Jericho

by Crushric

Chapter 1 — Also Sprach der Engel

Chapter One: Also Sprach der Engel

“Thus spoke the angel.”

Many years ago, I made the monumental mistake of thinking it was a good idea to get out of bed that day. As I stood there, occasional bolts of lightning flashing in the distant night skies, I wondered if I’d made the same mistake this morning. Well, in today’s case, if I’d made the grave error of crawling out from some foxhole I’d dug in the ground the night before. Checking my bags, I tried to recall the last time I’d actually seen a proper bed on my long journey.

I shook my head, forcing the exhaustion-fueled thoughts from my mind, and focused on the problem at hoof. This was the mythical motherland, Equestria, where Princesses Celestia and Luna—fallen angels, as many back home said—ruled. Because that somehow made any sense. Then again, it wasn’t as if two immortal ladies ruling a fairytale kingdom half a world away made any more sense than that one bucket of ice cream that once tried to eat my face off, and I knew for a fact that I’d seen that, so I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt to any myth.

But what I was looking at was no myth. The door before me, light from the building’s windows bathing it in a heavenly glow, was as real as the dirt beneath my hooves. Sounds of semi-drunken merriment from within wafted out through the heavy wooden walls and to my ears. And with the rain pelting my back like a jealous ex-girlfriend pelts your face with mutilated parts of your now-dead cat, I’d rather be inside than out.

I looked up and read the building’s sign: “Ponyville Inn & Tavern.”

Curiosity, plain and simple, had dragged me halfway across the world to this forsaken land, a journey which had taken the better half of a decade. That lust to know had taken me so far into the east that now, mostly but not entirely by coincidence, I was in that mysterious part of the world that was traditionally thought of as being to the west of the Fatherland. Although to be fair, it might or might not have actually been because I had a psychotic hero complex that totally justified excessive violence towards bad ponies since, in all honestly, excessive violence was usually by far your best option when dealing with crazy, evil ponies.

Of course, saying that would make me sound crazy. Which was why, if anyone asked, I was here to see the Equestrian fairyland for myself; to see if those two Princesses existed, if they truly were alicorns, a pony with both wings and a horn; and then go home a famous adventurer. None of that was expressly a lie per se, but they were more of the sort of things I planned to do as I wandered around aimlessly.

But whatever my story was, I was here now, and there was no changing that. I took a breath. The air tasted different here, almost like it lacked the centuries of blood, sweat, and steel that had built the land whence I came. This was apparently the smell of Equestria, and I’d have to get used to it.

It had been night by the time I’d scampered out of the woods and headlong into some spooky town in the middle of the night. Presently, I wasn’t sure how much of the liquid on my face was from the rain, or my own sweat. My muscles made me a thousand promises of pain to come, reminding me of just how much I’d abused them just trying to survive getting through that hellish forest. And this door before me now was the closest thing to a respite I’d seen in weeks.

This was a doorway into the world of Equestria, for all that it mattered. And there was nothing more important than a doorway. After all, as it said in the Book of Chains, before He created mathematics and wrote the Universe, the Allfather created existence when He opened the Door.

So as I stared at this door, I let myself wonder about all the myths I’d heard about this nation. That Equestrian mares were all a bit on the friendly side. Princess Celestia had eyes everywhere within her realm. Equestrians were extremely xenophobic. Equestria didn’t even exist. Stallions in Equestria were treated like slaves by the dominant female population, and were all castrated beyond a certain age. Knowing my luck, I figured it’d be the last one—and I rather liked my masculinity to be wholesome, thank you very much, ladies.

That was why my heart was in my throat as I stared at the door. Beyond it could have been literally anything. Sure, it was possible there wouldn’t be any problems. And it was also possible I’d been a pegasus my whole life and just never noticed the feathers on my pillow each morning. But whatever the case, my limbs dutifully reminded me this was an inn. I would have time to be awed, or horrified, by Equestria when my legs didn’t feel like they were about to fall off.

Adjusting my hat, I tried to breathe the fire of excitement out of my lungs. “You’re supposed to be fluent with the tongue,” I said, staring at the wooden door. “No, you are perfectly fluent. That’s what Mr. Welch said, and he was a great teacher. They’d never know it wasn’t your first language. So just walk in; it’ll be fine, unless it’s not. And if that changeling lied to me, then I’ll dig him up, revive him, and just let him die again.”

Stop talking to yourself; it’s making you look bad.

Even though I doubted Equestrians were hostile to foreigners, I still made sure to double and triple check that I had the sword at my hip, hidden by the tail of my duster. If they, like many other peoples I’d met on my journey, wanted my blood, I would most heartily object. And it wouldn’t be the first time my sword had viscerally aided such objections.

I raised a hoof to the door and pushed it open. A sultry breath of air greeted me as I entered, the kind borne only from the heat of many living bodies. As the door behind me closed, I held a hoof over my eyes, trying to let my sight adjust to the bright interior. My nose was overwhelmed by a smell compounded of the queer odor of working stallions, the aroma of girls mixed with lingering traces of cheap perfume, and the scent of musty wood. All throughout, my ears were assaulted by the voices of tens of ponies, their jubilant laughter as warm as the air outside was cool, their words unintelligible.

“Howdy there, sugar,” a mare greeted with a honey-like voice marred only by the grate of her accent against my ears.

As my eyes adjusted enough to where the light didn’t blind me, I looked down at her face. My heart froze. Im Namen Gottes, she’s naked!

“What can we do ya for?” she prompted, her tone so bubbly it made me want to strike her.

With a horrified slowness, I forced my eyes off her and to the room. The tables, like the floor, walls, and ceiling, were wooden. A number of tables stood at attention in disorganized ranks about the floor, with stallions and mares—mostly mares—sitting around them. Cuddled up to the walls were personal booths, where yet more ponies loitered, drank, ate, joked, and bantered, each cackling like a hen about to lay an egg. Every single one of them, without exception, was naked.

It’s reasons like this that make me sure my death certificate will read, “Cause of death: drowned in absurdity.”

“I said, what can we do ya for, hon?”

I stared at her, like an idiot actor waiting to be spoon-fed his lines. Do ya for? Oh Gott von oben, that’s an idiom, right? Okay, so we have girls here, all of whom are naked, just like the nice lady before me, and that sweaty smell, which can all add up to just one thing: this is a whorehouse!

She frowned. “Are you alright, sugar? Your cheeks just went all red-like.”

“Huh-bu-wha’?” I stammered.

Bravo. What a brilliant introduction to the first pony you meet in Equestria.

The mare cocked a brow, but remained silent.

“The sign outside said this was an inn and tavern, correct?” I managed to force out. In truth, I would have preferred to just cover my eyes with my hooves. Of course, if I’d done that, I’d have fallen over, which would not have helped.

“Last I checked, sugar. Why? Did those darn neighborhood colts try t’change the ‘inn’ to an ‘out’ again?”

Ah, this is obviously some strange usage of the words “Inn & Tavern” that I was previously unaware of. Or I’m an idiot. Either or, really.

“No, Ma’am.” I glanced to the mare’s chest, upon which she wore a thin black-and-white bandana. A sparse few other girls in the tavern, all walking around, also wore bandanas like hers. They were probably the working girls, I figured. “I’m, uh, looking for a room for the night. Are there any such here?”

The waitress pointed to a counter at the far end of the room. “See that big, perpetually grumpy guy over there an’ behind the counter? Talk t’him, sugar. He’ll fix you up right as rain, sure as ya got the Bits an’ all.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” I replied, only half-sure that I understood her. Just as quickly as she had showed up, the mare skipped over to a nearby table. The stallion behind the counter at the other side of the room seemed so far away. To reach him, all I had to do was trudge forwards and not stare at any of the naked girls.

Out of the rain and into the fires of the inferno.

I supposed that this was probably to be expected. After all, I was at that point in life where overcoming hopeless situations was probably second or third on my daily to-do list. The universe had it out for me, I was sure. Taking a deep breath, I set a hoof forwards, my eyes locked onto the stallion. A little pony in my head assured me I didn’t have a dirty mind, just a sexy imagination.

Just keep walking. Control your breathing. Don’t stare. Wait. Is eying prostitutes considered window shopping?

“Oops, sorry there,” a mint-green mare chuckled to me as she stood up from a lonesome table, bumping into my shoulder. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I quickly replied, mentally reminding myself that her eyes were on her face, not by her thighs.

She looked up at me as I looked down at her, herself cocking a brow and narrowing an eye. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, and she just stared at me as I peered at her light golden-orange eyes. Then, shaking her head, she broke eye contact and trotted away towards the door. I marched onwards, heart pounding but still giving myself a mental pat on the back.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said as I approached the mustached earth pony barkeeper, “I was looking for a place to spend the night, and I was told I could find one here.”

Adjusting his glasses, the barkeeper replied, “Aye.” He picked up a glass mug from under the counter, beginning to clean it. “You’re dressed rather funny, mister.”

And you’re a naked barbarian fleshmonger with a peculiar accent, good sir.

“And I could say that you’re not dressed funny enough,” I replied, looking at his white apron. I tried to ignore the awkward feeling slowly boiling up from within, hoping that I wasn’t still blushing like a filly with a crush.

“Hmm,” he grunted, putting away the glass and reaching for a new one. He wrapped his hoof in a clean white rag and went to work on the new glass.

I waited for him to say something else, but he just kept shining his glass, his lips sealed. So I took the initiative. “Is there a problem?”

He offered me a lone nod. “Aye.”

“What would that be?” I probed, fidgeting with my hat’s visor.

“Room’s price is a couple o’ Bits a night.” He paused, for dramatic effect, probably. That, or he was trying to give me some silent cue I was missing. “I’m waitin’.”

My heart sank into my stomach. I really wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide face-down at the bottom. “Um, this is going to sound dumb.”

He raised a brow. “That so?”

“Yes, sir. Bits are what Equestria uses for money, right?”

“Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

The stallion sighed, setting the glass and rag off to the side. “Kid, get outta here.”

I took a step towards the counter, angling my head a few inches downwards. “Kid? I’m not a child, sir.”

“I know ya ain’t, buddy. But I ain’t got the time for your childish games.”

“I cry your pardon, sir, but I don’t quite follow.”

“If you’re gonna bug me durin’ a shower with dumb questions, I don’t care for you. Get outta my inn. Pronto.” The bartender gestured to the door.

“My apologies, sir, I was only making sure—”

“Out. Now,” he growled, gritting his teeth.

This guy needs to be stabbed, preferably somewhere like the kidney. It’s been awhile since I’ve done that. Shifting my weight, I tried to appease the ache in my limbs. “But it’s raining out there.”

“Does it look like I care? Besides, I don’t serve idiots dressed like guys in one o’ them Westerns. And you look like one o’ them performers in that getup you’re wearin’. This ain’t no theater play, son.”

“But I’m not a performer,” I replied. Of the emotions battling for supremacy in my head, confusion had clawed its way to victory. Again.

“I don’t believe it. Prove it to me and I still won’t believe it. As a rule, I don’t trust traveling performers.” The barkeeper clenched his teeth, shaking his head.

Great. Just great. Because if you think things can’t get worse, it’s probably only because you lack sufficient imagination. “What does that even mean?” I asked.

“Simple: do you have any idea how hard it is to—”

“Look, sir, I could care less about whatever traumatic childhood event made you perpetually phobic of the theater,” I interjected, making a slashing motion with one hoof, “but please don’t take it out on me.”

His eyes narrowed into slits.

“In my experience,” I said in a calm voice, attempting to get a hold on my finer grasp of Equestrian, “such rude behavior can often end up being quite detrimental to your health.”

“That so?”

“Indeed. Hustling out a poor traveler like this.” I shook my head. “Why, it’s the very antithesis of civility.”

“Do you have any Bits?” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Drawing on my fine command of language, I said nothing.

“Then get out. Even a foal o’ two would understand this.” He put a hoof to the side of his mouth and called out, “Send somepony to fetch a foal o’ two!” The bartender shook his head, putting the hoof down. “Skedaddle on out before I call the guards.”

Wait. How likely are Equestrian guardsponies to try to physically attack me? I should look into how swing-happy these Equestrians are, at least before I do anything that might possibly be a crime. I let out a long sigh. “If you insist, but don’t hold me accountable should your establishment end up in flames.”

“It’s raining; I’m sure I’ll be fine, jerk.”

Giving him one last dirty look, I caught sight of something from the corner of my eye. Hanging on the wall besides the bar was a large painting resting within an ornate oaken frame. If you’re going to go, go obnoxiously.

“Who’s the old stallion in the painting?” I asked.

“Your mother,” he replied, grabbing another glass and cleaning it. “She was quite a fuzzy broad, she was.”

Fighting to keep my lips from curling into a smirk, I trotted around the bar and to the painting. “A most appealing picture. Who’s the artist?”

“My mother, actually,” the barkeeper hissed, watching me like a hawk. He opened his mouth to speak, but I acted before he could.

I put a hoof onto the painting’s frame, pushing at it. “There. Now your painting is hanging very slightly off center,” I spat. “I hope you spend years trying to get it just perfect again, then somehow find a way to choke on it.”

He bared his teeth at me, stomping down a hoof. “I’m gonna have you arrested for this, for disturbin’ the peace and harassment!”

“I am under no obligation to care,” I replied, sauntering towards the door. With all the noise from the tavern’s patrons, I doubted that anypony had even noticed our little exchange.

As I waltzed out into the rain, a crack of thunder lauded my actions. For a brief moment the lightning made the dreary street almost as bright as day. I looked around at the almost medieval architecture of the buildings around me, took in the street’s earthy smell, the observed double-storied buildings possessing thatched roofing. I was fairly sure that thatched roofing was illegal back home, something about it being unsafe, insecure versus the elements, and prone to insect infestations. Save for the tavern, the windows were all dark, which was why the inn had caught my eye. Now knowing what I did about the place, the building looked almost ugly; it was no coincidence that never in any known language had the phrase “as pretty as a whorehouse” appeared in. Truthfully, I couldn’t recall actually taking much note of my surroundings when I first entered the town.

Taking out my compass from a pocket, I took note of where the east was, the supposed direction of the fabled Equestrian capital of Canterlot. Satisfied, I put the device back. “Great. Now what do I do?”

Maybe there’s another inn in the town? Maybe one that’s an actual inn and nothing else? Wait. No, I lack any Bits.

Shrugging, I turned and ambled to the east, ignoring the sting in my limbs. I glanced downward, trying to avoid stepping into any puddles. “Slang. Maybe if I used more, ponies would warm up to me faster. Y’all, ihr. Ya, du. Got to, gotta, müssen. Going to, gonna, werden. The word ‘ain’t’.”

You’re gonna go far, kid.

“Perfect. Just like that. I’m gonna go east. I’m gonna try to meet Celestia and maybe Luna.” I slowed to a stop. “I’m gonna die of exhaustion.”

Rain pelting my back, I looked up and eastward, peering into the inky blackness of the night. Glancing back at the street, a weird thought crossed my mind. With both the darkness caused by the lack of any street lamps plus the rain, it reminded me of a stereotypical scene from a musical play; minus the cold, it was the kind of stage-like weather where you would expect to see a stallion dancing down the street, singing about how his best dame had just broken up with him, this morning he had been drafted to fight overseas, and all the bars were closed.

Taking a long, hard breath, I set about east again, mumbling to myself. The street ended with a T-junction, cutting down my plan to aimlessly wander east. Shrugging, I turned left, ambling down the shadowy street. But before I could really go anywhere in that direction, I froze.

There was a young stallion down the street. He was holding up an umbrella with one wing as he stood in front of a doorway. The pony himself didn’t catch my attention, nor was it my eternal puzzlement with how pegasi could somehow hold things with their wings. Pegasi were probably just as curious about how all unicorns could use telekinesis, anyways. What earned him my undivided attention was that I couldn’t see a single scrap of clothing on him. “Thanks a bunch, Miss Sugar Song,” he said to the older mare in the doorway.

The mare inside smiled bashfully, and I saw the only thing she was wearing was a small wedding band above a forehoof. “Well, it was nothin’, really. Just helpin’ a friend out. Ya let me know if there’s anythin’ else we can do for ya, alright?”

Another young stallion, this one an earth pony with a little filly on his back, came up from behind the mare. “Thanks, Mom!” he said, embracing the mare in a hug. As he did so, the little filly slipped off his back and onto the floor. The trio looked down at her and laughed, friendly smiles all around.

I fought to shove new facts into the puzzle I was building in my head. A creeping realization of horror soon chipped through my mind. Every single one of these ponies was, without exception, naked. It wasn’t that I’d made the mistake of entering a bordel earlier, it was that everypony was naked. The ponies in the bar, those waitresses, that bartender, this random pegasus and the family he was talking to—naked as the day they were born.

“In the name of all that is sacred, what is this?” I forced my eyes off the ponies and soldiered forwards, trying to control my hastening heartbeat. “Whatever you do, don’t stare. They’d probably start suspecting you weren’t from here if you did. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been on your own for so long now that even the colts are starting to look good. Do. Not. Stare.”

Attempting to hold back the perfectly reasonable urge to freak out, an uncomfortable thought crossed my mind. “Does this mean that the Princesses will also be naked? Oh, Father above, that’s gonna be fun.” I side-stepped a particularly murky-looking puddle. “Why, hello there, so-called deities of sun and moon. No, I swear I wasn’t leering creepily at your haunches. I can’t even say I know what ‘leering’ means. Is it a type of frog?” I hopped over a broken wheel which had just been lying on the ground. “I wonder if Celestia even exists, and if Luna ever existed at all. Or were they just fairytales?”

You’re doing it again, talking to yourself. Why talk to yourself when you have me, the friendly voice in your head? You know, other than the fact that I’m not really a voice in your head, just idle thoughts.

“Yeah, you’ve got a good point. On the other hoof, monologuing aloud is quite grand. And as we all know, reality is flexible when something is aroused.” I blinked. “Cool! The Equestrian word is cool, ours is geil, which technically means aroused. Do not confuse these two. Especially not when these Equestrians are all naked.”

Reaching the end of the street, I swiveled my head around, trying to figure out which way to go. To my right, down the short street and then to the left, was a park. When I was almost there, I picked the conversation back up. “I think this is productive, just you and I speaking in Equestrian.”

Oh, of course. Further proof that you have the only two things that you need to succeed in life: ignorance and confidence.

“Ayep, pardner. Ah dun been thinkin’ a’this problem fer a mite while, wha’ ’bout ya, don’t cha know?”

Do you even know what half of those words meant?

“I’m so clever that I don’t even know what I’m saying half the time,” I replied, pausing at the entrance to the park. The downpour drenched the little wooden bridge spanning a tiny creek. On the other side, crowning a patch of wilderness within the town, were benches, a fountain, and a sparse few dirt paths. “A bed would be nice, but I could settle for a bench. Besides, I’m tired.”

Translation: I’m a little wimp who can’t walk for more than a few hours before getting winded.

“Why do I talk to you?” I asked, ears drooping.

Because you have no friends.

Weighing my options, I peered across the park. I even pulled out a pocket watch, but put it away when I realized that I had no idea how to adjust the watch to account for local timezones. And that was assuming Equestria even used timezones. As I idled there, my thoughts drifted to my limbs, and they cheerfully reminded me of the lactic acids fermenting beneath my flesh. I tried to ignore it, to shut it out, but it was like trying to carry water in a bedsheet: it found ways through.

And what if resting on a park bench is a crime, like loitering or something?

Trudging across the soaked bridge, I replied, “Were anypony to try to stop me, I would feel most sorry for them and their new widows.”

Don’t be so cocky; you of all ponies should know that. And what about the possible threat of Equestrians being too swing-happy, huh?

I grunted as I reached the other side. “Well, what better way to test that question? And in the morning we’ll either keep going east, or, uh... We’ll see how it goes.”

Doesn’t this break one of your general guidelines? That you must obey the small laws in order to break the bigger ones?

“I insist we settle this problem now, so why not do it with a game of Kopf oder Zahl?” I pulled out a 25₰ Kupfernickel-coin from my bag. “Kopf, I rest here for the night. Zahl, I march on through the night.”

No, no. Put the Pfennig back. I don’t wish to play. Just don’t blame me if things go sour.

Resting in the center of the little park was a little bench resting in the umber of a grand oak, which shielded the chair from the rain’s brunt. After putting the Pfennig back, I made my way over to the bench, spun around, and sat down. This deep into the park, I now noticed the faint scent of dead grandparents on the air. Well, it wasn’t exactly a smell of corpses, more of odd powders, mothballed cloth, and decaying hope. That probably meant there was a retirement home nearby. Unloved old ponies tended to smell that way in my experience. A part of me found it extremely interesting that these perpetual nudists even lived long enough to benefit from retirement homes.

Sitting up properly in the chair, using what poor lumbar support it offered, I basked in the glory of my nearly dry respite. Or, really, I just stared out into the darkness and rain, my eyes unwilling to shut. Even as my vision glazed over, my eyes refused to rest. So as the rain eased up slightly, rays of moonlight pouring down upon me, I remained on watch.

Something above me snapped, followed by the sound of a heavy tree branch landing in the bushes behind me. The rain, pouncing with twisted glee, now pelted my hat.

“Oh, you simply must be kidding me,” I groaned, looking straight upwards.

The impact of rainwater on my nose prompted me to blink. Rubbing my eyes, I leaned forwards to look down at the bench I sat upon. Already the rain was trying its damnedest to soak my haunches; the only thing that prevented a puddle from forming on the chair’s sloped surface were the holes between the tiny planks of wood.

“Heiliger Maschinengeist, give me strength.”

It continued to rain, so I closed my eyes and leaned my back against the bench, my head tilted forwards as I listened to the soft pitter-patter slowly harden. After checking a third time to see that my coat was tightly zipped up, I jerked my arms out of their sleeves and into the warmth of my gear.

Slowly the world was reduced solely to the sound of rain, and I allowed the frosty talons of sleep to lull me into the doldrums of my mind. As I let the world melt away, I found my hoof fondling the steel necklace hanging around my neck; it ran down the chain until it reached the iron cross that hung from it. Squeezing it for good measure, I let the world drift away.

|— ☩ —|

A rustling in the bushes woke me. Groaning, I forced an eye open, glaring into the night. Judging by how I was feeling, I couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. I was so going to murder whatever woke me up.

With a crane of my neck towards the thicket, I saw nothing of note. Looking forwards again, I shuffled in place, trying to get comfy again. I froze as my eye caught sight of something. There, sitting on the mud and battered by the heavy raindrops, was an origami crane.

Cocking a brow, I muttered, “I didn’t know origami was known in this part of the world.” After quickly glancing around for prowling eyes, I jostled an arm out of my sleeve, then leaned forwards and picked up the crane. As I brought it up close to my face, I saw that the folding was superb. Whoever had folded it clearly knew what they were doing and probably possessed a good deal of fine manipulation. Perhaps they were a unicorn?

I turned the crane over, searching for any indication of its maker when I found exactly what I was looking for. There, in tiny writing, were words written on it. It’s a note, I thought, unfolding the creation with my magic. I made sure my sword was still on hoof; one never knew when one might need their weapon. Although hard to read in the darkness, a ray of moonlight gave me just enough light to make out the wet note.

Congratulations on finally making it to Equestria; I’m glad my advice helped you get here so fast. However, vacation time must soon come to an end. By this time tomorrow, you will again have blood on your hooves, one way or the other. In the morning, you’ll want to go north, to the town of Sleepy Oaks. You’ll be able to figure out what to do from there on your own. And while there is more to this plan, this is what we must focus on. Consider this task a personal favor for me. So in the meantime, get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. Oh, and my apologies for all this cloak and dagger business. I promise I’ll show up in the flesh next time.

— Your Guardian Angel.

“So this is how he says hello nowadays?” I muttered. Folding the note into a rough square, I slipped it into a pocket. My free hoof found itself touching my sword.

Sighing, I put the hoof back into the warmth of my gear and zipped back up. As I looked down at the mud where the crane had been, I let myself wonder just whose blood would be on my hooves. Whatever this unknown party had done—or, more likely, was doing—however, had warranted my involvement. My own business could wait. After all, this little detour sounded like it could prove fun, and maybe I’d get something out of it in the end. Really, zum Teufel with whatever I was doing; this new goal was my new priority, since it looked more promising than wandering around and hoping to find something neat with which to occupy my time. Plus, it had directions, which were rather helpful when you really had no idea where to go from here.

“Sleepy Oaks, hmm? Sure. Consider the problem solved,” I whispered.

My focus was cut short by the discordant chords of rain impacting a new surface, prompting an ear to perk up, and the rest of my body to tense up. Remaining silent, I waited, listening as the sound got louder and louder, nearer and nearer.

A mint-green hoof stepped upon the wet ground I was looking at. My eyes followed the hoof up to a leg, and from there to the bare-breasted body that was decidedly feminine in form. Cocking a brow, I made the final hike to her head, swung to the umbrella she levitated above her, then finally settled onto the face with light golden-orange eyes.

The mare offered me a quick, honest smile. “You seem a little lonely, stranger.”

Author's Note:

Footnote:
In the narrator’s language, all nouns are capitalized, and it is considered a spelling error not to do so. Ergo, all nouns from his language will be capitalized here.

Comments

[Gamaliel]

I saw this update, and i couldn't even comprehend what the email was telling me, its so beautiful to have this story back <3

[.Tzeentch.]

Its Alive!!

[Not Thinking]

Well...this was an unexpected surprise!

[Bookmaster]

I was wondering where the fuck this fic went.

[billbob12345]

Nice

[Midnight Rambler]

Because of the German theme, I put on my Schlager playlist when I started to read this. Let me tell you, that tavern scene goes very well with "Bier, Bier, Bier ist die Seele vom Klavier"!

[PaxMano33]

hmmm...you could be a bit better on the over-introspective atmosphere this character has about him. but that's just me. all i know is, youre trying to come across as though, at any given moment, our character has a ton of thoughts running through his head. and its not working. read the story P-Theory for a good example of hyper-introspection.
but otherwise, awesome! this isn't a half bad opening!

[PonyJoe]

Just finished my German GCSE, and this pops up. If it wasn't so good I would shake my fist at you!

[Proudtobe]

I like this guy already. Good story.

[Mcstuffins]

Bench Mare™ to the rescue!

[FenDingo]

This looks pretty excellent so far! Great story; will keep reading! :]

[ponygrad]

Whoo boy, time to restart this bad boy! Now that I'm all caught up on Austraeoh, it's time to go on a journey here!

[kooarbiter]

I've seen this story many times in the feature box but I didn't read it because i figured that it would be filled with german anime tropes, it still kinda is (I got the heads or tails thing, but I know pretty much nothing about the character or setting, a little elaboration would be nice

other wise, pretty good

[sorenxoras]

He reminds me of my own self. He had a reaction to the common appearance in Equestria similar to what mine would be. This looks to be good.

[Broad Span]

Looks like high school german is going to do me well in this story, nice job all around.

[Mad Pancake]

Huzzah, started re-read binge because why not?

After all, this little detour sounded like it could prove fun, and maybe I’d get something out of it in the end.

dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/12875849/reactions/story579.gif

[The Shade]

Here we go again...

[carvor]

Nice story so far I like your style. But there are two things that bother me.
1. Oh Gott von oben= Oh god from above?
In that case it would be better to use "Oh Gott im Himmel", because the phrase "Oh Gott von oben" doesn't exist in Germany as far as I know.
2. Where did you get the idea of "Heiliger Maschinengeist", I never heard that either.
On another note I find the pedantic side of the protagonist very funny.

[Loyal]

My attention is caught and my interest had.

[Hipparcos]

Looks like German is going to do me well here. My interest has been caught.