MLP Pulps

by anarchywolf18

The Fool's Festival(Pony)

It was a sunny, cloudless day in the distant village of Greifburg.

The cobblestone streets had been ornately decorated with banners and pennants of all colors, which hung flapping from the draped ropes above.

Long tables covered in pink gingham dotted the fountain square where much of the town had gathered for song, dance, laughter and fun. But, on this day, there was no laughter to be heard.

Hushed murmurs were exchanged of the dismay and disgust of what the festival had become. Though the nearby band played a lively tune, the dances were half-hearted. Smiles were forced. The only sign of any merriment was the festive maypole, where almost all of the chicks in town had gathered to hold a ribbon in their beak as they ran circles around it.
In the distance, the sound of wagon wheels drew the attention of the crowd in the square. To their delight, there came a wagon from the fields beyond town.

The griffins nearby all hurried to greet the wagon driver, eagerly awaiting the latest haul from the fields. Surely, something had been left for them. Something that would make their festival worth celebrating.

They met the wagon driver’s eyes, and saw reflected in them the same dismay and disappointment that had begun since the prior evening. The driver woefully looked up and slowly shook his head. As he passed the townsfolk’s hearts sank.
In the back of the wagon, there were the many heads of leafy green cabbages. Not even the ripest cabbages, but the ones that had almost gone to rot.

“Mehr Kohl…” one of the griffins sighed, amidst the disappointed groans of the others.

As quickly as they had come, the griffins all dispersed to resume their dismal festivities.

Among the crowd, one of the chicks noticed something in the back of the cabbage cart. Something that he knew was not supposed to be there. A black hat was poking up above the back of the cart. And if he looked closely, he thought he could see the top of some creature’s head. He began to follow the cabbage cart, curiously trying to peer over the top.

“Was du tust? Es ist nur Kohl,” called one of the griffin chicks friends from nearby.

“Dort ist etwas im der Kohlwagen,” the chick answered.

“Was?”

The cabbage cart hit a loose cobblestone, making it jolt hard and send some of the loose cabbages popping out of the top. With them came a second surprise. The black hat bounced out as well. With it, the unseen owner.

There was a terrible thud when the owner of the hat landed on the ground. In spite of the hard impact, he laid limp as a boiled asparagus across the cobblestone.

The two chicks were joined by others as they gathered around the strange creature. His hat had fallen over his face, keeping them from identifying him. He had no talons at the ends of his four limbs, but hooves that stuck out from the hems of his jacket and trousers. An examination of his tail yielded equally unusual discoveries, such as how it was made up of long, black, unkempt hairs, and not feathers.

“Was ist das?” one of the chicks asked.

“Ich nicht weiß. Aber, ich denke ist es tot,” said another.

They all stared at the dead thing in the road, puzzling over what to do with it.

“Ich wage dich es du stupsen,” said one of the chicks, nudging his large friend next to him.

Never one to back down from a dare, the large chick cautiously stepped forward. He looked at the thing in the road, knowing for sure it was dead. But, something stayed his steps. He edged closer and closer to the dead thing and reached out a single talon to it. The eyes of his friends were all locked onto his back. If he bailed now, they would never let him hear the end of it. Putting all other things out of his mind, the large chick touched his talon to the nose of the dead thing and nudged it hard.

The dead thing snorted loudly, blowing up the dust from the cobblestones into the face of the large chick before him.
The chicks all scramble away, knowing for sure that they had incurred the wrath of something horrible from beyond the grave.

“AUGH!! Rennt um euer Leben!! Wiederganger!! Wiederganger!!” one of the chicks shouted.

“Huh...Weeder-what…?”

The pony in the road stood up in a daze. To his greatest shock, he could see nothing but blackness. But, there was music playing somewhere. And voices and footsteps. At once, it dawned on him what was happening, and he adjusted his hat to uncover his eyes.

“This isn’t where I fell asleep earlier,” the pony said to himself.

No, indeed. Far from the cold open field where he had fallen asleep the night before, he was in a place of color and civility.
In his travels so far, the stranger had encountered many different towns. This one was by far the most lively that he had encountered. The music. The dances. All that was missing was a performer.

Straightening his collar, the stranger went to make a spectacle of himself. And he started by stepping on a cabbage and stumbling head over hooves into the road.

Years of performing had not gone to waste. The stranger quickly recovered with a graceful cartwheel and allowed the errant cabbage that he had slipped on to roll up his rear leg, and along his back. He popped his shoulder up to send the cabbage into the air, and caught it spinning on his hoof.

From the corner of his eye, the stranger saw a group of griffin chicks watching him. He glanced at the spinning cabbage, then back to the chicks. His audience was found.

The stranger threw the cabbage high into the air and spun along the ground to scoop up two more of the cabbages that had fallen from the cart with him. One went into the air with the first, but the last was rolled down his back and bucked upward.

The first cabbage fell from the sky and was rolled from one outstretched hoof, across the back of his shoulders then to his other hoof and thrown upward.

The second cabbage landed on his back, and was spun all the way around his middle as the stranger gyrated his waist.

The show had caught the attention of the other nearby griffins, who watched in wonder of the stranger.

With his audience grown, the performer started pulling out the stops. He stood on his front hooves and caught two of the cabbages with his rear hooves. He then tumbled forward to catch the third with his front hooves.

Without stopping, he kicked one cabbage up to his front hoof and stood upon the one that remained upon the ground. He spun about atop the cabbage, all the while rolling the other two across his outstretched hooves, around his body, under his arms, and across his chest.

The band nearby caught wind of the lively performance and started playing their song at a faster tempo. Taking the cue, the performer started rolling around the fountain square, never once missing a beat as he danced and juggled for the growing crowd.

The griffins watched in rapt awe at the spectacle. The day was sure to have been dismal, but not one of them could have expected the stranger to have stumbled upon their festival.

It was time for the finale. The stranger swooped up all three cabbages and threw them into the air. After them, his hat was thrown up.

One cabbage was caught and thrown over the performer’s shoulder, where it balanced perfectly on the spouting water. The second was caught and thrown even higher into the air, and mysteriously never came down. Before the third cabbage fell, the performer pulled his head inside of his shirt, and the cabbage landed in his open collar. After it, his hat drifted down and set upon the cabbage, creating a perfect likeness of a cabbage-headed pony.

The crowd loudly applauded the show. The stranger took a bow, allowing the cabbage to roll off. Catching his hat before it ever hit the ground, he twirled it twice, before he flipped it onto his head.

“Thank you! I’ll be here until the party’s over,” the stranger said, waving to the crowd.

After traveling for so long with no break in between, the stranger decided to take time to allow himself a proper rest. And if stumbling upon a festival wasn’t a good enough place to do it, he didn’t know what was.

The nearby buffet tables drew the stranger’s eye. Plates upon plates were heaped with dishes. The very sight of them made the stranger’s stomach rumble. Too long, he had not had a proper meal. Living off of the wild carrots and radishes that he found on the roadside could only sustain a pony so far, and now it was time to eat like a king.

Whatever was on the plate nearest to the stranger was hardly seen, as it was dumped into his open mouth and instantaneously swallowed. The moment he did, he wished that he hadn’t.

A sickening, molded, sour, musky taste lurched up from his throat, up his nose and into his forehead. For a brief moment, the stranger saw stars sparkling before him, then fade all at once. It all culminated as he could feel the color of his face change from white to green, and a feeling in his stomach as if he had swallowed compost.

“You're quite something. The agility of a show horse, and der appetite of a draft horse. Not even ve griffins are able to eat a plate so large,” said a female voice next to the stranger.

Looking to his side, the stranger saw a tan and white griffin wearing a festive dress. He swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but only gagged quietly before he found his voice.

“I th...I think you need to tell somepony that the food’s gone bad…” the stranger said.

“It’s not bad. It’s vorse than that. It’s sauerkraut,” the griffin sighed.

“Even the name sounds bad,” said the stranger, who started shuffling down the table to look for more edible morsels.

“Ja. But, it’s all ve have this year,” the griffin said.

“You’re not serious,” said the stranger.

A look down the length of the table let him know that she was indeed serious. All along was sauerkraut as far as the eye could see. At the end of the table an elderly griffin looked unappeased at a plate of the wilted cabbage dish, and took a bite of the clean plate next to it instead.

The stranger winced at the sight. “Yeesh...Must have been a bad crop this year.”

“Actually, ve had a splendid crop. So splendid that der mayor decided to haul it for himself,” the griffin grimly replied.

“Because he really likes vegetables?”

“No. Because he’s a greedy, self-centered dummkopf who has only looked out for his own interests since--” the griffin paused and exhaled quietly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you our problems. It’s not as if they concern you.”

“It does if I’m eating it too. Couldn’t you just ask him for some of your crops back?” the stranger wondered.

“I’m afraid not. Der last griffin who tried had der mayor’s enforcer set on him,” the griffin said.

“When was that?”

“This morning,” the griffin said, pointing to a griffin-shaped hole in a nearby wall.

A tiny bead of sweat perspired on the stranger’s forehead. Of all the places that he could have woken up in, a town run by a tyrannical mayor was by and large one of the worst that he could have chanced upon. It was in his nature as a traveling performer, a searcher and a wanderer to not stay in any town forever. But, something about the way that the griffin was looking at him gave him pause. Something let down, which he thought he knew how to fix before he left.

He reached into his jacket and produced a single wild carrot.

“Here. I know it’s not much, but it’s probably better than rotten cabbage,” he said.

“You’re too kind,” the griffin said, smiling as she accepted the tiny vegetable.

The two stared at one another in silence, and the stranger watched as the griffin’s smile grew bigger.

“Vould you like to dance?” the griffin asked.

“Huh? Dance? With me?”

“Of course. I saw how deftly you dance alone. I vant to see how you dance vith a partner.”

“Well--Hwuh!!”

And that was all the stranger had time to say, before he was dragged by his wrist into the middle of the fountain square, where several other griffins had paired up to dance.

The griffin started dancing on her own, while the stranger surreptitiously tried to sneak away. His escape was halted by another dancing couple bumping into him and sending him back toward his partner.

The stranger recovered from his stumble with a graceful spin, which was complemented by a twirl from the griffin.

Melodies from the band began swirling around him in perfect time with the dancers. He could feel the rhythm. He could see the crowd. It was taking him over.

No more hesitation. Some power of the festival possessed the stranger to dance for all he was worth. And his enthusiasm had spread to his partner, who danced like she had never danced before.

The stranger took his partner by her talons and twirled with her and the other dancers around the maypole. Barely seconds into their dance, one of the maypole dancers bumped the stranger from behind, pushing him into his griffin partner.

“Vell, vell. Coming on a bit strong, aren’t ve? I usually make sure my dancing partners know my name, before ve are this close.” the griffin said with a sly smile. “I’m Ghislaine. Though, you may call me Ghi.”

“I...I’m…” The stranger stammered to find his voice. “I’m-I’m--I’m looking for somepony. A mare with a white coat and a purple mane.”

Something inside of him clenched when he saw Ghi’s eyes lower.

“So, I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long,” was all she said.

The stranger opened his mouth to explain himself, but before he ever got the chance the entire festival stopped. The music suddenly went silent and the dancers all froze. The only thing that sounded was a distant rumble that made a nearby sign start to sway over a door.

As the rumbling came closer some of the griffins ran for cover indoors. The plates on the nearby tables started to rattle in cadence with the rumbling. The griffin who had chosen to eat his plate rather than the sauerkraut on it dropped the last bite of his meal, which shattered on the ground.

A hoof the size of the stranger’s head stepped out from around a corner at the end of the fountain square. What followed it was the biggest minotaur that the stranger had ever seen. A giant, grey bull with horns that were almost as long as his arms. In one hand, he carried a gigantic baseball bat.

Accompanying the bull was a griffin companion. Though much shorter and older than the minotaur, the griffin looked no less intimidating. For every two steps he took, he clacked his cane upon the ground, clutching the top threateningly in his viciously clenched talons. His hunched back and wrinkled, nearly featherless face were as horrible as an underfed vulture. Worst of all were his eyes, which conveyed nothing but a lifetime of hatred and resentment for all other creatures that he saw.

“They’re not guests too, are they?” the stranger asked Ghi.

“That der mayor and Knuckle Duster,” Ghi answered.

“Who?”

“Der enforcer,” Ghi said, pointing to the griffin-shaped hole from before.

“Oh…”

They watched as the two newcomers walked to a nearby table and started examining the contents. Not so carefully, as Knuckle Duster cleared the table with his bat then lifted it over his head as the mayor looked underneath.

“Ve should go,” Ghi said, as she guided the stranger away by his hoof.

The stranger did not even look back at the scene, before he suddenly felt something cold and heavy hook over his shoulder. Glancing, he saw the gold, hook-billed head of the mayor’s cane.

“Wo denkst du gehst hin, Pony?” the mayor roughly said.

“Der mayor asks, ‘Vhere do you think you’re going, pony?’” Knuckle Duster translated.

“I-I don’t want any trouble. I’m just a street performer,” the stranger said.

“Der Idiot sagt er nur ein Straßenkünstler,” Knuckle Duster translated for the mayor.

“Does ‘idiot’ mean the same thing in my language that it does in yours?” the stranger nervously asked.

The only response he got was an entirely mirthless laugh from Knuckle Duster, who roughly grabbed the stranger by the shoulder and turned him to face himself and the mayor.

The mayor began speaking in his native language, all the while translated by his minotaur enforcer.

“You are a new face in our town...As a newcomer, you must be acquainted vith der vays ve operate our village...You vill surrender any contraband upon entering der town gates...You vill perform your vocation to der standards that are set for you...You vill give der mayor der respect he deserves...Any questions?”

“Have you seen this mare?” the stranger said, producing a locket from under his shirt and showing the picture inside with a shaking hoof.

The stranger’s hoof was smacked back down to his side by the mayor’s cane.

“Verschwinde mein Sicht! Bevor ich mehr als dein Huf poch mach!” the mayor growled.

“Der mayor requests you to get out of his sight, before he makes more than your hoof throb,” Knuckle Duster translated.

Ghi guided the stranger away, until the mayor thrusted his cane in front of them.

“Halt!” the mayor ordered.

Ghi and the stranger both froze as the mayor’s cane traced it’s way down to the pocket on the front of Ghi’s dress. The griffin winced as she felt the mayor’s cane press slightly against her and shimmy the contents of her pockets upward. Collectively, the nerves of the crowd shattered as a single, small carrot fell to the ground.

“Schmuggelware…” the mayor grimly stated.

“And you know der penalties for possessing contraband,” Knuckle Duster said, as he patted his oversized bat in his palm.

Ghi shrunk slowly to the ground as Knuckle Duster towered over her.

Without a thought, the stranger stepped between Ghi and her assailant.

“Hold it! That’s my carrot! I brought that into town to share with her!” the stranger said.

“Oh, so?” Knuckle Duster said.

The stranger was suddenly lifted off the ground, suspended upside down by his hooves as he was shook violently. From his pockets, all manner of wild vegetables fell. More carrots, radishes, cloves of garlic, and even a half eaten pea plant.

“Uh...Is there a chance we can talk about this over a plate of carrots?” the stranger offered.

“Der time for talking is over,” Knuckle Duster said, as he wound up his arm to swing.

The stranger felt his entire body swing upward, and soon saw the crowd far below him. During his brief moment of hangtime, he kept his hat from falling off his head before he went plummeting back down toward the ground.

Knuckle Duster gripped his bat and wound up his arms to swing.

The stranger fell nearer, and he saw Knuckle Duster’s bat swing toward him. He saw briefly the words etched into the side, ‘Hallo zu Auf Wiedersehen!!’

The minotaur felt the bat hit home with a satisfying crack.

The stranger was nowhere in sight. Knuckle Duster rested his bat over his shoulder and shielded his eyes from the sun to see where his equine target had flown to.

“Was ist du machst, dumm! Er ist noch hier!” the mayor shouted.

“Was?” Knuckle Duster asked. He noticed his bat felt somehow heavier, and examined it.

There, clung to the very end of the weapon was the stranger, clutching the bat in his shaking hooves.

“Can I just leave and we’ll call it good?” the stranger asked.

Knuckle Duster snorted viciously and lunged with his free hand to grab the stranger.

The stranger rolled around the bat, deftly avoiding his opponent’s grip. He stood on the bat, jumped to Knuckle Duster’s head and somersaulted to the ground.

He hardly had time to recover from the landing when the mayor’s cane swung at his head.

The stranger ducked, allowing the cane to hit Knuckle Duster in the back.

The bull bellowed loudly and swung his bat around to the side.

The mayor ducked to avoid the swing, but the stranger wasn’t so quick. Even though he only caught the tail end of the attack, he was knocked off his hooves and into the fountain.

Gasps waved through the crowd as they watched the stranger pull himself back up over the side of the fountain, soaking wet. No creature remained conscious when Knuckle Duster hit them. Yet there he was, spitting out a mouthful of water.

“Er ist im noch Bewusstsein! Hol ihn!” the mayor ordered, pointing a shriveled talon at the stranger.

Knuckle Duster snorted ferociously and charged toward the fountain. He jumped into the air, his bat raised over his head.

The stranger rolled out of the way, and jumped when the ground shook beneath the blow of Knuckle Duster’s weapon. He rolled backward until he was on his hooves again and jumped over the next swing of a bat.

He backpedaled to the edge of the fountain, and was struck from behind by the mayor’s cane, forcing him back toward his enforcer.

The stranger slid on his knees to dodge the next attack from Knuckle Duster and spun to take one leg out from under him.

Knuckle Duster knelt sharply and hit his head against one of the fountain heads, cracking it slightly.

The stranger was near the edge of the fountain again, and was ready this time when he dodged another attack from the mayor. He found himself facing Knuckle Duster again, who ripped the head off of the fountain and raised it to smash his opponent.

“Catch!” the stranger said, as he tossed his hat into Knuckle Duster’s face.

Knuckle Duster released the concrete fountain head to swat away that, only to allow the fountain head to land on his hoof.

As the bull hopped up and down, swearing and spitting as he held his throbbing hoof, the stranger yanked the hose out from the broken fountain head and started whipping it around himself to strike Knuckle Duster.

The crowd watched, mesmerized and terrified. If he weren’t in a fight for his life, it would almost have looked like the stranger was performing some show the way that he made the water splash upward between every twirl and swing of the metal hose.

Knuckle Duster found an opening and swung his bat again.

The stranger wrapped the fountain hose around the bat and directed the spraying water into Knuckle Duster’s eyes. His opponent blinded, and the stranger jumped to unleash a double-legged dropkick into the bull’s head.

Knuckle Duster yanked his arm, pulling more of the hose out of the fountain and throwing it down.

The stranger slid between Knuckle Duster’s legs, narrowly dodging a downward swing, grabbing the hose and tangling his opponent’s legs. The bull tripped again with a loud crash, and the stranger readied to attack again.

Beyond the fountain, the mayor opened a panel and turned the valve inside as high as it would go.

There was a low rumble from the fountain, until all of a sudden water shot forth from the fountain with the force of a fire hose. The stranger’s hose suddenly sprang to life, thrashing about with it’s hapless handler being tossed through the air.

He could no longer keep his grip. The stranger let go of the hose and landed outside the fountain, face down on one of the tables. Looking up, he saw that he was only inches from a plate of sauerkraut.

“That was close,” he said to himself.

The sight of the mayor rushing toward him snapped him to alertness. He sprang to his front hooves, just as the mayor’s cane crashed down on the table. Another swing from the cane, and the stranger’s hooves were taken out from beneath him.

He looked as the mayor raised his cane to break his face.

Quick as lightning, the stranger threw the plate of sauerkraut he nearly landed on at the mayor, who gagged as the wilted cabbage dish dribbled down his face.

The stranger rolled off the table and backpedaled into the open square, where the crowd parted to allow him movement.

The mayor was upon him in an instant, swinging his cane with a fury and speed of a griffin half his age.

The stranger hopped to avoid each hit, bringing to the crowd’s mind a kind of jig. One that the stranger had clearly danced many times.

The mayor thrusted his cane in the stranger’s chest, hitting home and knocking the wind out of him. He then cracked him on the head, struck him on the hoof, and jabbed him again in the chest for good measure.

With no thought, as the stranger staggered back he reached his hoof out to his side, and caught the cabbage he had juggled before. The one that never came down when he had thrown it up in the air when he first arrived in town. Surprised by the happenstance, he could not meditate on it, as the mayor thrusted his cane again.

The stranger spun out of the way and threw the cabbage at the mayor’s head, allowing it to bounce back into his hooves to throw at Knuckle Duster, who was trying to attack him from behind.

In the crowd, Ghi watched as the stranger juggled the cabbage between his two opponents. Seeing one pony stand up to the tyrants who had oppressed the griffins of Greifberg for so long inspired something within herself. Something that made her want to do something to help the best chance for normalcy that had come in a long time.

Ghi picked up one of the cabbages that had fallen from a table and whistled for the stranger’s attention.

“More cabbage!” she shouted, as she hurled the vegetable to the stranger.

The cabbage barely touched the stranger’s hooves, before he threw it at his opponents. He kept a perfect rhythm of catching, throwing and dodging as he was attacked from both sides.

Knuckle Duster batted one of the cabbages back to the stranger, hitting him directly in the face and sending him flying backwards.

It was only his incredible sense of equilibrium that allowed the stranger to stay upright when he landed. He stumbled and saw the mayor toss the other cabbage to Knuckle Duster, who batted it as well.

The stranger somersaulted backward and caught the flying vegetable in his rear hooves. He placed one hoof atop the cabbage as his opponents both charged him, and kicked it forth with a precision that made it hit them both at once.

The crowd cheered at the display as if it truly were a performance.

As Ghi readied to throw more cabbage into the fray, another griffin’s voice stopped her.

“Mehr kohl!”

From somewhere in the crowd, more cabbages were thrown to the stranger, who caught and threw them at his opponents with ease.

As he dodged more of the flying projectiles, Knuckle Duster caught sight of the cabbage cart where the stranger’s ammo was coming from. He snorted loudly, lowered his horns and charged toward the wagon.

The crowd cleared out of his way, as the bull crashed into the cart, destroying it and sending its contents rolling away.

“Nicht mein Kohlwagen!” one griffin shouted, lamenting the loss of his cabbage cart.

The griffins scrambled to recover the juggler’s weapons, but were knocked aside by Knuckle Duster as he rejoined his employer to fight the upstart pony.

The mayor swung his cane over and over, barely missing the stranger each time. Whenever his opponent moved to another cabbage, he quickly batted it away.

The stranger looked frantically around for something else to use, but found himself at a loss as his opponents closed in on him.

“Stühl!” another griffin’s voice shouted.

The crowd parted, allowing a chair to be pushed into the fight.

The stranger looked at the chairs, and felt a sudden sense of relief. He was armed again.

Knuckle Duster raised his bat as the stranger climbed onto the back of a chair and balanced on one hoof. The bull felt nothing as his bat sailed between the chair and the jumping pony, who landed with pinpoint precision on the chair again to spin it around and smash down on his opponent’s hoof.

The stranger fell over backwards, chair and all to dodge beneath the swing of the mayor’s cane from behind, grabbing the mayor from the ground, the stranger swung him into the chair and sat him up, just as Knuckle Duster was swinging again.

Time stopped for the bull, as he felt his bat connect with his employer, who went spinning away on a broken chair.

When the mayor fell to the ground, he raised his head to glare violently at Knuckle Duster, who knew he was in for something far worse than what they planned for the stranger.

“Platten!” another voice called from the crowd.

The stranger deftly made his way to where he saw something flying into the arena and caught what he found to be a stack of plates.

The moment he landed, he tossed the plates up and started throwing them from the bottom of the stack at his opponents.

Some of the plates hit their mark, but others were blocked or deflected, sending the broken shards flying.

The griffin and minotaur inched closer to the stranger, who had to roll between them as they both swung at him.

The stranger stood back up and tossed one plate behind himself and used his rear hoof to push it into the mayor’s face.

The mayor backpedaled, as the stranger shuffled back on three legs, keeping the plate in his face.

Knuckle Duster swung his bat over and over at the stranger, missing every time he bobbed to the side.

The mayor grabbed the stranger by his ankle and spun him around, winding up his cane to swing.

The stranger kicked his outstretched leg into Knuckle Duster’s stomach, shattering the plate against his abs. Before the mayor could attack him, he launched forth the stack of plates that were balanced on his head, hitting the mayor in the beak.
Knuckle Duster grabbed the pony’s neck from behind and picked him up. When they were eye to eye, he took a moment to squeeze a little harder, before he threw the stranger forward.

The stranger hit hard against the maypole, making the tassels that were tied around it wave.

He rolled to an upright position, and saw a double image of Knuckle Duster charging him with his horns lowered.

Not sure which one was the real minotaur, the stranger pivoted on his flank to behind the maypole.

The pole rattled and shook violently as Knuckle Duster’s head slammed directly into it.

Stars filled the vision of the bull, and it was only more clouded by the falling tassels that he had shaken loose.

The stranger stumbled back, wowed by the sight of the colorful tassels that filled his double vision. If only his life weren’t in such danger, he would have had time to enjoy it.

He wobbled forward, just in time to stumble out of the way of the mayor’s slashing talons and a subsequent swing of his cane. Another attack and the stranger spun around, easily dodging the blow as he spun around to face the mayor.

His vision was slowly coming into focus, and he saw the mayor’s hateful eyes planted squarely upon him. It was then that the stranger realized that only one of them was going to leave the town.

Sensing danger, he dropped to the ground as Knuckle Duster took a swing at the back of his head.

The mayor’s cane came down, and the stranger pivoted on the top of his head to dodge the hit, then dropped again to dodge Knuckle Duster’s bat.

It was not long before the pony was entangled in the loose tassels of the maypole. A situation that his opponents took full advantage of.

Knuckle Duster kicked the stranger, sending him sprawling around and tangling him up in the tassels so that he was suspended in the air.

The mayor was the first to take a swing at him, only landing a glancing blow as the stranger twisted his body.

He swung toward Knuckle Duster, who landed a more solid hit that sent the pony swinging around the maypole entirely. He turned around to face the pony again, his bat at the ready.

Unknown to him or the mayor, the stranger had prepared for them.

As the pony came swinging back around, he gathered more of the tassels in one of his outstretched hooves. By the time he arrived back at his opponents, he loosened himself to lower himself beneath Knuckle Duster’s bat.

The tassels that he held made the stranger whirl around the arms of his bovine adversary, tying him up tightly. He then swung back around to get the bull around his waist and hoist him up to hogtie his ankles.

Without touching the ground, the stranger twisted and contorted through the dangling maypole tassels to dodge the mayor’s attacks. He caught the old griffin’s cane in a tassel and yanked it out of his talons, then threw the tangled cane around.

The mayor lashed out with his talons, determined to slice the pony who had disrespected and flouted his rule of the town.
One miss and the mayor’s wrist was wrapped in a tassel. Before the old griffin could cut himself free, he was struck in the back of his head by his own cane, which was still swinging around the maypole.

The stranger took full advantage of his opponent’s stunned state and tangled him in more of the tassels, until the mayor looked like a festive butterfly cocoon. Once he was done, he swung forth with his hooves extended, crashing into the mayor and sending him into the hanging Knuckle Duster.

Griffin and minotaur went spinning around the maypole, getting ever closer as the length of their tassels was wrapped around the center.

The crowd of griffins saw their chance. They all took the tassels around the pole and began dancing in a circle, as though the festival were going on as normal. Even the band started playing again, as the two tyrants were tightly wrapped up. In several minutes that felt only like seconds, the entire length of each tassel was wrapped against the maypole.

One griffin from the crowd rolled in an empty cabbage cart, and the maypole was lifted from the ground. Without any regard to the two creatures tied to it, the pole was slammed roughly into the cart and rolled out of the square, and down the main street. Crowds of griffins danced and cheered on the sides of the street as the cart was rolled to the edge of town. Finally, they all watched as the cart was pushed down the winding and bumpy road down the hillside, where it splashed into the distant river. They all continued to watch it, until the cart with its unwilling passengers floated out of sight.

In the fountain square, the stranger was overwhelmed with the cheers and congratulations he was getting from every griffin in town. Most excited of all was Ghi, who clung tightly with her talons around the stranger.

“You’ve done it! In less than an afternoon, you’ve rid us of those Tyrannen!” Ghi said.

“Thanks,” the stranger answered, his breath shaking. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ll be glad when this festival’s over.”

“Over? This festival is only beginning! And der rest of it is dedicated to you,” Ghi said, before turning to the crowd. “Zum Helden der Tag!”

“Zum Helden der Tag!” the crowd refrained.

The music resumed, more lively and jovial than ever. And for the rest of the day, the town celebrated as they never had before. The cache of crops was recovered from the mayor’s mansion, and the preparations were made in case the tyrants ever tried to return. All thanks to the witless nopony who dropped into their midst.

“There is one thing I vish to know,” Ghi said, as she danced with the stranger, “I haven’t yet learned your name.”

“My name?” the stranger said. “Well, I’m just Nopony.”

Author's Note:

Written by Wingdingaling. If you want to read more of Wingdingaling click the link below.

https://www.fimfiction.net/user/209410/wingdingaling

Wingdingaling author's note: What a fun little story this was to write. The whole idea for this story was actually from a few years ago. I wrote a completely different story with a similar premise, and a reader commented on how that one part would be awesome as a standalone. So, I took a crack at making it a standalone story. I’m actually pretty pleased with the result.
The basic premise for this was like those old time pulp adventure stories with a lone adventurer who travels from place to place. In this case, I added my own personal twist and made the usual hardened warrior into a dull-witted street performer.
The main character in this story was one that I already used once before, and I’ve been wanting to use him again. With this story, the opportunity presented itself. And just in case any of you guessed that the mare he’s looking for is Rarity, I say ‘Close, but no cigar.’ Who is this mare? That may be revealed if this character ever appears again.
Originally, I was going to write all of the characters’ dialogue in the same language. However, I wanted to convey the idea that this guy was way far away from his home. So, the character ended up speaking German. I hope I didn’t mess up the language too badly. So, if there are any native German speakers reading this, sorry about that.
There was some stuff that didn’t make it into this story. Originally, the fight scene was going to be much longer. Like, it was going to go up to the rooftops and into buildings. There was also going to be a griffin who tossed him a pair of fencing swords, and the joke was that Nopony looks at them and wonders ‘what am I supposed to do with these?’ He was then going to use them in every way but as swords. In the end, all of that was cut out since it would have made the story close to 12,000 words long. And I don’t like to make chapters that long unless I really have a reason to.
Here’s hoping to seeing Nopony again in the future. Rock on \m/