Two mercenaries with a tragic past find themselves shipwrecked in Equestria.
Two mercenaries with a tragic past find themselves shipwrecked in Equestria. One is a taciturn and unfeeling swordsman. The other is a happy go lucky thief. They find themselves in a land under siege by slavers, and must balance combat, with overcoming the ghosts of their pasts.
Author's note. Hey guys, thanks for giving this story a looksie! I appreciate any and all feedback, no matter how mean. :)
Two men were lying on a beach. The morning sun was beating down on them, and they had sought refuge from it by sitting in the meager shade provided by a makeshift shelter. By the looks of it, their shelter had been crudely nailed together out of mismatched pieces of wood; given the large quantities of wooden scrap nearby, it was clear where they had gotten their building materials from.
The shorter of the men had a mop of long curly brown hair that nearly covered his eyes. His face was an angry shade of red; he was actually quite tan, but had spent a lot of time in the sun recently. He was wearing a dark grey bandana, with a matching long cloak. He wore a white long-sleeved t-shirt and black pants. Strapped to his waist was a silver dagger.
Sitting next to him on the sand was a tall man resting in the shade of a white, frilly parasol. His very long blond hair completely covered the right side of his face, and was tied in a loose ponytail that he went over his right shoulder, and down nearly to his waist. Folded next to him was a white jacket with the word "LOVE" printed down the left side of the front in large, pink lettering. He was wearing a dark grey shirt that had a short mesh sleeve on his left arm, and a solid sleeve that extended to his right elbow. He wore a dirty, dark blue glove that covered his right arm up to his elbow. On his waist was a bright crimson sash, and underneath that was a loose pair of forest green pants. He was barefoot, with a pair of geta sandals laying in the sand next to him.
"There must be some way out of here." The tall one said to the other as he adjusted his parasol so it would continue to provide him the maximum sun protection. He sighed, and gave up trying to fit his entire body in the shade. "I can't get no relief."
The sunburned man lifted up his head and responded, "Hey, you sighed! The heat’s gotten you that worked up? Regardless of your impassioned state, what do you want me to do about it, Clarín?"
"I don't know, Søren. Why don't you stand in front of me to block the sun?" Clarín calmly suggested.
Søren sighed as he let his head drop down onto the sand. "Why are you even complaining? You have that girly parasol to protect your skin from the sun, and you drank most of the water."
Clarín serenely replied, "So what if I planned ahead? It's still uncomfortably warm."
His companion did not respond, and the pair lapsed into a relaxed silence. It would have been obvious to an observer, had there been one, that the two were quite comfortable with each other.
Several hours later, the two were in much the same positions. The only visible difference was that, despite being in the shade, Søren's skin had gotten even redder, whereas Clarín's pale skin still appeared much the same.
The day had grown hotter, and more humid, and even Clarín's clothes had become drenched with sweat. The pair hadn't exchanged any words for hours.
Suddenly, Søren broke the silence, his face contorting into a manic grin. "Whoa! Clarín, do you see all of the pretty butterflies?"
Clarín looked all around, but didn't see any butterflies. Regardless, he said, "Yeah, I do see the butterflies. Hey, why don't you go try and catch some?"
Søren's manic grin grew even larger, if that was possible. He leapt to his feet with a shout of joy, and began running around with his arms outstretched. He laughed as he chased the elusive, imaginary butterflies.
At length, he fell to the ground exhausted. He sighed, and turned his head to look at his traveling partner. "There weren't any butterflies, were there?"
Clarín shook his head, and responded while unemotionally, "Nope."
The sun had inched past noon, and Søren had estimated the time to be around 3:30 in the afternoon. Even Clarín had nearly lost the energy to be rude. The silence was again broken.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Søren turned his head to glance at his somewhat-friend. He saw that Clarín had gotten to his feet, and was holding the handle of his parasol threateningly. For the first time all day, his face expressed an emotion: rage. Søren grew slightly worried, and asked, "Who are you talking to?"
Clarín didn't answer. Instead, he continued to shout. "You think that you can just come back, and everything is gonna be ok? You think that we just gotta get ‘pumped for life?’ Huh, Silas?”
Søren sat up on his elbows as he stared at Clarín who had stopped shouting, but was continuing to brandish his parasol. He raised his eyebrow as Clarín gnashed his teeth and continued.
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Yeah, well I’ve got news for you! You’re dead!”
Clarín put a hand on the end of his parasol, and yanked it off, revealing the gleaming 40-inch blade of a colichemarde. He gave a swift thrust, before bringing the tip of the blade towards the ground, almost as if he was parrying an invisible blade. He stabbed and fainted and parried skillfully, but as his ‘battle’ wore on his attacks grew progressively wilder. After several minutes he was merely swinging his sword. Eventually, he simply dropped his sword, and started swinging his fists. His breath came out in panting gasps, yet still he continued shouting.
“I saw you die! You can’t come back from that! You can’t be here! You can’t… be… real… oh.”
Clarín let out a breath, and seemed to deflate. He sat down heavily on the sand, and reset his parasol. It had been a long day to go without water.
The sun was now descending in earnest, and the two wanderers were in much the same position. Clarín was lightly napping, while Søren was playing a sorrowful melody on a small harp. He had been playing for hours, and was ready to give up.
Crack.
Søren didn’t look up, and continued to play. It had sounded like someone, or something, had stepped on a piece of wood. If whoever made that noise was hostile, it would not be prudent to show that he knew something was out there. Still playing with one hand, he picked up a pebble and threw it at Clarín, who woke up dispassionately. He looked over at Søren, and started to speak impassively.
“Why would you-” Clarín stopped when he saw the expression on his partner’s face. For Søren to look that serious, something must be seriously wrong. He put his hand on his parasol, and waited. Meanwhile Søren continued to softly strum his harp.
Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.
Both now knew for sure that something was out there, and by the sounds of the sand shuffling, they were surrounded. Clarín’s face remained blank, but he stood up carrying his umbrella. Søren strapped his harp to his back, under his cloak, and he too stood up. Neither were completely prepared for what awaited them.
The saw a dozen large, canine like creatures wearing primitive, iron armor and clutching crude spears. The largest one was grey and about seven feet tall, putting him about a foot taller than Clarín, and a foot and eight inches taller than Søren. All the others were around six feet.
Søren started chuckling, while Clarín merely raised an eyebrow. The dogs clearly bore ill will.
Søren’s laughter grated on the canines, who fancied themselves rather intimidating. Normally, their prey would either run, or surrender. It was extremely rare for them to run into creatures their size, but that would simply make them better slaves.
They started growling, and a brown one wearing a vest instead of armor demanded, “Why are you laughing at us?”
Søren answered between giggles. “It’s… It’s just that we thought nothing worse could happen to us, and then we go and get ourselves surrounded by werewolves. It’s just funny, is all.”
Clarín merely yanked the top of his umbrella off, revealing the blade.
The brown canine answered, somewhat confused. “We are not werewolves, we are Diamond Dogs! And you will be our slaves. ATTACK!” All of the dogs rushed the two surrounded humans at once. The lowered their spears and snarled, trying to appear intimidating.
Søren’s face grew stern at the mention of ‘slaves.’ He put a hand on the hilt of his dagger, and pulled it from its sheath at his hip. As soon as the tip was free from the sheath, he muttered, “Flight of Shadows.” And he disappeared.
Clarín smirked, for the first time that day, and solemnly intoned, “Heavenly Step.”
The self-proclaimed Diamond Dogs ignored the disappearance of the shorter one, and focused on the remaining creature. They got closer and closer, and didn’t notice Søren winking into view behind the dog closest to the back of the charge, and they didn’t hear the chocked cry of the dog as his throat was cut. The dogs were within arms reach of Clarín, he vanished in a white flash, kicking up a small pebble.
With another white flash, Clarín reappeared with his blade piercing the throat of a surprised dog.
The pebble was an inch above the ground.
The charging dogs attempted to turn and face Clarín, but he vanished in his trademark flash, and reappeared with his sword in the abdomen of a dog, then again piercing the heart of a dog, and again with his sword severing a dog’s spine.
White flashes were seen all over their tiny battlefield, as wounds became visible on almost every dog. Droplets of blood flew through the air, and if one had extremely fast reactions, one might make out brief flashes of steel.
The pebble hit the sand, along with eleven bodies. In another white flash, Clarín was standing where he had started. The brown dog was stunned. Almost all of his pack had been killed in seconds. His ears lowered, and he whimpered in terror. He lowered himself and whined, “I surrender! Pl-please let me go.”
Clarín didn’t respond, and instead looked down at his gloved right hand. His expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “You got blood on my glove.”
The dog was groveling. “Wait, I’ll help you! I’ll be your slave! Just, please don’t kill me!”
He let out a terrified whimper as Søren winked into existence in right front of him. Søren glared down at him, then pointed his knife at his throat.
“You’re a slaver, aren’t you?”
The dog gave a fearful nod.
“Then this is justice for the blood on your hands.”
The dog’s eyes widened, and he begged, “Wait-”
He was silenced by a silver blade slitting his throat, and nearly decapitating him. Blood gurgled out of his neck, and he clawed at it, weakly. After several seconds, his eyes dulled, and he fell over backwards. A terrified expression was frozen on his face, his unseeing eyes wide with terror.
“That was brutal, huh?” Clarín asked of his companion.
Søren looked over his shoulder at his partner, who had replaced the parasol on his colichemarde.
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” Søren replied distastefully.
“Well, actions like that are the center point of my life, so why shouldn’t I come to enjoy it?” Clarín said as he leaned his parasol on his shoulder to block out the sun. “Since you’re closest to the leader dog, why don’t you check him for a map?”
Clarín sighed, and bent down to check the body. His hands were searching the dog’s vest pockets, when he again heard sounds that suggested they were surrounded. He looked up, and saw a stone-faced Clarín in a stare down with a three-foot tall unicorn in golden armor.
Søren looked to his left, then to his right. He saw a multitude of four-foot tall ponies, all of whom were wearing golden armor. Some of the ponies had horns, making them unicorns; while others had wings, making them pegasi. The pony currently in a stare down with Clarín was a unicorn wearing purple armor.
"What the hay was that!" The white unicorn bellowed; he possessed a voice far larger than anything his size had any right of having. Søren took a step back; he was intimidated rather easily. Clarín, however, was not.
"Feh. Søren, what's the matter with you? This thing is tiny, I've seen dogs that are bigger." Clarín said without turning around. Despite his bold words, he hadn't taken his eyes off the white unicorn. Clarín was not the best at sensing other people's ability levels, but even he could tell that it would be unwise to take the purple armored unicorn lightly.
The unicorn took an aggressive step forwards, and the other ponies surrounding the pair mirrored that action. "You just killed eleven Diamond Dogs. What kind of sick bastards are you two? Give me a reason I shouldn't take you back to Canterlot in a body bag?"
Clarín opened his mouth, doubtlessly with another sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue. Søren roughly shoved his partner to the side, and raised his hands pleadingly. "See, our boat," He gestured to the wreckage surrounding their beach confrontation, "it crashed onto the shore. And we were just sitting here, minding our own business, when those dog things attacked us. It was all self-defense." He put his hands on his hips, and nodded. He was clearly proud of the explanation he had given.
The unicorn leader just shook his head, his blue mane swishing from side to side. He turned, and looked to the ponies at his left and right. "Really, self defense? Does this thing think we're stupid?" He turned and looked at Clarín and Søren. "We saw everything. You killed most of them in self defense, but we saw you execute the one that had surrendered. Explain that."
Søren's eyes widened, and he desperately tried to think of an appropriate excuse. As his friend thought, Clarín reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a white handkerchief and brought it up to his face. He coughed a deep, raspy cough, and when he put it away, the ponies might have noticed that it was stained with blood, had they not been preoccupied with the verbal repartee between Søren and their leader.
Søren sputtered out, "But... But... He was an admitted slaver! It was just justice!"
The unicorn in purple armor snorted. "Vigilantism isn't justice. I don't know where you two freaks came from, but in Equestria, we have due process of law. We do NOT go around executing ponies willy-nilly. I've heard enough. Guards, take them in."
Suddenly his eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. Somehow, Clarín was standing right next to him, with the blade of his colichemarde an inch from his throat. All the other armored ponies froze, and looked at their leader.
Clarín said to his hostage, "Well now, I don't think it'd be a good idea to try and-" He was cut off by a light blue glow that surrounded him, and lifted him up into the air. The glow prevented him from moving completely, and yanked his sword out of his hand. He flashed white several times, but each time he was unable to move.
Søren's eyes widened, and he quickly reached for his dagger at his hip. But before he could reach it, he too was enveloped in a light blue glow, and he too was disarmed. He, like his partner had, also attempted to move, and was also rewarded with failure.
In contrast to his previous expression of fear, the purple armored unicorn now wore an expression of confidence; he had the situation completely under control. He manipulated the light blue glow surrounding the two suspended humans, and brought them close to him. He looked into their odd faces, and saw that the shorter one had an expression of fear, while the taller one was unreadable.
"Take heart, for none have bested me, Shining Armor. You had no chance from the beginning." The unicorn in purple armor, now identified as Shining Armor, smirked, and then shifted his head.
The two adventurers felt mounting pressure on their necks, until they began to pass out from lack of oxygen. The last thing they heard was, "Bag the bodies, and the freaks. I think we just had first contact with an intelligent race."
Everything went dark for Søren and Clarín.
Søren, Clarín, and a truly huge, muscular man were confronting a small, thin man with wavy brown hair. The three adventurers were clearly on edge, as opposed to the calm and confident man facing them.
He was an inch shorter than Søren, and even thinner than Clarín. He was wearing a black canvas vest that was unbuttoned, displaying a tribal necklace reminiscent of a dream catcher. He was also wearing a ball-crushing pair of white skinny jeans over black, steel-toed boots.
Clarín pulled his colichemarde out of his parasol, and with a growl said, “Akira, this is for Rin!” Søren and the large man both shouted for him to stop, but he ignored them.
With a cry of “Heavenly Step!” he flashed to Akira’s side, and swung his sword in a killing stroke. He was shocked when Akira caught the blade with his left hand. Akira straightened his right hand, and swung a brutal knife-hand strike at Clarín’s right elbow. Clarín took a desperate step back, and was unprepared for Akira to cobra kick him right in the chest, knocking him all the way back to his allies.
“Clarín!” Both Søren and the large man shouted. Akira laughed, and said, “And you three said you’d be the strongest in the world, and the fastest one of you can’t even keep up with me. Pathetic. And you said you’d avenge your friend. Tragic, simply tragic.” And then he laughed.
Clarín rolled over onto his stomach, and got to his feet clutching his sword. He limply felt his chest with his ungloved right hand. “Fuck! I think he broke a couple of my ribs!”
The large man hit his orange and grey steel gauntlets together, as a boxer might when warming up. “That’s what you get for being rash, Clarín. We need to all attack at once.”
Clarín brushed off his advice. “Shove it, Silas!” He picked up his colichemarde, and prepared to charge Akira again, but was stopped by an arm on his shoulder.
“Seriously, you’re gonna get yourself killed this way.” Søren said. “Here’s what we’ll do…”
While the three were conspiring, Akira was laughing to himself. “My oh my.” He said. “Do they honestly think that I can’t hear them? Ah, well. I guess I’ll play along, at least until they stop being amusing.”
The three adventurers straightened up, and prepared to attack their foe.
Søren pulled out his silver dagger, and Silas took several deep breaths. Clarín closed his eyes and centered himself, and then said, “Fallen Angel!” White energy was expelled from his body, just like when he used Heavenly Step, however, now the energy coalesced into a pair of large wings. Clarín grinned, and said, "When I use Heavenly Step, I emit a burst of energy in order to move much faster, now I am constantly emitting a huge amount of energy, compounding my speed several times. There's no way you can block this."
Three things then happened simultaneously. First, Søren disappeared. Then, Clarín charged Akira using Fallen Angel, while Silas brought up the rear while puffing up his cheeks. Akira smirked. “What, a frontal attack? Honestly, I expected more…”
With a cry of “Riiiiiiiinnnn!” Clarín swung his sword, intent on finally killing Akira, who simply batted the blade out of the air with a single hand. Due to his huge amount of momentum, Clarín went sailing by Akira. Suddenly, Søren winked into view behind Akira, and swung his dagger at the base of his neck.
Without looking, Akira jumped about twenty feet forwards, and glanced back at Søren. He heard a voice call out in front of him, “Dodge this!” Quickly turning his head, he saw Silas spit out a massive fireball at him.
Akira firmly planted his feet, and replied, “I don’t have to.”
Clarín awoke with a start. He leaned forward in the bed, and cupped his head with his hand. He was shaking, and his breath was coming out in quick pants. His panting turned into wheezing, which turned into coughing. He coughed until he spit a large amount of blood onto the comforter, which still covered his legs. After several moments, the coughing fit subsided, and the memories of what had happened to him cam rushing back. He became dizzy, and had a bad headache.
He looked to his left and his right, and saw he was in a windowless, stone room. It was clearly a prison, however the large bed Clarín was sitting on made it the nicest prison he had ever been in. He pulled back the sheets, and saw that he was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing yesterday, from his glove to his sash. The only thing missing was his wooden geta sandals, which he found next to the bed after a moment of searching. After seeing his sandals, he looked all around the room for his parasol, and by extension his sword, but didn't see it.
Swinging his legs over the edge, he placed his feet on a luxurious carpet that completely covered the floor. Shifting his weight, he stood up. His destination was a thick, wooden door on the other side of the room. He was dizzy, but he finally reached the door despite losing his balance several times during the journey.
Reaching out with his still-gloved right hand, he knocked on the door several times, hoping that someone would answer. As soon as the door opened, he would use Heavenly Step to incapacitate the person on the other side. He heard a clopping noise from the other side of the door, and realized ponies really had captured him. He tensed up as he heard the sound of a latch opening.
The door opened outwards, and Clarín prepared to make his move, until he saw that opening the door was a large, white, winged unicorn. Unlike the other ponies he had seen since landing on this new continent, she was able to look him in the eye; indeed she might have even been a few inches taller than him. Also, she didn’t wear armor, and was mostly naked save for a tiara and necklace. She held herself regally, and even Clarín was hesitant to attack what may be royalty.
“Hello, traveler. Welcome to Equestria.” The winged unicorn said with a warm smile.
“Hello, traveler. Welcome to Equestria.” The winged unicorn said with a warm smile.
Clarín’s breath hitched slightly. He glanced all around him, as if expecting everything to become unfamiliar to his gaze. He turned to the winged unicorn, and asked, “Is Equestria near Dosaidi?” He doubted she would answer yes, but he needed to make sure.
The winged unicorn pondered her answer for a moment, before answering, “I can’t say that I’ve heard of Do-setti.” She slowly enunciated each syllable of the foreign word. “I assume this is where you are from?”
Clarín stiffly nodded.
“Well, as you’ve gathered, you are in Equestria, and I am Princess Celestia, Goddess of the Sun.” After her introduction, she gazed pointedly at her guest, waiting for him to reply.
After several heartbeats, he replied, “I am Clarín Marnier.”
Celestia waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. So she asked, “And where are you from, Clarín?”
Again there was a pause, before Clarín opened his mouth. Instead of answering, he brought his hand to his mouth, and let out a rasping cough. The fit lasted for nearly a minute, and by the end blood was seeping from between his fingers. Clarín cleared his throat, wiped his hand on the bed, and answered, “I was from Yona, a small town in the south of Dosaidi.”
Filing away his usage of the word ‘was,’ Celestia asked in a serious tone, “I must ask why you are here, Clarín.”
For the first time in their short conversation, Clarín didn’t hesitate. He calmly answered, “Well, that would be my business.”
Celestia gave him a warm smile. “I wasn’t overstating my abilities when I introduced myself as the Goddess of the Sun. Don’t make me invade your mind. I would rather we be friends; and whenever I do invade somepony’s mind, there’s always the chance of complications.” But if you don’t answer, then I won’t hesitate to do it. was implied.
Clarín seemed to wrestle with the implications of her threat, before his shoulders slumped. He could feel the power rolling off Celestia in waves, he was no threat to her. “I’ll start with why my partner and I were on a ship, is that acceptable?”
With a nod from Celestia, he began his tale.
I was with Søren. We were at Khalif’s docks, and we were trying to sneak onto the ship The Urgent Fury. The Urgent Fury belonged to the Baham Consortium, and was used to transport VIPs. Once we were aboard, we would kill our target and steal the ship to escape pursuers.
We stowed away inside the cargo hold, and waited several hours for the ship to leave port. Once we were sure the ship was in open waters, we confronted our target--
Celestia interrupted, “Who was your target?”
Clarín answered her, “A man named Akira. He was a lieutenant in the Baham Consortium, which is led by a man named Llednar of the Light. Akira was a very dangerous man, and a sadist as well. He is responsible for over thirty murders, and the defeat of countless mercenaries.”
Celestia nodded slowly. “Why was Akira your target? And what made him so dangerous?”
“Akira had a peculiar ability. He fought completely bare handed, and he was extremely talented with his fists. But his true strength was his ability to create barriers around his hands, allowing him to block any attack. As for why he was our target, well he killed several people close to me.”
Satisfied with his answers, Celestia motioned for him to continue.
We confronted Akira in his quarters after defeating his bodyguards and the crew and dumping their unconscious forms into the lifeboats. I purposely spared their lives; they were mere sellswords not responsible for their employer’s sins. Somehow, he was prepared for us. He had defeated Søren and myself once before, and he was cocky. He expected an easy victory.
He wouldn’t get it. Søren and myself had trained everyday, with our singular goal his defeat. We memorized his patterns, the limits of his abilities. I was a completely different person from our last encounter. But even so, the battle was not quick. We fought for hours, all of us getting severe injuries.
As we fought, the ship drifted further and further off course. But the three of us were too preoccupied to notice. Finally, Akira lay in a pool of his own blood. Myself and Søren were exhausted and injured. Søren barely had the energy to heal us. We staggered into the captains quarters just as it started to rain.
I pulled out the maps and assorted navigation tools; I am a trained navigator. I was able to divine our current location, but was shocked to find us over one hundred miles from Khalif. That shouldn’t have been possible, but we were. We set the sails, and attempted to sail back the way we came.
That was when we discovered we were in the midst of a massive current pulling us away from the continent. Try as we might, there was no way to escape the current. We resigned ourselves to a death at sea. We’d finally avenged Silas and Rin, but we were going to die of exposure.
Fortunately, though it didn’t seem fortunate at the time, the rain turned into a storm. The storm turned into a gale, and the gale into a hurricane. Eventually, we were in the midst of a cataclysm the likes of which we had never seen before. The ship started to break apart. Suddenly we were in the water, gasping for air. The last thing I remember before everything went numb was clinging to a piece of the mast, and seeing Søren do the same to a chunk of the keel.
Some time later, how long I do not know, I awoke on a beach. Searching the immediate area, I found large amounts of wooden wreckage. In order to search a wider area, I took flight with a technique I developed called Fallen Angel. After some searching, I found Søren. We created a small shelter, and decided to rest up after our battle. I’m sure you know the rest.
Celestia nodded. From the point Clarín ended his story is where Shining Armor’s report picked up. He had answered most of his questions, he had even let slip the names of two of his friends.
The pair lapsed into silence, broken only by another coughing fit from Clarín., with Clarín looking at Celestia who appeared lost in thought. Eventually, she asked, “So, what do you plan to do now?”
Clarín considered the question. He brought up a gloved hand to wipe his hair out of his eyes, and realized somehow his hair had come out of its ponytail and was hanging loosely around his head. After a few moments, he responded, “Well, it would be nice to stay here.”
Celestia raised a brow. “Why would you want to stay here? Don’t you have any friends or family to return to?”
Clarín shrugged. “I have a few friends who might miss me, but they’ll be fine. But if I return, Llednar will be out for blood. In fact, he probably already know we killed Akira.”
“Well, I could let you stay, I’ll even let you carry your weapons. Just one thing...” Smiling sweetly, Celestia let loose a fraction of her strength. The room was saturated with energy, and Clarín’s vision was swimming. If he hadn’t been sitting on the bed, he would have fallen to his knees from the pressure. His breath came out in short gasps, as if it was a labor just to breath.
Just as soon as it started, the pressure ended. The warm smile never left Celestia’s face.
Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, but I promised some guy I'd update by today. I may not be as fast of a writer as I'd like, but at least I keep my promises. Yeah, and I had massive writer's block while writing this, so I'm not sure how it turned out.
