Pinkie stared out the window as the wagon trucked along the stone road, bouncing with the padded seat whenever her side passed over a large rock. The fresh pine air was invigorating; the nip in the breeze as it filtered through the glassless viewing areas was doubly so. Even with such pleasantries, such a paradise, provided for her, she could not shake the weight in her mind. Pinkie Pie was a pony perplexed by her ponderous perturbation, taxed by her own dementation, though she was unsure if it was a byproduct of the same psychosis she’d had her entire adult life, or a creation of Sheogorath for his twisted amusement. Her mind, like a shattered mirror, seemed sharp but clouded, obscuring the truth behind a layer of reflections and bloody edges; she didn't know what she could see, or even if she saw anymore, but she knew what her eyes said she saw.

Her group of friends, each a marvelous statue of virtue, an amazing portrait of how ponies should have been, was alien to her. For moments, mere fractions of an instant, they were so different from how they had always been. Twilight, ever the smart one of their group, if a bit lacking in common sense on occasion, swapped from the robed mare Pinkie knew to be her, to a crowned princess, her nose in a book too terrible to describe. Tearing her eyes away, she turned her gaze to the demure Fluttershy, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The butter yellow pegasus was pale, her throat torn open as her life’s blood stained into her fur; she was moving, and yet dead, like seeing with blind eyes as her heart failed to beat. Pinkie blinked the phantoms away, and sighed in relief as the world was right once more.

“You alright, sugarcube?” Applejack asked, placing a comforting hoof on the pink mare’s shoulder. The Element of Laughter almost regretted looking to her friend with a smile on her face. A simple blindfold adorned her friend's gaunt face, stained dark crimson with her precious blood; her fur was patchy, and her ribs showed through coat, as though she was too sick to even try to eat, plagued with some unknown ailment.

“Oh, I’m feeling Pinkie keen,” she replied, laughing at her own pun. She was being honest, as well; she felt fine, emotionally and physically speaking, because she knew there was almost nothing she could do to stop the visions tormenting her. AJ looked at her for a moment, her visage returning to the kindly farmer she truly was, before nodding and accepting the answer. In truth, the Element of Honesty was just glad to have Pinkie back to her old self.

“Oh, I’m feeling rather keen, myself,” Rarity agreed, sighing happily as she nudged Pinkie to look out the window again. “Look at these flowers, Pinkie; aren’t just amazing?” The white unicorn was correct about the local flowers, and even Pinkie’s warped perception allowed her to see them for their beauty. The flowers helped get her mind off what she was seeing.

“Oh, yeah; Zecora would have a field day with them,” the bubbly pony replied, smiling at her alabaster friend. Rarity’s appearance, however, was not the sort Pinkie had expected. Her friend’s once pristinely white coat was ashen and thin; her hide was leathery, dried and wrinkled as a Falmer’s skin, torn where her mouth had move too much or too quickly. Around her neck was a string of dark gems, a midnight purple that seemed eerie in even the best of light; small gouts of dust erupted from her snout with every breath. Her patchy mane framed her chilling eyes like a shroud, and she craned her head with almost unnatural grace, straining her bones against her skin with every movement.

Pinkie kept smiling at her unicorn friend, wondering what that odd vision could possible mean, or even if it had any sort of meaning to begin with. As she looked to Renoir, Pinkie was terrified of what she may see; she was amazingly relieved to see the vampire was still lying on the seats, stretched out as he slept. It was the first time she had seen him sleep, maybe the first time anypony had seen the vampire in such a vulnerable position. Like before, his mask was off, securely tied to his armor by a strip of leather, and he seemed at pace with the world around him. A slight smirk touched his lips as Pinkie kept staring at him, sure his facade wouldn’t change into anything terrifying; he was as awake as everypony else, and merely reclined as a means to relax.

“Enjoying the view, princess?” the vampire asked, directing his voice to Celestia but broadcasting his question to the rest of the carriage. Pinkie, like the rest of the ponies, turned her attention to the regent; this was an amazing time to determine her opinion of Skyrim, and the hour or so they had been traveling. They had supplies, and would avoid Falkreath if possible, so it was important to get her feel for the flora and fauna rather than the locals, since their meetings may be a bit less than civilized.

“Very much,” Celestia replied, smiling at the undead sorcerer for what must have been the first time. “I haven’t seen a land this rich in many years, and I have travelled my world abreast and abroad.” In truth, she found the calm air, untended by pegasi, and the wildflowers, so unlike those she knew grew in her kingdom, to be marvelously refreshing, if a bit unorthodox. “Though, I am a bit worried of the news of dragon attacks.”

“Being handled, if the rumors are true,” the vampire said, waving his hand in a dismissing gesture. His grin fell a bit as his ears twitched at a noise, small and innocuous, barely worth most peoples’ attentions. He didn’t like the sound, and sat up as he prepared for the worst, as his gut dictated.

~-~-~-~-~

Reman and Glade, alongside Steel Morrow, who was the earth pony Solar Guard, and Bitter Springs, he himself representing the Lunar Guard and fulfilled the needed magic for the guard assigned to Princess Celestia for her jaunt into unknown territory. Skyrim, as the guards and drivers were finding, was hauntingly beautiful and untamed, though in a much more manageable sense than the Everfree or other such areas of horror that surrounded Equestria. There was very little in the way of conversation, as they had been instructed the Pine Forest, especially the leg so close to the Reach, was dangerous enough to warrant supreme caution. Forsworn were unlikely to be so far from their mountain lairs, but that never stopped others from preying on whatever scraps managed to evade those wildmen.

Trudging along, there was little wonder why Reman and Renoir had suggested much of the carriage be covered in dirt and most of its ornamentation stripped and stowed for when they were in more civilized regions; a golden chariot like that was sure to draw unwanted attention in copious amounts, and as trouble was wont to do, any issue they found would arrive at the worst possible moment. It was best for everypony if the carriage took a little damage, something that could be repaired before any official greetings, than to be delayed too much by brigands or whatever other ilk may have been hiding around the foggy woodlands.

“I feel like a sitting duck,” Glade grumbled, shifting in her seat. She did not like the idea of being on day watch, not if it meant being so exposed, but grounded; if she were allowed to fly about, things would have been different, but as she was grounded under the princess’s orders, she had to worry about marksmen in the trees. “I know you’re just as twitchy as me right now,” she added, looking to the others that sat about on the chariot’s roof. Springs had the decency to look a little offended at the idea, while Morrow and Reman grunted their agreements.

“Better than the freezing cold of night,” the imperial replied, mostly to himself; Renoir and whoever else he could recruit into aiding him on night watch would have to suffer the chill, especially in the mountains. This time, both stallions nodded, while Glade, with her race’s resistance to the cold of high altitudes, seemed less than impressed. She would have raised a counterpoint, had her gut not crumpled into a knot; whatever was causing it certainly seemed to affect Reman as well, who donned his helmet in record time. The lycans trained their ears to sound out whatever may have been lurking in the brush.

“These woods shouldn’t be this quiet,” Morrow whispered, pointing out the forest Reman and Glade had failed to see for the trees. None of them knew how long the pines had been silent, but nary a bird chirped in the lofty branches overhead; the fog around them was dense, and the ground was impossible to see any farther than twenty paces in any direction. A dozen men could have been waiting by the roadside and none of the party would have known until the charged from their grey hiding spots. “Springs, mind lending some light?”

“Bad idea,” the unicorn replied, eyes shifting through the darkness of the forest floor. The midafternoon sun could do little to penetrate the foliage, and Lunar Guards knew enough about night fighting that any excess light would be a beacon, or perhaps a dinner bell, depending on what lurked just out of sight. “Think whatever’s shut the birds up is human?”

“Doubtful; birds pay men very little mind,” Reman said, hand inching closer to his belt with every word. “Not werewolves, either; we’d have caught scent of them by now.” He did not like not seeing his foes, especially not in an area he didn’t know very well. A heavy thud, following by loping, thunderous steps echoed from the southern roadside, before an inhuman figure burst from the murky fog. For a moment, everyone stood still, unsure of quite what they were looking at; the beast was humanoid, covered in shaggy white fur that blended into the fog, and had crude armor and weapons strapped to its body. In the back of his mind, Reman laughed; nobody had ever heard of an armored troll.

With a bellowing roar, the troll lunged forward, charging the carriage with the gleeful anger only animals were truly capable of; the crude axes strapped to its clawed hands bit into the soft metal of the carriage as it gripped the pony-sized door. It wrenched it from its hold with titanic strength, howling in simple-minded joy as it caught sight of its prey. It ape-like celebration was cut short as a roaring gout of flames spewed from the wrecked aperture, burning off its mangy white fur as its outer flesh turned to ash; it would heal from this damage in time, but for its weakness to fire, Renoir Belmont had scored a decisive blow in this battle’s opening moments. As the monster stumbled in a daze, the vampire launched himself feet-first into the its chest, knocking it the cold, wet ground. The troll roared at the temperature shock, screaming in primitive pain as its body revolted; Renoir ended its pain with a swift stomp to the skull, crushing its brain against the cobbled road.

The vampire hit the ground with a grunt of pain, his body crumbling underneath him as he clutched his gut. A short, thick bit of wood stuck through the leather of his armor, stabbing into his just above the navel; the bolt stunned him like nothing else, no doubt tipped with silver. The guards surrounded him to better shield him from any more crossbow fire that may fly their way; Reman was at the front, using his heavily armored body as a bulwark. Glade grabbed the vampire’s collar in her teeth and hauled him back into the carriage as the first of the human vampire hunters emerged from the fog. He was a hulking nord, hefting a shield in one hand and an axe in the other, plated in steel armor of strange design.

Reman swatted the axe aside with a fist, parried away the shield with a swipe of his sword, and slammed his helmet against the nord’s with enough force to fill the woods with the clanging. The imperial dropped to his knees and uppercutted the slayer’s groin; it was not the most honorable of tactics, but with an unknown number of attackers ready to strike, it made sense to dispatch foes as quickly as possible. He hefted the crumbling man over his shoulder, tossing him away as inertia forced Reman against the next hunter to enter the fray. This one was a woman, and a young one by the look of her face; a crossbow bolt slammed into the side of his helmet, stumbling the spellsword as the woman slammed a hammer into his chest.

Glade shrieked as she fell on the hammer-wielding woman, clutching the dagger she’d had since her first jaunt into Skyrim. The pegasus tackled her foe to the ground with blinding speed, stabbing faster than she thought possible as her anger filled her to the brim. A sudden crash and light filled the roadside meadow as Springs hefted the marksman with the crossbow into the air before flicking his head to the side and hurling the screaming man down the road. The archer landed with a low thud as he bounced along the small stones of the well-used road. The unicorn looked around, wondering when the next target would present itself.

The forest was once again quiet.

~-~-~-~-~

“Hold still,” Fluttershy said as she dabbed a bit of antiseptic on the gash splitting Reman’s face open. The imperial winced at the sudden spike of pain, but remained still; his friend had bigger problem and solved them without so much as a grunt of protest. A fractured eye socket and some bruised ribs were hardly worth bothering over.

“So, Reman, ready to swap shifts now?” Renoir asked, fastening his armor back into place, a bloodied crossbow bolt twirling between his fingers. He stuck his finger back on the harp, silver tip, unsure of what to make of such equipment. “We obviously met professionals today, people armed to deal with the unnatural.”

“Dawnguard, vampire hunters,” Reman replied. “Ran into some on my way to Whiterun; they were a bit less than cooperative when they realized I wasn’t precisely human.” There was no love lost between werewolves and vampires, but that certainly didn’t stop a number of overzealous purifiers from trying to lump them together for easier disposal. “You really know how to sew,” he remarked to Fluttershy as she finished stitching his face; Renoir could not be bothered to mend his wounds, so that had left the veterinarian, the closest thing to a medic after the vampire.

“I wonder how they found us in the fog?” Morrow asked aloud, still a bit surprised at how suddenly the assault began, and how quickly it ended. To him, it didn’t feel done; he felt they had not seen the last of this Dawnguard. “They could find us again, couldn’t they?”

“If that is the case, then we may not have time to rest before continuing,” Celestia declared, trying to look as unfrazzled as she could; she had not expected a group of vampire hunters, a group Celestia would have lauded had they been from her kingdom, to attack innocents. At first it appeared to be a simple mistake, a warbeast let off its reins and unable to be caught again, but when the Dawnguard had arrived in full, they had been just as quick to attack everything that moved as they were to shoot Renoir. “When you feel ready, Renoir, we will resume traveling.”