The mercenary awoke from a very strange dream- a dream in which he was a young colt, and a strange creature came and tempted him to do something. He just couldn't remember what. He yawned and stretched, getting ready for another days trek towards the far-flung town of Whitetrot. He started walking back, the rain never had seemed to abate. He pulled his hat down over his horn, shrugged his shoulders and started trotting back. After about 5 hours, he began to see the outline of Whitetrot. It was a small town, with but a few shops and businesses, but the tavern was the centrepiece of the town. With a large sign that read "The Prancing Pony" swaying in the breeze. It was two floors, one a place to mingle and have a pint or two, the other an inn, with soft beds and fresh hay to snack on.

To here the mercenary went, walking through an apparently deserted town, doors and shutters were clanking against windows and porches. He stood suspiciously in the town square, looking around, his body tense for any signs of hostile ponies. After a few minutes he shrugged and renewed his trek toward the tavern. He walked in, expecting it to be filled with ponies, but it was vacant. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and climbed up the stairs, the head in his bag bouncing along with each step. He opened the door to the room where the pony that gave the mission stayed, walked inside and stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was covered in blood, from floor to ceiling the room was drenched in red. The sharp tang of iron assailed his nostrils. He looked about and saw entrails hanging from the ceiling like streamers. He gagged and hastily stepped back, the blood already beginning to congeal on his hooves. He stumbled back and vomited on the floor. He began to walk back to the town square, leaving red hoofprints in his wake. He stumbled into the town square where he saw a perplexing sight. A group of well over a hundred ponies stood in a semi-circle, wielding pitchforks and torches. A pony stepped forward, who he recognized as the mayor of Whitetrot and said, "You are under arrest for murder and plotting a coup against Princess Celestia! What say you in your defense?" Th mercenary looked shocked, he stepped back and hastily muttered that he had done no such thing. But at that very moment, the severed head of the pony in black came rolling out, it's tongue out, and it's eyes blank.

"Shit." He said, as the congregation of ponies stared at the severed head. "Get him!" One pony yelled, and they all charged, brandishing their torches threateningly. He sighed and shook his head, then shrugged his shoulders and threw off his coat and pack, revealing a scarred but heavily muscled grey body, and a gleaming sword as a cutie mark. his horn glowed as he whipped out his sword. he counter-charged, dodging and weaving, jumping over torches and ducking under pitchforks. He reached the mayor who hastily tried to pick up a carving knife. But she was too late. He jumped overhead, landed behind her and plunged his sword into the base of the mayor's neck. It came out the other side, side, dripping red blood onto the dusty grass. He wrenched it out of her carcass, the sight of his blood red sword tinging his vision. His mind succumbed to the bloodlust, and he bared his teeth in an awful smirk. The ponies stopped and stared as he licked the blood off of his sword blade. He screamed a great battle cry and lunged into the waiting crowd of defenseless ponies. Hacking and slashing, he wove his way through the bodies, blood spurting everywhere. He ducked underneath one pony, slicing it's sword through its stomach, her guts spilling onto the ground. She stared at it for a moment, as if not really believing what she was seeing. Then her head flew off, going six feet into the air, the same expression on her face as when she was staring at her disemboweled intestines. But the mercenary had moved on, stabbing and slicing, kicking and punching, he wove a path of blood and death. He grabbed one pony and forced his jaws open, then plunged his sword down it's throat, tearing his trachea and larynx, blood gurgling out his mouth, the mercenary laughed as the pony's eyes rolled in the back of his head, and abruptly stopped twitching. He pulled his sword out, panting at the adrenaline pumping through his head. he looked around, covered in blood and organs. He saw there was nopony left, and the red faded from his vision. he collapsed on the ground, exhausted.

When he got up, he looked at the carnage he had wrought and promptly threw up. He sank to his haunches and stared blankly at the blood covered ground. "God, what have I done?" He asked himself. He hung his blood covered head in his blood covered hoof and silently sobbed. The tears carving a path through the blood and grime sticking to his face. A few hours later, he got up with his eyes bloodshot from his tears. He re-slung his pack and put his sword on his back. He walked to a stream and bathed, desperately trying to clean the blood of of his grey fur. Once he and his blade were cleaned, (every time he used it he marveled at how easily the blood cleaned off,) he got up and turned back towards the desert.

He sighed and embarked. Walking towards the desert, he focused only on the ground, making sure to dodge the blood-soaked town square. He trudged to the edge of the desert, and braced himself for the coming journey. He took the first step, already the wind picking up, he pulled his cloak up to hide his horn, pulled his cloak around his frame and set out.

For months he walked, pausing to eat only when he collapsed from starvation, sleeping only when he lost consciousness from exhaustion. All other times he walked. Ignoring everything around him, whishing for something to come and end this hellish existence he was in. He walked at the same pace day after day, not noticing the subtle changes in his surroundings. He didn't notice the dust and sand slowly turn to dirt, he didn't notice the wind begin to die down, didn't notice the small outcroppings of grass appear. He kept walking, ignoring it all. After months of monotonous desert, he didn't notice the small hovels to his left and a great forest to his right. He didn't notice the large wooden sign until he walked into it, weariness causing him to sway, he looked at it and read the words "Welcome to Ponyville," and sank onto his side, and with the last vestiges of consciousness saw a pink, bouncing blob rapidly approach. Then it all went dark.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Making New "Friends" Estimated time remaining: 5 Minutes