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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
300–600
Caretaker
Equestria. Land of happiness, friendship, adventures, mystery, occasionally even a land for Discord to have his way for a while.
Hah. Discord. What a sad little thing, compared to them.
In the depths of the world, a single pony aged beyond measure sat with a tome as wrinkled and brown as his own coat. In a sealed room, under the ground, locked in time, locked from the world, he kept the traditions alive. Said the requisite prayers, chants, mantras, curse words... anything he could, to keep them down.
He stubbed his hoof on a table leg, and the resulting string of profanity must have added a good 5-10 minutes to the seal on its own.
No one quite knew where the traditions had started, when they'd been mandated, when they'd been... 'stopped', for lack of a more appropriate term. 'Slowed' was closer to the truth, but he wasn't about to tell anyone. He was the closest thing to a perfect base of knowledge on them as the world had, and he was sealed away to make sure no one else ever had to hear it. The knowledge of just what the hell happened back then. The royalty MIGHT (and that was a hell of a 'might') know what had occurred, but the truth was lost to even him. Bottom line was that he had to stay there, he had to make sure that they might stay sealed for a bit longer. Let the world stay safe for a bit longer.
What could ponies have done to anger something this twisted up? Did they even do anything to ponies first, or were they the aggressors?
His thoughts were shaken with the earth beneath his feet, and immediately his stomach felt like it had been filled with lead. He glanced at his book, at the times listed there. He'd made no errors. Not forgotten anything at all.
How would he know if he'd forgotten something? If he'd made a mistake? The rumbling intensified as if answering his questions with its own existence. The message was clear. Somewhere, you all made a mistake. We're back.
A screeching sound reverberated through his tiny chamber, shaking his light off of the table and shattering it against the floor. No light, and then... the floor was visible. Despite no light whatsoever from inside the chamber, the floor was glowing. And it was glowing red.
The old pony sighed, grabbing a hat and coat from a chest he didn't ever think he'd have to use. Runes flowed over its surface like water, guarding against whatever lay beneath.
For all of his terror, all of the stories he'd been told about them, all he'd been told about how they would bring an end to the world... bring an end to EVERY world... he was excited. He was an archaeologist at the whim of a t-rex, at once terrified and elated at the prospect of meeting that which he'd studied for so long.
A massive leg burst through the floor, flames coating the leg and magma over the hoof. No... flames and magma didn't cover the leg, they COMPRISED it. He didn't feel the heat, his cloak's protective runes working against it. The rumbling intensified as whatever creature this was tore its way through the earth below, its sleep finally broken. Whatever mistakes were made didn't matter now, the Old One rose all the same.
Tempting fate for his own curiosity, the Caretaker looked at hell through the hole in his floor. And through the hole, hell gazed back.
Hah. Discord. What a sad little thing, compared to them.
In the depths of the world, a single pony aged beyond measure sat with a tome as wrinkled and brown as his own coat. In a sealed room, under the ground, locked in time, locked from the world, he kept the traditions alive. Said the requisite prayers, chants, mantras, curse words... anything he could, to keep them down.
He stubbed his hoof on a table leg, and the resulting string of profanity must have added a good 5-10 minutes to the seal on its own.
No one quite knew where the traditions had started, when they'd been mandated, when they'd been... 'stopped', for lack of a more appropriate term. 'Slowed' was closer to the truth, but he wasn't about to tell anyone. He was the closest thing to a perfect base of knowledge on them as the world had, and he was sealed away to make sure no one else ever had to hear it. The knowledge of just what the hell happened back then. The royalty MIGHT (and that was a hell of a 'might') know what had occurred, but the truth was lost to even him. Bottom line was that he had to stay there, he had to make sure that they might stay sealed for a bit longer. Let the world stay safe for a bit longer.
What could ponies have done to anger something this twisted up? Did they even do anything to ponies first, or were they the aggressors?
His thoughts were shaken with the earth beneath his feet, and immediately his stomach felt like it had been filled with lead. He glanced at his book, at the times listed there. He'd made no errors. Not forgotten anything at all.
How would he know if he'd forgotten something? If he'd made a mistake? The rumbling intensified as if answering his questions with its own existence. The message was clear. Somewhere, you all made a mistake. We're back.
A screeching sound reverberated through his tiny chamber, shaking his light off of the table and shattering it against the floor. No light, and then... the floor was visible. Despite no light whatsoever from inside the chamber, the floor was glowing. And it was glowing red.
The old pony sighed, grabbing a hat and coat from a chest he didn't ever think he'd have to use. Runes flowed over its surface like water, guarding against whatever lay beneath.
For all of his terror, all of the stories he'd been told about them, all he'd been told about how they would bring an end to the world... bring an end to EVERY world... he was excited. He was an archaeologist at the whim of a t-rex, at once terrified and elated at the prospect of meeting that which he'd studied for so long.
A massive leg burst through the floor, flames coating the leg and magma over the hoof. No... flames and magma didn't cover the leg, they COMPRISED it. He didn't feel the heat, his cloak's protective runes working against it. The rumbling intensified as whatever creature this was tore its way through the earth below, its sleep finally broken. Whatever mistakes were made didn't matter now, the Old One rose all the same.
Tempting fate for his own curiosity, the Caretaker looked at hell through the hole in his floor. And through the hole, hell gazed back.