Ugly Luck arrives all the same.

On a particularly overcast day in the wonderful land of Equestria, on a muddy road in the wooded countryside, laid a peculiar creature, it's cruel burlap face like that of a horrid scarecrow, a sewn mouth forming a permanent wicked smile. Not to mention its long, Pinocchio-esq nose. Overall? Very menacing looking. Not the sort you’d invite inside for dinner.

Judging by the creature’s shape and limbs, one could surmise that it was bipedal… And that It wasn’t supposed to be lying face down in the mud.

The strange beast was cloaked in a rather intimidating garb. A dark hooded cloak fit snugly upon its shoulders, and its burlap face seemed to simply radiate an ominous sense of danger. But, luckily, all that escaped its sewn maw was a sudden groan as the creature rose.

This was a human. Not just any human. It was a no-good rogue by the name of Dugald Mac-Cain… Not that anyone knew that of course. His identity was a well-kept secret! Those that knew his name only knew him by the many he held. Crowson, Marlow The Miscreant, Man in the Mischief, Slaggo, among many others. But his personal favorite was Wormwood.

But I’m getting off track, aren’t I? Back to the story!

Dugald brushed large sloppy chunks of mud from his cloak as he looked around the road he found himself standing on. It was your standard road, at least from his perspective. Muddy, damp, and a chore to walk on. After a few moments of looking left and right, he held the chin of his mask between his thumb and his finger.

Now this was peculiar…

Dugald didn’t remember where he was.

Now, that wouldn’t exactly be a cause for concern, save for the fact that Dug had a pretty good memory. Not that he’d brag (he would) of course, but Dugald rarely forgets things. Especially something as important as, oh, I don’t know… One’s own location? Now admittedly, there were a variety of reasons as to WHY he would forget, and he quickly went through them.

Somebody got the jump on ol’ Dugald. Incredibly unlikely. The man practically had eyes on the back of his head, honed through years of slum-dwelling and dealing with his kindred.

He was drugged and dragged here. Even more unlikely, if you’d believe it. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody slipped something in his drink… But usually that ends with Dugald either waking up nearly ass-naked in an alleyway, or in prison. Seeing as how neither of these results fit his current situation, he chucked that theory in the proverbial pig-pen.

Fae mischief. Also improbable. He had a ward after all! Dugald patted down the pocket he held it in and released a small sigh of relief. It was still there. He didn’t want to have to owe another fairy his first-born… Though he got out of that first debt easily enough. The look on her face when he dropped his trousers was priceless. After all, why wait when you can just make the first-born then and there?

Chuckling dumbly to himself, Dugald ruled that out. Now, those three guesses were all wrong, and those three were the first assumptions he always rolled back to whenever he suddenly woke up someplace new… And yet, none seemed to apply. Looking to his left, Dug let his hand rest on his trusty mourning star whip for a sense of comfort.

The grim looking weapon was made from the sinew of countless Bog Noblins, vile creatures that thrived in the swamps and woodlands of his homeland. Disgusting beasts, really. Their skin was rough and warty, their hair orange and wiry. Like men, they stood on their feet, but always at a slouch. No two Bog Noblins were ever the same, and each one was always as ugly or uglier than the last. The whip was made from the tendons and sinew of a particularly nasty tribe, one that his ancestors had quite the grudge with. His great, great grandfather made the thing as a show of intimidation, and because the sinew of Bog Noblins is so durable, it made for a surprisingly effective weapon. Especially with the mace head that hung from the end of it.

And so, After his Great Great Grandfather died, the whip was passed on to his eldest son, and then his son’s son, then Dug’s father, and now Dugald himself. The whip, lovingly named ‘Bogbane’, had quite a storied life, one that Dug intended to add to.

Patting its femur-like handle, Dugald began to walk down the muddy road, eyeing the bushes and trees as he went. Gloomy weather aside, it was a pretty good day so far! After all, he woke up with his throat intact and his belongings still on his person, And to Dugald, that made for a pretty fine way to start your morning. Though coffee and rum never hurt.

That, and Dugald was quite a fan of this sort of weather. He never quite knew why. Whether it was nostalgia or his own proclivities, it was a mystery the man was content with never finding the answer to. But one mystery that currently puzzled him was; How did he get here? The thought nagged at him as he stomped through the mud of the road, just as the rain began to come down on him.

The pitter patter on his hood and shoulders was like a balm to his slowly mounting concern, and the smell of petrichor in the air reminded him of a song his father used to sing him during days like this…

And so, he began to hum that little song, his eyes growing slightly misty behind his mask as he whisked himself away to simpler times.

Dugald didn’t know how long he had been walking when the smell of smoke suddenly stung his nose. The man stopped and looked around for the source, and he soon caught a glimpse of a black pillar of smog rising from somewhere in the forest. That could hardly be good.

A little further down the road was a fork, a signpost in the midst of it. Picking up his pace to read its directions, his suspicions were confirmed. That smoke came from a village by the name of ‘Riverbend’. The man looked down the road in the direction of the village, his hand gripping the handle of his whip as he weighed his choices.

Did he feel like helping? Not particularly. Dugald didn’t really feel like getting tangled up in some kind of bandit-raid drama.

Did he need supplies? Checking the pouch on the left side of his waist, the answer was yes. His jerky was gone, and so was his medicine. Things he desperately needed for travel. Maybe he’d be able to…

No.

If he was right, then the village down the road just got pillaged. It would be needlessly cruel to take from them. They’ve already lost enough. Heaving a sigh, Dugald started down the road that led to the burning village, his pace fast and silent despite the mud.

Hopefully these bandits were the idiotic kind. After all, only the idiots would send such a blatant message to any possible authorities that they were ransacking the place. Dugald could deal with the idiotic types. A simple show of force was all that was needed. Maybe kill their leader in some gruesome fashion. That’s what Bogbane was for.

But, if it were the bloodthirsty kind, the ones who had enough men and arms that they needn’t worry about soldiers… Now that would make things much trickier. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. He didn’t exactly have the means to patch himself up right now. So, he’d either have to count on his lucky tooth, or get ready for a tedious fight.

Soon enough, Dugald arrived at the village proper, and what he saw… Surprised him. And that’s putting it mildly, as he immediately ducked into some nearby bushes to observe.

In the village were a bunch of roughed up little horses, with coats that seemed to reflect the colors of the rainbow. There were little horses that had WINGS and were FLYING, and horses who had HORNS and were using MAGIC TO LEVITATE RUBBLE INTO PILES, and horses that had NEITHER who carried debris that their bodies looked ENTIRELY INCAPABLE OF CARRYING.

For one of the few incredibly rare times in his life, Dugald was stunned. He thought he’d seen some strange things in his time, but nothing, NOTHING, compared to what he was seeing now. Not only were their abilities astounding, but they were intelligent! They spoke with each other, using their hooves like he would his hands to gesticulate as they likely discussed what just happened.

The mood was somber, and these cute little horses looked so downtrodden that it almost broke Dugald’s heart. Now, this scene isn’t unfamiliar to him. He’s had the unfortunate privilege to accidentally stumble upon towns or villages that had just gone through a pillage, and he had to bear witness to those living there bury their dead, or weep over their kidnapped kin.

Though it’d seem that the only weeping these miniature horses did was over smashed stalls and destroyed produce. There was no blood, no corpses. Quite a few houses had been burned down, and the poor creatures looked like they had been beaten black and blue by the invaders.

A twinge of anger plucked at Dugald’s chest.

Normally, Dug wouldn’t be too torn up about something like this. Is it unfortunate? Yes. Was it often quite tragic? Absolutely. But the folks he’d witness grieve were strangers. People he didn’t know. And while the tragedy sometimes plucked at his heart strings, he never felt too strongly about what had happened. It was simply how the world worked, unfortunately.

But… Seeing these cute, innocent looking horses so distraught over the loss of their homes and livelihoods… Suffice to say, it put Dugald in a sour mood. The wonderful scent of petrichor was gone as well, replaced by the smell of burning wood and broken hearts. So, Dugald would do what very few of his kindred would even consider doing.

He would offer his help. Free of charge.

But not right now, of course. He probably looked like the dastardly brigands who pillaged the place. Dugald would have to introduce himself decisively, on his own terms. As a Luck Ugly should.

Luck Uglies. The mysterious, infamous brotherhood that Dugald belonged to, full of outlaws, rogues, and thieves. Their rules and codes of honor were many, known only by the initiated. Their reputation was, of course, rather ugly. You were as likely to get robbed as you were to receive aid from a Luck Ugly, and the rumors that circulated around him and his kindred were often wild and, unfortunately, not exaggerated. The crazy things his Brotherhood is known for is what gave them such an ugly reputation in the first place.

Slinking away from the bushes beside the road before the colorful horses could spot him, Dugald hid himself within the shrouding bosom of the forest, and began to scout around the village until an opportunity for an introduction showed itself.

This was gonna be a long day.

–===========--

Melon Twist was angry.

And for all the right reasons! What colt wouldn’t be angry after his home got ransacked by a roving band of criminals? The young earth pony paced a trench in the street in front of his mother’s candy/cafe shop, his childhood home and place of work now tattered like a moldy old rag. Its windows were smashed in and the door that once so openly invited customers inside was now hanging crookedly on its hinges.

The sight only made him angrier. But all of that could be repaired. Replaced with time and a bit of elbow grease. The green-coated colt with his melon-red mane plopped on the muddy dirt street and heaved a gargantuan sigh. It was going to be a lot of work, fixing the ol ‘Twisty tattle’ back up. But the Twist family was nothing if not tenacious.

The Twisty Tattle was a two-story building that housed their cafe/candy shop on the first floor, and their actual residence on the second. It had a very pastel taffy-esq aesthetic to it that greatly helped sales when it came to attracting travelers and neighborhood foals. Most of which was now defaced and destroyed.

Melon Twist was pondering the costs of repairs when he heard his mother, Taffy Twist, call out to him from the doorway of the shop.

“Mel, hon, get your flank out of the mud. That’s no place for sitting! You’ll get your uniform all mucked up. We have chairs inside if you’re going to mope.” His mother said sternly, seemingly unfazed by the destruction of the town around them. The amaranth pegasus carried a broom and a dustpan in the grip of her prehensile wings, her grape-colored mane that was once primly curled and lush now somewhat disheveled. Her plum-colored diner uniform was also fairly scuffed up. She hated it when her uniform got dirty.

“I’m not moping, mom. I’m brooding! There’s a difference!” Melon Twist shot back in exasperation, earning himself an amused raise of the eyebrow from his mother.

“Well, when you’re done with that, I need you to sweep up all this broken glass. I’ve got tables to fix and letters to write.” She then turned around and went back inside, leaving the dust pan and the broom by the door for Melon Twist to collect.

Scrunching up his face, the colt adjusted his bowtie and smoothed out the errant strands in his mane, before picking himself up out of the mud and setting to work. Grumpy little Melon Twist dragged himself inside the store, grumbling nasty things about the troublesome outlaws who caused this mess.

As he swept up the broken shards of glass, Melon Twist internally bemoaned the fact that he and his mother were going to have to work twice as hard to make back all the money they lost during the pillage. Not that he hated working hard, no, the problem here was that they were going to use that money to finally move out of this town and into the big city where they could actually make a living.

But no. They just HAD to live in a town that suffered from a bandit problem. And not a very recent one! They’d manage to hide their money well enough for a couple of years now, but these miscreants got crafty. Not only did they get better at avoiding the crown, but they also got better at rifling through houses for hidden stashes of bits!

‘The Braggarts’ is what they called themselves. Fancied themselves honorable thieves. At least when they were speaking. But in action? Just your standard run-of-the-mill criminals. Just a bit-thirsty band of griffons and diamond dogs, with the odd pony here and there.

Their leader, an intimidating minotaur by the name of ‘Grit’, said that their actions were a direct rebellion against the tyrannical Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. Ridiculous notions, of course. The princesses were anything BUT tyrannical. In fact, it was Princess Luna who often visited whenever they’d get raided to help with the rebuilding efforts.

And it was with her Nightguards that she’d hunt down the Braggarts, but they had truly gotten better at hiding. At least Melon Twist had ONE thing to look forward to. The townsfolk loved it when Princess Luna visited. Made them feel cared about. Unfortunately, Princess Celestia was far too busy to visit. But, it was whatever, y’know?

Sweeping the last of the broken glass into the dustpan, Melon Twist gingerly picked it up with his teeth and carefully made his way over to the trash can, which was now slowly getting filled with irreparable pieces of furniture. The colt dumped the glass in, dusted off his hooves, and called out to his mother.

“Mooom! I’m done sweeping!” Melon Twist shouted, of which a reply was quickly granted.

“Good! Now, run along to Betsy’s! Your Aunt and Uncle might need a helping hoof!” His mother shouted back from the kitchen, deeper within the candy/cafe shop. Melon Twist had to suppress a squeal of glee. He loved visiting his Aunt and Uncle. Though they weren’t blood related, they were his mother’s best friends. They often acted as babysitters for him when he was just a foal, and back when his mother was dreadfully busy trying to get the business up and running.

“Okay! Be seein’ ya, ma! Love you!” Melon Twist shouted before galloping out the door, a smile on his face.

Muddied hooves and a good sprint across town later, Melon Twist found his way to the Babbling Betsy, the tavern that his Aunt and Uncle owned and operated. The place was just as smashed up as The Twisty Tattle, which almost wiped the smile from Melon’s face. Those outlaws were ruthless when it came to the businesses. Poor Scone Crust had his bakery burned down because he decided to fight back, and was now a temporary resident at the tavern until his bakery was rebuilt.

And all his broken bones healed.

Most of the business-owning ponies here lived in the same building their businesses were run, mostly due to necessity more than anything. Not that they gave it much mind. Walking through the doorway where a door was supposed to be, Melon Twist was greeted with a sobering sight. Most of the dining/bar area was smashed to pieces, much like Twisty Tattle’s cafe section. Tables were either overturned, smashed in half, or both. The chairs met the same unfortunate fate, scattered about the spacious room like chicken feed.

That’s where he saw his Aunt, River Song, sweeping up broken chair limbs into large, easy to clean piles. She held a broom in her bright green magic as she cleaned. The unicorn mare’s baby blue coat and kelp colored mane were still tidy, unlike his mother’s. Likely because the bandits were too scared of his Uncle to try and push her around like they did with the rest of the townsfolk.

Her face was soured with anger, likely muttering the very same curses Melon Twist did under her breath as she cleaned. Once her cyan eyes caught the green-coated colt, her expression softened significantly.

“Hey Mel! You doing alright, sweetheart?” She asked kindly, her musical voice like a cooling stream of water on Melon Twist’s anger. The colt’s smile returned in full force as he galloped over to wrap his aunt in a firm hug.

“D'aww! Sweet little thing. I hope the bandits didn’t scare you too badly…” River Song said lovingly with a hint of concern, checking over her nephew for any possible injuries. She knew first hoof how rough those villains could be, and there’d be tartarus to pay if they dared harm her sweet little nephew.

“Hehehe! That tickles Auntie! S-S-Stop! HeheHA!” Melon Twist giggled as River Song inquisitively searched his coat for any bruises. The mare’s concentrated expression broke into a smile as the colt under her hooves writhed with laughter, and she couldn’t help but join him with some mischievous giggles of her own.

“Oooh, but I’ve gotta make sure you’re okay! Can’t have my wittle baby nephew all banged up, now can I?” She said jokingly, actually starting to tickle the colt once she made sure there weren’t any bruises. The laughter increased in spades, drawing the attention of a very particular dragon-pony hybrid.

Poking his head out of the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, Melon Twist’s Uncle, Goldrush, soon laid his draconic eyes on the tickle fight that had just broken out between River Song and the colt. His excited chuckle made them both freeze and slowly turn their heads to face the approaching beast.

His mane was wild and fire-like, starting red and ending orange with streaks of yellow in the middle, kept under control by a hair net that was just thrown off. The stallion’s draconic heritage was startlingly apparent, with his claws instead of hooves, slitted irises, the two pointy horns that sprouted from his scalp, and the serrated teeth that gleamed brightly with his smile… The ponies feigned playful fear as they tried to scramble away, but were pulled backwards by Goldrush’s powerful claws.

“Ah’ve got ya now! C’MERE!” The hybrid drawled in his appleloosian accent, thick rubber molds covering the tips of his claws to prevent any accidents as he tickled them both furiously. The ponies squealed and writhed under the brutal tickle assault, tears of mirth streaming down their faces as Goldrush added his laughter to the chorus.

This continued for a solid 2 minutes before once again, they stopped in their tracks when Taffy Twist audibly walked through the threshold of the tavern’s doorway. The trio snapped their attention to the mare and her bemused smile, their expressions like foals who just got caught with their hoof in the cookie jar. They promptly untangled themselves and sat down in a line, looking rather embarrassed.

“I’m just going to assume you all got too caught up in the fun to send me an invitation.” Taffy said jokingly, earning herself awkward chuckles from the three ponies.

“Well, I figured this would happen, so I thought I’d come along and help you three get on track.” The motherly pegasus tutted as she picked up River Song’s broom with a wing. She stared at the three of them, eyebrows raised and waiting for them to join her.

“Come on now, you two are running a tavern. What would happen if customers walked in and saw the state of this place? Chop chop! Let’s get to cleaning!” Taffy Twist scolded, getting mumbled sorries in response. The three ponies got up and started tending to the mess, moving broken furniture and doing what they could to fix the place up.

An hour or two and a setting sun later, they finally finished cleaning. Melon Twist sat hard on the wooden floor, running his hoof across his forehead with a huff. River Song and Goldrush joined him, both sighing in unison. Taffy Twist chuckled and ruffled their heads with her wings, planting a smooch on Melon’s nose, who immediately replied with a ‘blegh!’, furiously rubbing his snout.

The adults shared good-hearted laughter over the colt’s response, before a brick was suddenly thrown through a window, hitting Goldrush right in the head.

“OW!” The dragon-pony hybrid yelped, rubbing his head where the brick made contact. Any normal pony would’ve been knocked unconscious by such a projectile, but he was quite literally built differently. Having a dragon as your biological father came with quite a few perks.

The ponies turned their heads to see who would dare assault the cook of The Babbling Betsy, and their blood collectively ran cold at what they saw (except Goldrush, of course) just outside the tavern.

The Bandit Leader, Grit, and all his cronies. They were back! And so soon? They weren’t scheduled to return for 4 months! A diamond dog with a bag in one paw and a brick in the other grinned devilishly at them from behind the window, ducking away to join its friends.

“What in tartarus do you think you’re doin’ back here so early!? You’ve barely given us time to recover!” Goldrush growled, standing up on his claws and staring death at the leader.

Grit merely smiled down at the dragon-pony, almost benevolently. Though, the minotaur’s eyes told a different story.

“We’ve been hired by a rather generous client to retrieve some merchandise for him. You’ll have to pardon our earliness, we didn’t think we’d be back so soon either.” The minotaur said, his words like honey, but smelling of danger. His gang of thieves and outlaws grinned at them as if they knew something rather funny that the ponies didn’t.

“We don’t have anything else for you to take, so buzz off!” Melon Twist shouted at them, his face tight with fury. Taffy Twist shushed him harshly and stood in front of her son, her wings unfurled to their fullest, her eyes hard and determined.

“Oh, but my little colt, you do… You see, we’ve been hired to acquire as many ponies as we can. Now, we normally don’t deal in trafficking, but… You should’ve seen the amount of zeros in that contract. How could we possibly turn it down?” The minotaur said with a laugh, his smile now toothy as he looked at the ponies with glee, like a farmer would a prized crop.

“Ohoho, no. Yer gonna haf’tah get through ME first, buster!” Goldrush said, fire spurting from his nostrils as he snorted, pawing at the ground with his claw like a horse about to charge. River Song was at his side, looking just as ready to fight.

“Gladly. Boys? Bring them in. And try not to damage the-” Grit was suddenly interrupted by a melodic whistle, one that nobody would recognize as ‘What do we do with a drunken sailor’. The bandits turned around, their feathers and fur all collectively bristling as their instincts screamed at them.

For at the end of the street, stood a bipedal creature, cloaked with a leathery hood. At its back was nothing but darkness, the sun already set. The moon was now beginning to rise, bathing the town in its pale glow, illuminating the intimidating figure with a frightening outline.

“What will we do with a drunken wailer, what will we do, with a drunken wailer...” It sang, its voice masculine and menacing. Even though the song was meant to be a lullaby, it did nothing but inspire fear in everyone present. The bandits looked to their boss for orders, only to find him morbidly entranced.

“What will we do with a drunken wailer~, early in the mor~ning…” He sang, before slowly yet surely advancing, parting his cloak to let dangle what looked to be a mace head on a rope. A bold thief brandished a knife and moved to engage, but Grit stopped him with a hand, his eyes hard.

“Way, hey, and up she rises… Way, hey, and up she rises… Way, hey, and up she rises… Early in the mor~ning…'' The figure began to slowly swing the mace head in an arc, making the rest of the bandits draw their weapons. There were 14 outlaws and only one of him. Little did they know that they were still woefully outnumbered.

“Kick him in a back, and, throw him over, kick him in the back, and, throw him over… Kick him in the back and throw him over, early in the mor~ning…” Finally, Grit allowed one of his fellows to attack when the figure was halfway there. A diamond dog with a short sword rushed the figure, only for the mace to become a blur and a dent to appear where the diamond dog’s face was supposed to be. The mace resumed its slow swinging arc, now splattering crimson blood where the figure walked.

“Feed him to the hungry~ dogs for dinner, feed him to the hungry~ dogs for dinner, feed him to the hungry DOGS for din~ner, early in the mor~ning…” Three more diamond dogs now ran towards him, working as a team to surround the cloaked figure and close in on him with brandished daggers. The mace became a blur again, and domed the first before quickly speeding to cave in the skull of the second. The third lost her nerve and went to flee, but the figure reared it’s hand back, revealing that he wielded a whip!

“Way, hey, and UP she rises~ Way, hey, and UP she rises~ Way, hey, and UP she rises… Early in the MOR~NING…” With a scary amount of control, the figure swung and angled the rope to wrap around the fleeing diamond dog’s throat, dragging the poor creature back towards him as he sang his haunting tune. He took his time with it, increasing his volume as the unarmed thief begged for her life. But it was for naught. Once he got his gloved hands on her, he snapped her neck with a sickening crunch, letting her fall to the ground as he resumed his slow walk.

“WHAT ARE THE REST OF YOU STANDING AROUND FOR!? KILL HIM!” Grit bellowed, sending the rest of his men forward. They were thoroughly terrified, having never seen something so brutal in their lives even though they were criminals for a living. A griffon with a halberd flew up and dived at the figure, only to get knocked out of the sky with the swinging mace. The griffon landed with a crunch, already dead before impact.

“Stab him through the heart with a pois~oned ar~row, stab him through the heart with a pois~oned ar~row, stab him through the heart with a pois~oned ar~row, early in the mor~ning…” The two unicorns in Grit’s crew tried to attack him from a distance, using their magic to lob debris at him with their telekinesis. The figure simply side stepped anything they threw as if he were simply dancing to a tune. With a crack of the whip and another spinning swing of the mace head, one by one they were both dead. They bled out of their mouths and stained the mud red with the rest of their lost comrades.

“Slice his belly with a rusty~ cleaver, slice his belly with a rusty~ cleaver, slice his belly with a rusty~ cleaver, early in the mor~ning…” The figure now drew a gnarled dagger, which even at a glance, one could tell it has seen much use. The final 6 lackeys decided to attack in unison, only to fall one by one to the figure’s blade. Each thrust and slice was lethal as he deftly dodged around them like it was a game. The 6th fell on his rear and tried to crawl away, screaming out to Grit with his paw outstretched, only to be cut short as the figure’s dagger pierced his skull, humming his tune all the while. The figure was now only 10 feet away from the minotaur leader and the ponies.

“Way, hey, and up she rises… Way, hey, and up she rises… Way, hey, and up she rises… Early in the mor~ning…''

Meanwhile, Grit held no illusions that he’d win this fight, so he fell to his knees and clasped his hands together.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I’LL NEVER COME HERE AGAIN, I-I-I SWEAR! I’LL TAKE THE REST OF MY CAMP AND WE’LL LEA-” He began to beg, before his face was grabbed by the figure, silencing him. The minotaur’s blood ran icy cold as he laid eyes upon the burlap face and its malevolent smile, unable to see the eyes behind the mask.

“How many are in the camp?” The figure asked quietly, his voice mischievous and light, as if he were gossiping about something exciting.

“Just eight! Y-you’ll let us go, right? We’ll leave! I SWEAR it! You’ll never see us again!” Grit said, his voice muffled as he spoke through the figure’s gloved hand. Even though the minotaur was taller than him, he felt incredibly small, like the monster before him was as tall as a mountain and meaner than a manticore.

The figure merely chuckled, bringing his bloodied dagger up to Grit’s face and wiping the blood on his cheek to clean it. Sheathing it, he let go of the minotaur’s face.

“Of course. Dead men tell no tales, after all… So tell them, tell them all, that this town is under the protection of The Luck Uglies.” He whispered almost lovingly before standing aside. The second he did so, Grit took off running, as fast as he could. The minotaur didn’t even bother looking at his dead companions, far too consumed with fear as he ran from what could only be a living nightmare.

—======---

Dugald smirked to himself as he watched the minotaur flee from the scene. It was pathetic. He’d met braver mayflies than that sorry excuse for a creature. Honestly! No spine these days. Turning to face the ponies he assumed he just saved, he stopped when he saw just how horrified they looked. Dugald thought for a moment their coats looked a little paler.

“Are you folks alright?” Dugald asked as kindly as he could, wrapping up his whip and returning it to its rightful place on his belt. The only response he got was scared stares.

“Well?” He pressed, leaning forward and tilting his head to the side. Immediately they snapped out of their stupor and began nodding furiously. As he looked at each of them, his gaze lingered on the littlest one, who looked at him not with fear, but with awe.

“What are you?” The colt asked, only to be harshly shushed by the older ponies. Dugald raised his hand, making them flinch and freeze in place. He wanted to speak with the boy. Raising a finger, he made a ‘come here’ motion, and the colt promptly obeyed. The three older ponies visibly bit their lips with worry as he did so.

Ignoring them, Dugald got down on the green colt’s level, looking him in the eye. Of course, he wasn’t about to just divulge his identity. Instead, he’d do as he usually did, and let someone else pick a name for him. Always adding to the legend.

“Hmhm. What do I look like?” Dugald asked without a hint of malice, looking down at the boy with his hands tucked away within his cloak.

“Uhm… You look pretty scary, for one.” The colt said honestly, his eyes inspecting what he could. The only thing he could see though was the burlap mask the figure wore and the somehow spotless cloak.

“Scary it is then. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr…?” Dugald said amiably, fishing for the boy’s name, his hand leaving his cloak to gesticulate in a circular motion for a moment.

“I’m Melon Twist, Mr. Scary, sir.” The colt responded.politely, his elders yet to speak. Melon Twist raised a hoof to point at the ponies who were probably still too scared to introduce themselves.

“The pretty pegasus is my mom, Taffy Twist, the blue one is my auntie, River Song, and the red one is my Uncle, Goldrush.” Melon Twist informed, moving his hoof to the next pony with each quick introduction. Dugald slowly rose and gave them all another look over, before bowing slightly with an incline of his head.

“Fair winds and fine seas to you all. I’d love to stay for supper, but unfortunately, I have some business that I must attend to.” Dugald said, clasping his hands together before sweeping them wide.

River Song and Goldrush looked relieved at this revelation, but Taffy Twist merely gave Dugald a look that said ‘We wouldn’t have invited you anyway’. Chuckling, the man turned and began to walk away… Only to be stopped by Melon Twist, who pulled on his cloak. He knelt to the ground again to meet the boy.

“But… What if they come back?” The colt asked, his face full of worry. Dugald ruffled his mane affectionately before rising again.

“Don’t you worry, lad. They won’t bother you ever again.” Dugald replied. He’d make sure of that.

“Promise?” Melon pressed.

“Promise.” Dugald said gently.

The man turned on his heel and began to walk away once more, glad to be on his way without interruptions. As he reached the forest once again, he looked back to see Melon Twist had followed him, but stayed on the town’s road. The little green colt waved goodbye with a smile on his face. Dugald raised his hand and gave a smaller one, before disappearing into the forest once again to follow Grit.

Now… to see where the rest of them were hiding.

Author's Note:

Heyo! Here I am with another story I'm unlikely to ever continue! But, hey, I felt inspired. So here it is! I hope you enjoy it.

And here are the designs for the main 4 ponies!