Here we go again with another starting chapter of a story I will never write. Hashtags 'Fall of Equestria', 'anthro', 'My Little Pony', and 'passing reference to some 90s writer you haven't heard of called David Eddings'.
Agneta Bruhnsdottir was a very proper caribou doe. This much was obvious from her dress, which consisted of a traditional embroidered blouse, said embroidery being equally traditional patterns she learned from her dam back in Foggernaut, intricate and desirable. There was also the traditional maiden's skirt, low in front and back, higher in the hips, revealing not only thigh, but two of her four daggers.
A proper doe just wasn't dressed without her daggers.
Her owner walked on ahead towards a tavern; wonderful, he was going to sell her here, no doubt to the disapproval of any resident ponies. Nonetheless, it would hopefully mean that her new owner would be actually halfway young and capable of pulling his weight for a change, as well as adding to her burden of coin. Bits or krona, money was money, and Agneta already had a substantial balance.
She could feel Equestrian eyes on her, and the leash slumping between herself and him. She wouldn't exactly miss Haalsen, while he was a bit too old to keep up with her, he had been a good owner, never pushing the boundaries, except for when he had a little too much drink. In general, it is never a good idea to get forward with any female able and willing to slice you open.
The border town was where the lands of the caribou and Equestria met, a strange mix of the colourful pony buildings and the solemn wood and stone of caribou make. Traders traded, stallholders shouted, and as Haalsen led her inside the hubbub settled as eyes settled on them, as the old buck headed for the centre of the room.
"I have a doe I wish to sell," he said.
Agneta spat. "Oh for all the gods' sake Haalsen, are you trying to flog me for cheap?" She looked around the room, head high and proud, like a proper doe. About a dozen bucks, none worthy of her, mostly fleabitten trappers or similar troglodytes. A trio of startled looking yaks, far from home. She almost lingered too long on the muscular, powerful shapes of a haulage team, from the Shire region of Equestria from the looks of them, but knowing ponies they'd try to free her. "I can't see anyone here who can afford me," she said in conclusion.
"What happened to your previous owner?" Agneta and Haalsen both blinked, like everyone else, at a shape - a mare, judging from the voice - that had until now been ignored, sitting in a snug with no lights. All she could see was pink mane, a clinical eye, and a horn. The eye was appraising her.
"Dainn cultists," Agneta said, followed by a chorus of spitting. "Fjaltyr and me were homesteading up around Helmholt, then they came calling." Her expression became flinty. "They demanded that we join their stinking ranks, and ordered my owner to strip and rape me." One hand dropped to the dagger on her right thigh.
"I killed five of the bastards."
The bucks started the cheering, even the yaks nodded in approval.
"What about... ah... Fjyaltyr?"
"Dead. While I was busy, the scum piled on him and did the usual."
"What's the usual?" one of the Shire ponies asked his friend in the quiet that fell.
"Cut your cock off and let you bleed to death," was the reply.
Haalsen spoke up. "Agneta here would have done the same, but they don't make blades small enough." This got a round of laughter, the yaks loudest of all, and in the snug was a flash of teeth. Whoever the mare was, she was probably in the Equestrian Guard.
"What's her cooking like?" To her surprise, this came from another of the Shire ponies. Probably the senior, given the hints of gray around his muzzle, ears and mane.
"Hearty, tasty and filling," Haalsen said enthusiastically, "She is also skilled with washing, mending, can hit a target at thirty strides with a bow, and... ah..." he trailed off, rubbing one forearm.
Agneta groaned, rolling her eyes. "Out of the way, you fool," she said, jerking the leash out of the buck's hand and striding forward. "I hight Agneta Bruhnsdottir of Foggernaut, a true daughter of caribou! My cooking will not leave you hungry, my sewing will not leave you cold, or bleeding. I know all the lays of my people, and I can and will defend myself and my owner."
"We noticed," one of the bucks said, raising another wave of approval.
"What's your price?"
All eyes went to the snug. The shadows in there weren't natural. Whoever the mare was, she wanted to keep her identity a secret.
"Nine hundred kron."
A low whistle broke the silence. Haalsen looked at her in mild shock. "Don't undersell yourself now," he managed to get out.
[This drags on in fine Nadrak fashion, until the mystery mare outbids everypony else and emerges from the shadows.]
Agneta's jaw dropped, as did everydeer else's. The Princess of Love just smiled tightly. "You'll get your price Agneta Bruhnsdottir," she said, "You'll need all of it. Follow me."
She followed the alicorn mare outside, where a carriage had arrived sometime during the proceedings. The guardsponies around it gleamed, ignoring the decidedly chilly air, and Agnete could see a hint of antlers inside.
Entering, her jaw dropped again at the sight of the priest, incongruously shaggy and wild-looking inside the cozy groomed space; beside him a waif of a mare. Actually the mare was sitting diagonally across from him, stiff as a board, and clearly frightened. Only when Cadence sat beside her and Agnete sat across did she relax, slightly.
Once the door closed, the carriage set off; Agnete watched as lamplights vanished, and the forest outside became wilder. "Moon Mist here," Cadance broke the silence, "is not from here. Nor the Equestria we know."
"What in the name of the Gods - ah -" The doe sputtered awkwardly, glancing at the priest nervously.
"Vidaarh has spoken your name," he responded in a throaty monotone, "Hjorteland cries out."
Agnete paled under her fur. What would the god of vengeance want with, or from, her?
"Seier has spoken your name," the priest added. The doe's head spun. The god of victory as well? What was going on?
"He..." a limp finger aimed at the priest. "He doesn't mean the Hjorteland we know, does he?"
"All will be explained," Cadance replied, expression grim. "We will speak with them tonight."
As if on cue, the carriage began to turn, the increased bumping indicating they had left the road. A particularly bad bump was followed by a curse; evidently the ponies accompanying it weren't enjoying the trail either. Inside, silence reigned, until the priest spoke again.
"Speaking with the gods always gives me the willies," he said conversationally.
Cadance blinked. "The willies?"
"Yes. It's one thing to feel their presence. It's another when they expect you to talk back. And yet another when you intend trying to start the conversation."
The carriage slowed, then halted. "Well, better catch their ears," the priest sighed, "Follow me."
Magical torches illuminated far more fitting surroundings for the unnamed priest. The carved stones, obelisks fastidiously kept clean of moss and vines, rose towards the sky, surrounding a large stone surface, engraved with a labyrinth, at the centre of which was a circle large enough for four beings and a small fire. The priest stopped before the entrance to the labyrinth, before turning, a pair of small dried mushrooms in each hand. "Eventyrportobello," he intoned.
Cadance took one, and after a glance so did a nervous Agnete and even more nervous Moon Mist. The poor mare more or less crept up to the immobile priest, snatched it and hurried away. "Freyr, please help her," Agnete murmured in prayer.
With ceremonial slowness,the priest took a bite of mushroom and chewed slowly; the females followed his example. Then he led them through the labyrinth, which the fungus unravelled into a straight path towards the brazier. Agnete looked down. She was clutching several twigs, several of which seemed to be glowing. She did not remember gathering them, but evidently she, and Cadance, and Moon Mist, were supposed to put them in the brazier.
The priest drew a small box from his robes. Agnete fought the urge to giggle as he lit the match and set the fire alight. It was a normal yellowish flame at first, then started changing colours and growing.
"Vidaarh!" the priest called, "Seier!" They were the only words she understood in his chant, and soon was echoing his call, along with an equally tripping Cadance and Moon Mist. The flame grew, not outward but upward, flaring with each word.
Then two shapes came.
One was Vidaarh, the Red Stag, his sword and shield as blood-soaked as the rest of his naked form. The only unbloodied parts of him were his eyes, and his teeth. The other was Seier, the Gold Doe, clad in the robes of conquered royalty, bejewelled with treasures claimed.
"You are Agneta Bruhnsdottir of Foggernaut," the god of War stated. There was an air of threat, that denial would have fatal consequences.
"Y... yes?" Agnete's voice quavered.
"The one chosen to end my idiot son." The statement ended with a gnashing of teeth.
"Our idiot son," Seier said, "We can either draw this out or get her equipped and started on the way."
"Wait wait wait," Cadance stammered, "The Dainn -" she cringed a bit when Vidarrh snarled - "of her world - is the real god? Not just some... some..."
"Unfortunately yes," the goddess of Victory said, her voice tight. "The little brat evaded his rightful sentence and fled sideways, into an alternate Equestria. One where gods are weaker, so he was able to conquer them all, from this mortal plane outward."
"But if his seat is not in the godly realm, then he is mortal," Agnete began, then stopped dead as Vidarrh stared at her.
"She is indeed the one, the warrior we seek," he said in an approving tone.
"Told you she was smart," the goddess smiled.
"The small-dicked shit is mortal, but he is strong. His power extended across all our lands, and then he went after the Crystal Empire, and then Equestria," Vidarrh went on, placing his sword on the ground and leaning on it, his tone that of an officer giving a briefing. "With the corruption of the Crystal Heart, his power was magnified immensely to the point that not even the ponies' princesses could withstand him and his... troops."
"So I go there, destroy this heart, make him weak enough to hack his cock off and shove it down his throat," Agnete said, still sufficiently out of it to not register the import of what was being said. "Got it."
"She's going to regret this once she gets there," Seier observed.
"True, but she will not travel unarmed," Vidarrh declared. Taking his shield off his arm, he rested it against the sword. "Take up these arms, Agnete God-Killer."
The doe stared at them, then at Vidarrh, who just watched her. Unsteadily, she stepped forward, as though expecting the gods to strike her down.
"Must be her first time," Seier remarked.
"First time is always the hardest," Vidarrh agreed.
As soon as Agnete's hand touched the shield, it flashed, reappearing on her left arm. The sword on the other hand merely fit into her right, feeling as familiar as her own daggers. She raised it, staring at its almost terrifyingly ordinariness; a weapon one could buy at any smith's.
Vidarrh, the Red Stag of War, has many blades. And one came slashing down. Agnete's shield arm came up, as though by honed instinct, sending the blow that would have killed her singing away. She found herself turning, the blade coming up and ready to strike.
"You have been accepted!" the god laughed delightedly. "Be strong and fearless, Agnete of the Caribou, doe of many titles. Including but not limited to, Chosen of Vidarrh, Chosen of Seier, Hero of the... wife, stop poking me."
Seier just poked him again. "You forgot something."
Vidarrh blinked at her, then Agnete, then blinked again. "Oh, right. Just think of not bearing my arms, and they will depart, until you summon them again with a thought."
Agnete thought of her hands free, and sure enough sword and shield vanished without much fuss. She then imagined herself armed again, and with the same lack of fuss they returned. "Amazing," she said, dismissing them once more.
"Now that this is all done," the goddess declared, "Time for my gift. The time of victory is one of celebration, rest, and recuperation." She pulled a loaded waterskin from her robes. "In this is a cordial, which will aid healing. Try not to use it all at once. And..."
Her free hand extracted a battered, evidently well-used goblet. "For healing mind and spirit, put liquor in this. It worked at the feast-tables of Valhalla, so it will work for you."
Agnete raised her hands to take them, then remembered to will her arms away. The skin sloshed too thickly to be water, more like yoghurt. The cup... she put it to her ear. It sounded like distant singing and merriment.
"Told you she would," Vidarrh grinned at Seier.
"Yes, you did." The goddess turned to Cadance. "Now it is time for your part to commence. Vidarrh has done his part, and I mine. Princess Cadance Mi Amore Credenza of the Crystal Empire, open the portal."
Cadance gulped, then looked across the fire at Moon Mist. "Are you ready?"
Agnete looked around. There were shapes surrounding them, silhouettes. A shock ran up her spine as she realised that more gods had come for some reason. Curiosity? She juggled the skin and goblet nervously.
"I am ready." Moon Mist looked... scary. No, wait, it was the looming figure behind her with a skull for a head. Andláthirðir. Herder of the Dead. It looked down at the mare, who stared at Cadance with a queer light in her eyes.
Cadance swallowed, then her horn began to glow. Her wings rose, a strange pinkish light running through the feathers to the wingtips. Her face was tense as magic began to manifest, folding into a complex shape of symbols and increasingly eye-hurting twists.
Moon Mist stepped up, onto the brazier, and into the flame.
Agnete stared in horror as the fire began to eat at the mare's hooves, scurrying up her legs, even as she cried out. That was the worst part. She didn't cry out in pain, but in release.
"Now!" Cadance, her muzzle pale and even slightly greenish, thrust her arms and head forward, her wings beating once. The increasingly non-euclidean matrix of magic was sent into the flames, right into the burning mare's heart.
There was a pause, then the flames erupted. Ancient Caribou shamanic magics interacted with Equestrian ones, and the flames twisted around, enveloping a black sphere in a pink halo. Of Moon Mist there was no sign.
"Do not tarry, chosen one!" Vidarrh's booming voice made Agnete jump. "The portal only lasts a short time."
The doe wasn't thinking straight; the mushroom's psychedelic properties saw to that. A god had spoken, and Agnete obeyed. A stride turned into a sprint as she ran into the blackness. It collapsed behind her.
Pink flame shifted into normal fire, which began to die, smothered by ash. Too much ash. With the show over, the gods departed, quietly fading out of the mortal plane.
They left a somewhat stupefied Caribou priest to take care of and reassure a distressed Princess Cadance that Moon Mist was undoubtedly enjoying her well-earned reward in the halls of Valhalla.
Cue merry fun bloody adventure violence times.