What does a human do when he finds himself in a mystical land where all basic tenets of common sense and natural laws take a vacation? Why, create a survival guide for the next hapless sod that finds themself in the plotbuckery that is Equestria!
A human wakes up at the bottom of crater in the middle of a wasteland. He has nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a half-crumpled pack of cigs, a cheap lighter, a small notebook, a ballpoint pen, and a flask of most-likely illegal moonshine. Also, he can't seem to recall who he is, where he comes from, or how he arrived in the desert in the first place.
It might be from the blunt-force trauma of falling out of the sky, but he's not quite sure about that.
What he does figure is that he's no longer on Earth. The creatures popped straight out of a children's fairytale book, pastel equines who are way too cuddle-happy, and a rather ornery goddess of the night pretty much clinch that notion.
So what's a lone human with no viable chance of returning to a life he can't even remember to do?
Creating a guide so that he can survive the foreseeable future seems like a good start.
"There are three immutable facts I've come to embrace since my arrival in Equestria - narrative causality is king, magic can go eat a sack of horseapples, and Vinyl Scratch is rutting insane." - The Human's Guide to Equestria, Foreword
When Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs did first come to Us to pen down a foreword for his maiden venture into literature, We were not sure as to why he would ask Us of such a boon. Our first meeting was not the most diplomatic of incidences and all future encounters only exacerbated the poor relationship that existed betwixt the two of us. The man seemed determined to not show Us the proper amount of respect due to one of Our position, and We were not so generous as to let such a breach of protocol and civility go about unpunished. Thus spoke a long and fruitless rivalry that lasts even to this day, though perhaps the flames of anger have settled low over time.
We did strain Our mind heavily over this strange request, long and tiredly through the day and night to determine whether or not We should acquiesce. Finally, We clamped onto the bit, swallowed Our well-deserved pride, and questioned the man. What he said in turn, and with it the implicit trust so held within his statement, is something we shan't soon forget - "Because you're the only one who'll rip it to shreds if it's a pile of horseapples without hesitation."
Despite his crude words, We did come to understand Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs's meaning. So it is with both pleasure and trepidation that We bring to you the life behind this text.
The Human's Guide to Equestria is the fascinating if somewhat unprofessional detailing of an outsider's viewpoint of Equestria. Though primarily designed for consumption by humans, a selling point We fear will be inefficient unless more show up unexpectedly, the text is also useful for those who live outside of Equestria's borders. Each of the entries list out various geographical areas; wildlife; the cultural, economical, and biological ways of the country's inhabitants; and various other miscellaneous information which may well come in handy more than one would first assume.
The author explains in great detail each of his interactions with the entries of this book, allowing for a greater personal connection with the reader, albeit at the expense of random babblings that he insists are cultural references even he cannot truly recall. Though he derives much of his explanatory information by making correlations to his past world, there are enough similarities that even one completely unfamiliar with it can extrapolate enough to garner an adequate understanding. As such, while low in pure academia compared to such scholars as Coltpernicus or Neighton, the informal nature of the book lends much a gay time to those who want to enjoy the painting that the author draws with his words, or simply revel in the trials and tribulations he endured to glean such lessons.
There are also occasional inputs from the various ponies that have come into contact with him, including words from Our royal selves. Compared to the more formal nature of the entries they are a bit incongruent, but the author chose to keep them as close to their original state as possible, explaining that they only serve to further solidify the "Wonderland-on-crack nature" of Equestria. While We feel there may be some hidden meaning in his words that does not translate properly into Equus, We find it fair to follow the desires of the author.
Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs is not a scholar. Nor is he a hero, a soldier, an adventurer, or some mystic creature. He is simply another one of Our subjects who has crafted a plethora of entertainment for those that may or may not come after him. Though Our thoughts on him may be antagonistic at times, there is no denying he is a good human, a fine stallion, and an interesting acquaintance. His writing, though trivial and maddening at times, is a capital addition to the shelves of ponies and others alike, and it is only apropos to end with a quote by him which condenses much of his beliefs into a simple sentence -
"There are three immutable facts I've come to embrace since my arrival in Equestria - narrative causality is king, magic can go eat a sack of horseapples, and Vinyl Scratch is rutting insane." - Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs
Her Royal Majesty of the Night Guardian of Dreams Keeper of the Crescent Moon Protectorate of All Lands Beneath the Silver Sky Lunar Diarch of Equestria Princess Luna Proserpina Hecate
The Badlands are a geographical oddity within Equestria. Located at the country's southeastern border, the region is encircled by the Macintosh Hills and Mt. Vehoovius mountain range. It acts as a connecting corridor between Equestria and the dragon lands of Jormundr. Unlike the majority of Equestria, the region is extremely barren and devoid of plantlife - the closest thing Equestria has to a wasteland. Nature and magic run rampant in the area, allowing monstrous wildlife to roam free and dangerous mana leaks to occur at random.
Ponies are banned from entering the region thanks to the overwhelming amount of chaos and elemental magic left over from the Battle of Discord, so weather, animal, and earth manipulation is nonexistent. There have been a few attempts to colonize the area since Discord's defeat, but all have failed catastrophically, leading to the aforementioned ban. Trying to enter the Badlands without permission is one of Equestria's few serious offenses, and has appropriately harsh punishments.
The Badlands are considered a level 5 danger area; Not even the dragons or griffons want to traverse the place. Though they are considered the most warlike of Terra's races, they are still smart enough to avoid places where giant lizards and birds are considered little more than appetizers to the local wildlife.
The only race stupid enough to actually live in the area are the changelings, and considering their last attempt at an invasion (known as the Canterlot Wedding Battle), it makes sense for such a suicidal species to try and raise a civilization there. Though, it might also explain why Queen Crysalis was so adamant about taking over Equestria - anyone with even half a brain finds it preferable to challenge a sun goddess than to live in the hellhole that is the Badlands.
Have you ever woken up at the bottom of a crater before?
Sorry, perhaps that was a bit too sudden and vague to ask of a person. Allow me to try and clarify that.
Have you ever found yourself waking up, only to realize that your body is currently laying in the middle of a meter-deep depression of sun-baked clay and slate yet surprisingly without any of your bones pureed to mash?
No? Then you arrived in this world in a much better (or much worse) fashion than I did.
When I first opened my eyes, it was to behold a rather dreary and ominous reddish-grey sky. Almost the entire area was encompassed by a thin covering of smoke and opaque clouds, except for a single breach in the cloud cover directly above me, showing a light blue sky that seemed infinitely more inviting. Strangely, it appeared as though something had punched through, as there were wisps of the clouds trickling downwards in a vague funnel shape. Within seconds, though, the hole began to fill itself in as the clouds drifted in the slight wind.
Considering my position, I could only conclude that I was the one who had made the hole, which begged the question of how I was not only alive, but also not a broken mess after striking an extremely hard surface at what could only be terminal velocity?
Time for a body check. Pain receptors were still in optimal condition. My entire body had an all-around soreness, like I had just stopped after a ten-mile jog. Only it wasn't a jog so much as a full-tilt run, and it wasn't a quick stop so much as colliding at full-tilt into a brick wall. So pretty much nothing like I just said. My everything hurt in ways I didn't think were medically possible.
Attempts to move my extremities proceeded nicely. I was able to wiggle my fingers and toes, so odds were I hadn't snapped my spinal cord. My arms and legs moved without any sharp, debilitating pains, just the ongoing soreness, so I don't think I had broken any bones. My head tilted forward and side to side with only a light twinge, like I had slept funny.
My chest was sore, my throat itched, and I couldn't help but choke and hack for a bit, but I think that was due more to the absurd amount of sand and ash I was buried/covered in than to any internal injuries. Also, my vision was fine, though a little hazy. Once again, I think that was because of shock more than anything.
Plus, my male friend hadn't had any soul-crushing events happen to him. I was pretty happy with that as well.
Once I determined that I had no horrifying injuries that would kill me within the next hour or so without immediate medical attention, I moved on to the next order of business - a mental checklist.
First of all, where was I?
My brain quickly replied with a finding of, [FILE NOT FOUND.]
How did I get here?
[FILE NOT FOUND.]
Well, that could be rather troublesome. At least I had some information on my current status, like... Wait...
There appeared to be vast gap in my knowledge much more worrisome than my inability to discern my current location. There was also the fact that I was taking waking up in a crater in the middle of nowhere much better than I probably should have. Perhaps I had taken an injury to my brain? No, wait, focus on the real problem. There were several things that were setting off alarm bells.
Where am I from?
[FILE NOT FOUND.]
My age?
[FILE NOT FOUND.]
My family? My friends? What I was doing at all before I woke up?
The same blaring of [FILE NOT FOUND] continued ad nauseam.
...My name?
[FILE NOT FOUND.]
...
It was at this point that I realized someone was screaming. It was a high-pitched, unending wailing, much like the kind you would hear when someone was looking into the abyss of their most deep-seated terror, or was having the mother of all existential crises. I wanted to find out where the screaming was coming from, but I was a bit busy locked in place with my hands over my head and my face buried in my knees in the fetal position.
Ah, interesting; the one screaming like a child with night terrors was me. How embarrassing.
It took another few minutes for me to finally calm down, or maybe it was just the fact that I finally ran out of oxygen and passed out momentarily. In either case, when I came back to my temporary senses, my mind raced as I attempted to figure out just what was happening.
New checklist started: I had no idea who I was, where I was, where I came from, or how I arrived here from there. I apparently fell out of the sky, but that was silly because I would be little more than a squish mark on the barren ground if that had really happened. Also, I didn't have any bruises, gashes, or any other external sign on my body to signify blunt-force trauma. The crater poked a few holes in my denial theory, but I was going to delay any real argument while I held off my impending mental breakdown.
Did I have any clue as to my identity? My thoughts raced back and forth as I tried to find some scrap of information to work off of.
...Why was I thinking of Chuck Norris fighting Bruce Lee? And giving them RPG stats?
...Wait, wait, I could work with this. Alright, my brain was grabbing random bits of ideas and memes, so that meant I didn't have total amnesia. As I dug deeper, trivial information and basic statistics started to become ever clearer. Also, a working theory gained more structure as I shuffled through the mish-mash of stuff rattling in my head.
I knew things. Specifically, I knew a lot of weird, stupid, pointless, interesting, and non-personal things. I felt like someone had taken random encyclopedias, web sites, news articles, and the like, and had crammed them into my skull, all of them vying for attention. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it, or at least none I could see at the moment. It was as if I knew everything and yet noth-wait, back up.
Amnesia. Compartmentalization of knowledge and experience. Separation of objective and subjective knowledge. The difference between just knowing something and having done something.
How much of what I knew was just trivia I had picked up, and how much was because I had done it but didn't have the emotional connection? If my memories (ha) were right, then the type of amnesia I was experiencing had literally removed any personal weight from my past. Anything I did remember would seem like I had read it out of a book.
Or maybe I was just grasping at straws because I had broken down and was searching for some semblance of an explanation. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
But just sitting in this hole wasn't doing me any favors. If I wanted to find out what had happened to me and where I was, I needed to get moving. With a groan, I rolled myself onto my stomach and slowly rose to my hands and knees, my body aching in protest. It was not pleased with me for trying to move when all it wanted to do was curl up and pass out again.
Crawling my way out of the crater, my hands getting scraped from the cracked stone, I finally got to look at my surroundings beside the sky. I was not satisfied with the view.
It looked like a nuclear fall-out site. Well, maybe not that bad, but it wasn’t helping my frazzled psyche to convince itself that everything would be hunky-dory. The ground was reddish-brown, very similar to the sky, and completely devoid of any type of vegetation. It was cracked and dry, so odds were there was very little precipitation in this region. The wasteland spread far out in front of and behind me. From the position of the sun (I'm pretty sure it was late into the afternoon, wherever I was) I could make out mountain ranges to the west and east of me, rising high into the sky and through the cloud cover. Various gorges and crevices crisscrossed across the plains, disappearing into both horizons, and there were multiple stone towers scattered around the region, either composed of tall, long plateaus or boulders stacked on one another.
So be it then. I was apparently trapped in the world of Mad Max. I'm not quite sure what the connotations behind that particular cultural reference was, but I think it's safe to say that if I came across any other people wearing masks, I was going to hide and hope they didn't kill, rape, or eat me. Or, if they did, then they did it in that order.
First things first, find some shelter, or at the very least some shade. I didn't seem to have many wilderness survival tips in my grab-bag of a brain, but I knew that at the very least. The sky might have been covered by clouds at the moment, but UV rays weren't particularly beholden to cumulonimbus, and I did not need to contract skin cancer on top of whatever fresh hell I found myself in. Luckily, one of those stone towers was near me, so my body didn't get the chance to complain too much as I dragged myself over to its side and propped my back against it.
I had already completed my physical and mental checklist, so now it was time to see what was on my person. Hopefully I'd find something that would help me out now or spark some latent memory. Frankly I was hoping more for the former; it wouldn't mean much to suddenly remember all that I'd lost only to die because I only had a wallet on me when some wild animal attacked.
First up were my clothes. I was wearing a rather nice if dusty and somewhat scuffed up suit. I had on a white cotton shirt, a silk tie with a darkish blue checkerboard pattern, black (now red-clay-smeared) slacks, dress shoes, and a navy-blue chalk-striped jacket. If what I was wearing was any indication, I had to have been pretty well off. I removed my jacket and looked at the hem, cuff, and neck. Yup, this was custom-made, not some mass-produced thing grabbed off the rack or rented.
So back wherever I was from, I either had a really good job or I came into some money. Either way, this little tidbit did nothing much to help me now. I started to rifle through all of my pockets, grabbing whatever I found and laying them in a neat line in front of me.
All I had to my name was a half-empty, crumpled pack of Lucky 777 cigarettes, a cheap zippo lighter you could buy at any convenience store, a small notebook about the size of my hand, a ballpoint pen, and a metal flask that looked like it had been ripped right out of the prohibition era.
No wallet, keys, phone, music device, or anything that could point me in the right direction of who or where I was. What I did have on me didn't even help me that much, except for maybe the flask. Speaking of which.
I picked the canister up and turned it over in my hands. It was crafted out of stainless steel and wrapped up in dark, tanned leather. There were no markings on it, except for what looked like a scratched-out word on its bottom. From what I could tell, it may have been a serial number, but it was pointless to really think on it further.
Tentatively, I popped the cap and took a small whiff. My head reared back. Yup, that was alcohol alright. I tilted the flask forward and spilled a bit into my palm, the lukewarm liquid splashing a bit and…
...Was, was it colored fuschia? I think it may have been glowing too, though that may have just been the influence of the fumes I was inhaling. What the hell kind of drinker was I? There was no way this stuff was legal or crafted by any real liquor-maker. So this either meant I was too poor to afford real alcohol, or I was some sort of uber-redneck that had sold my soul to the god of moonshine.
My clothes debunked those ideas quicker than they started. Maybe I just had really shitty tastes? My tongue flicked against the booze. The taste felt like somebody had smashed my head in with a brick wrapped in pyrite and a garnish of dandelions before dumping napalm down my throat.
...yup, my taste in liquor really was just that shitty, because that was the most awesome thing I had ever tried in my life... that I could remember, anyway.
Capping the flask back up, I placed it back into my jacket pocket. Until I found a fresh source of water, this was going to be my only one. I wasn't quite sure about the dehydration elements of alcohol, but it was better to have something than to just die with my pants around my ankles because I hallucinated a swimming pool with skimpy swimsuit models. I put the other items away too, but paused briefly to remove a cig from the pack (huh, only six left; bummer) and light it up.
The soothing yet scratchy feeling of smoke collected in the back of my throat as I inhaled and blew out a puff. I was apparently an old pro at this; lung cancer ahoy!
I took slow, leisurely puffs of the cancer stick as I considered my options. I was stuck in the middle of a wasteland that I did not recognize at all. Despite the fact that I had no real personal memories, I should have at least been able to find a similar match in the pure encyclopedic file system that was now my brain. I might have been in the Mojave desert, but I didn't think there were any mountain ranges that matched the narrow geographical nature of my location. Also, there was too much red and not enough plants... I think.
Dwelling on my identity, I made the assumption that I was probably in my late twenties to early thirties. My clothes suggested I had a high-paying and respectable job, so I wasn't college age at least. I didn't have any real wrinkles or age spots on my arms and legs, so I wasn't too old. Until I found something that could reflect my face and actually see just what kind of ugly SOB found himself in such dire straits, I couldn't really narrow it down any further.
I think I might have been American. The whole Chuck Norris thing, mixed with a dozen other memes and shows that were pretty prevalent in America, pointed me in that direction.
And that was it. Approximate age and guesstimated nationality. That was just… really sad. Why was it I knew the average speed of an unladen swallow (African and European), but couldn't recall if my name had an 'S' in it?
I let out an annoyed growl, followed by a short, pained yelp as the cigarette finally burned its way down to my fingers. I dropped the butt and stomped on it, shaking my fingers before sucking on them to cool the small burn.
Could this all be just a really sadistic fever dream? Was I maybe just imagining all of this and would wake up soon? My pained nerves promptly flipped me the bird and told me to jag off. Not even my brain was jerkish enough to weave such a pointless and convoluted scenario despite its inability to recall basic personal facts.
So yeah, this was real, or as real as I could make of it.
Crap.
I resisted the urge to have another cigarette to calm myself down. I only had so many left and had to ration my only source of relaxation. I did not want to find myself in the throes of withdrawal whilst in the midst of mortal combat.
I sighed and leaned back, banging the back of my head on the stone. All of this just really sucked. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the sun was already beginning to set, and prepped myself for a long night. I didn't want to start wandering around in the dark with my lighter as my only source of illumination. Of course, I also didn't want to freeze to death when the temperature would undoubtedly sink to the single digits, but I really didn't feel like looking for kindling when all I wanted to do was sleep. Guess bundling down and huddling up was my only option.
My eyes searched around for a suitable sleeping spot, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a small indentation in the rock face a few feet from me. It was little more than a small gash; barely more than half of my body would fit, and it would be cramped, but it was something.
I stumbled over to the indentation and hunkered down, wrapping my jacket as tightly around me as a I could. I could already feel sleep coming easily to me, but that wasn't shocking considering what I had gone through during my short period of consciousness. Hopefully the next day would be more lenient to me, and I could find out what was actually going on.
Just before I drifted off, a small tremor shocked me awake and a rumble echoed through the air. I looked towards where the noise was coming from, and my jaw dropped.
A volcano. A mother-bleeding volcano, with ash and soot and everything, was going off within viewing distance of me. Luckily (ha), no magma appeared to be racing down its sides to melt me into cursing human goo, but that didn't really make me feel any better. I was still within proverbial spitting distance of one of mother nature's cruel jokes on natural selection. So now I could possibly die of exposure, dehydration, starvation, and lava!
Huzzah! The fun has quadrupled!
That's when the ash that slowly began to float down from the clouds came into my field of vision and my brain just decided to sign off, taking the last vestige of my survival instincts with it. Fine, if my life wanted me to reenact Pompeii's last hours then so be it, but I was not going to be conscious when it happened.
Soon, I was asleep, praying to any god that would listen that this was just some sick joke and I'd wake up... wherever it was that I came from.
Joke's on me; god exists, but she's a troll.
Mt. Vehoovius is one of the few active volcanoes in Equestria. It is also the only volcano, gods willing, I will ever be within viewing distance of, and even that was unwillingly. The volcano perpetually pumps out smoke and ash, lending to the poor visibility of the Badlands' environment. Daily ash showers hinder any chance of vegetative growth, and the ambient heat of the geothermal veins kill off any plants that do manage to take root.
I'm still waiting for some hard-headed pony to try and plug the volcano up and thus doom us all. While I am intrigued by the geophysics of this world and the tampering thereof, such as the pegasi's control of the nation's weather patterns, I don't need to be told that trying to tame the molten pimple of mother nature is a horrible idea.
Doesn't mean that some idiot isn't going to attempt it sooner or later, though, and when they do, I'm going to find a nice nuclear winter bunker in the Crystal Empire.
Surprisingly, I wasn't completely cocooned in ash when I woke up; there was simply a thin layer that coated my suit and hair. It did cause me to wake up with a monster of a sneeze, but I could forgive the huge annoyance if it meant not becoming a future fixture in the nearest museum's moron wing. Running my hands through my hair, I dislodged as much of the ash as possible before getting to my feet and stretching.
I was still left with a chronic soreness that reached deep into my bones, but it was better than the day before when I couldn't even move a muscle without feeling a charlie horse coming on. At least now I could move around and possibly find my way out of this hellhole. Shielding my eyes from the morning sun, I chanced another glance around at my surroundings.
The sky had cleared up some, and I could actually see beyond the dense cloud cover. That didn't really help though, as the full wrath of the sun now came down upon me. Stupid sun. Already I could feel my body's temperature begin to rise. I had to get started as soon as possible if I wanted to cover some distance before it got to noon and the sun got really bad.
But I had to choose a direction first. My choices were north and south, since east and west were cut off by the mountain ranges and I didn't fancy my rock climbing skills were up to par... if I even had them. Damn, not having any clue as to what I was good or bad at was really going to haunt my every decision.
Really, though, there was only one way I could go - north. South went towards the volcano, and my new rule of thumb said to always avoid death-spewing rock formations whenever possible. So, with a path laid out and no plan to speak of beyond 'walk as far as possible and hope I don't die in the middle of nowhere,' I started to make tracks.
Walking through the wasteland was just as boring as it sounded. Everything looked the same and there was no life to break up the monotony. It also started to get painful after a while; while dress shoes were good for parties or interviews, they were horrible for trekking the wilderness. I could feel the blisters that were getting ready to pop up on the soles of my feet already.
It also didn’t help that the ground was very uneven. It sloped back and forth, rising and falling with a mixture of hard-baked clay and stone and sand drifts. My shoes didn’t have good traction as it was, and constantly having to adjust my step so that I didn't twist anything was draining my stamina faster than I liked.
I tried to keep to the shade as much as possible, and was sparing with my flask. I did recall that I should only take short sips, but considering that was from a novel in my memory system it could have been wrong. Not like I had much of a choice in the matter; without any accessible water sources around me, I had to ration myself as much as possible, and getting drunk would change my trek from ‘stupidly hard’ to ‘nigh-impossible’.
After the nth stumble as my feet slipped the wrong way on shifting sand and smooth stone, I let out a growl of frustration that came out as more of a cracked whisper. Ugh, what I wouldn't do for a walking stick or something to give me a better sense of balance!
It was around that point that fate finally threw me a bone. I noticed ahead of me a row of dead saplings, dried and weathered to an almost pure white. Slowly making my way to them, lest I trip, I took in the sight.
My heart swelled. Two neat rows of saplings arched towards each other, the branches fallen off from their long-dead trunks. I think they might have been birch from the pale bark, but they were long since petrified. Still, the way they were positioned gave them the look of being artificially placed and postured. This might have been a garden or promenade, meaning someone had lived here long ago. Sure, they were gone now, but if some person had been here it might mean that I would come across other instances of past civilization, and thus a better understanding of where to go next.
The trees were narrow, about the width of my forearm. I grabbed the smallest one - about the height of my shoulder - by the top and put my feet against the bottom. Using leverage, I yanked the sapling back and forth, adding more force and sharper movements with each swing. There was a low cracking noise that eventually gave way to a sharp break, and the sapling snapped off right where my foot was pushing at it. I gave it a once over.
The top curved at about the last foot or so, ending in a blunt tip. I turned it around to examine the broken-off part. It was jagged, so I had to be careful not to stab myself in the foot, but I was sure it would get sanded and even off after using it against the ground enough. I took a closer look at the trunk, curious about how old the tree was before it died off, and paused.
There were no rings. There wasn't even an inside to it. There was an outer rim, but the inside was dry, smooth, and pocketed like a sponge. That... that didn't make any sense. I gave the outside of the sapling a closer examination. My brain slowly ground to a halt.
This... this wasn't bark. It was too smooth, too singular, with none of the patchiness attributed to the outside of a tree. I turned it around, looking for something that would divert me from this train of thought. But nothing did. Now that I looked closer, the thing curved a bit too much for a tree. It was more obvious near the tip, but the entire thing was in a vague C-shape.
I slowly turned around to look at the rows of trees. There were twenty in each of the two rows, perfectly symmetrical to each other and varying in height, getting taller the closer they were to the middle and more curved the closer to the outside.
These weren't trees; they were rib bones. What I thought were saplings growing out of the ground was actually the skeletal remains of some grand beast that had slowly been buried under what could be centuries or millennia of sediment deposit.
And if this was the just the torso of the creature, then by comparing it to the basic quadruped back home, the proportionate size would be...
I woke back up standing on my feet, the popping of my knuckles as they went white around the bone the only noise besides the soundless scream tearing its way through my rictus of horror.
...okay then. I was now officially in either the Land of the Lost or Dr. Moreau's summer retreat. Alright, no problem, just as long as I didn't come across a relative of whatever creature I just went God and Adam on I should be fine.
Really.
Completely.
Definitely.
I'm still amazed I hadn't just lost it there and attempted ritual suicide with my new-fangled walking bone, but some little corner in the back of my mind reminded me that it would be a terrible end to the nightmare that was now my life, if terribly appropriate. It was right, though. For all I knew, this could be some paleontologist's dream I was fiddling about in. Except I did know; dinosaur bones were discovered a lot deeper than what I’d found here. Those had millions of years to have mud and junk piled on top of them. These bones did not.
Which left only one plan of attack for me - drink until existence faded and life was nothing more than a series of black-outs where the terrors couldn't possibly find me!
Except I'm pretty sure chugging my moonshine would outright kill me, so I settled for a quick sip to calm my nerves, fished out another cigarette, and continued on with my new literal stick o' death.
The rest of my travels followed the same pattern; I walked as much as I could, drank as little as I needed to, kept to the shade as much as possible, and shrank the distance between me and possible salvation. I took breaks when the heat and sun got to be too much and hurried along whenever the clouds sauntered past with their comfort-giving shade.
My nights in this post-apocalyptic wasteland ended the same way as the first; I hunkered down in any crevice I could find and slept. Woke up, and started again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
About a couple hours into my third day, I came across the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Now granted, all I had ever seen was death, lack of life, and horribleness, but I'm sure that even if I hadn't been dropped into nature's PMS-time it still would have been the greatest thing since sliced bread.
There, caught between two stone plateaus that arced into a strange conglomeration of shapes, was something that sparkled in the sunlight. I almost rushed forward in pure, wanton desire but restrained myself, hoping against all hopes that what I saw wasn't a mirage.
A small hole, no bigger than my clenched fist, had eroded its way through the stone face of the tunnel. Trickling out of it and into a basin that was cast in shadow by the overarching plateau and about the size of a normal bathtub was water.
I think I would have cried at the sight, but I'm pretty sure any internal moisture must have been cordoned off to keep my body in working order, so I just leaked dust instead. Falling to my knees, I dunked my head into the basin, not caring that I had just dirtied my one real source of water, and took a long, enthusiastic slurp.
It was the best thing I'd ever tasted. Cool, refreshing, watery water. I took another long draught and then fell backwards, whipping my wet hair over my head, the small rivulets streaking their way down my clothes and body. I had probably just consumed every microbial flora in the region and would be paying for it later, but I didn't care. I needed that.
After relishing in that blissful experience, I filled up my flask with as much water as I could shove in there. Hopefully being mixed with the liver-destroying moonshine would kill off whatever was living in the water and I wouldn't have to worry about purifying or boiling it, especially since I could do neither of those with what I had.
Taking another dunk and drink, I took a gander at the pool's reflection and finally saw what I looked like.
I was a generic mothertrucker.
Really, there was no other way to describe myself. I wasn't exceedingly handsome or horrifically gruesome. I didn't have any real distinguishing marks like a scar or mole or anything of the sort. My face was fairly blocky, with a heavyset jaw and thin lips. I had closely cropped, light brown hair; somewhat tanned skin, though that may have been from trekking in the desert; and dull green eyes. I was probably in my late twenties, though. The corners of my eyes were starting to get what I hoped were just stress wrinkles, and nothing else hinted at an older age.
I had the kind of face that could easily blend into a crowd and would be mistaken for someone else constantly. I was plain and boring and normal. My physique was a little better than average, with no beer belly or sagging, but my looks were a dime a dozen. With my suit I could just be another of those hundreds of businessmen you see swarming the streets in city movies.
It was a bit anti-climatic, but it did make me feel better now that I actually knew what I looked like. So, moving on to more important things…
After making sure that everything I had (what little there was) was in order, I took the time to explore my private oasis. The tunnel had bored all the way through the plateau, making for a very inviting place to stay. There was shelter and water. It protected me from both the sun and the occasional ash rain.
However, there was no food, and without that, I wouldn't survive very long. Even now my stomach sang out in despair. I don't even know how long ago I had eaten. Had I eaten anything before I was transported here? Hell, could I even eat anything here, or was it all poisonous? Did I have food allergies that would kill me off without even realizing it?
Seriously, not knowing anything sucked.
My stomach growled again. Ugh, what I wouldn't give for something to eat right now.
My ears perked up at the sound of sand shifting. At first I thought it was the wind, but it soon became clear it wasn't. It was too localized and I didn't hear any breeze. I'm sure I would have heard something; this tunnel was perfect for picking up and amplifying noise. It sounded more like something was scratching back and forth, scraping along the ground. There was also the faint sound of chittering, like rocks quickly rubbing against one another. A shadow moved across the entryway to the tunnel.
Immediately I tensed up and grabbed my walking bone. This could be either really good or really bad - really good in that some unwitting creature had approached the oasis and I had a good chance of finding something to eat, or really bad in that said creature was closer to what I had received my bone from and I was the unwitting meal.
I involuntarily held my breath as I awaited whatever it was that was approaching. I didn't have to wait for long.
A jet-black scorpion skittered its way to the water, leaning forward to taste it. Its multiple eyes were red and almost comically over-sized, but any levity was instantly executed at the wicked barb on the end of its tail and its two pairs of scythe-like claws. Its chitinous carapace was scarred with multiple battle wounds, and one of its six hind legs was actually removed at the mid-joint.
It was also the size of an SUV.
Really bad then.
Much like the Everfree Forest in central Equestria, the wildlife of the Badlands is prone to many forms of genetic and magical mutations. This is primarily due to the heavy concentration of chaos magic, alongside fire and earth elemental magic. Chaos magic, as its name might imply, tends to have wildly varying effects on living creatures, most of which are the stuff of nightmares.
So. Many. Nightmares.
Fire and earth magic have a much more predictable effect - higher resistance to extreme temperatures; greater strength, endurance, and toughness; and a tremendous increase in size. The vast majority of creatures in the Badlands are those that started out as simple desert animals like any you could find in the San Palomino Desert, which are then juiced up to monstrous levels with the magical equivalent of steroids.
A horned lizard becomes the size of a truck and gains the ability to shoot its crest like a heat-guided missile.
A kangaroo rat becomes the size of a refrigerator, grows barbs all over its body, and starts hungering for red meat.
A butterfly becomes the size of an airship and starts dusting the area with poisonous scales that can burn your skin off with a slight touch.
It does make sense, however. The Badlands is a dangerous place, and exists as the epitome of survival of the fittest. If you want to survive, you have to be able to eat, maim, or melt any other creature you come across more easily than breathing.
Which is exactly what the Badlands wren does during mating season. Apparently, the female will only allow a male to mate with it if it brings the drooping, dissolving carcass of a rival Badlands wren. A fascinating mating ritual, really...
I am so glad I'm never going back there again.
So I had death breathing not even ten feet from me, and all I had was a frickin' bone. Someone up high either really hated me or had a very cruel sense of humor. I stayed perfectly still in the hopes that it would ignore me and go away. Hey, if it worked for t-rexes then it could work for monster scorpions.
It was then I remembered that theory was actually proven to be bunk. The scorpion proved that it also ascribed to that idea when one of its eyes swung at me and it halted in its drinking. Slowly, very slowly, it rotated on its legs to face me. The two of us stared at one another for what seemed like ages. Me, being the polite and also somewhat hysteric dumbass that I am, chose to break the silence.
"Um, hi?" Huh, that was actually the first time I’d heard my own voice (other than screaming, anyway). Kinda masculine and deep if you ignored the trembling and audible whimpers.
The scorpion responded in kind. Its mouth parts twitched, giving off a scraggly chirp, and then began to spin in place like a blender, chopping at the air with a whining hiss.
So it also had a death mouth. Par for the course.
I gave a rather manly shriek of terror and flung myself backwards as it jumped at me. Scrambling backwards on my hands, I retreated further towards the middle of the tunnel, hoping that the darkness would aid me.
It was then I recalled that scorpions were nocturnal, meaning they hunted at night, meaning the dark had jack shit on them. So I had basically just voluntarily jumped into my assailant's perfect hunting ground. Luckily, it evened the score a few moments later.
There was another chirp and then the blasted thing started to glow, its whole body lighting up in the dark with a light-blue luminescence. Because of course it could glow in the dark too. Why not? I don't know how that could work as a hunting trait, but honestly I was a bit preoccupied with surviving the next few minutes to study its rather contradictory evolution as a predator.
I split my attention between the thing's claws and stinger, unsure which would come at me first or which would be worse if it hit me. Those claws looked like they could rend flesh from bone like tissue paper, but I wasn't enjoying the idea of being pumped full of a super poison that would cause my blood to boil or skin to slough off.
But escaping further into the tunnel had worked to my advantage. The ceiling wasn't that high, and the scorpion's tail scraped along the rock as it stalked me. As long as it couldn't shoot that stinger like a bullet, I was fairly certain that one particular death possibility would elude me. But it wouldn't for long; I was still backing up and would eventually end up in the open again where it could freely try to sting me, and the tunnel did very little to lock away the use of its claws.
Which it immediately proved by jabbing out at me. Instinctively, I brought up the bone, smacking the claw aside enough to avoid being impaled by it, though doing so felt like I had just parried a goddamn ballista strike. My arms ached from both hunger and exhaustion, and I didn’t have the endurance to keep blocking this thing's hammer strikes.
And neither did my walking bone, for that matter. Another few strikes by the scorpion and it managed to latch onto the bone while I foolishly tried to wrestle it from its grip. With a sharp 'crack,' its claws sliced through, bone fragments shattering everywhere.
I now had two smaller walking bones, neither of which were going to be of any real use to fend off the beast. So I did the stupid thing and chucked one of them at the thing's head.
I didn't know if I had knife throwing as a hobby or what, but something in me felt a little badass when the jagged edge of the broken bone lodged itself right in one of the scorpion's largest eyes. Ichor sprung out like a leak, and the creature gave a feral cry of pain and fury as it began to thrash around wildly, slamming into the walls and ceiling.
I took that as a sign to get out of dodge fast, and dashed away in whatever direction was the opposite of the scorpion. I didn't care that I had left the only water I knew of behind, or that I still hadn't really rested before the scorpion showed up, or that I could very well be running back in the direction I came from. All I cared about was that, when the creature came back to its senses, I wasn't in them.
Chugging along like I was in the goddamn Olympics, I ran as fast I could across the wasteland, my breath coming out in gasping spurts. Then, like an idiot, I spared a glance over my shoulder to see if I was being followed.
It's like Schrodinger's scorpion. As long as I didn't look, there was the possible dual state of being both chased and not chased by an enraged death arthropod. The second I did, the wave function would collapse and I could no longer ignore what was happening. And so it did – in fact, it collapsed right into the form of a blood-thirsty and very pissed off monster scorpion.
Bloody quantum physics and multiverse theory.
I knew I couldn’t outrun it, and it was clear that it would catch up to me long before I found a non-existent tree to climb up. Turning back around, my brain twitched in subconscious awareness and mutinously applied the brakes to my feet. Skidding to a stop, I caught myself before I tumbled into the large, circular sand pit in my path.
The pit was about a dozen feet deep, two dozen in diameter, and conical in shape. Something tickled at the back of my brain about the familiarity of the structure before it was keelhauled by the impending doom on multiple legs coming right at me. I didn't have time to run around the pit, as that would just present my back to its stinger. Which meant I had to face it head on. With nothing but a two-foot section of bone that had already proved its unworthiness not even minutes before.
Well, that wasn't my only defense. I did have something else, but it was so insane an idea that even thinking it would work should be immediate proof I belonged in a mental institution. Then again, with all that I've seen, I supposed the best way to beat crazy is with crazy.
Shucking off my jacket as quickly as possible, I held it up in front of me like a bullfighter would a cape. As delirious as I had obviously become, I couldn’t bring myself to go, "Toro! Toro!" Which was just as well, because my next action would have ruined the effect, anyway.
Just as the scorpion got in close enough to use its stinger, I shrieked like a banshee and chucked my jacket right at its face. The thing blundered right into, caught one sleeve on its claw, the other on its leg, and fell in a skidding crash like a Tex Avery cartoon. I tried to dodge out of the way, but my reflexes weren’t up to snuff so the thing just smashed into me and brought both of us tumbling down into the sand pit.
As I rolled further and further to the center of the sand pit, I started to wonder why the structure seemed so familiar to me. It was in the middle of nowhere and didn't look like it was naturally occurring. A sinkhole would be more like a hole than a funnel, right? That's when it hit me.
I had just fallen into an antlion's sand pit trap.
And that's when the bug chimera popped up and tried to eat the both of us.
The Badlands antlion, or Dethicus Rex, is a distant cousin to the manticore found in the Everfree forest. Much like its temperate relative, the Badlands antlion is what happens when nature and magic get drunk together and try to hide the result of their mistaken night of debauchery. There is no way on Celestia's great, green earth that this monstrosity should be able to live given its huge daily caloric intake requirements and limited mobility. Where did an ant and lion even meet anyway, let alone procreate properly?
But who am I kidding, this is Equestria, where logic doesn't matter! Equestria - if the nightmarish abominations that stalk the plains don't kill you, the puns will.
Well, perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh. The Badlands antlion does fill a niche in the Badlands' intricate food web - it eats anything too dumb to ignore the giant 'I will devour you' sign posted on the edges of its sand pit trap, thus eliminating the creature from the gene pool and purifying the terrifying terror that is the Badlands.
Luckily, its wings are vestigial and it doesn't have the natural magic that allows pegasi to defy Bernoulli's principle, so Equestria's populace doesn't have to worry about fat-ass feline insects of death swooping down on them.
Yet.
The kaijuu antlion looked like some insane toymaker had spliced a lion with an army ant and made its ass a furry, bulbous mess just for shits and giggles. The head and torso was that of a reddish African lion, with long, spindly, and furless legs spurting out from its chest and hardened, dragonfly-like wings encased on its back. Its abdomen was a somewhat flattened ovaloid with dark brown fur. The antlion's mouth had sharp feline teeth, but with the addition of sickle-like jaws with several sharpened protrusions that gnashed back and forth and, if my knowledge of the normal antlion was spot on, were most likely hollow and filled with venom.
Trying to catch myself and knowing that simply trying to run would be pointless, I did the next best and stupidest thing: I kicked off the side of the pit right at the antlion. Judging from the surprised and disturbingly human expression on its face, I knew that it hadn't expected this. Most prey that fell into an antlion's sand pit trap immediately tried to run up the pit's walls, but thanks to a frankly genius bit of engineering and architecture, the sides would continuously fall if any pressure was put on them. If that wasn't enough, the antlion could throw sand at the prey to trigger a cascade itself.
Everything tried to escape from an antlion; nothing actually ran right at it. I was the only creature it had met with enough brains to be dumb enough to ignore its instincts and do so. And it's what saved my ass.
Extending a foot, I made contact with the antlion's head and made like Mario, bouncing away and barely avoiding getting my leg scissored off when it jerked its jaws up to catch me. I still have no idea how I managed to pull it off but thank the sheer violation of physics that allowed me to do so.
The antlion turned to make a second strike at me but was distracted when the mega scorpion rolled into it and proceeded to attack. Not wanting to have their battle turn into a three-way, I scrambled my way up the slope, hoping that my lesser weight wouldn't trigger a collapse. It did a few times, but I still managed to escape the pit, using my half-walking bone as a makeshift piton.
I collapsed upon finally emerging from the pit, pulling myself onto the large boulder that was perched on the edge. I heaved in great gulps of acrid air, coughing. I rolled onto my stomach to pull myself forward, my curiosity overcoming my fear. Honestly, I wanted to see how battle of monsters would play out. My brain was already trying to give them stats.
What I saw wasn’t much. The battle was already over, the victor enjoying his spoils. I watched as the antlion crunched down on the scorpion's carapace, ripping a chunk off. Its head twitched when it noticed me staring down at it, and turned to look directly at me. I gulped when it started to growl, its eyes narrowed.
I began to back away as it started to pull itself out of its hideaway. Don't tell me it was still hungry! That scorpion must have been four times my size; there had to be plenty of meat on it! Or maybe it was just ticked off because it hadn't gotten to kill me. I don't know; I don't speak murder.
As it raised itself on its spindly legs, the ground began to rumble. Instinctively, I looked to see if the volcano was erupting again, but found nothing. I looked back down. The antlion had paused too, swiveling its head back and forth. The sand around it started to shake and the rumbling grew more intense. I could almost see the sweat beading its face.
The rumbling tapered off, and the antlion gave what looked to be a sigh of relief.
Then the ground opened up beneath it, and a giant maw of teeth clamped down on it and shot into the sky. A giant worm the size of a skyscraper and colored all things girly curled itself further and further upward, crunching the newest predator-to-prey example in its jaws as blackened tentacles pulled the corpse further and further in. Like a snake, it swallowed the beast whole, the bulge in its throat rapidly traveling down its body.
Something thumped beside me. I turned to see that a pair of the scorpion's claws had rolled against my side, one of which was still wrapped securely in my jacket.
I creakily turned back. The giant worm was staring at me with its beady eyes. Its tri-sectioned jaws unhinged and opened up, the multitude of tentacles wiggling out, and it let out a bellowing yowl, spraying me with saliva and monster salsa. I could see chunks of antlion stuck in its numerous rows of yellowed teeth.
So, this was my newest way to die - eaten by a tentacle monster. I supposed I should count myself lucky; at least I'd only get eaten.
...please let it just eat me.
But it seemed its latest meal had been enough for it, because it just closed it mouth, cocked its head, and then jumped into the air before burrowing back into the ground and disappearing from sight.
I was still for a few moments as my brain processed what had just happened. I was front and center to this world's edition of the food chain. And this was definitely not my world. I don't care how many crackpot theories there were of Elvis still being alive, these monsters did not exist on Earth even with mad science at play.
I wasn't on Earth.
I was somewhere else entirely.
I focused on the claws next to me.
Well, at least I had food now.
The Tatzlwurm, or Tentaclus Vermes, is another addition to the menagerie of horror that is the Badlands. Though referred to as a great earth serpent, it is actually more closely related to the plain earthworm given that it has no internal skeletal system and relies entirely on its dense musculature and hardened skin to protect it from outside attack. What appears to be colorful scales and feathers are actually minute cilia that the wurm uses to burrow its way through the hard earth and rocks of the Badlands.
Much like the poisonous mud frogs of Froggy Bottom Bog, the bright colors are meant to signify danger. Unlike the mud frogs, the tatzlwurm does not have to rely on its venom, seeing as it has the ability to eat and digest pretty much any substance on Terra. Not even the dragons, with their ability to eat multiple types of minerals, are as super-omnivorous as the tatzlwurm, and the creature's nigh invincible resistance to any form of poison, drugs, disease, and heavy metals makes it one of the most dangerous creatures in not only Equestria, but all of Terra. Luckily, the tatzlwurm is notoriously weak against magic, particularly unicorn magic, so as long as you have that on you when confronted by one, you should be relatively safe.
Just watch out for the mouth tentacles. Not only can they crush minotaur-tempered steel, they also have miniature prongs, similar to a jellyfish, that shoot out microscopic harpoons laced with a neurotoxin that can cripple a full-grown griffon.
Plus, they're tentacles. Just... Hrrrr...
Mega scorpion jerky is actually pretty tasty. Sure, it can't compare to a good steak (or at least I think it can't; damn it, amnesia!), but it's palatable. The flesh reminded me of lobster with its spongy consistency, and it really shriveled up once you dried it out, but it certainly lasts. Plus, I hadn't died of an embolism yet, so the poison wasn't spread throughout the scorpion’s entire body.
A couple days after my initial encounter with the area's wildlife, I started to see more and more creatures roam the area. Luckily this meant there was a more ready supply of water, supporting the increasing amount of vegetation in the region. I even managed to find some tubers that looked really similar to turnips, and they didn't kill me when I tried them. Win-win! It did mean I had to be more careful in travelling, though, but I could put up with a little physical danger if I meant I no longer had to constantly worry about the slow and silent killer called starvation.
The further I walked, the more colorful and vibrant the environment grew. The sky had more sky than clouds, and what clouds there were were more of the fluffy type than the overcast version I had grown accustomed to. I could see colors other than brown, red, and black. There was more green, and even other colors of the spectrum thanks to the plants that started littering the surroundings. I was pretty sure I even saw a giant, pink flower off in the distance. The dreary world of death had been finally left behind me, or at least the Lovecraftian version of it.
As I continued onward, I slowly made my way closer and closer to the eastern mountain range. I figured that maybe I'd find some type of civilization at the base rather than in the middle of the wasteland. I didn't really have to go too far out of my way, as the two ranges were starting to curve and come together at a head. I could only assume that I was either reaching a mountain pass or the border of the wasteland.
More time passed, and it was a little more than a week since I had arrived in this topsy-turvy crackland when I came across a series of caves spidering through the mountains. Examining the sides of the tunnel leading into it, I noted with both trepidation and glee that the tunnel was actually man-made. The sides weren't smooth from erosion but rather from someone purposefully scraping along the edges of the rock. Plus, I found older tracks coming in and out of the cave entrance.
There was a mix of hoofprints and dog tracks along the tunnel. I didn't find any footprints, but I assumed that it was because whoever had passed here had ridden the horses in. Horses and dogs together in orderly lines meant domestication, and domestication meant some form of civilization!
I carefully walked into the cave, using the remainder of my walking bone to scratch off marks to keep track where I was going. I didn't have to worry about going in blind because there was moss with some kind of natural bioluminescence giving off dim light. Soon enough the air became stale and musty, and I could make out fresher and fresher tracks.
Something was bothering me, though. The hoofprints were a little on the small side for work horses, and the pawprints were a bit too big. Judging from their size, the horses and dogs would actually be about the same size, about as big as show ponies. Also, I had yet to see human tracks anywhere. Surely they didn't ride the horses this far in.
As I pondered this discrepancy, I absentmindedly kept making marks while delving deeper and deeper into the cave. I was also starting to find signs of what appeared to be a mining operation; Minecart tracks led further down each tunnel that branched off, and I could see abandoned pickaxes and other mining tools scattered about. I didn't know what was being mined, because whoever was doing the mining had pretty well cleaned the place out. Was it gold? Silver? Precious jewels? Couldn't have been coal or gas; I didn't smell anything of the sort.
So what were they mining, and who were the miners?
By now I had to be at least a mile in, but I had yet to come across anyone else. Perhaps I was wrong and those tracks were created by wild horses and dogs? But that couldn't be the case, they were way too neat to just be random herds and packs. Also, what kind of horses and dogs lived in caves? Then again, the world I was on could have evolved differently. Hell, for all I know, these weren't even the horses or canines I knew of.
The flickering of firelight broke me out of my thoughts, and I instinctively plastered my back against the wall. A large group was coming towards me holding torches, and I held my breath, eagerly anticipating what I would find.
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't this.
Ponies turned the corner, pulling minecarts full of all kinds of precious jewels - diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, rubies - and all the size of my fist! But the trove of treasure wasn't what caught my attention, oh no; it was the ponies.
If you could even call them that. They were equine in appearance - quadrupedal, manes, tails, the weird backwards shape of their legs, hooves - but they were not like any ponies my brain encyclopedia could dredge up images of. For one, ponies from my world were kind of dull in color - white, black, tan - you know, normal colors. These ponies, on the other hand, were pastel colored and looked like they had escaped from a child's Crayola box. One of them was a lime green, and another was a soft mauve!
There were less obvious physical differences, as well. Their eyes were too big and more forward-facing on their skull than the side-prey position of regular horses. Their muzzles were too short, and their faces had too many points of articulation. Their faces were extremely expressive, even if they were only fraught with misery. Their joints were different, too. One pony reached up with a hoof to massage its shoulder, betraying a ball-and-socket joint more common in primates.
Whatever these things were, they weren't ponies. They were, however, quite sapient and very capable of emotion. This was clearly highlighted when the tip of a whip lanced across one of their backs and it let out an all too human cry of pain mixed in with a horse's whinny. There was a barking noise behind it, and the pony stiffened momentarily before its cart-mate leaned against it, whispered some encouraging words, and began pulling again. The punished pony gave a small whimper and followed suit. My heart went out to the poor thing, unable to not feel sympathy for such a blighted creature.
Then I got to see the torturer of all that was cute. I was not disappointed in the slightest.
It looked like someone had crossbred an orangutan with an alley mutt. It had stumpy hind legs and elongated, muscled forelegs. Dank and dirty fur covered its entire body. A puggish face glared around with yellowish eyes like something had insulted its mother. The dog(?) stood in a stance half-way between bipedal and quadrupedal, resting on its hind legs but using its grossly oversized forelegs to prop itself up. One of its front paws had a leather whip, which it used to strike any pony that wasn't working to the slavemaster's strict standards.
Several other monkey-dogs wandered past me in the tunnel, hitting other ponies at their discretion and growling nonsensical words. I knew they were speaking some kind of language, and each species could understand the other even though their vocal cords were producing completely dissimilar sounds, but heaven help me if I could figure out what they were saying. Eventually the carts, ponies, and monkey dogs passed me and I was left alone in the dim light of glowing moss.
So I'd just wandered in on a slave ring. Awesome. That was all I needed. I did feel sorry for the poor ponies, but there was no real way for me to help them out. I didn't understand their language and wasn't exactly in shape to mount a daring rescue. The most I could do was escape, find someone who actually could help them, and try my best not to be captured in the process.
And that's when someone clonked me on the head from behind. I was out before I even hit the ground.
Diamond Dogs, or Canis Anancites, are one of several intelligent races that inhabit the country of Equestria. Originally from the tundra wastelands of the Frozen North, diamond dogs are believed to be descended from wolves that gained the ability to burrow underground to avoid the below-freezing temperatures of the region. Over time, they migrated to the warmer climate of Equestria and have called the place home ever since. It is usually rare to find diamond dogs outside of Equestria, as their aggressive nature has caused many scuffles with the other, similarly aggressive races, but there have been quite a few packs found in the countries of Jormundr and Griffonia due to the high geographical concentration of underground caverns and mountains.
Objectively, diamond dogs are the least intelligent of Equestria's races and are much more beholden to their primal roots. However, because of this, they thrive heartily in the wild and are less vulnerable to any drastic geological and climate shifts caused by the effects of mana leakage. If a diamond dog pack's home is destroyed, they can easily pick up and rebuild with nary a pause, assuming they don't just move to a new home.
From my experiences, I know that diamond dogs can be cruel, callous, opportunistic, and tend to look down on anyone not a diamond dog. But, they can also be just as loyal, kind, compassionate, and helpful, so long as one proves themselves worthy in their eyes. To do so is a long and arduous task, but the reward is worth it.
And really, the potential of having friends on your side that can dig through solid rock is an excellent motivator. Even if they do keep calling you ‘monkey’ as a term of endearment.
I was getting into the bad habit of waking up in scary places I didn't recognize with a blinding headache and the foreboding sense that I would soon come face-to-face with something that would strip my sanity away like a banana peel. Only this time, it was accompanied with voices that weren't inside my head.
What? Don't look at me like that! To this day I still devoutly believe that the multitudes of voices that accosted me during my early days in Equestria were the only reason I didn't just strike it out in the Badlands and create a psychotic civilization of death and terror.
You know, besides the one that already existed.
As I slowly floated back to wakefulness, I gradually became aware of others talking around me. Granted, they weren't voices I could actually understand; I think the blow to the back of my head had scrambled the language sectors of my brain, because all I could make out was a mixture of low growls, whinnying, and sharp barks.
...No, never mind. I remembered where I was now, and who those voices belonged to. I was probably in the company of those not-ponies and monkey-dogs I had spied on earlier, most likely as their prisoner. Because where else would I be?
The coolness of smooth rock underneath me cheek comforted me somewhat, a grand contrast to the blistering heat and grainy texture of the wasteland I'd grown accustomed to. The air smelled musty and stale, but that was fine; I was pretty deep inside a mine after all, so fresh air had to be a bit of a rare commodity.
Water was not, however, as proven by the large amount that was dumped on me mere seconds after I woke up. I sputtered in indignation as I flopped around into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes clear and taking a quick glance at my new surroundings.
I was in what was probably a prison cell, given the set of iron bars across the only exit. The cell was carved out of the cave wall, giving it more of a raised dome shape than a cubic one, which curved up to a little under six feet. I'd have to crouch down a bit to avoid giving myself a new(er) concussion. The cell walls weren't smoothed out, instead having what looked like little rivulets crisscrossing it throughout. At first I thought it might've been due to water erosion, but except for the puddle of liquid surrounding my body (please, ignore that setup), the room was dry and devoid of any leaks.
There were no lanterns in the room. Instead, illumination was provided by that same glowing moss I'd come across before getting knocked out. It grew along the top of the cell, long tufts curling like some exotic fern. Briefly, I noted that there was a slight pulse to the glow, ebbing and flowing in the subtlest of ways.
There were a few piles of hay scattered near the back, where a couple of those not-ponies were kneeling, their eyes full of anxiety and not a small amount of fear. When my eyes swung over to them, they pushed themselves further against the wall, giving little, stressed whinnies.
I stifled a sigh and swung my gaze back to the cell door. Standing there with a newly empty bucket was one of those monkey-dogs in some rather uncomfortable-looking armor and helm. The equipment looked like it had been cobbled together from random scraps, despite the metal itself looking almost pristine. Its mouth was formed into a twisted smirk, and it gave off a barking laugh at my obvious discomfort. It dropped the bucket and started talking to me.
At least, I think it did. Its mouth moved and sounds came out, but there was nothing that I could translate. Recognizing that I must've had a blank look on my face, the smirk faded and it started again, though there was a sharper edge to its words. Once again, I failed to grasp what it was trying to say.
...Wait, no, that wasn't completely right. Something was making sense from its random noises. I tilted my head and leaned in closer, trying to make out the small trickling of comprehension that was coming into my brain.
"...you...what...monkey." It jabbed a paw out at me. Interestingly enough, the claws on its forepaw seemed a bit more elongated like a human hand compared to the ones on its back paw. I even think I saw what looked like an almost thumb. "Tell!"
I shook my head. "What? What did you say?"
The beast growled, and I could tell it was reaching the last of its very considerable patience. I really hoped my brain worked out what it was saying soon. I did not need another blow to the head. The fact that I didn't seem to have any residual head trauma was lucky enough.
"What you? Tell!"
That time I could definitely make out what it was saying. Granted, it sounded like a non-native speaker was talking, but the general gist of the meaning came out. I also noted that its mouth did not match the English words coming out, like a badly dubbed movie, and there was a strange background effect from its true voice leaking in, like white noise.
"Me?" I placed a palm of my chest. It snorted and nodded its head. "I'm human." I pointed at it. "What are you?"
"Hue-man?" It leaned forward to get a better look at me, and I resisted the urge to lean away from it. Good gods the thing's breath reeked! It scratched underneath its chin. "No know. Look monkey." It gave another one of those barking laughs. "Stupid like monkey. Capture easy."
I frowned. "Technically, I'm an ape. No tail." I swatted at the back of my pants to prove my point.
There was a slight chuckling from the cell's other inhabitants. Seems they got a laugh out of that. The monkey-dog did not, though. Its face twisted and it banged on the cell door, rattling it with a great clang. The not-ponies gave a small squeak of fear and immediately fell silent.
The monkey-dog snarled out, "No care! Prisoner! Diamond dogs own! Say monkey, you monkey!"
"Shouting doesn't make you correct, you know," I muttered sullenly. Sure, it probably wasn't a smart idea to tick off my new warden, but I wasn't feeling very diplomatic right now. I was tired, aching, hungry, had just come off a lovely cruise through the plains of Hell, and was now prisoner to some orc-wannabe that didn't know basic taxonomy.
I had no cares left to give.
Also: diamond dogs? Seriously? That's what they called themselves?
The diamond dog did have a few cares left, though, which he showed by jabbing me in the gut with the butt of his spear. I bent over in pain as air whooshed out of my lungs. Take note - diamond dogs have extremely good hearing and inversely proportionate tempers.
"See? Monkey hear, monkey do."
"Not the way that goes..." I wheezed. Damn it, mouth, shut up! Brain, do something about the idiot! I earned another rap on the skull for that comeback. "Alright, alright, I get it!" I shouted, waving a hand in surrender. I sat back up, swallowing my words at the smug look on the diamond dog's face. "What do you want from me?"
"Not I want. What Boss want. See him. Say what do." It shrugged, which was weird, because its entire body seemed to ripple as its oversized arms moved up and down with its shoulders.
Also, I now saw what gender the thing was. Never before had I more wanted to have an extra set of pants. Sure, they wouldn't fit the creature, considering that its legs were about a third of the length of mine and as wide as my waist, but I did not need to see diamond dog dingly-donglies not even five minutes after first contact.
I blinked. "Why would he want to see me? Aren't I just some new slave labor for you?"
He frowned. "You new, not see. Boss think you worth something." He scratched himself. ...I don't think I need to tell you where. "Not matter. Go into mines in end."
"Uh...huh."
Lovely. So, I was not only in a place where humans were apparently either extremely rare or flat-out non-existent, but I was also about to become the exotic pet of a canine overlord. If it weren't for the fact that I had just survived a week of Mother Nature’s sadistic hazing, I might have fallen into a deep depression at the idea of never coming across another human being. Granted, a small part of my mind was absolutely wailing and shedding tears like a cartoon character, but the majority was attempting to find a way for me to not only survive this ordeal but also get out relatively unscathed - physically and mentally.
Right now, my only shot at improving my lot was to try and get on the diamond dog boss's good side. Which meant (ugh) begging at a dog. The irony of the situation did not elude me; it simply made me dislike my position even more.
The diamond dog smiled, revealing sharpened canines all the way to the back of his jaw. "See get. Good. Maybe not stupid."
"Not like I have much of a choice here."
"See? You smart." A soft rumbling, like rocks scraping together, floated from its throat, and I realized that it was chuckling. "Boss says eat. So, eat." With that, he shoved a small bale of hay through the cell’s bars and chucked it at me, smacking me in the face.
I picked up the hay and looked at it. Ok, I wasn't an expert on human gastronomy, but I'm pretty sure we didn't have the enzymes or back-up stomachs needed to break down tough plant material like this. And considering I'd run out of wildlife jerky shortly before finding the mines, my stomach was clamoring for more than just dried grass.
With an expression on my face that definitely wasn't a pout, I tossed the bale to the side. "I can't eat this."
The guard stopped laughing. "You eat."
"I can't eat this."
He rapped his spear on the bars. "You eat!"
"I can't!"
"You eat or-"
"Listen, you stupid mutt!"
With a speed borne of frustration and hunger, I shot to my feet, somehow managing to not crack my head on the low ceiling in the process. The diamond dog almost took a step backwards as I loomed over him, which wasn't surprising considering the top of his head barely cleared my navel even if I was stooping a bit. The creature was about three feet, tops. I then added onto the intimidation factor by hooking a finger to the corner of my mouth and pulling back, revealing my less-than-considerable canines (at least compared to those of a genuine(?) dog.)
"I! Can't! Eat! This!"
The guard regained his composure and leaned forward, examining the sharpened points of my teeth. He snuffled. "Why no say? Want meat, get meat."
My eye started to twitch. I felt it was going to become a common occurrence. "Yes, meat, please, that'd be lovely, really appreciate it," I ground out between clenched teeth.
The guard snorted and walked off, returning a couple of minutes later with a small slab of meat the size of my hand, still somewhat bleeding. He tossed it in the cell and I scrambled to grab it before it hit the floor and all the lovely pathogens that inhabited it. This was not time for the 'five second rule.'
"There, meat. You eat now," he said.
I blinked. "Uhhh...you're not going to cook it?"
A thick, burly eyebrow raised. "What, pansy like pony? No need cook."
"Sure, if you wanna get mad...whatever-this-is disease." I paused. "Wait, what kind of meat is this, anyway?"
"Easy find meat. Have everywhere."
My brain locked up as I considered the damnable vagueness of that sentence. "...um..."
"What?"
"This isn't...that's not to say...would this happen to be...?" The guard just looked at me blankly, obviously having no clue what my random jabberings were pointing to. So I decided to just literally point, gesturing at the two not-ponies watching us with watchful, watching eyes.
The diamond dog took a second to process what I was implying and then surprised me by actually reeling back in disgust. His lips curled up to reveal his gums and his eyes darkened with revulsion. "Ew! Think is pony? Disgusting! Pony weak but not good for eating! Besides..." Its tongue slipped out and cleaned a tooth, like it was washing away a bad taste. "Pony too gamy for everytime food."
Oh, well that was a relief; at least I didn't have to worry about becoming a... What do you call someone that eats a non-human sapient creature? Sapibal? Brainibal? Mi-wait. Did he just say ‘ponies were too gamy’? Did that mean that he's-
[BRAIN OS HAS FAILED TO CONTINUE THE THOUGHT PROCESS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO RETRY? Y/N?]
Nonononononono! I'm good! Moving on to less traumatizing trains of thought!
"So, if it's not..." I swallowed and mentally smashed the 'abort process' button when my brain started lateral thinking again. "What is it?"
"Rock rat."
"Rock...rat? And it doesn't talk back, right?"
A barking laugh ripped from his mouth. "Rock rat dumber than ponies! They pests! Eat all good gems and rocks in mines." He nodded at the slab and licked his chops. "Is good. You eat. Come back. Bring you to boss." Snuffling again, pleased with the order of events he'd planned, the guard turned and left me to dwell upon what it was I was eating.
Staring at the small slab of meat, my decision was made for me when my stomach again demanded to be satiated. And considering I'd been sustaining myself on mega-scorpion meat for the past week, I didn't exactly have the right to be choosy about what I was eating.
Sighing, I gathered some of the hay in front of me. Now all I needed was my lighter. I patted myself down and soon found it. Actually, I was kind of surprised to find I still had it on me; you'd think the diamond dogs would've stripped me down to nothing to see what goodies I had on my person, but from what I could tell, I still had all my belongings on me in the exact same place I'd left them.
Time to do a quick inventory again. As I lit the hay and tossed the meat in, watching closely to make sure that it didn't char to a crisp, I glanced myself over to see how I was running.
My flask was full of stream water, my lighter was still half-full, my pen had barely been used, and my notebook only had a few pages ripped out or scribbled on.
I'd taken to writing a journal of my new life in hell, if only to prove to myself that it'd really happen should I come across actual civilization.
The only item I had run out of were my cigarettes, which made me worry slightly that I might go into withdrawal at an inopportune moment. I didn't know how addicted I was thanks to my dearth of memories, but hopefully I was only a light smoker. I'd managed to limit myself to one cancer-stick a day without any severe consequences, after all.
My clothes were much the worse for wear: One of my jacket's sleeves had been torn off and used as a makeshift carrying case for the jerky. My shirt and pants were filthy and torn in several places from when I'd stumbled into a cactus patch, my tie had been used as a bandage for a nasty cut on my leg I’d gotten from said cactus patch, and I was wearing a fierce hole in the sole of my right shoe.
I had a smattering of bumps, bruises, cuts, and scrapes all over my body. I'm pretty sure I was suffering from mild to moderate sunburn, as it hurt all over to touch anything and I felt way too warm given that I was soaked and chilling in the middle of a cave. And I had blisters on my feet that were ready to explode.
Oh, and I hadn't shaved for a week, so I looked like I'd glued a tumbleweed to my face.
Yeah, it was just that kind of day.
The crackling of fat and smell of burnt meat aroused me from my internal cataloguing and focused me back on my food. Grabbing it with my bare hands, I winced as the hot grease stung my fingers, but my hunger cared little for such obstacles, so I ignored the pain and tore into the meat with gleeful abandon.
...Oh gods, it was the best thing ever. The scorpion meat had been light and airy, but this rock rat meat was much stringier and had a healthy amount of fat on it, so the juiciness was without compare. I think I slipped into a feeding frenzy, because one moment I was taking my first bite and the next I was sucking on my burnt fingertips to lick off every last bit. Guess I didn't realize just how starving I was for a good meal.
The fact that rat meat was what made the best meal I'd had in a week did not dampen my happiness in the slightest. I was just content that I wouldn't have to go hunting for more food. Catching the scorpion was pure luck, and I wasn't even the one that trapped it (psycho food chain for the win!)
Wiping my mouth on the sleeve I still had, I leaned back on my palms. I was no longer hungry and I knew what was going to happen to me next, so all I needed now was figure out a plan to get ahead or, at the very least, out of this heap of new trouble I had found myself in. And to do that, I needed more information.
I just hoped I hadn't terrified my only sources with that display of voracious savagery not minutes earlier.
Spinning around on my butt, I turned to face the cell's other two occupants - the (not)ponies. Just like the ones I'd seen in the mines before, the two were a variety of unnatural colors that did not belong on anything resembling an equine. One was a deep, dark green with a silver mane, and the other a robin’s egg blue with a darker-blue-and-yellow-streaked mane. As I stared at them, they stared back - warily, but not with as much fear as they had when I first woke up. Maybe the guard laying into me had made them sympathize a little? Only one way to find out.
I raised a hand, pausing when they instinctively flinched, but forged on ahead and waved at them. "Um...hi?"
The two blinked, looked at each other, then looked back at me. I bit my lip as the silence stretched out. "Look," I said. "I'm pretty sure you guys can talk back. I saw a few like you talking back in the mines, and you obviously get what I'm saying. So, c'mon, answer me."
Still nothing but silence from the two of them. I noticed them looking at the burnt pile of hay where the scent of cooked meat still lingered and bit back a groan of frustration. "Oh for heaven's sake, I'm not going to eat you. I was just starving and...Look, let's start over again. Hi, I'm..."
At that point, I was at a loss for words. How was I going to introduce myself? I didn't know my name, and had no inkling as to what it was. I suppose I could've just came up with a name for myself, but it felt wrong to just make up something when I hadn't even had the chance to look for my true one.
I guess I'd just have to come up with a placeholder until then. The first idea that floated up was 'Anonymous,' considering that it literally meant 'unknown name,' but my cultural knowledge blared that trying to connect myself to internet forums was a bad idea in the making, so I skipped right over that. But what else could I use? Something exotic, yet similar in etymology. There had to be...
Oh...perfect.
"I'm Nom de Plume. But you can just call me Nom."
Classy.
I waited for a response, but nothing was forthcoming. Finally giving up on striking up a rapport, I sighed and started to turn around when a small voice garnered my attention.
"Prench."
I looked up. The one who had spoken was the green one. Seeing my gaze on it, it raised its voice again, louder this time.
"Name. Prench. From Prance?" Like the diamond dog, its mouth didn't quite match its vocals.
Absently I wondered just how the translation took place. Their voice boxes and oral structures just shouldn't be able to produce the sounds needed for human language.
Magic?
...yeah, not going to touch that concept with a ten-meter pole for now. I don't think my brain could handle the stress of accepting that along with the existence of talking dogs and ponies.
"Prance?" I echoed. The pony nodded slowly. "No, not from Prance. America." I think.
"A-me-ri-ca?" It sounded out the word carefully. It looked at the other pony, but it just shook its head in return. "No know. Outside Equestria?"
"Equestria? Where's that?"
The pony blinked. "No know Equestria?" it asked. "Where from, no know Equestria?"
I shrugged. "Don't know. Woke up out in the desert about a week ago. Don't remember how or why I was there."
Its jaw dropped. "The Badlands? In Badlands and live?"
From the tone of its voice and shocked facial features, it was obvious I had done something quite out of the ordinary. Well, not that I was surprised; the idea that anyone would willingly enter that hellhole would shock me, too.
"Not like I wanted to be out there. That place sucked more than...well, some witty cultural reference that I just don't have the energy to pull out of my scrambled brains." I crossed my legs in front of me and rested my chin on my palms. "So? You know my name, but I don't know yours."
The green pony pointed a hoof at itself, once again showing dexterity and articulation not at all common to Earth equines. "Name?"
"Yes, your name," I said.
"Em...Emerald Chip."
"And you?" I asked, pointing at the other pony.
Its voice was much softer, almost so soft I could barely hear. "Daisy Links."
After the introductions, I took the time to examine my cellmates more closely. From the pitch of their voices and differing body structure, I guessed that Emerald was a guy and Daisy was a girl. Emerald had a blockier build to him, though he was smaller than Daisy - I'm guessing he was younger. Also, their hair kind of tipped me off, too - Emerald's mane was spiky and rough, while Daisy's was wavy and much softer looking.
I don't know if human social and gender roles transferred to alien ponies, but if they did, I was going to abuse the hell out of any and all sex stereotypes to try and make sure I didn't pull any social gaffes.
For a while, the three of us conversed, their shaky language nevertheless able to get across the base idea of what they were trying to say. Emerald and Daisy were of a sub-species of ponies (still call bull on the chibi-pony thing) called earth ponies. There were a couple others, but I was too focused on the current situation to ask further about that topic.
They and the other captives had been kidnapped by the diamond dog pack while traveling and forced into labor to help mine the caves of jewels for their slavers. They were part of the latest group of captives, ambushed on the trail from the nearby town of Dodge Junction about a couple weeks back. While not exactly the brightest, the diamond dogs did have enough sense to jump them when they were out on the road so that there weren't any witnesses.
Apparently this was common practice for diamond dogs, and it ticked me off to no end that I was now in the clutches of an always chaotic evil race - like mixing gnolls with drows. Awesome.
The two earth ponies asked a few things about myself, and I told them all I could. They seemed a bit skeptical about my amnesia excuse, but I saw no real reason to lie to them. It wasn't like hiding the truth or not was going to affect me either way. For all I knew, I just up and appeared in the Badlands from nowhere. Saying I came from somewhere else would have just led to more questions, with answers I could never come up with.
But back to the important matter at hand. I was going to have to think fast and hard to come up with a way out of this predicament, and the first step was to get on the good side of the pack's alpha.
The opportunity came soon when the guard who had woken me up before arrived back at the cell door. He banged on the bars with his spear. "Oi, ape!" Well, at least he got the taxonomy right this time. "Time come. Meet Boss now."
I stood up, once again displaying my full height, and stepped out when he opened the door. Show time.
"Ow!"
Of course, it might've been more impressive had I not banged my head on the doorframe. Stupid, short doggies and ponies...
The hierarchy of diamond dogs works much like any other wolf pack. At the top is the alpha, the supreme leader and chief of the pack. Alphas are not chosen by the previous alpha or by blood ties, but are determined by combat. If another diamond dog challenges the alpha and wins, they are treated as the new alpha. Gender means nothing to diamond dogs, and there have been equal numbers of male and female alphas throughout diamond dog history.
Calling a female alpha a 'stone cold bitch' is actually considered one of the highest praises that one can give. Now, if only that translated to human roles as well, we'd have a lot more male subordinates with their junk in one piece.
After the alpha comes the betas, or the pack's enforcers. They're the second-in-commands and give orders out when the alpha isn't around. Below them are the lieutenants and then so on and so forth. Any being not a diamond dog or from another pack is immediately relegated to the bottom of the dogpile, regardless of how important they might be outside of the pack.
Each tier is expected to obey the one above them without pause. Failing to do so is considered an insult to the alpha him- or herself, and usually ends extremely poorly for the troublemaker. You're either for the pack, or against it.
Choose wisely.
"Remember, show Boss respect. Great alpha. Run whole pack."
"Uh-huh, show respect, got it."
"He get idea to grab stupid ponies when other ponies not watching."
"Mmm, real smart, this boss guy is."
"Because him, Deepcave pack strongest for years. Find all gems in mountains. Stronger than other diamond dogs. Have strong babies. Strong packmates. Show strength to all races in Equestria. Even Terra."
"Yup, you guys are top-notch, got it."
I stopped short when the guard did. He turned around and fixed me with a suspicious stare, his lips twisted into an annoyed grimace. I blinked. "You get?" he said. "Really? No think you get."
"What?" I asked. "I get it. Your boss is awesome. Because of him, you guys are now the top dogs in the whole region. What's not to get?"
He stared at me for a few more moments before snorting and turning around to continue on. "No act good, Boss show you place. No like that."
"Well, as long as I follow your directions, I should be fine, right?" The diamond dog glanced over his shoulder. I smiled winningly at him. He snuffled and looked away. The second he did, my smile fell to form into a neutral frown.
"Right."
Ok, to be honest, I wasn't really paying attention to my escort. He'd been spending the entire walk to meet the leader drilling into my skull the proper protocol necessary to greet such a grand individual. Really, I just passed it off as the usual butt-kissing needed for any megalomaniacal warleader and walked along on auto-pilot as he explained all the various points.
I instead spent the time inspecting the tunnels we were passing through to create a mental map of the mines in case a chance to escape came into play. It wouldn't help to run away only to get lost in the twisting honeycombs of the diamond dogs' homes.
And what a labyrinth it was - tunnels intersected one another with almost no rhyme or reason, leading up and down to various open caves, where diamond dogs congregated for rest, recreation, feeding, or other reasons. However, as I looked closer, I noted that the structure of the place actually did make sense, both in terms of strategic value and stability.
Whenever we passed by an intersection, the guard would take the time to briefly scratch a claw on the corner of the wall before moving on. I looked over the spot where he did so and managed to make out a small collection of shapes carved onto the corner. I didn't have enough time to examine each spot too closely, but enough repetition brought up on the idea that it was a log of sorts. Even more intriguing was that it was not really a pictograph of any type I could discern; instead, I think it was a crude form of Braille, specifically tailored to match the diamond dog's claws.
It was fascinating - a type of mini-map that could only be used by diamond dogs, and perhaps even further specified to the indigenous clan. Any invaders or escapees would be immediately lost in the twisting and turning ways, not able to trust their eyes or sense of direction. And considering the possible escapees had hooves, they couldn't trace the delicate lines of the corners to find their way.
Besides this marvel in map-making, the architecture of the tunnels amazed me as well. The tunnels themselves weren't that large, and I had to bend over at all times and even crawl on my hands and knees at others to get through doorframes similar to the one in my jail cell, but I was focused less on this annoyance and more on their construction. As far as I could tell, the tunnels were not shored up by any sort of support beams or the like, which meant that the tunnels had to be perfectly carved not only to prevent collapse, but also had to travel through the sturdiest parts of the mountain.
I didn't know much about geology, but I was certain that most geological strata weren't composed of just one type of mineral. However, from what I could see, the tunnels always traveled through the same type of rock, which meant the diamond dogs could instinctively avoid any of the weaker minerals found.
Whoever and whatever these diamond dogs were, they knew their stuff when it came to rocks.
I nearly tripped when the guard stopped short again, jarring me out of my introspection. "Here," he said.
I looked around the open cavern we had arrived at. It was the largest one I'd seen thus far, nearly a couple dozen meters in diameter and a half-dozen high. Like all the other rooms we'd passed by, it was meticulously carved out of the rockface, and any and all protrusions from the ground and ceiling had been removed. I don't think I'd seen a single stalagmite or stalactite the entire time down here.
There were a smattering of diamond dogs milling around when we'd come in, and they all perked up and swiveled to look at me when I stopped. There was a mix of curiosity, dismissal, and even outright hunger on their faces, and I forced myself not to start sweating as their stares burrowed into my body.
The guard poked me with the butt of his spear. "Go!" he hissed. "Not keep Boss waiting!"
I took one clear, steady step forward, ignoring the trepidation that was trying to shove its way down my throat, and made my way into the breach, directly for the group of diamond dogs standing around a chair carved out of stone and surrounded by a scattering of random metals and precious jewels.
Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the two figures sitting upon said chair. One was a veritable mountain of a diamond dog. The beast had to be the largest one I'd seen so far, easily dwarfing any of the others surrounding it. Ironically, this still made it smaller than me, but I knew enough about animal physiology to realize it could probably yank my arm out of my socket and beat me to death with it should it so choose. It was covered with mounds of shaggy fur, mostly grey but with some white markings layered around its body.
It eyes, though... I had to stop myself from snickering. Droopy and wide with a hint of filmy dopiness. This guy was basically 'dorp' personified (canified?).
The other diamond dog, perched on the larger one's knee, was the smallest one I'd seen. Immediately, my mind brought up images of toy poodles. There was no other way to see this one - squarely built with greyish poofs everywhere. Heck, even the club-like tail was cartoonishly oversized, with a fur afro. Its eyes were much beadier, and had a bright intelligence the larger did not.
Alright, so I had a choice to make. Only one of these guys was the Boss, and I had no idea which. My guard, in all his infinite wisdom, had only told me what to say, yet not who to say it to, and I didn't feel like ticking off the one who held my life in his paws.
At first, I thought it would be the bigger one. Diamond dogs appeared to be of the mindset of following the strongest diamond dog, so he was a safe bet. However, comedic irony would have me do that only to prove that the weaker and stupid-looking choice would be the right one, and I'd be screwed.
Well guess what? Reality doesn't work like that. I'm going with the safe bet. Also, the bigger one was petting the smaller one with enough force to crack concrete, and the poodle didn't seem to mind beyond some vague exasperation, so that helped.
I walked right up to the larger diamond dog and looked him right in the eyes. Rule one with predators, sapient or otherwise - never show weakness.
"Greetings, Boss, leader of the Deepcave clan. May your gems never run out and your claws remain ever sharp. Your strength and ingenuity seems impossible to escape from, as I, Nom de Plume, have come under your watchful eye and await whatever fate you deem worthy of my lower self."
Oh yeah, I could charm like the best of them. I waited for a response.
The diamond dog looked at me, blinked very slowly, and just as glacially tilted its head down. I followed its gaze until it rested on the poodle.
The very annoyed and irate poodle.
Who I now figured was the real Boss.
Damn you, comedic irony! You're not supposed to work in the real world!
Boss bared his teeth and spoke, in a basso completely at odds with his body size and type, "Dare confuse us? Maybe stupider than thought."
Mentally backtracking, I searched for someway out of the hole I'd dug myself. "Ah, of course you're the famous boss." I grinned, flashing my teeth. "I should have known. Your intelligence far outweighs the rest of your pack."
Boss licked his lips. "What mean, ape?" Damn that deep voice coming out of that tiny body was freaky.
"I'd heard that it was because of your wits that the Deepcave clan has flourished so much ‘til now. It would only make sense that such a mental giant would trick those of lesser brains." I motioned at the mountain dog. Fluffy raised a claw to point at himself. "Most fools would automatically assume that this individual would be the leader, allowing you to grasp their inner thoughts and catch them off guard. I, myself, was taken in by such wondrous deception. Truly only someone of your mental agility could come up with such an ingenious plan."
I trailed off and kept eye contact with Boss. Oh jeez, that was such bullshit of the highest degree. There was no way anyone was thick enough to fall for such an obvious-
"See not as stupid as thought. Surprised got, even late."
Ok, maybe there was. The widened look of recognition in Boss's eyes showed that he hadn't even thought of such a thing until I mentioned it. Quick note: diamond dogs are not exceptionally stupid, but they are no mental dynamos, either.
Still, just because he hadn't seen through my ruse immediately didn’t mean I could keep the charade up. I had to get through this as quickly as possible before I did something boneheaded and screwed up any chance of getting on the tyke's good side.
Boss hopped down from Fluffy's knee and loped over to me. I quickly dropped down to the ground so that he wouldn't have to crane his neck to look at me. He barely came up past my knee, and I didn't need a creature with a possible Napoleon complex to think I was insulting him. He made several circuits around me, grabbing and poking at me occasionally, like I was being weighed and measured.
Hopefully I wouldn't be found wanting.
He paid particularly close attention to my hands and fingers. He spent a few minutes bending and moving around the digits, oftentimes to their breaking points, before moving on to the next one. I guess my spindly fingers were exotic compared to the stubby ones they had, and I didn't have any real claws, either.
After what seemed like forever, Boss stopped in front of me. "Called human?"
"Yup, human. Homo sapien, if you like."
"What human do?"
"Lots of things. We're kinda handy that way." I winced at the unintentional pun.
D'oh!
Boss either ignored it or didn't get it. "Where from?"
Hadn't the ponies called the desert I'd woken up in the Badlands? I supposed that was as good a place to start as any. "The Badlands."
That brought Boss up short. "Badlands? Impossible. Nothing live in Badlands but beasts."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say I'm from there. I just sort of woke up there with no idea how." I smiled foolishly. "Think I fell from the sky, though. Left a big me-shaped hole in the ground and everything."
Boss sucked on his teeth. "No know how?"
"Nope, just a big ol' blank spot where my memories should be." I leaned forward. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea how I got there, would you? After all, a...dog with your smarts should be able to figure that out easily."
Of course, I didn't expect him to have any clue at all, but any chance to heap on the accolades and praise could only help my chances.
Boss fixed me with a blank stare. His whole body shook and I jumped when a booming noise like a thunderclap erupted from his throat.
He was laughing.
"Really is stupid! Maybe crazy! Like that!"
His laughter coaxed the other diamond dogs to follow, and soon the whole room was echoing with the coarse merriment of the pack. I kept silent, unsure as to whether laughing or not would make things better or worse for me.
Soon Boss's crazed joy tapered off. He bared his teeth and licked them again, an action I was beginning to see meant he was thinking. "Strange, ape. But funny. Enjoy that. Maybe worth something."
He tugged at my arm and gave it a harsh squeeze. "But weak, no muscles. Fix that." He shot a sharp look at my guard. "Go mine. Watch him. Make sure do work. Stronger, find something else to do." He looked back at me then down. "Make sure not hurt paws. Interesting. Might do with later."
He looked me up and down again. "Now, what have?"
"Have?" I parroted.
"Yes, have!" he barked. "Belong us now. Give us something. Maybe worth more if do."
So he wanted tribute, did he? Maybe that was why I wasn't stripped when I was first captured, to see what I was willing to give? I wouldn't be surprised if they checked what I had on me and left it there as some kind of test. It wasn't like it mattered; I didn't really have anything on me that was too valuable, so it wouldn't hurt me too much to give it up.
I retrieved my only belongings and laid them out in front of me. Boss inspected them carefully. He picked up the ballpoint pen and sniffed at it. "What this?"
"It's a pen. You write with it."
"Bah. Writing. Is stupid. Diamond dogs no need write." He tossed it over his head, Fluffy grabbing it out with his furry slab of a paw. Fluffy took one look at it before delicately putting it down on a pile of random items next to the throne. I couldn't help but think of a dog chasing after a ball with the way he reacted.
The notebook fell to the same fate when I explained its purpose. The flask was looked over with interest, especially with the leather wrapping. I had the feeling that tanning was rare in a world where the usual source animals would kick your teeth in if you tried to skin them
Boss laughed when I mentioned it was originally meant to keep booze.
"No have fire grog. Show real good time."
Compared to my long-lost uber-moonshine? I'd like to see that.
The lighter caught his interest the most by far. When he first spun the spark wheel, he nearly dropped the thing when the flame lit up right next to his nose. After recollecting himself (and making sure no one 'saw' his shock), Boss amused himself by flicking the flame on and off. I hoped that he didn't use up all the lighter fluid, since I might get a chance to get the lighter back later.
I had the feeling that Boss, and diamond dogs in general, were easily amused by shiny new things, and just as easily forgot them.
With his newfound treasure in hand, Boss dismissed me, and my new guard led me out of the room back to my cell. I had a long trial ahead of me, and it was time to see how I faced it.
Hopefully with no new scars added to the ones I already had.
I wasn't holding out hope on that too much.
As diamond dogs spend the majority of their lives living in subterranean dwellings, it should come as no surprise that mining is a vital and inherent part of their culture. Diamond dog packs are the major provider of all metals and jewels in Equestria, and each clan has carved out a region for themselves where they mine out all the valuable veins and sell them to the other races. It's very rare to have a race other than diamond dogs mine for minerals, and many packs are extremely territorial if an individual outside of their own should infringe on their domain.
If the pegasi rule the unending skies, the unicorns the mutable aether, the earth ponies the verdant fields, then it is the diamond dogs who watch over and control all that shines underneath the earth's crust.
Diamond dogs adore shiny objects, and none more than the gleaming glint of gold and silver, or the dazzling display of the jewel that is their namesake. It helps further that their innate magic grants their claws and fangs the ability to slice through any mineral as if it were paper, their eyes the ability to see in almost complete darkness, and a hardiness that can rival even dragons.
To put it frankly, I see them as even hairier dwarves - if that was somehow possible - living deep within the embrace of the earth. They eat, sleep, and breathe dirt and stone. They even go so far as to only ever have dirt baths, their love for it is so deep.
So, yeah - furrier, smellier, dumber, ornerier dwarves. Enjoy that image.
After Boss had sent me back to prison, I was moved to a separate cell removed from the rest of the ponies. I guess he didn't want me commiserating with the other labor, or maybe it was because he wanted to keep a close eye on me. Whatever it was, I soon went to work in the mines, acting as a secondary digger along with the other diamond dogs. It was decided that I was useless as a pack mule (no offense to any sapient mules out there), so instead I helped clear out any gem caches unearthed.
When I first envisioned mining in a cave, scenes of breaking through hard rock and stones to find raw veins of precious metals and gems came to mind. Geodes with their uneven and cracked surfaces, jewels needing to be polished down from their spiky and rough natural state, chipping off metals so that they could melted down for better use - this is what I was expecting.
However, when I first cracked into a clump of crystals, I got nothing of the sort. Instead, perfectly cut gemstones tumbled around me like I'd just whacked an RPG mob monster to death. It was only another reminder that I was no longer anywhere on earth, because earth scientists and chemists everywhere would be pulling out their hair at the very unnatural shape of the precious jewels.
The other reminder were the rock rats that I'd been feasting on since my capture. The name spoke for itself - a rodent the size of a medicine ball and covered with a layer of slate to act as armor. The first time one popped out of a crystal trove, I bellowed with a manly yell and broke a pickaxe off in its back.
The thing just gave me a look as if to say, 'Really? That's the best you could do?' before it tried to eat my face off. I answered with another pickaxe and several hefty boulders.
It was official - my life had devolved into some cliché video game plot, and I was stuck in the evil army's dungeon.
I was half tempted to hide the rupees in the nearest pottery on the off-chance it would lure in a green-clad kleptomaniac hero to save my behind.
Unfortunately, the only one on hand was a chamberpot, and I did not feel like dumping jewels in only to have to fish them back out again once it was discovered I was storing them in unsanitary conditions. Knowing my captors, they'd make me bob for diamonds.
Alongside that pointless thought process, the random cultural references my brain kept spouting were beginning to grow just as annoying and frustrating as my current predicament. Having jokes and the like with no emotional connection to them just made it harder for me to reconcile with the fact that I was no longer in a familiar place, with no chance of getting back to wherever I was from and no way to recall what it was that I'd lost.
Anecdotes that no one else gets make poor company, and ones that even you can't fully understand are worse. I knew why my brain was doing it - it was trying to connect to something, anything, that seemed familiar - and I couldn't begrudge it for that. After all, it had been reformatted in the worse way possible.
Still, there was no time to dwell on matters that weren't pertinent to the situation at hand...or paw, as it were.
"Oi, Nomkey, break time."
I turned away from the pile of gemstones I was sorting between types and qualities. Evidently my dexterous digits were good for something - I was able to separate gems from each other at a much quicker rate, and my fingertips were much more sensitive to the minute differences in texture that denoted the rarity of the jewel.
Yeah, in this world, the smoother the gem was, the better it was. Apparently flaws in the crystalline structure meant nothing as basic crystal formation worked completely opposite to what I knew.
Geology aside, I looked at the person that called me. He was standing there with a smug grin on his face, a paw extended and holding a small tin cup.
I wiped a hand across my mouth and accepted the cup. "Thanks, Rotfang."
Rotfang's grin widened in turn. "You doing better. The higher ups pleased. Even Boss had good words for you."
"It's not like this is challenging stuff," I said. "It's tons easier than when I had to do actual mining."
"Yeah, you so weak then. Had to smack you a couple times to get you working."
Rotfang was the guard that I'd woken up to on my first day as slave to the Deepcave pack, and after being cleared by Boss, he'd become my own personal warden. Rotfang was an alright kind of guy, as nice as a diamond dog could be, but that didn't mean he went any easier on me than the rest of the guards did on the other slaves. I rubbed my shoulder at the memories. He certainly had used the stick more often than the carrot with me.
Still, that didn't mean he neglected the carrot completely. He was the one who had discovered my aptitude for singling out more valuable gems, and he usually kept me in better shape than the other ponies.
I took a sip from the tin and winced as the liquid fire poured down my throat. "Holy cow, is this stuff still strong as ever!"
Rotfang laughed as he quaffed his own drink. "The look on face when you first tried it - priceless!"
"Well, excuse me for not being prepared to drink something that usually only diamond dogs could safely imbibe!"
"Still using big words, eh?" Rotfang stuck a claw in his ear and twisted, picking out a small chunk of earwax and flinging it to the side. "Don't know why. Others don't like it when do. Make them think you looking down on them."
"Please, just be glad we can understand each other better at all. When we first talked to each other, I was lucky to get words that had more than one syllable."
Whatever magic it was that was translating between us - magic existed, by the way; who knew, right? Oh... my poor brain - it had gotten stronger and more comprehensive. Now I could hold full conversations without having to pause to make sure I understood the nuances. Still, even with the universal translator getting better, diamond dog language was much simpler on average, relying more on body language and scents than a full lexicon.
"There you go again. You sound like pony when you talk. Shouldn't. Be bad for you."
"What? If anyone tries to mess with me, you'd put them in their place, right?"
"If on same level as me or below, sure. But Boss? His enforcers? You on own."
"Aww, but if I'm gone, who'd give you the scratchies you love so much?" I reached over and wriggled my fingers underneath Rotgang's helm and behind his ears. I'd barely started scratching when his eyes glazed over and his hind leg started thumping in tune with his fiercely wagging tail.
It didn't matter if they were intelligent or not - doggies loved scratchies, especially behind their ears. Rotfang had nearly bitten my hand off when I'd first tried, my mind not even really considering the consequences of my actions. I just saw twitching ears and went for it. But the second I did, he dropped everything and actually leaned into my ministrations.
I think that's when he first began to warm up to me, because shortly after, he'd given me an unscheduled break and tankard of fire grog.
Now, I missed my uber-moonshine, but fire grog was definitely a runner-up when it came to getting me drunk. The stuff was mixture of the luminescent moss they used to light the caves and ground-up fire rubies collected from the mines.
That's right, I was drinking precious jewels and hadn't had my digestive tract torn to shreds. Surprisingly, the rubies tasted like really strong cinnamon, and being mixed with the moss and fermented actually softened them down to palatable levels. Didn't stop them from being extremely unstable, though.
Fun note - fire grog made excellent molotov cocktails. Even better, they doubled as concussion grenades because of the added force from the combustion.
Chemistry can go suck it in this world.
Getting ahold of himself, Rotfang jerked his ears away from my hands and growled. I got the hint and went back to sipping at my grog.
"Word about you has spread through the pack, Nomkey."
I perked up at that, ignoring the portmanteau of my assumed name and wrongfully-accused species. Rotfang had started calling me that ever since I'd gotten on his good side, and I didn't feel like ruining the bond I'd created over an annoying nickname.
"Hmm? What do you mean?"
"What you think?" he said. "You the weird monkey-ape that appeared from the plains of Tartarus itself and got Boss's attention."
"I can't really be all that strange," I said sullenly.
He fixed me with a deadpan gaze. "Not many diamond dogs get Boss to talk about them. You not diamond dog, but Boss talk about you."
"So? I'm just an exotic pet at best. Maybe if they shaved off their fur they'd be talked about too."
He barked. "Ha, you like shaved monkey."
"Ape," I corrected.
"Monkey-ape."
"Bah." I waved the cup. "So? What are they saying?"
"How you strange." I snorted. "No laugh," he said. "You strange, but also same way as us. You not wussy plant-eater like ponies, even if you keep complaining to cook food."
"Please, just because I like my food a little warm doesn't make me a wuss."
"But real diamond dog eat while prey's heart still beat. Prove we stronger." He took a swig and winced. "No matter. Other thing, too. You come from Badlands. Nothing come from Badlands that not quickly be killed, or kill others."
"Believe me, I understand exactly what you're talking about."
Wriggly, waggly tentacles...
"You talk like ponies, but act like us. Look in eye, show teeth, not back down. Ponies never do that. Too weak, too stupid. Only good for work. But you do more. You better. Stronger. Like diamond dog."
Well, what did you expect from a prey and predator species? Especially where the predator was imprisoning said prey? It didn't matter how smart an animal was - years of genetic hardwiring didn't exactly disappear overnight, especially if it was being enforced by environmental stimuli.
Nature and nurture were doing all they could to keep those ponies under the paw, and there was no way the diamond dogs could blame them for that, especially since they were ones perpetuating such a travesty.
We slipped into a comfortable silence as we nursed our drinks. I contemplated my position in the diamond dogs' hierarchy. Was I really that interesting because I had Boss's attention? Was that a good or a bad thing? How would the others act around me? I'd only really had Rotfang as constant company; the other diamond dogs steered clear of me, obviously afraid to mess with their leader's pet project, and the ponies avoided me entirely, possibly seeing me as just an extension of their cruel overseers.
The isolation was slowly beginning to affect me, and I didn't really like where it was going. I didn't want to rely entirely on Rotfang or the continued goodwill of Boss. Eventually something was going to crack, and I was going to be fully on the receiving end of it.
I needed a way to break the status quo, a way to do it fast, and a way to make sure I ended up king of the mountain.
Well, there was one way, but it was tricky and stupid and outright crazy.
Which meant it was perfect for me, the only person psychotic enough to survive the Badlands.
Time to do some digging.
I passed my still half-full cup to Rotfang, who downed it with gusto and a wide smile of thanks. "Say, Rotfang, how long has Boss been leader?"
Rotfang tapped the cup against his teeth, absently taking a bite out of it. "Think one, maybe two years? Not long. He take position from previous chief."
"And things have been better since then?"
"Better. Before we not have ponies to pull carts for us. Have to do ourselves. Leave less of us to look for gems."
"But aren't you worried someone's going to come looking for the ponies? They did just sort of disappear."
"Not worry too much," he blustered. "Ponies never find us. Mountain too big, caves too deep. Even if did, what could they do? We diamond dogs, strongest of races. We no worry about silly, weak ponies."
"What about when you try to catch some more? What if they're ready for you and set up an ambush?"
"Then we beat and take them, too."
"But what if they beat you?"
"We not be beat," he said forcefully. There was a hint of steel in his tone, and his eyes glimmered from underneath his helm. "No true diamond dog lose to pony. You smart to remember that."
I backed away from that avenue. There was no point in needlessly antagonizing my only possible ally right now, especially when my 'plan' was barely in the starting stages.
"Well...what about me? Do you think maybe I could beat you in a fight?"
Rotfang looked at me like I'd sprouted lobsters from my ears. "You? Beat me?" His lips trembled and he laughed raucously. When he saw me not joining in, he stopped. "You serious?"
I shrugged.
He stroked his jaw and took another bite of his tankard. "Maybe," he allowed. "If lucky. Really lucky. You might not be weak as pony, but still weaker than even youngest pup."
"But there's a chance," I prodded.
"Small chance," he said. He grinned. "See? You try to show strength. Maybe there hope for you yet." He walloped me on the shoulder, nearly toppling me forward to whack my face on the stone floor.
I rubbed at the spot he hit me and grimaced. Gosh dang did these dogs know how to hit. It felt like someone had smashed me on the back with a two-by-four. Ignoring the discomfort and knowledge that I'd be getting one heck of a bruise later, I forged on with my info gathering.
"How about Boss? How strong is he?"
"Oh, he strong," Rotfang said jovially. "Strongest diamond dog in pack. That why he chief."
"Really? He's that strong? Wow, guess big surprises really do come in small packages." I leaned back and laid my hands behind my head. "And what about the previous chief? Was he also real strong?"
"Strongest chief we've ever had. Ironclaw could smash a boulder twice size with the same effort it take me to crack rock rat." Rotfang swirled his claw inside his cup, looking for any dregs he could sop up.
"Then Boss must've been the next strongest, right? He was probably one of Ironfang's enforcers."
"Oh, not enforcer. Boss not even part of Ironfang's group. He originally just part of digger squad. Low end." He laughed and took a larger bite of the tankard, eating more than half of it in a single gulp.
"So how'd he beat Ironfang then? If he's not a warrior, how'd he beat the strongest one your clan's ever produced?"
"Oh, that easy. Stonebur. Stonebur actual one to..." He trailed off and his eyes locked straight ahead. He sharply glanced at me, and I just looked back innocently in return. He licked his teeth and stood up.
"Break time over. Get back work!" He stuffed the rest of the tankard into his mouth, grabbed his spear, and prodded me with the business end.
I shrugged my shoulders and began organizing the gems again. "Whatever you say. Thanks again for the grog, Rotfang. It really hit the spot."
Rotfang didn't say anything; he simply nodded briefly and walked off to return the remaining tankard. I waited ‘til he was gone and then rested my chin in my palms.
So, it was just like I'd thought. Which meant my insane plan actually had a chance to reach fruition. All it needed was some time, some thinking, and some scratchies.
Lots and lots of scratchies.
A diamond dog's diet is primarily carnivorous, though they supplement themselves with a healthy amount of minerals. Much like dragons and their scales, the gems and rocks diamond dogs consume help to grow the hard keratin that composes their fangs and claws. Without a steady supply, their extremities would begin to lose their hardness and even cause problems during digging excavations. Magic provides the majority of power behind digging through solid rock, but without a healthy base to work off of, a diamond dog could cause irrevocable damage to their claws and lose all standing among their pack.
It is also theorized that the minerals are deposited into the diamond dogs' skeletal structure, as this is the only theory that can explain why diamond dog bones are one of the most difficult organic substances to harm, rivaling dragon scales at nearly ten on the Mohs scale. A strong skeletal system is also required to support their dense musculature. Proportionate to their size, diamond dogs are the strongest intelligent species on Terra, with a muscle density three to four times greater than any other race. Even minotaurs, renowned for their martial prowess, are hesitant to meet diamond dogs in close combat.
Diamond dogs may have rocks for brains, but try butting heads with them, and you'll find out what it's like to face off against a mountain.
Say what you will about diamond dogs. They may be smelly, mean-spirited, shiny-obsessed, and as bright as a candle at noon, but if there's one thing that they're unparalleled at, it's throwing an awesome party.
The din that echoed off the walls of the mess hall was deafening. The room was even larger than that of the chieftain's room by several orders of magnitude. Firepits were scattered about the hall, groups of diamond dogs huddling around the small bonfires for warmth and good company. The camaraderie between the pack members was easily shown in the careful placement of the firepits, or rather the lack thereof. Each firepit was randomly built into the ground around the mess hall, with no clear order or customization to it to signify a higher place in the pack. In fact, various pack members of all tiers would wander to and fro between the varying pits, greeting and bantering with each other in the accepted, violent manner.
More than a few diamond dogs were bull-rushed without even realizing it before having their food stolen, and then in turn stole the food back. All in good, dirty fun.
Diamond dogs of all ages and sizes were wantonly throwing all self-control to the wind as the celebration reached a fever pitch. Rock rat steaks were briefly seared or just plain torn into before being drowned in gallons of fire grog by the writhing mass of fur, muscle, and claws. Several fights had already broken out, and there was going to be plenty of sore bones and licked wounds before the night was over.
And there I was, running back and forth amongst the throngs, delivering tankards the size of my torso full of extremely combustible accelerants to the waiting maws of my masters.
These parties were a nightly occurrence, and it had taken me another two weeks of currying favors before 'someone' had the bright idea of using me as a gopher while the others had a blast getting rip-roaring drunk. While it did keep me tired as all heck to work throughout the day only to act as waiting staff during the nightly reveries, the connections and advantages it gave far outweighed any whining my body pelted me with.
Though really, the lengths to which I had to go to get on the good side of the lower rungs of the diamond dogs was ridiculous at times. The number of ear scratches and belly rubs I gave out had to number in the hundreds, and my hands were rubbed raw from cleaning them after all the black and grey matted, tangled, and flea-bitten fur I combed through.
Most are unaware of this, but the majority of Diamond Dogs actually have naturally light-colored fur. Think on that for a moment.
Besides that grossness, my physical appearance and mannerisms had shifted to reflect those of my captors over time. My suit and shirt were now both vests, the sleeves having been ripped to shreds from attacks by rock rats or play fighting by the pack's pups. The sleeves were instead wrapped around my shoes, the only thing keeping them together now, as the expensive leather could no longer weather the harsh treatment of treading around sharp rocks. And I had been going commando for the past several days, my boxers having pretty much disintegrated from all the scrubbings I'd given them.
Having no real chance to keep up with the finer aspects of hygiene, my hair had grown long and scraggly along with my beard, so I looked like one of those crazy mountain men you see in wilderness movies. At least it complimented my somewhat improved physique, as trucking around a mine had added some much-needed muscle to my frame.
Ironically, the diet of rock rat meat and cave mushrooms was probably the healthiest I'd ever eaten, if my knowledge of fast food was any indication. Granted, my steady drinking of fire grog was more than likely putting my liver on the fast track to cirrhosis, but since I was stuck in the land of the damned anyway, I might as well enjoy myself.
Also, I didn't quite trust drinking water from a place where poisonous gasses frequently accumulated. The lava booze was probably safer for me.
In the end, I was beginning to resemble an extremely tall and gangly diamond dog instead of an extremely tall and gangly shaved monkey, and it helped to endear me to the pack that much quicker. Even if I was still the strange creature that came from the Badlands, I was their strange creature.
I smiled toothily as I handed a tankard off to a scraggly male, who was immediately pounced upon by his peers to get their share, gaining a laugh in the process. I turned when I heard my name being called, and my mouth widened as I saw Rotfang wave me over from another group. Running over, I was soon held in a crushing one-armed stranglehold, my back nearly snapping as I bent over to match the much shorter beast.
"Nomkey, you crazy pup! How are you?"
"Doing fine, though if you don't let go soon there'll be two of me!" I gasped. Oh gods, my vertebrae!
"Keep at it, Rotty! Could use another one running around!" a larger female by the name of Dripsnout howled. "Pup knows how to treat a bitch!"
"What this? You get off on doing it with a monkey?" That was another male. Think his name was Nightgut. "Can't get male to keep you?" he said derisively.
Dripsnout responded by socking him in the snout, a tried-and-true method of establishing superiority amongst packmates. Nightgut whimpered, blood pouring from his muzzle. Dripsnout sneered. "Not like you talk, softpaw." She turned her attention to me. "Pup! Show him!"
I obediently listened and stabbed her behind the ear, digging into the taut flesh and kneading out the knots that'd built up. Dripsnout's tongue lolled out and a happy whine flowed from her. Some time passed before she shoved me back with a meaty thud, and the group laughed as I fell onto my butt. That same smile of superiority plastered itself on her face.
"See? Pup knows just how I like it. If only he were diamond dog, I'd never let him out of sight. Prove who's on top."
"Better watch out, Nomkey. Get drunk enough, she might not care you ape!"
Another round of coarse laughter rocked through the group. I joined in, watching each of their reactions. None of them saw me as a threat; rather, I was the little mascot of the whole pack, doling out beloved bribes of ear scratches and belly rubs to prove myself completely beholden to them. I knew every single one of them by name, providing I'd met them at least once. I was their pet, if not their friend, and all it'd taken was me swallowing my pride so that when the time came, I'd be ready.
It was all finally beginning to take shape.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked, I saw it was one of Boss's lieutenants, a male by the name of Bloodtooth. He grimaced and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the firepit where Boss was sitting with Fluffy nee Stonebur and the rest of his enforcers. "Boss wants to see you."
The group went quiet. Rotfang patted me on the leg. "Go on then, Nomkey. Don't keep Boss waiting."
I nodded. "Then, see you all later."
Bloodtooth led me over to the firepit and gave Boss a sloppy salute before filing back into place. Like the first time I'd met him, I sat down so that he didn't have to break his neck looking up at me. Boss looked me up and down, licking his jowls. He narrowed his eyes.
"So, you doing good in mines we hear."
"Yes, Boss."
"Rotfang say you good worker. Get job done. Much better than stinking ponies."
"Rotfang is an excellent overseer, Boss. He's always making sure I keep on track and get everything done right."
"So we hear." Boss tore into a flank of rock rat with its slate armor still attached. His teeth noisily ground through both flesh and mineral, and bits of rubble messily fell from his jaws to litter the floor around him. "Think we made right choice," he said after a bit.
"Right choice, Boss?"
"Letting you work for us. You smarter than first thought. Know place. Know who to obey, when to obey. That good. Ponies don't understand that. They think that just because their leaders raise sun and moon, they better than us diamond dogs."
Ah yes, the notorious Celestia and Luna, dual rulers of Equestria. When I first heard that the nation's leaders literally raised the sun and moon, I was skeptical to put it lightly. Even now, in a world inhabited by creatures out of my darkest nightmares and wildest dreams, where magic was actually a thing, I still couldn't believe that celestial physics cared so little about the basics of astronomy. Still, I wasn't going to say or do anything against the grain, especially since I still knew next to nothing about this wonderland I'd been dumped in.
"But diamond dogs no need moon or sun. We live with the earth. Earth doesn't need sun or moon. Rocks will still be there. Gems will still be there. Only ponies need sun for their stupid plants. That show diamond dogs stronger than ponies. We don't need Equestria, Equestria needs us."
I bowed my head. "Just like the smartest diamond dog to ever live to state such a monumental truth. Surely, you are the greatest pack leader ever."
Boss tilted his head up, his eyes clearly showing pride at my accolades. "You see? You get. You do well here, Nomkey. Maybe enough time pass, you be considered honorary diamond dog." He gave a barking laugh and slapped Stonebur on the knee, gaining a sleepy and dopey smile in return.
"It would be my greatest honor," I said, avoiding eye contact.
He snuffed. Boss grabbed a tankard and shoved it into my chest. "You get more grog for us."
"Of course, Boss."
I smiled toothily and went to go replace the empty tankard for a full one. On my way back, just as I reached the group, my foot tripped on a loose pebble and I ended up flinging the tankard full of fire grog ahead of me. The whole group watch in stunned silence as it nearly splashed Boss and completely doused Stonebur head to toe.
Stonebur blinked slowly. He raised his arms to sniff himself and gave a bellowing sigh. Boss bit his lips before falling into tumultuous laughter. The rest of the group joined in, and soon the entire firepit was ringed by somewhat sadistic merriment.
My face was frozen in shock and embarrassment. I rushed over and immediately began patting down at Stonebur with the rag I carried around with me, apologizing over and over again. "Oh crud, Stonebur, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
Boss slapped Stonebur. "He got you good, Stonebur! All washed up! Look like newborn pup!" He rolled onto his back as his laughter overtook him.
"Really, I'm so sorry..." Stonebur patted me on the shoulder, telling me that it wasn't a big deal. I shook my head, my voice growing deeper. "No, you don't understand, I'm so, so sorry."
The click of flint on stone snapped with a definite finality.
Stonebur lit up like a roman candle as the flame from my lighter ignited the fire grog soaked into his thick fur. Stonebur let out a roar of pain and fury, knocking over Boss's lieutenants and running off, a trail of flames streaking out behind him. The noise in the mess hall grew even louder as the other diamond dogs realized something out of place was happening.
Or maybe someone catching fire during dinner was actually commonplace. Really, I wouldn't be surprised.
Boss and his remaining subordinates watched in cold shock as I stood up to my full height, no longer stooped over like I'd been doing for the past few weeks. I turned off the flame from my lighter and stuck it back into my jacket pocket.
It had taken more than a few bribes to various diamond dogs to get it back from Boss's stash, but like I'd thought, it hadn't been missed after I retrieved it. Luckily for me, Boss grew disinterested in it sooner than I'd thought, and there was still a good amount of lighter fluid left.
I stomped my foot right in front of Boss, leaning forward to rest an elbow on my knee. As he stared fitfully up at me, I bared my teeth in a feral and primal grin. "So, you were willing to make me an honorary diamond dog, eh? Well, I'm afraid I've gotten a little greedy, and I want much more than that."
Boss caught his nerve and sprang to his feet. "What you doing, ape? You crazy?"
"Oh, most likely," I said smoothly. I licked my teeth, in full imitation of Boss. "I want to be chief. I challenge you for the position of alpha."
The entire mess hall rang with unbearable silence. Every eye was on me and Boss, drilling down into our very souls. Boss's eyes flickered back and forth between me and the rest of the pack. All the confidence, all the superiority once held in those eyes was now draining away with the realization that he'd been caught off guard and had his back forced to the wall.
Boss wasn't a fighter, he was a schemer. He hadn't taken the position of alpha legitimately; he'd had his follower Stonebur fight and defeat the former leader, Ironclaw, and then claimed leadership of the pack for his own, relying on the ever present threat of Stonebur to protect him from any detractors. The plan was simple enough to deduce from Rotfang's drunken ramblings, and it became only clearer with the rumors I'd manage to scrounge from my other unwitting informants.
My plan was obvious - take care of Stonebur and Boss was easy pickings. To do so had taken time while I ingrained myself in the pack, becoming friendly with the packmates and gaining their trust. I was no threat, there was no way I would cause any trouble - their silly dancing monkey.
Too bad for Boss, I wasn't a fighter, either. I was a schemer, too.
And I was better at it.
Boss was at a loss for words at my audacious demand. His jaw opened and shut before he began to laugh shakily. "Heh, heh, you funny, ape. But don't be stupid. You can't challenge me for alpha. Only diamond dog alpha."
"And who made that rule?" I said vehemently. I had to keep pushing, keep momentum. I couldn't allow Boss to regain control of the situation. If he did, he could just sic his flunkies on me and I'd never have the same chance I did now, if I even survived the certain punishment that awaited me. "Diamond dogs follow the strongest. Who said it had to be a diamond dog? If I'm stronger than you, the strongest of diamond dogs, that means I'm stronger than a diamond dog and should be followed, right?"
As I finished, I turned to face the rest of the mess hall and raised my voice, the end of my speech echoing through the room. Scattered nodding responded, mutterings of approval dully spreading.
Boss, seeing that he was losing any semblance of control, rushed in to fill the gap in his authority. "Is stupid is what it is! Only one strong enough to beat a diamond dog is another diamond dog! Weak monkey can't beat Terra's strongest race!"
"Well, you've never seen my race before, right? I'm not a monkey. I'm a human, and where I'm from, we're top dog!" I roared.
"Doesn't matter if you strongest where you from! We strongest here! You can't beat us!" Boss screeched, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
"We may be strongest, but someone always stronger than strongest!" a voice shouted from the dense collection of diamond dogs. Rotfang rose to his feet, and bit through his cup. "Always someone stronger, always someone better. If Nomkey stronger than Boss, than he stronger. If not, than prove it!"
"Let the pup at it!" Dripsnout cackled as she joined Rotfang. "He know what do. Wouldn't mind seeing monkey as chief. He be worth more if do!" She rubbed her thighs, and my nose wrinkled when it picked up the faint scent of musk drifting from her.
Gosh darn these diamond dogs were crazy.
Obviously feeling just as uncomfortable from that showing, Nightgut scampered away and chuckled roughly, holding his snout. "If it get the bitch to shut up, then say let him fight! Can always be worth good laugh later."
One by one, more diamond dogs rose to join the calling, each of them someone I'd spent the last two weeks getting to know, getting close to, getting on my side. Even ones I'd never met joined in, convinced by their packmates, roaring as one to let the battle for alpha commence.
The bloodthirsty and feral nature of the survival of the fittest was reaching its crescendo, and it was firmly on my side of the court. I fixed my eyes on Boss. There was no way he could back down from a challenge when the entire pack was calling for it, even if it was seen as little more than a sideshow to the festival taking place. It would be seen as a weakness, and no diamond dog lasted long if they were seen as weak.
Boss's eyes flitted around, bulging, his pupils pinpricks, and he looked like he was having a fit. But then, all of a sudden, his eyes sharpened and glinted, and he regained his cocky smirk. I paused, wondering just what he was planning.
The sound of fevered snuffling whispered from behind me. All of my muscles and joints locked into place. My hands inched into my jacket pocket. Boss opened his mouth to give some order, but I was already moving.
I dove to the side, tossing a small rounded object behind me with the cry of, "Fetch, Fluffy!" When I hit the floor and rolled, I saw Stonebur. Nearly all of the fur on his top half was burned off, leaving a variety of scorch marks across his torso and head. I wasn't surprised he wasn't more severely injured; fire grog burned hot, but it burned fast and then was gone. I hadn't thought he'd be up so soon, though.
His impressive recovery skills did little to protect him from my gift. Instinctively, he caught the small folded cup and looked at it dumbly while the rolled up piece of paper stuck in the top burned down.
And that's when my homemade bomb blew up in his face.
Stonebur was catapulted backwards from the concussive force, his now definitely unconscious form crashing into a pair of diamond dogs that hadn't moved in time.
I shakily stood up, propping myself on a knee. I was caught in the edge of the blast radius, and my limbs felt like jelly from the small boom. My ears popped, and I forced myself to hear around the ringing in them. One voice stood out in particular, mostly from its deep, rich baritone.
"We accept your challenge! We fight!"
I barely had any time to react to this new turn when I found myself suddenly being pounced upon by a furiously raving poodle. Boss clawed at me with his tiny but still sharp natural weapons, tearing through my already besotted clothes and drawing shallow lines of blood. He snapped at me with his teeth, and I was reminded that while poodles were silly-looking things, they were also vicious little blighters.
Luckily for me, I still out-massed the murderous asshat by about a hundred pounds. Even with his super strength and heavy body, Boss was no bigger than a lapdog from back home. Any exponent of one was still going to be one. Rolling over, I pinned him down on the ground with my knees on his chest.
I resisted wincing as he clawed at me, reaching into my jacket and pulling out the other of my homemade bombs. It had taken time, sweat, blood, and lots of burns to figure out how to make them, and I had caused so much collateral damage in the mines and blamed them on rock rat infestations, but the results were perfect for my intentions - crude and sloppy as they were.
Grabbing Boss by the jaw with one hand, I forced his mouth open and shoved the grog bomb in with my other. The metal pressed against the back of his throat, and his eyes widened in recognition. Immediately his resistance stalled.
I smiled viciously and pulled out my lighter. Flicking the flame on, I let it drift back and forth, Boss's eyes following its every movement. I brought it close to the bomb's wick and he gagged in response, trying to move his head away.
"Well, you were saying?" I cooed. Boss grunted. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't seem to understand you. You've got your mouth full with something right now. Here, let me try again." I leaned backwards, making sure to keep a firm grasp on his mouth so that he didn't try and spit the bomb out. I raised my voice to make sure everyone could hear me. As soon as I did, the noise level dropped so you could hear a pin hit the floor. "You accepted my challenge, right? Nod if you agree."
Boss nodded.
"And I seem to have the upper hand right now, don't I? Nod again."
He did.
"Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can either surrender and pass on the title of alpha to me, or I can light this fuse and take it from your salsafied remains. Either way works for me, but I'm hoping you jump for the former. I'm running out of clean clothes as it is; I don't want to have to try and remove grey matter from them, little as there may be."
Oh, please take the first option. I was not looking forward to exploding doggy chunks all over the place. I really did not want to end this excursion by murdering someone in cold blood, as assholish as Boss might be.
I didn't have to worry that much, though. Boss took in a deep breath, as if to make one last act of defiance, before deflating like a balloon. He nodded.
"Good boy," I praised. I slowly got up from my mounting position and brushed myself off. I raised my hand.
"Packmates of the Deepcave clan, I present to you, your new chief! Me! Nomkey the Ape!"
The reaction was instantaneous. As the clan fell into even further disarray at the announcement of a new pack alpha, one that wasn't even a diamond dog, I choked as Rotfang and the rest of my new comrades buried me with fond yet brutal adulations and adoration in the form of dozens furry bodies literally dogpiling on top of me.
I couldn't believe that it worked. By all accounts, there was no way it should have. It was stupid, made no sense, and relied on the kind of logic that you found in B-list action movies. If one thing had gone wrong, the whole plan would have fallen apart and I'd be in meter-deep sidewalk gold with no recourse.
But it had. Somehow, it had gone almost swimmingly, and I'd caused one of the fastest coups d'état in pack history at barely ten minutes flat.
I don't know where I was heading, or what I was going to do next, but one thing was for certain.
This place, this Equestria that I'd literally fallen out of the sky into, was bleeding insane in all the best and worst possible ways.
