into a heap on the floor, never to move on its own volition again.

One was left. It had an old scar across its eye that burned red. It seemed bigger and more intelligent than any of the other beasts. Its grunts were close to pony speech but amounted to nothing more than infantile babbling. A sense of pity stabbed Lars in his heart, but it was gone as quickly as it came. There was only malice and hatred in the werewolf’s remaining eye.

“It ends here,” Lars said and drummed his fingers around the ice mace. Flakes of snow drifted from the head with the disturbance. “Only one of us will walk out of this alive, and it’s not going to be you.”

The scarred wolf seemed like it understood, growling at him as it paced back and forth before him. It was the mace, reflected in its eyes, that it feared. It understood better than the others what power stahlrim had. Yet it was a werewolf, a creature filled with magic and strength, and it was larger than the others. The guards held themselves back behind Lars. The other werewolves had been taken care of. Just the one left. But even it could turn the situation around alone, if care was not taken.

Lars raised his left hand to halt the guards. He was doing this alone. He approached with slow, sure steps and nervous beads of sweat trailing down his brow. The werewolf remained indecisive. It rocked back and forth, between pouncing and cancelling. Lars got ever closer. The werewolf snapped at the air and finally attacked. Its speed was unprecedented, but not unexpected. At the last minute, Lars crouched down so the wolf flew over him. His mace was held up. The spikes sunk deep into its flesh.

The werewolf landed on the ground and rolled on its side. A gash from head to crotch was frozen in place, the only thing holding its viscera inside. The guards flinched and stared unbelieving at Lars. He sighed deeply and rested the mace head on the ground. There was no time to cheer or question. The door to the Greathall was broken down. A guard staggered out.

“The werewolves… the werewolves, they…” the pony panted. Deep gashes were sunk into his armour and his helmet sat askew. He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “They took the Chief!”

Protest and despairing sighs erupted among the other guards, and the few civilians daring to poke their heads out. Lars put the mace away and calmly entered the Greathall again. The guards inside nursed their wounds and looked around confused. “First King Sombra abducts the guard captain of Fort Frostmoth, and now the Skaal leader. Just what is he planning?” Lars mumbled to himself as he looked out over the chaos.

“I do not know if the curse also works on your kin, but if that wound isn’t treated, you too will turn in three days,” a familiar voice said. Korst took Lars’ left arm into his hooves and forced the human to bend his back. A flap of fabric dangled where a powerful set of jaws had clenched around him.

Lars stared curiously at the wound, as if seeing it for the time. Realisation was slow to enter his mind. His whole arm was smeared with blood. It dripped from his fingers down on the ground. It should be impossible, but his suit had been penetrated. At last the severity dawned on Lars. His face paled and his arm trembled. “Wha… what? But you can do something, right?” he asked with shaky voice.

Korst nodded and let him go again. “Of course. As it is, this is just a simple wound. If you will allow me, I shall cleanse it and dress it. Unless you do want to turn into one of them? I will not force you decision, but you will have no place among the Skaal if you do.” His gaze hardened. Lars stared entranced at the wound. Though painful, it was also warm with power. He could almost feel it whisper in his ears, beckoning him to embrace it. ‘Crystalsssss’

“No. This is not the first time someone asks me to give up the last thing I have left… my humanity. Please, if you will, treat the wound. I will have nothing to do with King Sombra’s evil magic.”

“I will not conceal my emotions; it pleases me that you choose this route. Come with me then.” Korst even hummed as he led Lars back outside. “On another subject matter, did Heart-Fang make you a clan member?”

Lars held around the wound to stop the bleeding. The exertion and blood loss was making him light-headed and it took him a moment, and a shake of the head, to register he had been spoken to. “Uh, no, the werewolves sort of interrupted our conversation,” he replied.

Korst stood before the village. Everyone had come out of their homes since it was safe again. They all looked towards the human with awe and admiration, and a tinge of fear. “Then let me, in the place of our abducted leader, fulfil the gesture.” He turned towards Lars and cleared his throat before speaking so his voice would reach every corner of the village. “I, Korst Wind-Eye, shaman of the Skaal, proclaim you, Lars Leland, an honour member of the Skaal. From now on, there will always be a place for you among us, and you can call yourself Bloodskaal.”

The villagers all cheered. Everyone had heard of Lars’ feats, and many had seen his struggle with the werewolves. The sudden noise rang in his head and shook him out of his stupor. They drowned the whispers of temptation that tore at his attention. ‘Slavesssss.’ He smiled. A new kind of warmth filled his belly and rose to his cheeks. It was appreciation and gratitude. He laughed, with a hand behind his neck. “Now our newest addition must join me in my hut. This is not truly a day of celebration yet. When Tharsten Heart-Fang is safe in our village again, we shall have a feast.”

Again they cheered. Korst had made it sound like Heart-Fang had gone out on picnic, and the villagers thought nothing of his disappearance. But that night, when they were alone with their thoughts and heads on their pillows, they would ponder the curious coincidence of werewolves attacking on the same day their leader disappeared.

Before then, Lars went with Korst inside his hut at the edge of town. He sat by the fire while Korst took his arm into hand. He dripped the contents of a green vial on to the wound, handed skilfully with his muzzle. It hissed on the human’s flesh and Lars winced. “No need to fret. This is standard medicine used in the village to prevent infections,” he mumbled and carefully placed the vial back down into the darkness outside the light of the fire. He returned with a roll of bandages. Lars took it from his mouth and helped himself. “I appreciate your decision to get healed. The Skaal really needs a friend like you at a time like this. I will be able to lead the village intermediately, but I have other duties as the shaman as well.”

“What do you think King Sombra wants with the ponies he abducts?” Lars finished dressing his wound and handed the roll of gauze back.

“I don’t have a clue, I fear. King Sombra is not en entity that we have had many dealings with. Our records does not stretch far enough back to mention him. None of that matters, however. You must get back our village chief at all cost. As such, I will allow you to take one of the Skaal’s most prized possessions.”

“Great!” Lars exclaimed, with colour returning to his cheeks. The initial shock was dampening, leaving him simply light of head, and heart. “Where is it then?”

Korst shook his head. “Stolen, many years ago I’m afraid. We have heard many rumours of its location, but none of our warriors have ever managed to retrieve it. It will be an invaluable boon to your mission, however, so retrieving it must be your next task.”

Lars nodded in surprise. “S-sure,” he replied. “What is it then? This great treasure of yours?”

Korst did not speak at first, but raised his head and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the smoky air. “It’s a talisman,” he said in a faraway voice. “Its power is that to protect its wearer from magic. Many years ago, some dissidents fled our family. Most of our priced possessions were later recovered as they all met a terrible end. But the Totem of Claw and Fang… It remains to this day in the Tombs of Skaalara, the only place where it could feasibly be.”

“Great, I go there, and then what?” Even the peppiness was petering out and Lars returned slowly to his usual demeanour. “We still have no idea where King Sombra is.”

Korst bowed his head and fixed Lars with clear eyes. “Do not worry about that. We will find him; I have methods for that. I would have used them earlier but things have been so hectic lately. If you just worry about the talisman, I will find King Sombra for us. It might take me a few days but you will know when I am ready,” he said in a mysterious tone that spoke volumes of the secretiveness involved. Lars took the hint and got up to leave. He turned around, unsure what to say, and turned back around again.

To the southeast, near another large river, lay the Tombs of Skaalara. It was over hills and snow dunes with no forests and only large rocks, a short walk away from the village. The entrance was not easy to miss either. Large slabs of black rock contrasted with the undisturbed white snow. The entrance was on the side, facing a slope running down to the calm waters. On the other bank, the frozen wasteland continued as far as the eye could see. Somewhere in the far distance was a light, as if from a massive city.

Lars pushed the round door in. It was obstinate with age and only unwillingly obeyed his physical command. The stone, like in the other tombs, rolled to the side. Lars gave the cloudy sky a last look before venturing inside. Strong warriors had gone in, but none had come out.

At first it was dark. There were lit torches but the darkness was dense, and the smoke from the torches themselves thick. Lars fumbled around, groping for a hold. “Right in front of you,” a voice told him. Lars snapped towards it. “No, you git, not that way! Turn left again.”

A pair of glowing red eyes locked on to him, followed by a vicious snarl. His hand reacted instinctively and swiped at it with the mace. A wolf whimpered as his instrument made contact with something. That something fell to his feet, soft with liquid pooling around him.

“There you go, my friend. Let’s have some light, though, huh? Can barely see a thing in this twilight.”

The room lit up from a bright orb appearing next to Lars. A light purple unicorn was trapped inside with face mushed against the side. Lars took a step back and held up his arm to shield the eyes. From the grey day to the darkness of the tomb, the light stabbed his eyes. “God, you again? What do you want this time, Butterscotch?”

The ball of light bobbed gently up and down, as if suspended in water. “Don’t say that; what I want is what you want. This Sombra character… bad news for business, and I am breaking out of here soon, you know. So what are we doing here? And where are we even?” Butterscotch’s eyes darted back and forth, unable to move his head.

Lars ignored him and checked the chamber off to the right. It was a preparation room for the dead filled with tools of preservation. The light from the ball first ran up over a table with shears and bloodied bowls. Butterscotch’s range was more like a projector than a light bulb, since the light came from his horn. A lupine form caught in the searchlight.

It jumped, and Lars reacted by pure instinct, and caught the werewolf by its neck. Its jaws were millimetres away from his nose. It fell to the floor. Lars took a moment to calm his nerves while Butterscotch gently rotated his bubble so his stationary horn could illuminate the room entirely. “See, I’m a great help, so stop ignoring me. You make me feel sad.”

Lars pointed a shaking finger at him. “Why do you always show up like this? Every time I’m out on a mission you’re there, and then something always goes wrong or has just gone wrong.” Butterscotch remained quiet on the issue. “Forget it. If it can amuse you, I’m here to look for the Totem of Claw and Fang.”

“Oh that old thing!” Butterscotch snickered, but the mirth was cold enough to penetrate Lars’ suit and make the hair on his arms stand up. “What do you want with that?”

Lars shuddered as he went back into the tomb. He was taking the tunnel straight ahead. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you made it?”

Butterscotch hovered in front of him so that he had stop, with the light directly into his eyes. “Don’t go that way, my friend. It’s a dead end leading to a werewolf den.” The inhabited bubble hovered back into the entrance and took the last corridor on the left. “And yes, as a matter of fact I did. If I hadn’t forgotten it, I might have avoided detection by Celestia, but where would the fun be in that?”

“Now I’m not so sure I want it anymore. I’ve seen how your other creations have been faring.” Still he trudged on.

Claws pitter-pattered across the stone floor. Lars was prepared and held his mace out in front him. Out of the darkness, an enormous shape lunged at him. The bubble gave a loud bang that distracted him. The two went down on the ground and tussled. The wolf clamped down on his mace. The strong jaws wrestled with Lars over dominance of the weapon, pulling back and forth. The bubble smacked down on the beast’s head. The werewolf was distracted enough to go after the bubble, jumping with teeth drooling from fury, but it was always out of reach. It gave Lars time to gather his senses and get up on his feet. The werewolf turned its head too late…

Lars lowered his bloodied mace and turned away from the dead werewolf. Butterscotch followed him. “Sorry about that. I forget this bubble is magic proof. And that I’m hundreds of kilometres away at the bottom of the ocean.” Butterscotch laughed.

“I don’t need your help. But if you want to be of use, then tell me about the human you brought here. And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Ah, you’ve been talking to Aeslipp. You probably noticed the whole accidentally summoning demons thing as well. Such unfortunate business, opening a portal to the wrong dimension.” Another werewolf rushed down the corridor, no doubt attracted by the noise from the fight. Its snarls were cut short by a mace to the face. “Nice swing! Well I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t exactly my first human to teleport to Equestria, nor my only one. I can hardly remember it.”

“You can tell me his name!” Lars shouted at the bubble. “You can tell me what you did to him; whether you left him alive, whether you turned him into a draug… anything!”

“Oh, it’s such a long time ago, and my time in imprisonment didn’t help matters either. Let’s see… I can’t remember what we did to him, but I am almost certain he was still alive. I can’t imagine myself killing him. And besides, you’re asking a lot of me here. The pods weren’t named… only numbered.”

They came to a large, natural cavern with a huge pillar in the middle. Butterscotch’s light could scarcely reach the opposite walls. Still Lars determinedly marched on. “Like I thought. You’re useless and conniving, and I want no more parts of your schemes,” he shouted without as much as looking behind him. Instead the bubble swiftly bounded over him and stopped him. Lars brushed it aside and the bubble bounced into the darkness. “No, we’re through. Go back to the bottom of the ocean where I left you and stay there.”

With all of his might, Butterscotch floated behind him. “I would not go that way. Just turn left and… Lars! Lars, you stubborn oaf, you’re going to get yourself killed!” But Lars was unheeding and went his own way. He stopped dead when two pair of eyes focused at him. Butterscotch’s horn did not need to illuminate them. Lars perfectly well knew by then what werewolves looked like in the dark.

He grabbed for his mace, but the werewolves were too quick. They were not ferocious, however, and used only a fraction of their power to knock him down. The first werewolf looked down at him with contempt. “We guard this tomb against any intruders. I am impressed you made it this far, but we are the strongest of our kin, surpassed only by our leader. Your streak of luck ends, here.” The voice was young and female, but dripped with unnatural malice and blood-thirst.

The werewolf raised one of the paws it kept him pinned down with and slashed at his face. The bubble, however, floated between them and the wolf instead pawed it away. It made an irritable sound eerily reminiscent of pony speech. It tossed its head, and the other werewolf set off after it.

Lars did not allow the chance to go to waste. Immediately he kicked upwards with all his might. As the werewolf was fully erect on top of him, his foot had plenty of space to gather power. The golden boot sunk into the fur between the legs. The werewolf howled out in agony. Lars drove his elbow up into its throat. It screamed ponily in frustration. Though more than a beast, it still had instincts that could not be trumped, blinding it with fury. It made a mistake that would cost it, a senseless leap for Lars’ throat. Lars swung his mace as hard as he could. The werewolf fell to the ground, the head bending sickeningly.

The other one howled out in agony. It looked a lot less intelligent, accidently releasing its newfound chew toy. Butterscotch’s bubble was unbreakable, however. He slinked away, up under the ceiling where he could watch from safety, as the other werewolf barked awkwardly. It was confused, uncertain. There was a glimmer of sentience flashing in its eyes, but was quickly drowned in animal ferocity. Lars baited it with hand gestures, waving for it to come closer. It was unable to make plans or see through schemes. It ran with its tongue lolling out. Unable to think clearly, it quickly lost the ability altogether. Lars removed the mace from on top of its head, and it collapsed.

“Always going for the head. Well, I suppose that’s only natural when you have a mace as strong as yours.” Butterscotch hovered back down like a grotesque, oversized fairy companion and tried to get the panting Lars’ attention. “You all right, tough guy? You look a little winded. Let me tell you, the years have been gracious to you, but some things you just cannot escape.”

“Which way?” he asked and finally looked up at Butterscotch, putting his mace back to its belt. The blood on it froze and hung like crimson icicles.

At first Butterscotch looked back at Lars with surprise, but quickly turned it to a pleased smile. “The way on the right is a dead-end, and the one behind you also just leads to another werewolf. You need to take the one in front of you,” he replied and began hovering the way. Lars slouched after him.

The natural corridor was short and another, smaller, chamber opened up before them. Like with other Skaal tombs, the dead warriors were encased in ice in the niches on all the walls. At the far end of the room was a chest also covered in a layer of ice, but of the normal variety from centuries of being dripped on from above and subsequently frozen. In the middle slept a beast so huge that its size was impossible to determine, or hard to believe. Its eyes were at one end of the chamber, but there was a swishing of a tail at the other.

“I have not had any company for quite some time, and we werewolves are long-lived. Quite some time is a much longer span of time than you can imagine. I almost thought I would wither and die without ever seeing anyone. Perhaps my first challenger shall be my last?” The eyes moved up… it had only been lying down! Its full form rose above Lars. Was it the incarnation of darkness or an actual beast?

The mace in Lars’ hand almost seemed pointless in comparison. There was no end to the foe standing before him. It simply stretched on forever and ever. “I have come for the Totem of Claw and Fang,” Lars said and tried to control the fear in his voice. “Before we begin, will you tell me if I’m in the right place?”

“Indeed, you have come to the right place. I should know; I paid for my folly of stealing it with this hideous form. The talisman shall never be yours, though. Its power presents a danger to my master so here I will guard it forever.” The beast closed its eyes, and it disappeared. Its shape melted into the darkness. There was only the sound of it walking and its heavy breath, but with the echoes of the room, it became impossible to determine where the werewolf was.

“All right, let me shed some light on the scene here.” Butterscotch’s horn blazed up in a bright flash. Lars took to his eyes with a grunt. “Ah, oops. Sorry about that.”

“Stop helping!” he screamed in despair, covering his face with his left arm and clutching his mace with the right. “I can’t see a thing…”

“On your left!” Butterscotch shouted. Instinctively, Lars swatted his mace in the appointed direction. The swoosh of a paw followed. The two met with a force that nearly knocked Lars off his feet. Somewhere in the darkness, the wolf whimpered.

The paw came from the left. Lars barely managed to get up his defences. Finally the wolf had enough. Butterscotch disappeared, light and advice and all. Lars attempted to lift his self-imposed veil. The completely dark room somehow stood out clearly to him. Whether a natural reaction, or one brought on by Butterscotch’s magical light, Lars could again see. The werewolf was no longer hidden for him. Its enormous jaws were clamping down on Lars. Only the reflexes of a militarily trained man allowed him to escape.

The mace however… The werewolf nearly took of his entire hand along with it and swallowed. It licked its lips and burped a few snowflakes. Lars fell on his behind and scooted along the ground. “What did you do with Butterscotch?”

“Do not worry about your friend; you will be joining him, and your mace, soon enough. It has been fun but this is where the game ends.” The gigantic werewolf leisurely followed him. Or perhaps all it did, all it ever did, was twisting its large, mangy body.

Lars pressed himself up against the wall with heart hammering up in his throat. No ideas of an escape came to hm. The very entrance had melted into the blackness, blocked by the werewolf. It could have been right in front of him, or behind him, or to any of the sides. He threw his head this way and that. He was trapped, but determined not to lose his cool despite shaking and sweating.

He ran, and the darkness itself slithered after him. He groped for a different weapon, anything, but his hand found only fur. Finally a paw nailed him to the ground. He squirmed and kicked, but the strength was unlike anything he had ever felt. The jaws again neared his face. Steamy slobber fell on his chest. His breath came in ragged hiccups as the teeth neared him.

The gums were blue. The movements slowed down. The teeth became icicles. The drool froze on its muzzle. The werewolf stopped dead. Its eyes were wild with confusion and panic. Lars relaxed on the ground, trying to steady his heartbeat again. “You absolute fool. The mace you ate had the ability to freeze all that it touches. Even I as its handler must take care to not freeze myself. And you ate it! You ate it!”

“Impossible! Who… aaaaare… yooouuuuu..?” The werewolf froze into a mask of blind rage. The transformation was complete. Even its fur was tinted blue. The whole extent of it became visible. It truly was like a snake enveloping the room. Beneath its belly was the exit. Lars breathed a sigh of relief.

First the mace popped out of the beast’s maw. Pristine and undisturbed, it clanged against the stone floor. Next, the mouth lit up as a bubble emerged. “I’m telling you, that was too close for comfort. Thankfully that dumb beast had never heard of stahlrim. Or perhaps it forgot.” Butterscotch’s bubble was covered in hoarfrost. He bounced up and down in the outside freedom to shake it off. “Anyway, the mission is complete and it’s time to claim your reward. The chest is right over there.”

The cone of light illuminated an old wooden box. The metal bars and locks reinforcing it were all still very much intact, and ice centuries of ice covered it. None of it was any match for his mace, however. It all broke after only two swings. “This should be… the Totem of Claw and Fang,” Lars said and reached into wreckage. His hand pulled out a leather thong with claws and fangs. He held it out to admire it before putting it around his neck.

“Every bit as majestic as I recall it,” Butterscotch sniffed. “Take good care of it now. It’s one of my masterpieces.”

“You’re going to leave me again, then? You only ever seem to appear during crises, and this one has passed,” Lars said with eyes on the amulet. As there was no answer, he looked up and found that the bubble with its occupant were gone. He sighed and began the long trek back.

A commotion. The workers screamed as they ran out of the mine. Lars looked up from the bench where he sat, under the bar’s windows. The strong stallions and mares had fear in their dilated eyes. The rest of the colony hurried inside and shut their doors and windows with a bang. Even the bar ushered in as many ponies as it could before closing its door as well.

Lars looked confused from one bristling tail to another, unable to get a single syllable out of the choir of panicked screams. At last Melon himself ran up to him, panting. “Trouble!” he managed to say between heaves. He took another moment to gather himself. “The miners broke down an old wall, down in the mine. They found some kind of burial chamber. A dozen undead poured out! I think all the miners got out safely, but I had to close the doors.”

A smile streamed over Lars’ face as he got up on his feet. “Undead, you say? I guess we’ve finally found the lab,” he said and licked his lips.

Melon took a step back from the human. “You can’t go in there alone. I’m requesting help from the fort to root out the evil and–”

Lars determinedly closed the distance to the mine. The few miners out watched him with trepidation. They shook their heads as Lars went inside the shack covering the entrance. He entered the mine trembling with excitement.

A single draug waited for him just inside. It was just as surprised by the disturbance, as the workers were with Lars going inside. It never even saw the mace coming. Its head exploded into a cloud of frozen skin and bone fragments. Lars stepped over the corpse without paying it any attention. His mind was focused on only one thing.

Deeper and deeper he went, deeper even than his last visit. The draugr attacked him on sight, but their bodies were pounded with his mace. Their bones broke under the blows, and their forms sagged to the floor, with life drifting out of them. The red glow in their empty sockets faded. Down, down, down he walked. The mine spiralled further and further into the ground. The miners had relentlessly pounded the soil for weeks and carted out the precious stones. Side chambers branched off. Some were empty; others were used for storage or temporary quarters. Torches had been driven into the walls, along with reinforcing bars of wood.

At the very bottom stood the chamber. Most of the dead were still gathered around the broken wall, shambling around the chamber or stalking the hallway outside. With one mind, they attacked as soon as they saw Lars. Their rotted fingers grabbed for him. Their teeth sought his flesh.

Suddenly they were all over him. It took only seconds, and Lars was surrounded. Yet his mien was not one of fear. His face was as determined as ever. The chamber was just past them. He swung his mace with renewed strength. The bones of the dead were hard like crystals, however. Lars staggered with each blow. It was impossible to down more than one at a time.

The necklace was warm against his skin. Its magic pulsated through him. The dead stepped back, unable to get near him, repulsed by the aura surrounding Lars. He struck in their momentary stupor and felled three before the foes lunged at him again.

The draugr changed their tactic. Some clawed at his chest where they could feel his power source. He pounded them down before they could come close. More dangerous were the other group, those using their long limbs to swipe at him. Incapable of using weapons, they had only their arms at their disposal. Their diamond-like bones were enough to be felt through his suit. He stepped back, and more arms wrapped around his throat. A hand caught him across the cheek. For a moment he could see nothing but dancing stars. The amulet pulsated again. It was a comfortable feeling, like a foal sleeping with its favourite toy. It did nothing to the draugr, but it filled Lars with confidence.

Lars ducked another attack. His arms were still free. He jabbed the mace behind him. There was not enough momentum to reject the draug around his neck, but the cold spikes bored through the leathery skin. Freezing cold spread from the superficial wound. In seconds, the draug was covered in ice. He slipped out of its chokehold, just as a hand sough his head again. Instead it punched the draug behind him and shattered it.

The last few draugr met with a swift fate. One by one, the crystallised mummies were downed with numerous injuries. Lars took a moment to catch his breath and investigate his surroundings. There were no more draugr anywhere. The chamber was empty as well. Lars peeked inside. His heart skipped a beat.

It was not the lab. It was a disposal chamber. Hideous creatures were entombed in magic ice in niches along the walls. Most prominent of all was a slab in the middle. A tall man rested there, ice covering him entirely. Every feature was preserved down to the last detail from his wild, red hair to his bushy beard and even a defiant smile. Lars ran into the room and rubbed the ice. It threatened to freeze his hand off, but he didn’t care. He had to see who was interred. A gasp of relief escaped him. He laughed, and he cried, and he collapsed down one wall. The room was glacial, but he didn’t feel the cold. His search was at an end.

How long Lars spent down in the chamber is unknown. There was no light to divide time into hours. He simply sat with his head resting up against the cold wall between niches, the mace on the floor next to him. After an eternity, or perhaps minutes, hoofs echoed through the corridor. A violet pony peered inside the chamber. The paleness of his face and sweaty brow spoke volumes of his unwillingness to be there. “I did not think you survived, Lars. Is everything all right?”

A dark shadow hung over Lars’ face. “Of all the people I could have found, I found my friend… only to find him encased in ice. I want you meet the man I shared my childhood and academy years with: Ulrich Pendragon.” His voice was quiet and despondent, his hands resting in his lap.

“I am glad you found him, but… can’t we break the ice? It looks solid, but surely–”

“This is stahlrim… magic ice. Its hardness isn’t measured in physical terms. It is water infused with spells and woven with enchantments. It is designed to be unyielding, and cannot be broken by any force in nature, not even itself.”

Lars grabbed the mace by his side and jolted up on his feet. He put all of his pent-up frustration into his swings. He whimpered at first, turning them into screams. His mace and the frozen tomb were both indestructible. Neither ever chipped nor cracked. Only Lars’ own endurance set the limit for his feat. He howled in soul anguish as the mace slipped from his shaking hands. He fell to his knees and pounded the cave floor. “Every goddamn time. I think I’m allowed some reprieve, or a reward, but then I’m snubbed when I can just touch it. I thought there was a machine to take me home, I thought I could at least have my daughter with me, I thought I could at the very, very least have my best friend back. THIS IS NOT FAIR!”

Melon smiled ever so slightly and grunted compassionately. “Are you quite done already, Lars? You never allowed me to reply,” the pony said and put a hoof on Lars’ back.

The human sat crouched on the floor with his despairing face looking at his trembling, aching hands. “There’s nothing you can say that will make anything better.”

Melon put his hoof down again and flicked his orange hair back. “You called it stahlrim. You are absolutely sure that is its name?” he asked. Lars looked up curiously and nodded. “We have dealings with the Skaal nowadays. The village itself is unaccepting of us, but there are several expelled ponies willing to talk with us. One of them mentioned the possibility of forging stahlrim for us, but the price he demanded was exorbitant.”

“Where? Where can I find this pony?”

Melon pointed his hoof but realised they were still underground. He lowered the hoof again and coughed. “To the northeast, on a small landmass connected to the wasteland by a thin strip to the south end. I doubt he will help you for free though.”

Lars got up resolutely, clapping some life and warmth into his thighs, fire burning in his eyes. “Whatever it takes, friend. I know the place you speak of too. I believe I saw it when I went searching for the sacred stone pillars of the Skaal.”

With that, the human hurried away. Melon stared after him with concern, and then back to the ice casket. The other human slept so peacefully inside with hands folded over his chest. He was long and thin, with a much more youthful face than Lars. He had not aged for a thousand years, or just sixteen like Lars had since waking up.

It took him a few hours of travel. Without the map, it was difficult to find the stones he hoped to use as guide posts. Several times he had to climb hills to orient himself in the landscape, but at last he came to the river. It flowed down from the mountain and split in two, creating the designated landmass. It was more of a stream that a river, reaching him no further than the calves. Fortunately he had been prudent enough to stretch his suit down over his boots to prevent them from filling with water as he trudged across.

He did not have to look long for the house. A yell disturbed the still air. Lars ran towards the source, close to where the river branched. The wooden hut was almost invisible with snow covering its roof and piled up against the walls. Three earth ponies huddled together against the river. A fourth earth pony stalked closer to them with a knife in her mouth. Her tongue wiped out and licked the blade. “Hey!” Lars called out, unsure what else to say. The female earth pony turned around with an annoyed expression. “Leave those ponies alone.”

She walked away from the terrified family. The biggest of them was already cut up and his orange coat matted with blood. “Just who the hay do you think you are?” the mare blurted out, every word, every syllable from her mouth lathered with contempt and malice. Her coat was so purple it appeared black while her shortly cropped mane was violet. “Really, Trusty Gunner will have to pay me extra for killing you as well.”

Lars whipped out his mace and held it defensively up before him. “Trusty Gunner? What does he want with that Skaal?”

The mare spat out her dagger and wrapped her hoof around it. “I’m his assassin, not his therapist… I get paid to make a few obstacles disappear, so what do I care? Say, now that I’ve got a better look at you, you fit the description of a human. Are you?” she asked, the lustful smile returning to her lips.

Lars put one leg ahead of the other in a fighting stance, keeping the mace pointed at the mare. “I guess that ratty lackey of his isn’t to blame for Southern Charge,” he mumbled to himself. “Will you answer me one thing?”

“Nah, I’m done with your questions. If you still have some, maybe you can find someone to ask in the afterlife.” She put the dagger back into her mouth and leapt. Lars blocked with his mace. The assassin dug her hind legs into the frozen ground and pushed against Lars. Her malicious grin turned to shock. Frost ever so slowly covered the dagger. The temperature dropped instantly until she could no longer hold the blade in her mouth. The freezing magic was spreading unto her as well, so she spat the dagger out again.

Her eyes seemed to ask why as the mace was brought down between them, with the sound of a ripe melon splattering on pavement.

The wounded earth pony approached Lars. His bright orange coat was lined with wounds from the dagger, and his greyish-blue mane was matted with blood. “You saved my life and that of my family. Warriors from Equestria are truly impressive, and diverse…” The earth pony looked Lars up and down. His wife and son crept forward as well with appreciative smiles, but kept to the background. “What manner of creature are you supposed to be?”

“I’m neither from Equestria nor from the Frozen Wasteland. I’m a human, my name is Lars, and… it’s a long story. I came because I heard you can forge stahlrim.”

“Truly, I have never heard of humans before. A pleasure to meet you, human Lars. My name is Graring and you have heard correctly. When the Skaal deemed the destruction of stahlrim a sacrilege, and destroyed all tools to manipulate it with, my ancestors grabbed the last pickaxe and fled here. I don’t normally allow others to use it, but seeing as how you saved my life, I guess I can permit some leniency.” Graring nodded, and the mare nudged the colt inside the hut.

Lars brushed the bloody icicles away from his mace, careful not to touch the head itself, and put it away. “I appreciate it. Listen, I work for the mine at Raven Rock, so perhaps you wouldn’t mind doing some business with us?”

“Not at all, it’s the least I can do, but bear in mind that stahlrim is an extremely limited source. I can make tools and weapons and armours out of it, but only if you can bring me the material, so be careful with what you request of me.” The young male returned, and Grarin tossed his head towards Lars. He held up an odd device. Lars carefully took it in hand. It was metal and bluish silver in colour, with sharp shapes and deadly tips. Though fragile to look at, it was sturdy and held some weight. Lars couldn’t help but chortle.

“Another thing Butterscotch took from my homeworld, eh? Thank you very much, Graring, you have done me an invaluable favour. You will see the benefits of working with Equestria from this point on.”

Graring bowed and nodded to the younger earth pony. “Bring any stahlrim you fund to my son, and he’ll make anything with it, absolutely free. As a thank you for saving our lives. You can tell the others, though, that they still need to pay,” he said with a sly smile and winked.

Lars hurried back. He surprised himself by how quickly he returned, until remembering he had not made the trip all the way from the Skaal village. He went through the village with fast pace and descended the mine. The miners were back to work and glanced sideways at the hurricane blowing through the corridors. None of them were in the hall with the burial chamber, however.

Melon waited there, along with a small medical team. Lars paused, suddenly realising the seriousness of the undertaking he was about to commence. All he had had eyes for was getting his friend back. And he was so close. Melon nodded solemnly and swallowed a lump at the ancient, gnarled ice axe in Lars’ hand. Lars looked at the medical personal and finally to Melon.

“Well… first of all I’d like to thank you for all that you’ve done for me. You’ve been a good friend, Melon, and I really appreciate it, but… this is what I came here for. I don’t know what happens after this. Could be I leave, could be I stay. One thing is for certain, though. I came here to find my friend, but now I am also engaged in the fight against King Sombra.”

The medic ponies listened and withdrew to the sides. Two strong earth pony males held a stretcher ready, while a nimbler unicorn female had an emergency bag between her teeth. Melon, tired, bedraggled and emaciated, put on his bravest face. “Save your speech for later, Lars, when you actually need it.” That was all Melon had to say. He drew back to the side as well, with the unicorn. The stage was all Lars’.

He took a single swing. The axe sank into the ice without a hitch. To his pickaxe, the stahlrim was just regular ice, cracking under its force. Again and again he swung the axe. The ice crumbled in large pieces and fell to the ground. It neither melted nor broke off. The pieces simply sat there like indestructible rubble at his feet.

The stahlrim was tightly packed around Ulrich, yet didn’t seem to have crushed him. His skin was pale and his beard bushy. The stahlrim oddly hadn’t clumped in his hair at all.

Once the ice had been sufficiently removed, the unicorn planted her hoofs on the stone slab and began her examination. “I can’t say anything for certain. His complete lack of any vital signs could just as well be an indication of his hibernation. If we are careful with thawing him, and he’s still alive, we might be able to save him. We need to get him back to the fort quickly, though.” That was the cue for the two carriers to gently lift Ulrich down on the stretcher. Being tall for even a human, his legs reached the front pony’s head.

“He’ll be… he’ll be fine. He’s still in full safety suit, after all,” Lars noted, referring to Ulrich’s similar one-piece of purple fabric. The medical team vacated the mine and Lars fell to his hands and knees. The pickaxe clinked on the floor.

“Are you all right?” Melon asked, trying not to touch the freezing pieces of stahlrim scattered on the floor. “You should call it an early night. You look pale.”

Lars panted, shaking like feverish though his whole body was cold. “No, how can I sleep now? My quest is so… my quest is… it’s…” His vision faded. His body fell.

“You’ve been working yourself hard on a tenuous hope that your friend was to be found here. The bonds of friendship are truly amazing, but you can rest now, Lars. You have earned it more than anyone. Perhaps even I should try to get a few winks.” Melon smiled fatherly and called for help. He stayed by Lars’ side until they could arrive, even with the freezing temperature from the stahlrim pieces.