Childe Roland, to Equestria came
"You have one more thing to say, don't you?"
"Yes," the man in black said as he smiled at the Gunslinger with his depthless eyes and stretched one of his hands out towards him. "Let there be light!"
And there was light, and this time, the light was good.
Light. Cascading white light, bright and obtrusive, yet still soft and caring, motherly even. This was the first thing he saw, nay, the first thing he even felt. It was light like no other, a thing of indescribable serene beauty, yet loud, obnoxious and undesirable. In some dimly lit corner of his mind, it reminded the Gunslinger of himself, but he did not dwell on this. Suddenly, the warm, yet uncomfortable embrace of the light was snatched away in one fell swoop, like a coup de grace of the gods themselves, and then it was dark, and damp, and musky smelling, not the pleasant musk of woodsmoke seeped into an old blanket, but the discordant and foul hint of sewage and rot most often associated with swamps.
Oh, joy, the Gunslinger thought. A swamp... a dark swamp, no less. Damn you, Walter o' Dim, or Marten, that was. Damn you and your foul witchery!
The Gunslinger pushed himself to his feet, to survey himself and his surroundings, to his no great surprise, it was indeed a swamp he was in, with gurgling tar pits, prickly bushes, a dark canopy, made up of treacherous looking vines and old gnarled tree branches, and vile smelling off brown water to boot. "Hmm... less a swamp, more like a bog. No bog like this that I've ever heard of in mid world, though," the Gunslinger thought aloud. He then took inventory of what he had left in his purse. After sharing what he had with the man in black, his supplies were dwindling to be sure. He had his knife (of course), three strips of salted jerky that looked questionable at best, a small map of Tull that was now useless. He also carried his cleaning brushes and mineral oil in a small tin, a chunk of flint and a strip of steel, as well as some dried wenberry shoots for tinder. And lastly his gunna, which were belted in a criss-cross manner on his hips, with a dwindling number of cartridges occupying the loops on the belts.
Suddenly, a noise like rushing water sounded to his right, the Gunslinger looked to his right in confusion, and nearly high tailed when he saw what was making the noise. A great beast of nearly seventy aught feet high was emerging from a tar pit, but this great beast was certainly not a normal thing of any origin. It had four heads suspended on surrealistically long necks, which were connected to a massively over-proportioned lower body with two nearly non-existent feet which seemed to be stuck in it's girth. Finally, a meaty tail that seemed to drag along after the great beast. The beast inhaled loudly with a snort, turned to look at the Gunslinger, bellowed out a screeching roar from each of it's respective heads, and began its cumbersome charge at the Gunslinger.
Now the animal was no slowpoke, despite its size, but the Gunslinger was no fool; he knew what the great beast's intentions were. Alas, for the poor beast looking to have a quick bite to eat, the Gunslinger was no slowpoke either. He unburdened his gunna out of their leather prisons with a speed only attainable with years upon years of practice. Two shots from each revolver rang out as the revolvers flung their death dealing lead payloads into four different foreheads. The creature yelped, fell over as best as its oddly proportioned body would allow, spasmed once, then lay dead, it's carcass doomed to rot in the bog forever. Good riddance, the Gunslinger thought with a grim smirk.
The Gunslinger reloaded his guns at a leisurely pace as he walked over to the corpse of the creature to examine it in detail. Holstering his gunna, he approached one of the heads cautiously. At this distance he could see the full extent of the creature's size, but could also make out the finer aspects of the muscle in the necks. It appeared to the Gunslinger to be an exemplary specimen of it's species, to the Gunslinger at least. A strange creature indeed, familiar in an aspect or two, but strange. Walter o' dim would have known what it was called, thought the Gunslinger. Now that the Gunslinger had cleared the canopy, he could tell that it was indeed still night; around three hours to daybreak, judging by the position of the moon. The Gunslinger looked to the sky and was surprised to see that he could not find old mother and old star to guide his way. Not only this, but all the constellations seemed to be mismatched and out of order. The Gunslinger allowed himself a derisive snort of anger towards Walter, then he climbed atop the great beast's lower body and lay down to capture what little body heat remained of the creature, as well as to avoid earthbound predators. The Gunslinger allowed himself just a moment to dwell on his situation, but one particular thought continually drove itself to the forefront of his thoughts. Just where in mid world am I? The Gunslinger then finally allowed himself a few hours of light, unrestful sleep.
A/N, expect more pony stuff soon, just uploading this here while i work on the rest, chapter two is already about half done. Also it might not be blatantly apparent here, but this is an mlp/dark tower crossover