Fallout Equestria : New Bridle : High Kingdom

by RoyrenRoxx

Ch. 3; Then it was only this?

Short Note: Fuck. I'm a terrible writer. Took me at least 6 tries to figure out where these two were going. Excuse any mistakes; still in need of a spare pair of eyes to double check grammar and spelling for chapter drafts. Don't forget about the Google Doc File, which I not only keep up to date with on edits and chapters, but contains more content as well.

Edited the Perk in Chapter 2, for those keeping track of High Kingdom's progress. Also having upload problems where perk text randomly disappears, so if you see an empty perk without detail, give me a moment to fix it.

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“Then it was only this? And the dream cools."
-Rimbaud, Vigils

CHAPTER THREE

The end. I never figured it could all be over in a number of hours. When my mother wakes, she won’t find me in the meadows, like the rest of the ponies my age. I will be like Sun Eye’s beloved partner, lost and never to be found, beyond the hills of home. Except nopony will remember me for the flights in which I flew; only the heights in which I fell.

It isn’t the cold that kills me, or the sudden stop at the end of the fall. It’s something worse, stuck inside of me. I’m not afraid of being banished from the snow valleys anymore. I have already found exile.

What is the punishment for murder? I don’t know. Did I commit it? Murder. I learned that word from Wind Glass. They’d murder us if they knew. What exactly makes a murder? Is it the same as euthanization? It means to end somepony. To cause their death unnaturally. I had caused a crime I barely even knew about. What about execution? Is it the same as murder? Or is it something more precise, something to be done with a straight grass blade of light known as a laser? There was nothing precise about Wind Glass’ end. Only reckless.

The words stuck in my head as I laid in my grave of snow, the sky burying me as I stared above at the floating city. Here lies a reckless colt, fallen from the shadow of heaven into the valley of death. Taught better, but acted worse. The storm was calm down here, no more than a distant whinnie and the blanket it quietly laid down. Yes, I think this is a good place to lay down and die. There are no more cries, no more yelling, no more screams, only silence.

As I drifted, buried deeper and deeper in the snow, a figure in the distance came for me. I had always imagined, when a pony died, Celestia would swoop down in her excellence and fly their spirit away. Or maybe Luna would come to him or her, and carry their souls down a calm spring stream off to the beacons in the skies. As the figure drew closer and closer, I could see my visitor was neither, lacking the prismatic mane or the dark sky trail of either sister. Through the flurries of snow, I saw the image of a tall pony above me, her fur without color, a great big black muzzle leaning towards me to inspect. Great silver wings shined on her back, folded and motionless. I sighed, still and docile.. Perhaps this pony was the least known of her ancient sisters, the one who came to the lost and carried them down the cold river of Styx when all others refused. Red poppy eyes looked upon me, measuring from my hooves to my soul. Her neck bent, and in grace, pulled me from the snow.

“Blessed is she in all of the ways, for thou art one who comes when all has left.” I whispered the prayer, mumbled my graces. The tall figure grunted, grabbing my shoulder and carrying me out from where I had fallen.

Carry wasn’t the word as much as dragged was.

Unlike dreams of being lifted into the skies by sun or moon goddess, my visitor didn’t fly. No, she trudged through the snow, dragging me along, until I could stumble back on numb legs and hobble. She placed no wing around me to keep me warm, pushing me further and further with that black muzzle of hers. No words were spoken. Just trudging.

Where are we going? Into the blizzard she led me further, her unwavering steps leading towards a definite direction. Her supernatural refusal to even acknowledge the strongest winds showed in the fact that our path through the snow was perfectly straight, unlike a flight path that obeyed a thousand curves. Where we had begun our journey, the snow had risen past the barrel of our chests, a layer of thin cracking ice below our hooves stopping us from sinking a full neck further into an older, much deeper layer of frost. Even then, with this thin ice layer, every other hoof broke through and sank further than the rest, some sinking far enough that the stranger or I couldn’t free ourselves without help.

I didn’t bother asking where we were headed, even after the gusts died down and left us with silence again. There was nowhere left to go; the sky city was lost to the clouds above us now, and home was far behind. Just snow drift after snow drift, chills shaking our bones and hardening our hides. Once or twice, the stranger sank a little too far into the snow, her weight much greater than I; with grunts, I pushed against her rear until she found sure footing. Other times, when I found myself too deep to climb out, she merely grabbed me by my mane and began dragging me until I stumbled to my hooves all over again.

When the sound of trudging through snow became the familiar clip clop of steps upon rock, the blizzard was no more than a few spare flakes, the air clear enough for me to finally see my guide. Though I had loose expectation about whichever pony would greet me on my deathbed, she had to be the most alien thing I had ever seen.

Her mane wasn’t long as a normal mare’s, not flowing or soft or that light look of being wind tossed. Instead, it stood straight, short and curving around her head like the blade of an axe, hair just as notched as the tool’s edge. Her coat was patterned, something I had never seen before. Originally, I saw only black outlines leading me through the snow, a ghostly figure barely formed. Now, I could see that the mare was a solid white under those stripes, making her look anything but ghostly with how sternly she was set. Her silver wings were truly of metal, but not like wings I had ever seen before; they were featherless, tube shaped, with mechanisms and gears all mounted on that weighty saddle of hers. I doubted that she could use them to fly at all; they had to be too heavy, heavier than even she. Their purpose stayed unknown to me.

We walked side by side now, no longer forced to trail in a line through the snow as we began our ascent up a cliffside. When the wind and snow died, the desire to speak to her became overwhelming. But I couldn’t gather the courage to. In my grief, I was silent. In her silence, there was grief.

Above us was the familiar moon, lighting our path with a pale face. Her celestial glow began to dim, as sister sun awoke along the horizon. Our dark path turned gold, skies above losing their dress of stars to a blue abyss. Looking back, our trail through the snow was long, but soon lost. We had left the valley below High Kingdom, where all the ill winds had left their omens. Now, we were slipping through the cracks that leaked from it’s bowl.

No more soft hills awaited, our path beginning to wind through a deep ravine, forcing us to travel on narrow cliff sides. By now, we were far West, and farther South, of where home had been.

Was the mare truly Death? She had a dreading look to her, a burden that anchored her much heavier than the wings on her back. Her black and white coat enforced her surreal appearance, the striped pattern so alien, it had to belong to a pony from the other side. Even her eyes were not of this world.

I had called them poppies earlier, with their red faces and dark seed centers set in those thickly lined eyelids. Now, in the clarity we had together, her eyes had grown bloodshot, her iris a round gathering of all that bleeding redness, draining down the empty black hole of her pupil.

Our path narrowed, hoofsteps sending pebbles off the edge of the cliff path and down into the steep ravine. Ice patched the ground. As I began a descent down a slope, my hoof slipped.

“Child!” The Striped Mare knocked the wind out of my lungs with a lunge, catching me before I slid off the ledge. A grimace of white teeth greeted me on her muzzle, with a low growl of a lecture rising between those gritted jaws of hers, “Only so many times I can save you when in ail. Next time, I will drag you back up by your tail.”

I opted to cling to the cliff face and keep my eyes forward from then on.

We took shelter in one of the caves that pock marked a bend, curling up in the darkness. The fall hadn’t broken any of my legs, but my wing had gone numb, and my ribs cried with every breath. The Striped Mare prodded where the pain thrived, pulling from her pack strips of tough brown material that she did her best to bind me up with. Other than that, I could only chew on my lips to settle the pain.

Our shelter didn’t improve after mending my wounds.The day after, we huddled under a miserable lean. Then, when a flurry overcame us, an outright ditch. We talked occasionally, but kept it to simple matters. How’s the weather today? Fucking cold. What’s for breakfast? Tussock grass. Oh, my favorite!

Occasionally, the Striped Mare mumbled something that sparked my interest. She’d look to the stars and curse in a strange language, or stand still on a cliff side and let out a deep cry. She wasn’t the only one going mad. One day, we settled in a small clearing, not exactly a meadow, but the closest we would ever come to one. As we laid, resting, I couldn’t contain myself; I let out a long, sharp howl. Winnie, are you still out there? Did someone come to save you too? Are you in these frozen plains with me, somewhere!? Or are you really gone? Winnie-

“Where do ponies go when they die?”

The striped mare turned towards me, her eyes tiredly lidded, “Sleep.” And she laid her head down into the bent defeat of slumber, both of us tucked into a measly nook between two rocks.

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

“What is that?”

“What is what, child?”

“That thing in the distance. I’ve never seen one before. Is it natural?”

“No; it is a relic of the old world. A tower made of steel.”

“Why does it make that sound?”

“Wind makes metal squeal.”

It stood higher than the bare, gnarled trees, a winding path of narrow steps leading upwards to a cylinder shape. I put my hoof on one of the many grilled slabs, reminiscent of the steps that had lead downwards, deep into the vault. But these went upwards, up to the sky!

“Is there shelter at the top?” I began my ascent, climbing up the side of the steel tower.

“A room, perhaps. The day is growing cold,” She looked at the sky, the sun at the very rim of the horizon, “... but I do not think our weights this can hold.” Metal screeched underneath, but I continued. If it lasted this long in the tundra’s dauntless gusts, why would it fall now?

“It doesn’t look bad. C’mon, maybe it’ll be warm up there. It’s not too far up.” We had to be... I don’t even know how high, but Godesses be praised! It was euphoric, looking down and seeing all those steps below. I lifted my wing the best I could, despite how limp it felt, letting my feathers catch a breeze, “We’re halfway to the top.”

“Child, slow down, we must take care. Dangerous things-”

“We’ll be safe up there.” I took the steps two at a time - three! What was at the top of these steps? In that room? Besides shelter, of course.

I landed at the topmost steps, facing an arched entrance that led to blackness. Stepping over a slab of wood on the ground before it, entering the pitch blackness of the room, it took awhile for my eyes to adjust from the blinding whiteness to the absolute darkness.

Terminals like those in the stable lined the walls, except their surfaces were reddened with rust. Black screens were cracked, some caved in. Old world things laid strewn all around the room, as if gusts had gathered here continuously for the past century, blown out windows failing to keep them out. I began to salvage through all the debris.

My eyes were drawn to a tattered image hung on the wall, picturing winged ponies in dark colors, their eyes covered in yellow glass. Grins lit their faces, but that didn’t help them look friendly. In fact, they seemed a nasty bunch. What drew my attention most about the ponies, past those unsettling grins and purple black coats, was that they had two wings - two! A pair of feathers! They could fly on their own! A few bolted across the background.

VICTORY: Just A Wing Beat Away!

Victory... over what?

I continued my search through the room. Unearthing piles of broken crates and overturned things, I cracked open a wooden box, the wood giving after a single kicks. Out spilled small, metal pieces the size of teeth. Their tips were rounded, their ends flat, and a single one weighed very little in my hoof. Whatever they were, if they were indeed teeth, they wouldn't have been much use for chewing through anything. From what I could tell, they were harmless. Fascinating, but harmless.

“Look,” I called out, “You have to see this stuff. It’s so weird. Who made it? Why?” There was a loud creak, the wind whistling. The Striped Mare stood in the doorway. She stared, taking in the room, a stunned look on her face.

After a long pause, she spoke. “Answers that lurk in bones should be left among them.” The floor screeched with her steps, “Please, take care-”

“Ow!” My hoof throbbed where it had hit against something. “There’s something under all these broken pieces and debris.”

“Leave it be, child-”

“I saw something like this before.” It was a small rusty box, a machine so similar to the one I had listened to in the Stable. I hesitated... “You think... this is the same stallion? From the Stable? More of his words?”

The striped mare stood still, at a distance across the room, niether shaking or nodding her head. I pressed one of the various buttons, letting the machine’s voice spill out.

“This is Lightning Strike, broadcasting from Prancesylvanian Watchout Sierra Whiskey Tree. Report: Cumulusburg still out of contact; skies have been shut down. Mulebach out of contact; Stable closed. Mountiasch out of contact; train shipment from Mountiasch no reported passing. Dashburg out of contact. Broos out of contact, Stable has sent no confirmed closed signal. Russetmarkt has fallen.

“Requesting help. Requesting help from any pony out there. Storms have fallen on Prancesylvanian. Attempts to fly out have failed; scout Cloud Flicker missing for 3 days since expected return from departure. Please. We’re alone out here. It’s so cold, and we’re so alone.”

Lightning Strike’s voice couldn’t hide the quivering voice cracks, no matter how sternly the mare tried to speak. When the message finished, I shivered. Then, her voice picked up again,

“This is Lightning Strike, broadcasting from Prancesylvanian Watchout Sierra Whiskey Tree. Report: Cumulusburg still out of contact...”

We slept in the tower, after having erected the wood slab we found on the ground before to block the open entrance the best we could. Between the whistling wind, the creaking tower, and the soft mumble of Lightning Strike, I can’t say I slept well, but I did eventually sleep. The Striped Mare had tried to silence Lightning Strike’s voice the best she could, smashing the metal box into bits. But, amidst crackles, her voice still carried through.

I woke hours before the Striped Mare did, eventually crawling out from the pile of gathered rags and papers we curled into last night. Pushing down the wood slab, I exited our shelter, standing at the top of the tower’s spiralling steps. The sun had risen, a red blotch on the distant horizon. For miles around, there was nothing but the sharp white beaks of the endless mountain ranges. At least, almost; as I gazed south of the tower, down where the rails led, the range broke. Beyond, I saw a white flatness. Was that where we were heading?

When I returned inside, the Striped Mare was still asleep. I continued my search from yesterday, salvaging along the terminals this time. I pulled out a few drawers, small shiny round things clattering around. Their rims were rigid, and they bent easily when bitten, but otherwise, I found no use for them.

There were switches in the wall, some that I flipped, others where the lever had been ripped off entirely. Most of the morning was uneventful from there, until I came across a rather particular button. A clear case had been shielding it, though it was riveted with cracks. With a single hit, I removed the case, revealing the button to the open. I pressed it.

One of the terminal screens along the wall lit up, intermittent clicking sounds coming from it. A light beeped beside it, and a whirr sound began. Confused, I looked around the room, the old machines struggling to come to life.

“Wh-what’s happening? Everything’s turning on!” I turned around, the Striped Mare having snapped awake and already rising to her feet.

“What have you done!?” Her poppy eyes fixed on me, before turning to glare at the source for the growing sources of sounds.

“I just... I don’t know!” I panicked, running to one of the lit terminals. The screen filled with strange symbols. I hit my hooves against an array of buttons, but to no avail. Across the room, the Striped Mare rose on her back legs, before bringing her front hooves smashing down on a noisy machine. She repeated the process, reducing the surviving remainder of the room to ruin.

As we moved, a terrible sound screeched from the floor beneath our hooves, far worse than the clamor of machines around us. The ground gave out, and the bustle of noise turned into the whistle of wind. I shouted out, limbs flailing for something to stand on.

Footnote:
Level Up! Lvl 3
Perk Gained!

Clumsy Catastrophy: Falling is only in your nature, especially in the wake of destructive events! You take less damage from environmental hazards to help cope with being the cause of said hazards in the first place. (Excludes RAD poisoning).

Skills Gained

Survival +8

Medicine +5

Comments

[Shady Steps]

i get all upset and go to look at my pc and what is this? an update? Roy you spoil me!

(p.s i am worst pre reader ever)

[RoyrenRoxx]

2544312

going to sleep my fucking ass
every time, shady. every time |:<<

nonetheless, glad you could read it x3 let me know what you think next time we run into each other

[Shady Steps]

2544317

I CANT HELP IT! i go to bed then im like "fuck this shit is dull" so i go do stuff then i don't sleep then people go "AHHH HE IS A VAMPIRE!!!" and then i get reminded of that crap book and i get sad and i start to cry and then i go to bed.... thus the cycle begins anew.