/pone/ - My Little Pony

>>328524

It was clear that you were not alone, the local fauna had been devastated ever since you made your way through what the few coherent locals called "The Valley of Laughing Bones". The environment ever since those hills were like an image of prehistoric earth, where the flora had completely taken over and dominated every crevice. Every rock, hill slope or field was like a sized up rainforest from back on earth, the elongated trees with big trunks and short, purple branches sticking out horizontally like a children's drawing. The blue thorned vines housing insect colonies in hollow roots digging into solid mountain, it was all so very new to you. From your scenic but well 'foliaged camp you could see random bursts of archaic fire from the less sociable locals, giving grim praise or punishments to their mad god of soil.

You knew as soon as nightfall came, your camp would be getting visitors. You knew you weren't getting any sleep tonight. The locals would make their woes and problems your woes and problems by trying to sacrifice you on one of their many hideous effigies found darting most places on this hellish continent.

They would cook their enemies in clay ovens, they would bleed each other in such numbers they'd leave behind blood swamps, in some cases you'd even see the aftermath of grotesque self-ritualizations of locals speeding into sides of mountain walls leaving bloody fingerprints towering seas of broken bodies.

You lit your fire with some hesitation as the sun went down, internally you knew their prime mode of hunting was through sound and smell, they'd find your camp regardless once emboldened by the cover of night. The fire was really only a benefit to you and your lack of night-vision.

It didn't take many hours of twilight for the locals to rear their ugly heads, and sharp teeth. They give little warning when they go for a kill, but thanks to their audible mumbling and whispers to each other you knew this would be a capture mission. This was good as they would try to not kill you, giving you a big benefit in a fight.

The first one shot out of the tree tops, landing gracefully as her wings dampened the fall. She charged at you wildly, bearing gnashing teeth. She met the business end of your shovel. A flat overhead strike to the top of her skull killed the charging attacker instantly, her body rolling over in a twitching heap, almost dumping her cranial supply all over your bedroll.

The locals were short hooved predators, with oversized fangs, they truly looked like demons with their slit iris eyes that seemed to glow in the dark and their flappy, unkept leathery wings. But their greatest weapon, and the sole reason you're alive is their complete disregard for life and limb when entering a conflict.

The decisive kill did cause a pause in the voices you heard around the tree tops for a moment. Perhaps you proved you were a threat.

>"Thief bring scrap back!"

One of the bushes nearby hissed. You grabbed the hind leg of the bloodied corpse in your camp and dragged it to the outskirts. Dropping your shovel and using both hands you threw the cadaver into the woods. You knew you were safe once they started talking, it's their way of a soft surrender. They would still follow you and steal your shit, but they wouldn't try to turn your ass into stew.

>>328526

At the crack of dawn you had already packed up your camping equipment and were well on your way moving further west, the encounter of last night still fresh in your tired head. How long could you precede without sleep? You'd have to find some sort of hamlet where you knew the locals wouldn't be so aggressive. Scanning the area before leaving the hill you were on, you took a look around, studying the landscape.

To the east lay the Valley of Laughing Bones.

To the North, a mountain range covered with nearly imperceptible black blotches littering the mountain side.

To the South lay a beach side stretching west for miles, the locals would never approach the ocean, which would make it an ideal route, if the bones in the sand didn't indicate to you exactly 'why' these Bat Ponies didn't like water.

The west continued on with rolling hills filled with the strange blue and purple flora so common in these lands, and the promise of your destination.

Thinking on the go, you decide to head south-west, where you're close enough to the waterfront to follow, but not deep enough in the woods to get lost. Dragging your heels you continue westward.

What hit you first was not the awful sight, but the equally disturbing smell. Along the trees you passed you noticed a thin web of entrails in the tree tops, bound to the branches of the trees. As hideous a sight, you knew this was how the locals marked the path of their dwellings to their night-hunters. As you approached the matrix of moldy meat you noticed the entrails getting paler, dryer and older. They've recently expanded this network from an old one. Perhaps two settlements united, perhaps it was a declaration of expansion, or maybe one of their priests had concocted some mad ritual from their insane minds and these entrails belonged to the citizenry? Regardless, your theory on these colonies was that they were somehow sacred, and that's why there were no random acts of violence in them. They'd still kill and maim and drink and eat each other. But from your observations, these episodes were bizarrely consensual.

As you approached their settlement you saw the would-be-authored-by-you textbook example of a bat dwelling. Holes everywhere, a collection of smoking huts. A fire pit or two, and artificially raised hills whose walls had been reinforced by wood and it's roof covered in pretty yellow flowers. You soon welcomed the familiar stench of death and bitter smell of blood. Though there were no dead bodies in the streets, you could still see the local artisans were as into this demonic shit as every other bat pony. Skulls would be placed around the entrances of holes, and they crown their artificial hills with bone.

>>328527

As you walked into their colony it seemed deserted. Much like the couple of others you had encountered the bats would not show themselves to a strange creature such as yourself before being sure of you. So you dropped your backpack in the middle of town square, if the intersection of the most holes could be called a 'town square' and sat on it.

As happened the first time you noticed this by accident. After getting accustomed to your scent they would slowly poke their round heads out of their holes to inspect you. You sat still on your backpack, hands firmly placed on your thighs looking forward, trying not to make eye contact. You knew very little of these creatures, but from what you've gathered through observing the ones who ignored you, you knew they were capable of civility, and even generosity if they're stable enough.

The first one to approach you was a sad sight. She was fitted neatly in what seemed to be very uncomfortable and impractical suit of armor. Through pile of scrap might be a better description. Two of the four leg pieces were missing, and the neck piece was bent outward like the barrel of a malfunctioning gun. It was as if the previous occupant had violently exploded from the inside out.

Two searing yellow eyes poked out from behind the pony's makeshift morion. She chose where to step carefully as she approached, begining an invitation to a match. You sat still, not sparing her a glance as you were preparing to respond in the only way you knew you'd get out of here alive.

Once she was in range, of your plan, she was stretching her neck as far towards you as possible. It was as if her nose and body had a contest between advancing ad retreating.

You jumped her. Keeping your center of gravity low, you slam into her shoulder, knocking her onto her back, legs a flurry of kicks, mouth a storm of whinnies. The act comes easy to you, you're easily almost double their weight and can overpower most of them in a one-on-one with little problems apart from some scratches and bites. You tighten your left hand around her neck and pin her to the dirt, making sure she can't use those wild fangs of hers to take off your fingers. You use the right hand to get in, under the armor and rub her belly.

Her legs stated kicking with purpose now, and she would wildly fling her head around, trying to zero in on your hand, but to no avail. You had her in a vice grip and a simple squeeze halted her advancing protests. She stopped her screaming and started babbling in tongues, or at least, you think so. It's hard to describe their non-equestrian tongue. It's high-pitched squeaking of a language using a lot of rolling of the tongues and throaty sounds.

She eventually died down and gave up, submitting to the belly rubs. From what you can tell this is a ritual of dominance, and they will play a game like this, where they simulate decentralizing each other with soft bites to the fur on the belly. Whoever's on top is the victor. So in the eyes of the gathering crowd, not only did you win which makes you right. You also gave a gift of life by digging your fingers into her fur instead of her organs.

"If I let you go, you won't go for my fingers?"

>"No! You win! Better! Righter!"

You withdraw your hand from under her armor to find your nails and fingers baptized in gunk and grime, it was clear that if this bat pony ever removed her armor, she didn't do it to shower. These were dirty creatures, but you were happy you still had fingernails at all, so you wouldn't complain.

"I am tired from traveling a long way from the east, I want food, a bed and a bath by tonight."

Once certain you wouldn't go for her eyes she slowly opened them and rolled over back to all fours and carefully looked you over.

"Stranger gives life! I will give you bed. Come!"

The demon lead you through the collection of holes and hovels they called a town to the outskirts where a hole, much like any other hole, situated before you. The bat pony would lock her head and shoulders and wriggle down the hole. You soon followed once her armored ass had gotten all thee way through the homely tunnel. Hit by pings of memories hit you, what a bed should be like, and what this monster had had fashioned and constructed into its unworthy likeness. It was an oval pile of dead grass, in a hole in the ground, with the free movement allowed to submarine crew, you hunched over and sat on it.

>>328528

This was gonna be awful.

"Do you have any food for me?"

>"Boney stew! Mountain goo! All for you!"

She seemed excited to talk to you, as a human, someone who nearly killed you would probably leave some bad feelings. But in bat society, not getting killed was such a courtesy it awarded the merciful one with instant friendship.

Looking through a pair of collapsed cabinets, clearly salvaged from somewhere else, the bat pony offered you a bowl of what looked to be bone meal, dead rats with clear bite marks, showing the puncture points made by her two big fangs.

"I don't know how you operate over here but this isn't like any stew I've ever seen."

The bat's eyes narrowed at the comment.

>"Its not done, needs spittle to become goo"

With one swift motion, she nabbed the bowl out of your hands and placed it on the floor. She looked like she was chewing on invisible bubblegum

>"Spit"

You look

>"Spit!"

The bat pony in front of you was currently hacking out spit as fast as her body could produce it, directly into your dinner.

"You know what, I'm feeling rats today, how about we skip on the stew?"

She looked bemused as you fished the rats out of the mess she called a meal.

You grimly bite down on the meat, dozens of little disgusting bones cracking in the dead vermin to the force of your jaws. You fucking hated rats, and bat spit. But in these parts, food was vile, almost as vile as the local population. You also declined her bath as in this village 'bath' was synonymous with 'tongue'. You would simply stay content with a mess of hay and the subterranean nature of these creatures' homes leaving you safe from the elements.

Tomorrow was gonna suck, but not as much as today, at least you had that going for you.

The rest of the village was sleepy with the coming sun too. Though some pairs of eyes could clearly be seen in the darkness of their holes. They were watching you, but not approaching. You ignored the following slit eyes, they wouldn't attack, not on their land.

Making your way through the shittiest excuse for a village you had ever seen, you were soon on your way to the beach. Sea monsters or not, you desperately needed to liberate yourself from over six distinct layers of shit, mud and blood. You had shit yourself in these pants at least twice, one from bad food and one from a unexpected visit in the middle of the night. You were way past the luxury of feeling shame over your current state. From your point of view, anything not covered in poop didn't belong here.

Nearing the water you noticed the soles in your shoes moving, cramping and wrinkling underneath your footsteps. A sure sign that they would give out sometime in the future, you wondered just how fucked you would be if you were suddenly shoe less, this caused a ping of panic which you chose to ignore.

You sang a prayer to whoever god hated this place the least as you undressed in front of the beach, you had no idea what was in the ocean. But the amount of bones washed up wasn't a good sign. Thankfully all the bones were old and sun-bleached. Perhaps whatever had fed on the local population had moved on? In any case, the desire of ridding yourself of all this muck and filth had outweighed the risk of being eaten by sea monsters days ago.

You started on yourself, using the water to wash away the layers of misery felt magical. It was like shedding skin, if your skin smelled like boiling sewage. You quickly found several scratches and bruises on your shins and hands, one particularly nasty one on the inside of your right pinky finger was clearly infected. You groaned in frustration as you continued cleaning the rest of your stuff as best you could.