The Equestrian Badlands. Was there a more inhospitable place in all of Equestria? No vegetation grew there; the soil was incredibly alkaline, the rain clouds spurned the area, and the sun beat down mercilessly. And even if a seed was planted, it would surely be uncovered and borne away on the winds that churned up the sand and soil and dust, the hot air choked with particulates. And with nothing able to grow, there were no fauna who made their home there. It was a desolated, desiccated land. Anypony crossing through made it a speedy endeavour, or else skirted around the area altogether. There was so much fertile life throughout Equestria that one look at the Badlands would make one consider the land to be cursed.
The wise stayed far away from it. The foolhardy ventured in for adventure. Some made it back, weak and suffering from exposure. Others were not so lucky, and their sun-bleached bones were worn away by the wind-blown sand. Tarnished Relic shuddered as he bound the scarf more tightly around his muzzle, wondering if he fell in the latter category. He had heard the stories, ponies whispering in slurred syllables at the bar, telling their friends about the Badlands:
You just have to step inside and you will instantly be carved up, the cursed sand turned into deadly blades by the wind, punishing any who dare enter.
There are creatures that live under the sand, and if they hear the rhythm of your hooves they'll surface and swallow you whole.
The Badlands are the territory of a fierce sand witch, bred for evil. You don't want to meet up with her.
On and on they went, each as horrifying as the last. The rational part of him knew that the fantastical stories were pure poppycock, dark inventions from the dark side within all ponykind, but as he waded through the sand, the wind howling and throwing it all about, weaving it into his mane and his coat, he felt a chill run down his spine. He could very well meet his end out here. And for what? He didn't even know for certain that there was anything to be unearthed in the Badlands, that there was any major find to be had. His peers had at first laughed when he suggested going into the Badlands, and then they fearfully begged him to reconsider when they realized he wasn't joking. But they could not dissuade him, and now here he was, wondering if he should have listened.
He sought sanctuary beneath a small crag, pressing in close to the rocky wall to escape the worst of the wind's abuse. He pulled out one of his canteens, tugging the scarf down from his muzzle, and took a swig. His throat was parched, and he could have drained several canteens to slake his thirst, but he knew he had to ration his water. There was no mercy for the foolish pony in the Badlands. Scorching heat and winds by day, and freezing cold at night, the Badlands dispassionately made short work of those who were neither careful nor prepared.
His everything ached, the wind having pummeled his form nonstop all day. Getting out of the wind was a relief, and he was sorely tempted to lay down and take a nap. His eyes felt heavy, exhaustion seeping through every inch of his body. A nap would be lovely, he thought. He let himself relax and slide down the wall into a heap of tired stallion. He lay there for a moment, and then his eyes shot open and he forced himself back up onto his hooves, muttering an oath under his breath.
"You foal, you utter foal!" He cursed himself, though the words got swallowed up by the fierce howling of the wind. He took another swig of his water, then pulled his scarf back up, binding it tightly around his muzzle. Then he moved on, back out into the wind and the sand, facing the Badland's wrath once more.
* * *
At first, nothing really stuck out to him: sand dunes here, an escarpment there. He could be thinking about it all wrong, but he couldn't shake himself of the idea that if there was any archaeological discovery to be found in these barren wastes then it would stick out like a sore thumb.
Just as he was about to admit defeat and search for a sheltered spot to pitch camp for the night, he saw it. In the distance there was a series of buttes rising out of the ground, three of them spaced out equidistant in a triangular pattern, with a fourth smaller butte sitting in the center. To the untrained eye this might merely be a coincidence fashioned by nature, and it very well could have been, but he doubted it. He didn't want to be wrong. He wanted something to show for his efforts, to show that he hadn't taken his life in his hooves for nothing.
Tarnished redoubled his speed, fighting against the wind, kicking up sand with his hooves, intent on getting to that center butte. It was like the center of a target. X marks the spot. The treasure is here. Anything, anything at all, whether it was a pottery shard or an inscription, it would be like fine gold or precious diamonds. Anything to show that there was history here.
As he approached the center butte, he became even more convinced that he was on the right track. Though it had been weathered over time, he could see that the sides were very smooth, and that the butte looked very square, as if it were some sort of structure. Already he could feel excitement flowing through his veins, energizing him. An ancient edifice in the Badlands. No archaeologist had ever successfully explored the Badlands before, so this would make him famous in the scientific community. He would be lauded by other archaeologists and professors. He would go on a lecture circuit, showing and explaining his discovery. He would be somepony. Dr. Tarnished Relic would be a name that wouldn't be quickly forgotten. He would make history by discovering history.
Finally, he stood before it, running his hoof delicately over its surface. The fierce, swirling winds he paid no mind as he circled it, his eyes narrowed, staring through the lenses of his goggles, looking for something more. If this structure was indeed an artifact, then who made it, and why? Had it been made to appease the gods, to seek their favour and transform the Badlands into good lands? How did they do it? With what primitive tools was it carved? There were so many questions bubbling in his mind as he inspected each of its four sides.
When he made it around to the fourth and final side, he paused. The particles dancing in the wind made it hard to see clearly, but he swore that he could see some sort of mark in the rock. He quickened his step, stumbling a little in the shifting sands, eager to see what it was. As he got closer, he saw what appeared to be a cleanly cut circle. Tarnished shuddered as he stood before it, giddy as a schoolfilly. This alone confirmed that this butte was not what it appeared to be, since this circle was not a natural occurrence. Somepony had clearly cut it into the rock. He reached out and touched it gingerly. Could it be an emblem of some sort?
Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling sound, and the circle glowed, retreating into the rock. The rumbling got even louder and he took a few steps back, staring in surprise and awe at the structure. Not an emblem, but a button or a switch! A glowing seam appeared on the rock face, cutting into the rock and forming the shape of two massive doors. He held his breath, watching, waiting. Then he squeaked and fell backwards onto his rump as the doors suddenly opened, expelling the air that had been trapped inside for untold ages. The doors opened inwardly, and he could hear the harsh scraping sound of rock against rock, as well as the groan of protest from the ancient hinges. With a thunderous thump, all went quiet, and he was left staring wide-eyed into the darkness within.
* * *
Tarnished held the mana-fuelled lantern high, illuminating what lay before him with the purple glow of magelight. As he had surmised, this wasn't a natural structure. The butte was completely hollow, and within it contained a rather modest shrine of sorts. It took him long moments to overcome the discovery overload, and once he changed the fuse he came back to himself and proceeded towards the shrine. The shrine, instead of being stone overlaid with gold or silver as was often found with other shrines, was composed entirely of some sort of onyx, polished to a shine. Inlaid here and there in the onyx were emeralds and aquamarines. All of it glinted in the light his lantern cast upon it, and he paused once more to appreciate the beauty of it.
In the center there stood an onyx pedestal, and sitting atop the pedestal was...well, he wasn't quite sure what it was. He stared at it intently, thinking that it somewhat resembled a butterfly's chrysalis, only much, much larger. It glistened as if covered in lacquer, its surface unbelievably smooth and iridescent. Dimly he realized his hoof was edging toward it, and he quickly stopped himself, retracting his hoof. He had to make notes first, do some sketches, record what he had found. He couldn't just go about poking things willy-nilly, especially if by his touch he broke something. And yet he felt a compulsion welling up within him, and his hoof once more moved towards it, his whole body shivering with the excitement of the unknown. Then his hoof made contact, and he waited. Nothing. He let out a sigh of relief, lowering his hoof. He wasn't sure why he had felt he had to touch the object so badly. Maybe he was suffering a little madness from his trek through the Badlands. Yes, yes, that was it.
CRACK
He stiffened up, looking in alarm at the object on the pedestal. Did the sound come from it? Had his touch finally been the undoing of the ancient chrysalis?
CRACK. CRRRRAAAACK. SNAP.
He looked on in horror as fissures and cracks appeared across its surface. "Nonononononoooo!" He had really done it now. He could see his future laurels being passed on to somepony else, to another archaeologist, one who had more sense than he apparently had and who would continue the study of this shrine after he had been kicked out of the Archaeologists' Guild. The chrysalis was crumbling before him, and it was all his fault.
He could not avert his eyes from the destruction he had caused, whole chunks of the chrysalis falling away. But then he saw through the holes that were forming that it wasn't empty. Something was inside. Surely whatever was inside it wasn't alive, right?
His hopes of that being true were dashed when he saw movement. There was a creature inside the chrysalis, and IT WAS ALIVE. He wanted to scream, but his voice had left him. He wanted to step back, to turn around, to run, but his hooves were locked in place. He couldn't move. He was speechless and powerless, unable to do anything but watch as whatever creature inhabiting the chrysalis was born.
With a hiss of triumph, the creature thrashed and cast aside the last of its bondage, then stood up to its full height. Its eyes slowly opened, pools of green with a black slit pupil, eyes that glowed in the darkness. Its body was black as pitch (save for its green carapace and green banding around its midsection), with a stiff exoskeleton like that of a beetle, except that it looked very much like an equine. It stood on tall legs like an alicorn, albeit legs riddled with holes, and upon its head was a jagged horn. Its long, stringy teal mane hung limply from its head, down the sides of its neck and back, and its tail was very much the same. Insectile wings were affixed to its back, and these began to buzz on its back, filling the air with a soft, hypnotic hum. He let out a squeak of terror as he took in the visage of what could only be some sort of ancient, primeval monster, and suddenly its gaze was upon him. A soft smile broke across its muzzle, revealing sharp fangs, fangs which he feared it would most delightedly sink into his neck and drain his blood.
The creature hopped gracefully off of the pedestal and approached him slowly, making clicking and chirping sounds at him. Tarnished's heart hammered at his chest, and still he could not seem to move. Whether it was merely overwhelming fear or some sort of magic the creature possessed, he was stood still, completely at its mercy. It stopped before him, lowering its head, bringing its eyes level with his. It continued to make those insect-like sounds, tilting its head in curiosity. Was it...was it trying to communicate with him? He had no clue what it was saying, and he finally found his voice, saying so.
"I-I d-d-don't know what you're s-s-s-saying!" It stepped back in surprise as it heard him speak, looking at him with wide eyes. Then it smiled its unnerving smile once more and lifted a hoof, pressing it against his forehead. Its horn began to glow with the telltale glow of magic. "What are youuuuuuohhhhhhhhhhhh..." He felt a presence like a million tiny fingers in his head, in his brain, caressing and poking and squeezing, and his eyes rolled back. One would think there would be some sort of fear accompanying this sort of invasion, but instead of being fearful he was gripped with waves of euphoria. Whatever it was doing to him, it felt good. His whole body felt tingly and warm, and he let his eyelids shut as the wonderful sensations gripped him. He heard somepony giggling, and realized that he was hearing his own giggles. He could feel the creature's presence in his head, overtaking him, swallowing up all thought. It was inside him. Inside my mind inside yes good inside good so heeheehahaHAHA—