Honesty Among the Dead
It is commonly said that it is graveyards that are where the dead rest.
Never before has that saying ever been taken so literally as it had in this moment.
For in this valley of tombstones and crypts that littered these middle-of-nowhere hills, where there were a number of crisscross roads that crisscrossed through it all in a way that indicated these hills as an eerie crossroads of sort to the so faraway cities and townships that shared their buried dead here, there was a hammock. This hammock was located in the middle of this middle-of-nowhere graveyard, at the topmost curve of the center hill, and tied between the trunk of a decrepit, dead tree and the rail of a grand crypt entrance.
And it was also currently occupied, if the snores that bellowed throughout the hilly graveyard were any indication.
The figure laying in the strung up resting net was an equine completely immersed in the shadowy black fabric of a dark cloak that draped over the figure's form like clothed oil. Face entirely obscured by the swallowing darkness of the abyssal cloak's hooded shadows, the only physical feature to escape out of the cloak's dark grasp were the alabaster-white hooves that tipped out of the cloak's sleeves.
And as the cloaked equine continued to snore blissfully in the grimly scenic hammock, a shadow fell over the cloak's shadowed form.
Suddenly, a tangerine hoof impacted against the hammock, causing the cloaked figure to jerk awake as it toppled out of the resting net. When it impacted against the ground, an equine skull rolled out of the figure's shadowy hood, stopping at the base of the hill's dead tree, where it sat.
"Ah! Bleedin' Tartarus!" cussed out the skull in a grunted tone, its grounded jaw causing its entirety to move like the flapping lid of a waste bin, "Who be there!?" it shouted in a masculine voice, "Is it those dang kids again? Don't ye know it's improper to wake the dead from their slumber!? T'is be a matter of respect!"
Despite the lack of a head, the body of the cloaked figure quickly managed to stand up on all fours and begin shambling its way towards the befallen skull, but not before almost tripping over the half-or-so-dozen corked and uncorked bottles that lay strewn about on the ground as it did.
"Oi! Mind the rum!" shouted the skull, before remaining silent for a few contemplating moments, wherein then it muttered distastefully, "Ugh, I be shoutin' at my own body again like it needin' be ordered..."
When finally the cloaked body reached the misplaced head-bone and quickly set about fastening it to the shadowy insides of its hood, it hurriedly swung about in search of the perpetrator who had disturbed its slumber, "Alright, alright, whoever thought it be funny to disturb me rest, ye best show yourselves now or else I'll-I'll... Oh..."
The black voids of the skull's eye-holes met with the emerald orbs of Honesty; the Mare's vibrant, wheat-like mane and virile body providing quite the visual contrast with the skeletal equine before her and the decayed graveyard around the two.
"You'll... what now, partner?" asked the Mare of Honesty with a knowing smirk upon her features, her mischievous emerald eyes just barely revealed under the brim of her hat as she leaned forward earnestly for his answer, much to the chagrin of the hooded skeleton.
"Eh... heh heh heh," chuckled the skull awkwardly as he took a few backward steps away from the taller earth pony, "nothin', nothin'," he assured her lamely, "just an ol' wraith grumblin' about his rest bein' interrupted s'all."
For a moment, the Mare of Honesty kept her gaze locked with the skull's, that smirk of hers still glued to her face, before pulling her head back with a short snicker, "Yer rest, huh?" she replied in an amused tone, "I thought yer kind didn't sleep? After all, how did that sayin' go?" she put a hoof to her chin in smirking contemplation, before making play of a quote "Ah, right: 'Fear the wraithstriders, the undead soldiers of Tartarus, who know neither rest nor exhaustion in their deathless quest.' Ain't that how it goes?"
In the cold of the night, a misty huff of irritation escaped out of the skull's nostril holes, "It does and that's me point exactly!" shouted the annoyed wraith, before pointing his skeletal hoof at the Mare of Honesty accusingly, "Do ye know how hard it is to close me eyes without havin' any eyes? Being able to take a nap at all is an achievement in of itself! An' ye had to go and ruin that!"
More lighthearted chuckles were released from the Mare, "Sorry 'bout that," she apologized cheekily, "I hadn't a clue how much effort it took to be lazy."
"It's an under-appreciated art and I'll have ye know—" but before the wraith could continue his arguing, he was interrupted by a horrible wail.
"REEE-AARGHAR!!" it went, a most terrifying and in-equine wail that echoed out over the graveyard and would have terrified the hearts of all those nearby if it weren't for the fact that the graveyard was empty—save for the two souls that stood at its center, but one lacked the required blood organ to feel that terror and the other carried the very source of that horrifying wail on her back.
The wraith and the Mare stood on that hill, their chiding quibbles now absent from the air around them, instead their eerie setting was now perforated by the horrible growls and barks that soured their manner.
Finally, the wraith deigned to speak, "So..." he uttered in a heavy tone, "ye got the beasty, did ya now?"
The Mare of Honesty said nothing, the brim of her hat covering her eyes from sight as she stood still as a statue in her silence. But this silence only lasted barely a moment before she angled her gaze behind her and dipped her back.
The terrifying creature let out an angry bark as it landed on the ground like discarded lumber, it's legs tied together and snout muzzled with strong rope so as to prevent any escape or danger. But lo did the creature try though as it frantically struggled against its bonds like a rabid animal.
"Ah did."
The beast was a pony, or at least it had been, once. Now, with mottled patches of fur and decayed skin that hugged its skeletal frame like dry mud, the equine looked more that of a corpse, but even that was being charitable. Hollow yellow eyes glowed from their sockets, hooves once flat were now warped like talons, and the flesh around the mouth was ripped gone to reveal rows of crooked fangs that no pony should of ever had, alive or otherwise.
It honestly was as if a demonic spirit had taken possession of a long-dead pony and prompted the decayed flesh to start mutating into that of something more of a monstrous abomination.
Which, it being a ghoul, wasn't far off.
The wraith took a step closer to the struggling ghoul, looming over it with the passive expression that only a skull could own. Up and down the ghoul's decrepit body did the bone muzzle travel as eye sockets filled with dark shadows took in the details, stopping at the distended stomach.
"Got a full belly," the wraith noted, before kicking a bony hoof into the ghoul's side, eliciting out violent barks from the undead pony, "had a quick bite to eat, did ye now? Snacked on some dearly departed dead, huh?" asked the wraith in a raised voice, the laugh in his tone clear that he expected no answer from the crazed creature.
The undead pony let loose blood and gunky spittle in its gurgling roar as it violently thrashed around and tried desperately to clamp its rotten, shrapnel teeth on the wraith's bone legs. Long fibers of a once-lustrous mane splayed over the ghoul's decrepit face as it stretched its flesh-torn neck closer to the cloaked skeleton in its mad state.
The wraith shook his skull at the sight, "An' to think that ye used to be such a pretty lass..." he turned and walked back to his hammock, "but 'suppose that's what happens when ye scalawag spirits start thinkin' escapin' Tartarus will do ye any good. It ain't as simple as just wearin' yer old body again like they're some worn britches, 'specially not when the hunger starts kickin' in."
Approaching the hammock, a skeletal wing emerged out of the wraith's cloak like a hand from shadow and expertly grabbed one of the corked bottles of rum lying on the ground. The bottle was worn and tinted green. It also had silk paper brushed with inked glyphs tied around its jug. Placing the cork between the skull's teeth, the wraith bit down and pulled the cork out of the bottle.
"Ye were all warned about it too—by the ferrypony," continued the wraith as he trotted back to the tied-up ghoul, "ye were all warned about what happens when the dead escape Tartarus: they get weird with the life around them. They get weird and then they get dangerous. Then we wraithstriders gotta go through all the effort to hunt'em down and bring'em back," the wraith stood over the ghoul now, his bony wing clasping the bottle as his abyssal eyeholes looked down at the struggling corpse passively, "it be all a bit tiring."
"Are ya'll seriously complainin' 'bout effort?" asked the Mare of Honesty incredulously, her smirk obvious as she casually leaned against the decrepit tree, "You, the dead pirate with a hammock? Never mind the fact that I was the one that up'd an' wrangled the ghoul for yeh anyhow."
The wraith's eternally grinning skull seemed to eternally grin even more as he turned to the Mare, "Well now, that be only cause yer such an upstanding lass who can't help but help," replied the wraith, his tone laughing, "besides, t'is be the principle of the matter. I've got centuries as a wraith ahead of me: centuries of having to hunt escaped spirits, of having to guide lost dead, and of having to make sure the demons keep chained up. What's wrong with a wee bit of slacken' off every now and then?"
"The part about it all bein' pension for yer crimes in life," deadpanned Honesty, her piercing emeralds peeking from under the brim of her hat, stabbing at the soul hiding within the skull's shadowy abyss of a gaze.
"Heh heh," chuckled the wraith, "no mercy from you, eh?"
"I've got plenty of mercy," attested Honesty; still leaning, she crossed her legs and glanced over the graveyard's many hills of tombstones, "jus' not any forgetfulness."
At that, the wraith only kept eternally grinning that eternal grin of his and brought up the bottle of rum to his bony muzzle. Downing the alcoholic beverage, the colored liquor undoubtedly drowned his bones bloody as it poured out from the back of his hollow muzzle and down into the shadows of his cloak. When half of the liquor was gone, the wraith relieved the bottle away from his teeth.
"T'is always such a shame to waste good rum," commented the wraith as he turned his attention back to the ghoul.
A bony hoof slammed down into the ghoul's shoulder, sinking deeply into the rotten flesh and eliciting out a violent wail from the beastly corpse, though whether the scream was from pain or from anger was ultimately unclear.
"Bottom's up," quipped the wraith, and with that, he stuck the bottle into the ghoul's decrepit mouth while it was roaring, causing it to gargle on the invading liquid. And though the sloshing rum poured out of the bottle and into the ghoul's mouth, the ghoul did not drink from the bottle.
Instead, the bottle drank from the ghoul.
The glyphs of ink that were paper-tied around the bottle began glowing a glow of white energy as the ghoul began letting loose horrible coughs. Choking on the pouring liquor, the ghoul hacked and hacked, obscenely so from just a bit of rum.
So terrible and powerful were the ghoul's hacks that it was a surprise to no one when it coughed out its soul.
A mass of blue mist, writhing and wailing with a mystical glow, was coughed up like bile that had been stuck in the back of the throat. Up into the bottle of rum it went, coalescing together and taking the shape of a misty equine. Finally, when it seemed that the ghoul had coughed out the entirety of this mist, its body went through a terrible spasm right as that final misty tail slipped out of its mouth. Decayed limbs twitched and a pathetic gurgle escaped out of the ghoul's throat before it finally stilled and slumped, its glowing, yellow eyes dimming to a blankness as the corpse became corpse-like again.
The wraith unceremoniously lifted the bottle of rum from the rotting body and peered into the glass container, his abyssal gaze focusing on the misty equine entrapped within that now had yellow eyes the size of pinpricks, glowing like the dead possessed. The tiny specter was bleak of any features, except for some feminine curves that indicated its previous life as the fairer sex. Rearing up spectral hooves in ravaging fervor, the misty equine slammed into the glass walls of the bottle repeatedly, only to be repelled each time by the glowing symbols inked out on the silk paper. When the specter charged upwards, the wraith slammed a cork into the bottle's mouth, sealing off the last viable exit for the dead pony.
"An' there we have it," spoke the wraith, before peering closer into the bottle, "that'll hold ye 'til we get back to the Pitts."
"Oh, so yer finally done sittin' on yer rear?" asked Honesty with a playful smirk. She was still casually leaning on the decrepit tree, by which now had moss growing up its bark where her coat pressed and tufts of grass crawling over its roots where her tangerine hooves rested, there were even a few leaves sprouting from the tips of its branches; all due to her presence. "'Bout time yeh actually got off yer hammock and did yer job."
The wraith glanced at Honesty before turning back to the glass bottle again, "I suppose ye be correct," agreed the wraith as another skeletal wing emerged from his oily cloak, "I suppose it be time I return to Tartarus..." the wing reached in front of the wraith and pulled back the front of his dark cloak, "and make my deposit."
The parted cloak revealed the wraith's skeletal frame: stained red by rum and a ribcage containing four liquor bottles wedged between the bones. Each of the bottles had a ghastly spirit of a once living being entrapped within, all of them furiously whirling about uselessly within their little glass prisons. Adding to this collection, the wraith expertly maneuvered his skeletal wing holding the bottle that contained the ghoul's soul and jammed the bottle into an unoccupied space between his ribs.
"That makes five souls," commented the wraith, his skull grin ever present, "ye think the Undertaker will be impressed."
Honest chuckles reached where the wraith's ears had been once, "Oh, I'm sure he'll give yeh a big ol' smile for all yer effort," replied Honesty, a cheeky smile of her own showing.
The wraith's eternal grin on his skull never went away, instead only a scoffing mist escaped out of the wraithstrider's nostril holes as he let his skeletal frame and prize of five disappear behind his cloak, his bony wings now at his sides.
"Though I gotta admit," continued Honesty, removing herself from the not-so-longer-decrepit tree and approaching the wraith, "five on one trip s'got to be pretty impressive."
"Why do ye expect so less of me?" admonished the wraith, his tone happily boastful, "After all, I didn't terrorize the skies and seas for over twenty years by sittin' on my rear and bein' lazy. Pillagin' trade ships and Their Majesties' vessels kept me quite limber in my life."
Honesty said nothing. She stared at the wraith, her emerald eyes boring into the empty ones of his skull. "Don't yeh have a Pitt of Damnation to crawl into?" she finally asked.
The wraith chuckled, "Ooh, struck a nerve did I?" he asked.
"Yeh ain't struck nothin'," insisted Honesty, "I'm jus' saying, the entrance to Tartarus is a long ways away from here. Wouldn't want to delay yeh from returnin' there more than I have to."
"Glad to see that ye be still the sincerest of the Six," complimented the wraith, "though I be thinkin' that I'll jus' skip the long journey to Tartarus's grand entrance and jus' go through a backdoor."
A moment of staring between the two incurred and then the wraith stomped his bony hoof once into the dirt. Immediately, the grand crypt entrance behind him stirred. Its stone doorway rumbled and groaned loudly as it slowly arched open and revealed a stairwell that twisted downward into the earth. Its walls were covered in masses of dusty bones that seemed as ancient as the dirt they covered. A red, fiery glow could be seen burning deep from within its depths as bellows of ghastly voices could be heard faintly by the updraft of wind that poured out of the crypt and brushed against Honesty's ears.
But it was not just the howling winds that emerged from the open crypt; the rapid rattling of chain against stone and the frenzied sounds of mad barking also bounced off of the crypt's bony walls and out into the graveyard. As the sounds became louder so did too that a massive, rambling shadow could be seen on the walls, visible by the crypt's burning light of red.
Leaping out of the crypt entrance came a large, two-headed canine with a coat as black as the night. Charging straight for Honesty, this orthrus was only stopped a hoof's length before the Mare when the rope of chain that was coiled around the large dog pulled tight, forcing it to only bark threateningly at the living soul that dared near an entrance of the Damned. Larger than even the Mare of Honesty, the orthrus had itself reared up on its hindlegs as both of its heads barked blindly, the chain coiled around it acting as a counterbalance.
Unflinching of the roaring Hel beast before her, the Mare of Honesty only raised a hoof to her mouth and let out a loud, piercing whistle.
Ears pricking up in attentiveness, the orthrus immediately calmed at the loud whistle. Setting back down on all fours, both of the orthrus's heads, each of which had four eyes, leaned closer to the Mare of Honesty and sniffed warily at her tangerine coat. When the orthrus smelled her scent, both heads perked up happily at the familiar smell of apples.
The wraith watched on, "It be an orthrus of Tartarus, everypony," he deadpanned neutrally, "Truly, they be some of the most fearsome beasties in all of Equestria."
"Oh hush now," chided Honesty as she enthusiastically rubbed the orthrus's tummy with her hooves. Splayed on its back, both of the orthrus's heads whined appreciatively at the attention it was receiving, "Yer just a big ol' puppy, aren't yeh?" she cooed, to which one of the heads barked happily, "That's right. Yes, you are."
Shaking his head, the wraith turned about and headed for the crypt's entrance, snaring a corked bottle of rum off of the ground with a wing.
But before the wraith could take five steps in the direction of the crypt, one of the heads of the orthrus pricked its ears up.
With angry barks, the two-headed canine leapt off of its back, away from Honesty's delightful tummyrubs, and placed itself in front of the wraith, blocking the way to Tartarus as both of its heads growled menacingly at the draped skeletal figure.
"Pah!" scoffed out the wraith in irritation as his path was blocked by the ferocious guard dog, "There be always a toll..." he muttered in annoyance as he reached a bony wing into his cloak.
Rummaging his bony wing inside his cloak for a short while, the wraith finally took a hold of something and began pulling. With a snap!, the wraith pulled out two rib bones and threw them into the air, to which the orthrus caught both with each of its heads and began chewing happily on the offered payment of dead-but-not-dead bones.
"And off to Tartarus I go," commented the wraith as he resumed towards the crypt's entrance, "to home sweet home."
But before taking that first step into the bowels of Tartarus, the wraith paused at the crypt's entrance. Turning aside just a bit, the wraith's abyssal eyeholes peered back at Honesty, whose emerald gaze did not flee from the darkness.
"Thank ye for the help, sweet lass," said the wraith in surprisingly polite fashion, even lifting the bottle of rum up in a courtesy acknowledgment.
The Mare of Honesty stared into the wraith, her emerald eyes stabbing into the abyss-filled gaze without waver.
And then she smirked, "See yeh in Hel, Blackmane."
"AH HA HA HA!" laughed the wraith uproariously, "Now why would ye be saying that, hmm?" he asked merrily and so knowingly, "Planning on dying sooner than ye should, eh?"
"No," answered Honesty honestly, "but considering how long ya'll be in Tartarus, if someday, long from now, me and my friends were forced to go down there on an undue trip, I wouldn't be surprised to see little ol' you still kickin' around in the Sticks."
The wraith chuckled so bemusedly, "Aye," he nodded with that eternal grin of his, "even I wouldn't throw bits down against that bet," uncorking the bottle of rum, he took a full swig before meeting Honesty's gaze again, "stop by my locker then if ye get the chance, I'll save ye a bottle of rum."
Honesty smiled an honest smile from under her hat, "No, yeh won't."
And the wraith laughed; he laughed and laughed so merrily as he entered the crypt and walked down into the fiery hole of the Underworld. Behind him followed the orthrus, still chewing on his two rib bones as the chain coiled around the guard dog rattled against the ground. Slowly the burning light of Tartarus disappeared as the crypt's stone door sealed shut behind the two, the first verse of a song being the last thing to escape the Underworld just as the door closed.
"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"
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Your back!
Yarr, this be a most pleasing tale!
At one point, applejack says "You're" rather than "Your"
You're front!
Also, good chapter. Glad to see you're writing. You're good enough that you must enjoy it, and it always sucks to have circumstances take away a hobby...
Yes! These are always so much fun! This chapter made my day.
yay!!!
Nice ta see you back! And a great way to return too.
Tutelary Applejack is a grief counselor and Pony Buffy.
down there*
Also these stories are fun. I like them.
I really need this series to continue.
Yer back mate! Can't say ever doubted ye though. 'ave some rum fer yer troubles! It was one hell of a ride ye put us through this time round cap'ain!
As you can probably tell, I really liked the chapter.
Oi! Who're you then? Can't say I've ever seen ye round these parts!
Shoot, I forgot to turn off the inner voices again!
What're you on about? 'ad one too many drinks 'ave ye? Blasted landlubbers, not right in the head I say! Get their brains addled living in their cozy little caves all day!
I really like writing pirate speak.
Oi! Are you makin' fun o' me accent now? I'll teach ye a thing or two all right! Put 'em up! Come on, hop to it! Or are ye a coward?
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
IT'S BAAAAAAAAAACK!!!
Now I wanna see Undead Pony Pirate Skeleton Wratih thingie. Moreso I wanna hear Blackmane's Story he sounds like a hoot for being a lazy jerk. :P
-Angel of Team Angelfang
Yay, immortals!
Not so yay, kind of hard to see how Equestria has changed over the years.
6650679
Thank you! The major basis for this series has always taken inspiration from tales of mythology and folklore, so I'm glad my works come across as that way.
This was surprisingly cheerful for a tale about a cursed pirate hunting the souls of the damned...
Nice work.
7034839
Not really. She's old enough and smart enough to know when and when not to engage in such relations. And even if she did end up carrying foal, it wouldn't really be a problem for her. She's been a mother plenty of times before.
Don't know why but rereading this story. Could it be possible to reference Fallout Equestria? Like Steel Hooves being The Mare of Honesty firsts lover? And the Tale could be similar to that of Orion and Artemis of Greek Mythology.
All kinds of spirits in this one.
7021236
At this point, it's probably an entire nation with its own culture, religion, language and laws.
This song reminded me that this story exists. Hopefully you're still working on these.
These are so fun. I hope they continue too!
Love these