Ramblings of An Angry God

by alexmagnet

On the Shores of Demilune Lake

On the Shores of Demilune Lake

Equestria is home to many strange and enigmatic creatures—some more sinister than others—and I have made it my life's work to study them. Among these creatures are dragon, cockatrice, hydra, minotaur, taraxippi, chimera, gryphon, manticore, sphinx, charybdis, phoenix, lamia, and—the humble seapony. Some of them have yet to be seen, and many doubt creatures such as the lamia, or taraxippi, even exist. They would decry my research and have me branded as a loon. But, it is through my discoveries that cryptozoological fauna, such as the dragon and the gryphon, have been documented and studied. It is because of me that the field of cryptozoology hasn't disappeared completely. This world needs me and my research—more than it knows.

I was the one who first photographed the dreaded three-headed hydra, and documented—in detail—its regenerative abilities. It was because of me, and my expedition to the badlands around Mt. Pyrite, that the phoenix is no longer counted among extinct avian species. I proved both the manitcore and the chimera's existence when myself and small team of six ventured to the Ebonwood Forest. I even captured and displayed a live cockatrice specimen I found whilst hunting the taraxippi in the boggy Fetlock Mire—and yet, still there are doubters and non-believers. Those who question whether the creatures I am still hunting are legitimate. Have my contributions meant nothing? Has my research been all for naught? What would cryptozoology be without me? A husk; a dying field with no one to further it.

But that's why I'm here—here on the 3:10 train bound for Timber Mills: a small lumber town located a hundred miles north-west of Trottingham—to prove the existence of yet another esoteric creature: the seapony. Long have I searched for it and long has it eluded me—causing me, more than once, to give up the hunt. This time will be different though. I can feel it in my bones. I am currently en route to Timber Mills and, more specifically, Demilune Lake where sightings of the curious creature known as the seapony have been reported. I have traveled over six-hundred miles to be here now, and in a few hours I will finally be able to prove their legitimacy.

I have brought with me my right-hand—my research partner—Pastern Foucolt. He is a professor of anthropology at the Royal University of Canterlot—or he was, until I convinced him to join me in my search for some of the more obscure creatures of the world. He shares my passion for the subject and was similarly interested in the hunt, so it was not all too difficult to convince him. Foucolt is my most senior researcher and he has been with me for more years than I care to remember. He is a both a partner and a friend. As I watch him sitting opposite me, staring out the rain-streaked window. I can't help but recall our previous crusades.

During one particularly exciting journey—whilst scouring the arid Cambrian Desert for the elusive sphinx—we happened upon a decidedly aggressive sand-dragon. It had been hibernating beneath large sand dune that we were attempting to cross when one of our guides slipped, rolling down the dune and waking the dragon. It has long been known that dragons hibernate—usually for many decades at a time—in caves, grottoes, and other cavities, but no one had ever seen a sand-dragon hibernating; in fact, this was the first ever documented proof that sand-dragons even hibernated at all. So, it was not surprising that no one expected to find a dragon sleeping beneath a large dune, much less expected to see such a massive one.

What wasn't surprising was its anger upon waking up. When he tumbled down the dune he happened to roll over the dragon's snout, which protruded from the sand to allow it to breathe, but blended in so that we did not see it initially. It rose from the ground like smoke rises from fire, tossing us aside as if we were nothing more than sand-fleas. Its tan body was enormous—at least twenty or thirty meters in length—and covered in dull scales that seemed to devour light. Its leathery wings, when unfurled, spanned seventy or eighty meters, blocking the sun from view. Its long, slender neck rose high into the air like a serpent's and its black eyes peered down at us, filled with fury.

When the beast shook us from him we were sent hurtling through the air. At the time I was much younger, more flexible, and my body could withstand more punishment, so I was able survive the landing with only minor injuries. Foucolt was not quite so lucky. He, and some of my expedition team, landed unceremoniously in a heap, causing more than a few broken bones, including a fractured tibial bone that left him with a nasty limp on his right side. Though, he was fortunate to escape with just that. For when the dragon awoke he went into a blind rage and began breathing flame and thrashing about wildly, killing or wounding many of our group.

Our lead navigator—the one who woke the beast: Zvarra—was the first victim. The sand-dragon engulfed him in a wave of blue flames that washed over him like a burning ocean, killing him instantly. I can at least say that his death was quick and painless if nothing else. Alas, I cannot say the same for the rest of our team. The dragon's razor-sharp claws tore into our companions and ripped them to shreds. Nearly all of the locals were killed within seconds as it viciously dismembered them. While it was occupied with one ill-fated local—Sucara, I believe his name was—I was able to spirit away Foucolt, two of our guides, and myself to a safe location. We hid ourselves behind a large dune and watched in horror as the dragon devoured the rest of our company. It was regrettable, yes, but there was nothing we could do to save them.

We stayed hidden for a full day and night before we dared leave. The dragon had long since left, but we feared that it might return. What little supplies we had managed to save were dwindling fast and eventually we were forced to return to the city. We were lucky that some of our guides survived that day. Without them I very much doubt we would have found our way back to Abu Equar. When we reached the city we payed our guides handsomely for their help—and their friend's sacrifices—then we continued on our journey to the next city on our list: El Shaddai.

Despite the setback, we were still searching for the mysterious sphinx; and I didn't intend on giving up over a few deaths. Six months later however, we weren't any closer to finding the sphinx than we were at the beginning of our journey. I was out of money and out of time. The grant given to me by the Equestrian Zoological Society was contingent upon my discovery and subsequent documentation of the sphinx in a timely manner. I was forced to give up the search and return home empty-handed and heavyhearted. It wouldn't be until many years later that I would be able to return and continue my search; eventually finding the enigmatic sphinx resting in a grotto at the bottom of a dry lake bed. There I was able to capture it and have it taken to the Canterlot Zoological Society where it was able to be studied and tested.

The run-in with the sand-dragon was one of Foucolt and I's first adventures together, but it would certainly not be our last. A shallow grin worked its way across my face as I recalled the time we were in the Greco Jungle, searching for the chimera based on a tip we received from one the local tribesponies. While on an exploratory mission—sanctioned by the Royal Canterlot Science Society—in said jungle we happened upon a small village suspended in the tree-canopy. It was occupied by a tribe composed solely of pegasi and one elderly shaman. We were set upon by the primitive ponies as soon as we stepped into their territory. It was fortunate that both Foucolt and I have our magic as we were able to protect ourselves adequately. The fighting did not last long for when they saw our magic they threw down their weapons and praised us as demi-gods; they welcomed us into their village with reverent fervor.

We stayed, for a time, in the village, gathering information on the surroundings and local landmarks. I was well-versed in the local dialect from my studying at the university, so communicating with them was simple enough and they had plenty of information to offer. On the day after we arrived we were taken to the shaman's hut where we were told of a creature that had been sighted in the jungle near the village. Makai—the shaman—said that the beast appeared to be a lion with goat's head rising from its back and a tail that ended in a snake's head; it was the chimera we had been searching for. We explained to the shaman our intention of capturing it for study and she cautioned us, saying that the creature had killed several of her hunters already and it—reputedly—had the strength of ten stallions. We did not waver in our resolve however. I informed her that we had much experience in dealing with such creatures and that we would not be so easily discouraged. She did not seem overly impressed by our words. However, she did bid us luck on our quest and promised to send at least two of her personal guard with us.

Chimeras had been sighted in this area before, but one had never been documented. The notion that we were so close to one excited me; Foucolt shared my enthusiasm. We agreed to leave the camp at first light and begin our search for the chimera the next day. In the dead of night however, the beast appeared. It ravaged the village, spewing fire from its goat's head and raking its claws across any that dared approach it. By the time we were woken it had already killed several of their warriors and it was currently feasting upon their corpses. Foucolt and I flew from our huts and looked down upon the beast as it ripped apart one poor soul after another. It was a grisly sight, but at the same time it provided Foucolt and I with a first-hand experience of what the chimera was capable of; that is a not a luxury afforded to many.

It was almost amusing, in a macabre sort of way, to watch the villagers attempt to defend their home from a beast that was so obviously superior to them. They would fearlessly fly down upon it with spear and dagger, leaving not a scratch on the beast, and it would rebuff them with claw and flame—roasting alive more than one luckless tribespony. While observing the chimera's attack I formulated a plan for its capture. The beast had a hide that resisted magic and, as was demonstrated by the fruitless attacks of the village warriors, iron. Foucolt and I had originally planned on setting up various traps and snares in the surrounding jungle in the hopes that the chimera would stumble across one, but we did not have the luxury of careful planning now that the beast was already attacking. However, that did not mean we had not come prepared for such an eventuality.

I ordered a young colt to fetch my belongings and as he did I conveyed my plan to Foucolt. I informed him that we would need to reach the jungle floor and face the chimera head-on. Among the things the young colt was fetching for me were two hypodermic needles. One contained a powerful sedative that would render the beast immobile, but conscious, for at least twenty-four hours—long enough for us to call our team from Anwar—the only city in the area—to extract it. The other contained an elixir that I had created specifically for this mission. It was a fire-retardant potion that, when injected into the chimera, would rob it of its fire-breathing capabilities for a short time. The reason this was necessary was because the sedative needed to be injected subcutaneously, beneath the goat head's tongue. The mouths of the creature were the only places susceptible to such an injection and the goat's head was the safest—relatively speaking. It may be the one that conjured flame, but it was otherwise harmless—so by removing the flame one could safely inject the sedative without fear of being burned alive.

Naturally the task was still incredibly dangerous, so I volunteered to administer both needles. However, Foucolt wouldn't have it. He insisted that he be the one to do it, saying that I was the more valuable of two of us. I did not attempt to dissuade him—as I was not all too eager to tackle the beast myself—and so it came to be that we were on the jungle floor, dueling with the chimera. It was quite difficult to approach, due both to its long reach with its claws and its tail's impressive striking distance; with the help of some of the villagers however, we were able to distract the beast long enough for Foucolt to leap upon its back and seize the goat's head.

After clambering up the its back, needles held firmly in his mouth, he was able to wrap his hooves around the goat head, suppressing it momentarily. As he attempted to inject the fire-retardant into the back of its neck, and directly into its enflammatory gland, the chimera reared on its hind legs, nearly tossing him off. He did not let go, however. His grip was sure and he was focused on his task. I gathered what few tribesponies were still alive and mounted an attack. I sent them at the creature, ordering them to attack relentlessly, so that Foucolt may have an opportunity to inject it. The two forces clashed as the chimera attempted to buck Foucolt off, while simultaneously defending itself from its attackers. One exceptionally tenacious pony managed to approach it from behind while his kinsman were cut down. He jabbed his spear into its hindquarters, causing it to spin around suddenly and knock a few ponies over.

Foucolt took the opportunity to jab the needle into the chimera's neck; as he pressed the plunger down and the medicine flowed in, the pegasus who had stabbed its rear drove his spear in again, piercing the beast's eye. It roared furiously and attempted to burn him, but the elixir had already poisoned it. The chimera was no longer capable of producing fire—at least not for a short time. This did not, however, stop it from swiping at the pegasus with his massive claws. Still gripping the spear stuck in the chimera's eye, the tribespony was unable to dodge the chimera's razor-sharp claws and there was a sickening crunch as his left wing was crumpled. The unlucky pony was sent hurtling into a tree, his head hitting first with another stomach-churning snap. During the commotion, the chimera had managed to dislodge Foucolt and he lay a few feet away from the beast, still clutching the sedative.

Free of on hangers-on the chimera was able to paw at his eye, eventually snapping the spear, but leaving the point still firmly lodged in his socket. In its one good eye I could see rage building. It flared its nostrils and released a bone-shaking roar. All the tribesponies were now dead, and it was only Foucolt and I left to face the beast, and Foucolt was unconscious. It turned its attention to him, noticing Foucolt lying near by. I knew that I wouldn't be able to distract it fast enough to save him, so I charged at the chimera while its back was turned. As I ran I magicked the syringe to me and readied it. It raised its paw to swipe at Foucolt just as I leapt on to its back.

The needle held in my mouth, I pried open the goat head and prayed that I would be quick enough to save him. I heard a dull thudding sound then that made me turn my head to see Foucolt projecting an aura shield. He had apparently regained consciousness quick enough to protect himself from the chimera's deadly claws. My heart soared, but fell quickly as I heard a shattering sound and saw the shield collapse. Foucolt's eyes widened as the claw fell upon his face, dragging across his right eye and down his neck. My own eyes widened, but with determination I returned to my own task. The chimera roared again, rearing on its hind legs, preparing for another attack. I quickly lifted the goat's tongue and stuck the needle into the soft tissue beneath it, pressing down the plunger as I did.

The sedative was one of the most potent available; it acted quickly, dropping the chimera in mere seconds.

Author's Note:

Again, this was another fic written about, or over, a year ago, I can't remember how long it's been. I had been reading a lot of Lovecraft, and so I decided that I would write my version of At the Mountains of Madness, though it would take place at a decidedly lower altitude. Unfortunately, after I looked over what I had written again and realized what a spectacularly boring pile of words it was, I decided to just drop it altogether. It's overly telly, spends far too much time on incredibly boring shit, and is interesting to no one. If I were to attempt this story again now, I feel confident that it would be miles better, but, alas, my enthusiasm for [Dark] fics has waned somewhat in the past year.

Comments

[Themaskedferret]

*Grins* It interesting n that it does truly feel like a researcher speaking on his experiences and could be talking to a large group at some historical society or perhaps dictating his memoirs. So kudos on capturing that voice.