/mlpol/ - My Little Politics

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Razorback Company.png
#OiE: The Cult of the Dark Horse 2
GM Strangler
>If you would like to join, make a sensible loadout here at:
>And if you want to bring in something special or anything not on the list, ask to shop it in.

>When you're done, read over the Operator's Handbook:

>Or the Hoofbook if you wanna be a pony:

>Then drop a post here.

>Overall Pastebin:

>Fortress Map:

>Bulletin Board:

>Previous Thread:

Welcome back, pony cowboys...
493 replies and 58 files omitted.
Southern Canterlot Outskirts: Twin Hill Overlook, Depository
GM Strangler
>Definitely attracting the group's attention now, the oldest one, either their Commissar or an equivalent rank, quiets down from his monologue.
>Head turning about towards the other humans, Raindrop looses a relieved sigh.

>Studying the quartet of spaced hinges, little more than oddly precision cut slabs of the same raw material that the vault door was composed of, the 8.8CM, or 4" based on your knowledge of multiple measuremarent systems, thickness of each would prove difficult to entirely defeat in one go.
>Should the door hang up after removing three hinges, or fall outwards, significant structural damage would be the likely result.
>If not causing severe injury or outright death, that is.

"I take it that's good news and he'll recover in a few days."
>Head tilting sideways with a quiet snort, Raindrop's left eyebrow can be, barely, seen raising as she speaks in a bemused tone.
"As I told you before Miss Mallia, I have a contract to complete regardless of what happens. He can hit me all he likes and unless he breaks a few bones I won't be hindered. Besides, I've been treated much worse before. Feels more like getting spanked for stealing from a cookie jar than much else, really."

>Giving the sixteen lock set a close inspection, and a secret taste from Raindrop's prying eyes to see if it was indeed crudely extracted tungsten, the answer was a definite yes.
>Noting that each of the dials weren't set close enough to prevent a thin tool from poking inside, the first and last ones were spaced almost enough to get a pinky into, yet the crevices were too dark to determine what was inside.
>Registering and estimating the number of possible combinations would result in roughly 60 hours of trials, and the lack of noticeable wear was puzzling on its own.

>Peering up at the dial silently turning by your hand, the pegasus Knight tosses her head back towards the other two vault doors.
"Not what I expected, not surprising either. This city's been abandoned long enough there's probably nopony around who'd know how to open any of the three in here. And this is tungsten?"
>Standing on tiphooves for a better examination of the dull, raw metallic veins, Raindrop sets back down to give a quiet 'humph', staring upwards at you quizzically.
"That's not nonsense. I was about to tell them-"
>Flicking her right bladed wing back towards the potentially Vostroyan humans.
"To give up and leave. But, since you have some ideas and we're not exactly limited by time now, you can try whatever you think will work. Tell me what you need to do... and try to keep from making something too hot that I'll have to pull on or yank, my armor takes way longer in cooling down than most."
>Receiving a surprising, quick tap to your right hip, an audibly exasperated Raindrop shakes her head in slow, mock annoyance.
"Don't call yourself boring. I've no clue what to have done besides call for somepony to destroy these doors. Which, given Razorback's state, would probably take a couple weeks. You're in the lead here, you have knowledge that I don't, so that means I'm going to follow all suggestions, orders, or ideas you come up with, end of story."

>Examining the unfortunately cheap weapon, you knew it could easily withstand twenty to thirty seconds of the Rite, so long as the barrel was allowed to cool properly between firings and the Machine Spirit was pleased with the act of aiding you.
Razorback Fortress: The Fountain
GM Strangler
>Keeping the door open for a few seconds, the batstallion's eyes morosely drift past you towards the operating room doors.
"My advice: try not to understand."
>Ending on a low tone, he takes a half-step backwards into the now much colder night air while releasing a short, bleak sigh.
"I didn't like her before, now I don't know how to feel. Nopony deserves being crippled permarenently like that."
>Head turning back to you, Torven blinks once the bottle, then reaches out to grasp it with the right set of wingclaws.
>Bringing it close to his snout and grasping the cap with his other set, he twists it off for a one-eyed examination of the contents, speaking slowly in thought.
"Doctor Tipper calculated human painkillers to be fifty percent less effective for most ponies.. I think."
>Tossing his head back and not-so-carefully dumping more than few into his mouth, the sight of two long, sharp canines gives you a moderate sense of unease.
>Either there was more bat in his genetics or the pony was displayed less.

>Replacing the cap with a practiced twist and offering the bottle back, he immediately turns left into a half-walk.
>Speaking in a bitterly annoyed tone as you follow him, Torven passes around the Clinic's eastern wall, heading directly towards the fountain you'd seen earlier.
"Politics. Chest puffing, table pounding, backstabbing, shouting, do nothing trash!"
>Falling silent until reaching the peculiar metallic yellow fountain, he turns about to sit down in a huff, back against the side.
>Lifting both sets of wingclaws and folding them into rough 'fists' larger than yours, he rubs both sides of his head before speaking tiredly.
"Most of the time I'm asleep, otherwise I'm awake four to six hours a night, eight at most. More than that makes me sick. I'm a treasure hunter, spend my free time looking through maps, researching places, trading information or what I've found, and try not to get stuck somewhere dangerous. I don't normally scout locations, that rarely goes well for me."
>Pausing to flick the left set of wingclaws around in a circle, obviously indicating the Fortress itself, the wing settles against his side accompanied by a dry snort.
"Razorback, this fortress here, all the humans in it are a protectorate of the Lunar faction.. in more ways than one. I hate politics but I'll share what I can."

"Short version: Princesses Luna and Celestia are the co-rulers of Equestria. Both are alicorns so they're much bigger than me, probably the same size as feral horses on most human worlds, and they're living goddesses. Both are probably old as this world is. I don't know how exactly to treat them as royalty but you don't want to insult them around any followers."
"Luna owns the Lunar faction. Mostly made up of batponies, lots of pegasi including some ancient clans that broke apart that call themselves the Ferron, some unicorns, a few earth ponies, gryphons, minotaurs, Eyes, Harpies, and others I don't know. Crystal Empire hates the Lunars. Dunno why, but I'll get to them in a while."
"Celestia owns the Solar faction. Supposedly it's an even mix of pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies. Solars don't dislike non-ponies, they're.. apathetic I guess."
"Canterlot is the Solar capital, it's where the Palace is.. was, rather. Celestia blew most of that up in a rage after Razorback screwed up their first job. Solars kind of hate Razorback for that still. Can't blame them since it's true and all."
"At least three thousand years ago Luna started building a giant multi-level fortress on the Moon, which she owns, and it got called the Citadel. Dunno why. It's the Lunar capital now since most of her faction left Equestria and settled there. Most all the ponies you'll see around here are Lunars. Razorback's done much better keeping them happy than they did Celestia and hers."
"And if you were wondering: I'm not Lunar."

"Probably the next closest bunch to Razorback are the Ferron pegasi clans. They're all shorter than normal Equestrian pegasi. Again another dunno why. Main four clans are the Lishanki, Malurians, Arkadian Divides, and the actual Ferron clan."
"Lishanki are bandits, raiders, thieves, pirates, and brigands. Rest of the Ferron hate them for good reasons, and they've started disliking Razorback for taking down one of the black markets. They owned a lot of stuff that went through it, now they're being targeted by both the Lunars and Solars for getting caught with illegal stuff."
"Arkadians are traders, miners, smiths, researchers, map makers. Some treasure hunters too, at least from what I've been told. They live in the far tip of the Northern Crag Moors at some place called the Divides, probably between a couple mountains or something. Never been out that far.. don't want to either, much too dangerous. They haven't visited here before but supposedly they're on good terms with Razorback."
"Malurians are.. druids, I guess. Or maybe something similar. They're odd since most druids are earth ponies, unicorns, or minotaurs. They have a huge old city-state somewhere in the Moors, no idea where though. Not sure how much they like Razorback exactly but they did send a few big gifts recently, including a really nice blanket that I may or may not be borrowing for now."
"Main Ferron clan is a bunch of loose knit groups, sort of like tribes, that roam across the the northern Moors regions up into the New and Old Everfree Forests, across the Canterlot Plains, and sometimes even head all the way to the Minotaur Hegemony across the continent. Each of the sub-clans is directed by a noble that's directly descended from the old Dynasty. They tend to be a little bit of everything. Lots of them come here whenever they have access to a translocation matrice."

>Halting abruptly as the other wing drops down with a full body shiver, Torven's expression and voice turn deep shades of haunted.
"Then.. then there's the Sea's Bounty. I can't stand them, they're worse than most batponies are."
Mallia Castella
>As Raindrop speaks to her in reply, Mallia can't help but dart her eyes to the combination lock as she manages to find that space between each dial, especially the first and last.
>The Enginseer's brow rises with intrigue rather visibly. But she reluctantly puts that thought on the backburner, in favor of looking back to the Knight to pay earnest attention to every word from her new xeno companion, nodding along in understanding to the statement about Chisan...

>Though even if Raindrop's answer was nothing more than "It's just my job", Mallia, in spite of her past experiences that should've hardened her heart and in spite the inherent teachings bestowed on her to hate xenos in general, couldn't help but stare at the mare with a guilty air in her furrowed glance.
>She knew full well it was a stupid feeling to have, but right now it was stronger than ever. Perhaps due to the translocation from her own universe to this world.

>She made sure to not say anything the whole while. Listening to everything, and letting it process in her head.
>Then she straight-up flinches up slightly for half a second as she is touched by the mare - even if just on the armor, unintentionally showing just how TENSE she was. Which, in turn, prompted her to breathe in deeply, and then sigh out heavily through her mask.
>Being told not to call herself boring made her pause and glance off to the side, with a deep-seated guilt in her eyes. That she didn't dare voice, of course. It was just a glance that lasted a good second however.

"W... What I meant was more..."
>Her voice drifts off, as she began to shuffle from her crouched position to face Raindrop to shift most of her attention to her now. Setting the hellpistol on her lap for a moment.
"Maybe you're just very good at not showing any bitterness on the job, but you're a very pleasant per--pony to have and talk to and strong, in my humble opinion, and I am surprised you don't show more spite about being treated so unfairly. That's what I'm used to seeing, at least. But, maybe, again, I'm just naive to the way ponies show their emotions; or just naive in general. And you're a very dutiful p--pony."
>The Enginseer breathes another sigh, this time audibly through her mouth - like a huff, as her tension just seems to increase the more she spoke; her voice becoming anxious. Though everything she says is awfully earnest, and genuine. She really felt bad even if she didn't do anything bad yet.
>And she also seems to crinkle the bridge of her nose in a slight grimace whenever she has to replace 'person' with 'pony'.

>She takes a second's worth of pause, staring down at the other mare intently's visor as she tried to figure out how to say what's on her mind properly.

"I'm on a tangent again..."
>She cuts herself off, shaking her head, and rubbing across her forehead with a mixture of shame and embarrassment despite
"T-Thank you, I mean. I appreciate you putting up with us. Even if it's your job, that's... What I meant to say."

(By the Omnissiah I'm such a weirdo...)
(This stress is killing me on a spiritual level.)

>After Mallia had gotten that out of her chest, she seems to exhale again and visibly sag her shoulders.
>She had managed to make herself uncomfortable since she wasn't sure if the mare would laugh at her for being so worry-filled or just back off thinking she's an oddball. Which sort of detracted from her work in that moment, even as her glance blinked and bounced back to the dial lock - trying to focus again.

>Though the remark about Raindrop's armor not being able to cool down very well doesn't slip past her. She just doesn't give acknowledgement.

>With a lingering rub on her temple with two fingers, she tries to focus on examining the space between the dials to focus her mind again.
"O-okay, well, aside from... All of that,"
>Mallia once again goes to slip a pinky between the first dial, just to point it out to Raindrop as well while she speaks. Squinting at it for a moment...
"There's a little nook here that I can probably look into... Do you happen to have a light installed on that helmet of yours? Maybe a flashlight? I'd like to see what's behind it, otherwise I'd have to touch my lasgun's power setting to turn it into one for a bit."

>She quickly brought up the hellpistol after saying that, retracting her pinkie from the little space as she looked down to her pistol instead. She rather gently turns the power setting to Overcharge, then slowly caresses her hand along the body of the laspistol as she interacts with it via the MIU.
>Uttering a brief litany of forgiveness to the machine spirit as she briefly removed the powerpack, reaching in with her mechadendrite to temporarily disable the octoelectronic resonator, then mentally tuning the laser to a higher frequency and increasing the firing rate accordingly.

(Beloved Machine Spirit, forgive my tampering. Smite me if you will it. As a servant of the Omnissiah, I invoke the Rite of Constant Firing.)

>Then, with the preparation complete, she finishes the rite by slotting the power pack in; retracting her mechadendrite back along her back. Setting the weapon on safety until she needs to fire it, holding it closer to herself.
>And to avoid accidents. If the machine spirit became displeased, only she would get hurt.

[1d6+1 = 5]
<E. Tech-Use + Auspex Link: Rite of Constant Firing
[1d6+1 = 3]

[1d6+1 = 6]

[1d6+2 = 7]
<Utility Mechadendrite Tech-Use

>Then she waits, letting the response from the machine spirit tip her off on whether It's response was good or bad. Still caressing the side of the weapon like it was a pet, albeit more apologetically.

>Though she does look up to Raindrop to see if she produces a light source before she has to make one. Or maybe has to ask for one from the other operators who likely do have one. Or maybe nothing would turn up and she'd have to improvise. Either or worked for the enginseer.

>Cheto grimaces slightly over what he assumes is Torven’s report of Lejura’s affliction, ideas of what could have caused it and what has exactly happened to her swirling around inside his head.
“Can’t help it. Force of habit.”
>He knows better than to ask questions about her now, considering the batpony in front of him is trying to stop thinking about the drastic and mind-wrenching experience.
>Instead, he pivots to Tipper’s comment about human painkillers
“You also probably know this, but don’t mix them with alcohol. They have some nasty effects, and not the radical kind. A tip from the doctor.”
>He smiles lightly but his voice falters, being reminded of the PSA he watched after a few inquiries on the subject.
(Nothing better than overly dramatized reenactments to instill fear into the heart when young. Mamita querida, que me duele el almita)
>This emotion is compounded by the long fangs Torven displays as the painkillers are consumed by the leather-winged stallion in front of him, his eyebrows rising up.
(Uy, pucha. That’s some… rather impressive length and width on those canines.)
>An image of him sinking those fangs into his hand come to mind, where they could even pass through skin, muscle, tendon and bone, creating two big holes on his hand, but quickly fades as Torven offers the bottle back
(Not hostile. Keep calm. Padrillo es amigo… o algo por el estilo)
>He quickly takes it, stuffing it into his leg pouch and follows the exhausted batpony along.

>Torven’s passionate and vocal complaints about politics is a pretty good signal for him not to dwell on pure political stuff for much longer, surprising the average human following along when he utters such vulgar descriptions, but still promptly sits next to him at a seemingly acceptable forearm’s length for the human.
>He takes into account his treasure hunter work as well as well as his broad routine as he explains what he knows, nodding as the batty fellow continues to enlighten the ignorant human of the world around them. A bit of shock by the physical existence of literal gods as well as the whole concept of a literal Moonbase but this world is obviously a different one from whence he came so he basically expects anything that is said to him as extremely likely.
(I must say I surprise myself with how willing I am to listen to all this stuff. Was life back at home so uninspiring that anything else was better, to the point of the apparent chaos I seem to be sent into?)
>Of course, the human still has some questions regarding the knowledge provided after Torven exposed the basics he needed to know to be considered a superficial diplomat. He looks at Torven curiously as he chews on what he should ask, finally opening his mouth when ready.
“What job did Razorback fail so spectacularly that it caused Celestia to basically destroy her palace in a fit of goldy rage?”
>A small pause, as he places his hands on his knees in a slow fashion.
“I also heard that Stalliongrad has some sort of big problem against Razorback, too. Do you have an idea why?”
>One more halt for him to answer, as he nods once.
“Do you, by any chance, happen to know some of the more politically insightful and honest ponies or beings on Razorback that I can ask? I'd hate to tire you any further than you currently are, especially with how cordial you’ve been by lending me your ear in spite of your dislike about the subject.”
>He brings out the warm, polite smile with a small tilt of the head.
"No quiero agobiarte con palabrería que sólo sirve para mí."
A Cryptic Lunar Crypt: Breaking & Marentoring
GM Strangler
245323 245641
>The Councilmare's distortion jerks back at your step forwards, feeling a sensation of extreme paranoia crawling across your skin.
>What you supposed was her head shifts right, in either a curious or hostile motion wasn't possible to tell.
>Noticing a brief motion of a hoof wave, the Councilmare's tone shifts into an eerily calm voice.
"Common hu`um mood reactivity, discernible validation of unrestrained orders, standard cardiological and adrenaline spikes, negligible protective functions.. you aren't infected. I expected a far worse result considering the potential discrimination results I've come across."

>That was.. weird.

"I'll let you speak from ignorance this once otherwise the Princess will have my ass sundered. Listen closely so I don't have to repeat this history lesson: Princess Luna tried to ban the Cult of the Dark Horse in twenty-nine eight-hundred-forty-three. It backfired spectacularly."
>The Councilmare's upper distortion swivels towards you, emitting a hollow snort of disgust.
"Nopony controls the Destroyers outside their leaders within the Cult, and they don't even listen to us or Luna herself. Any batpony found to harbor incurable bacteria, virii, parasites, or accepted due to physical injuries is immediately granted a set of Destroyer armor, told about the stupid 'Great Mango in the Sky', given any marebombs they want, and tossed into stasis until they're called on to commit honorable blood-ritual suicide in combat. Want to know what happened when Luna's ban came down? About sixty thousand batponies joined that year. If anypony in the Starborn could've prevent the Cult from taking in more they'd have have done so fourteen years ago, so don't blame us for their irrationality."
>You involuntarily shiver at a remorseful sigh from the hidden Councilmare, the distortion shifting as if she were rubbing her snout.
"Similar effects to Jeff yet more localized, small traces of categorical overherd displays. You're clean too, no infection detected. I'm satisfied with your typical breakdown of equinity, you're clean too, no infection detected in you either. A strict military mindset would fit but I don't quite understand the given vehemarence-"

>Ignoring the hollow-sounding words, it was a simple line of logic that determined the Lunars had either forgotten or destroyed a single important factor of floral transmission:
>Given the lead mare's statemarents it was painfully clear that the ambrose plant had been desperately overharvested, greatly reducing what would have been considered local depredations by reptiles, avians, and insects.
>Which, as you knew from several alchemically necessary plants in Equestria that had likewise become nearly extinct, meant those species wouldn't have been able to intestinally process and thus deliver prepared-to-sprout seeds in their natural habitat.
>Likewise you knew that attempting to sprout seeds in biomes that weren't natural, or were wholly artificial, was an incredibly poor chance.

>Releasing the distortion field, the Councilmare's physical body translates back into physicality after a few seconds.
"Nightblade Jeff, Spirit Walker Mercy, and... whomever the Marecenary pegasus is, all three of you are clear. I apologize for the deceptions throughout this entire time, yet I will explain the circumstances behind this necessity."
>Now partially exposed to the Crypt's stale air, a distinct, full Empire Crystal prosthetic attached to the small remainder of her left upper foreleg down to the hoof, drops down with a melodic tink sound before being placed on the stone underneath.
"There are close to two-hundred and ninety records from my predecessors showing that early or failed Lunar Collective vampires are capable of marentally dominating a sapient into complete subservience. No, not submission, I mean serving them as if the Collective pony's words are impossible to deny and similarly impossible to refuse. Some speculated it to be a form of charm, which I must state is completely wrong. So far as I understand it, that is a memetic infection, a mind virus of sorts, that was intended to allow the Collective to act as natural leaders for the Lunar Guardians during their conflicts against the Solar Guardians. Much is known of how this 'charm' method failed. Princess Luna was unable to incorporate her controlled dream essences into physical methods. I will state, positively, the failed Collective form of control is one which cannot be treated easily. It requires the services of a sixth-rank psion or a Kingdom Knight Warden to safely remove. This situation has occurred twice in my time."
>Barely visible as a solid outline at the momarent, the Councilmare's muzzle pulls back in a sincere, apologetic marener.
"I can only guess how much pain this has caused the three of you, so I ask for any forgiveness you all can muster. Rest assured I have no doubts you are all acting for, and protecting, this small Collective out of honorable good will. You've all shown a complete lack of marental infection so I will assu-"

>Numerous blurs of hostile pink glows interrupt the Councilmare, her barely visible body disappearing as an enraged pegasi half-shriek, roughly translating as 'fuck you' in the Cloudsdale dialect, accompanies her complete disappearance.
>Immediately after this, several streaks of deep red blood eject outwards, now hanging in the air from a pegasus-sized bubble of reality, a split second passing until a loud popping noise is heard.
[1d6 = 3]
<Spirit Walk
[1d6+3 = 5]
<E.Reaction Speed
[1d6+3 = 6]

[1d6+3 = 8]

[1d6+7 = 11]
[1d6+7 = 10]

[1d6+7 = 8]

[1d6 = 5]
[1d6 = 2]

"Commander, I apologize for not being able to dissuade Miss Mercy from an unexpected course of action."
>Vocally unperturbed by the event, Boris speaks up in his flat gravelly tone.
"However, we are now free to complete your current objective. We should move quickly. Miss Sunny, would it be an imposition if I were to ask you for a ride?"
Northern Empire Tundra: The Melodine Conclave
GM Strangler
>Sitting back once more and making a disgruntled noise, Glacier flicks her left forehoof in angry dismissal.
"Constructs can all starve or freeze to death. They didn't get our hints the first few times: the Empire isn't theirs and won't be. Whenever Razorback has problems with even one send a message to the Spire, I guarantee there'll be at least a six-mare squad of us charging in soon as it's read."
>Turning her right eyebrow upwards, the Shell's face creases into a starkly disbelieving mareish glare.
"I'm not gonna beat around the snowbush again hoping it drops a few ripe berries. As I said a couple minutes ago, Cady won't listen to us or her Unicorn Guard. Know who that leaves? The few confidants that aren't ponies, that being Razorback, specifically including you, and includes me not trusting Belregard to speak his mind on her condition. Don't fail us. Get her out of the Spire for a while, got it?"

>Sitting back again and crossing both forelegs over her chest, she makes a small front shoulder shrug of blatant disacknowledgemarent.
"Treating myself or another Shell is simple: find whatever fragmarents are missing, shove them back into place, wait a few seconds, done. Dosing and stitching a real pony back together? Not an event I can hoofle easily, brings up lots of real bad memories. Take my advice, books are the best teachers outside of standard treatmarent kits or satchels.. though I'm not great at marental stuff. I don't like InterPonies at all so don't expect me to have one on hoof if somepony or some human gets corrupted or tainted."

>What little you knew of InterPonies was that they existed in certain Hololiths, heavily customized Empire armors or weapons, and certain Empire bio-crystalline devices.
>Why she brought that ponial fact out was mostly up to speculation.

>Offering a short, humorous snicker, the Shell's lackadaisical demeanor drops in favor of a conspiratorial nose wriggle.
"Ever met Japoneighse, Chineighse, Ferron, or Prench? Most ponies are horrified at what they eat normally: snails, maggots, hardshell beetles, sea urchins, Deepwater clams, mealworms, sea slugs, oysters, giant crabs... one pony's horrors is the delicacy of another. Me? I didn't mind anything unless it smelled awful. Best part is Conclavists don't care what others think, it's impossible to shame them far as I know. You might wanna set up a trade with them to Razorback in case any of those are wanted."

>Glacier raises the opposite eyebrow, displaying a mock bashful smile and pressing her flawless, artificially warm hoof into your hand gently.
"Even if we haven't had a 'real' date yet, that's quite sweet of you. Most mares would ask or demarend you join their herd after the second night. What makes you think I'm not going to do the same?"
>Leaning in several inches to give a quick wink of her own, Glacier mutters in an older, mareishly husky tone.
"Unless you're afraid of what Cady might suggest-"

>Viewing the second Conclavist chef visibly fuming above her cooking pan, she points an accusatory forehoof directly at you.
"Then use one of the big tents when you're done! We've enough extra work to do tonight without being distracted by you two flirting like a shy colt and filly starting a new herd!"

>Eyes swiveling towards the mare briefly, Glacier's head shakes with a small motion, her faux-mane sent onto the opposite side of her neck while making a mostly hidden, sinister grin.
"That sounds like a spectacular offer to me. What do you think, invite her in too?"
Sunny Feathers
245641 245771
>All but ignoring the Councilmare, Sunny continued her line of thought on Ambrosia.
>Perhaps she could not grow the plant itself, but maybe she could synthesise the active ingredient. Not an easy, or guaranteed prospect, but potentially doable. It wouldn't be something most alchemists would even attempt.
>Her train of thought interrupted by the pink glow, Sunny's heart stopped cold at the realisation that Mercy fully intended to kill the councilmare.
>She herself held no particular fondness for the... Baticorn...? Nevertheless, the death of a Lunar Councilmare here under Razorback's watch would not be good for the company's standing.
>Flicking an ear at the golem, Sunny shook her head slightly even as she moved.
"In a second, Boris."
>All at once, she scowled, flared her wings out, bunched her muscles up and leaped at the sphere, hoping that what the Ceranul taught her would let her break into Mercy's dimensional bubble.

[1d6+6 = 7]
< E. Reaction Speed + K.I.A
[1d6+6 = 10]

[1d6+6 = 10]

>She needed to buy time, but time wasn't something she had in abundance. One of the two combatants had severed an artery by the dark red blood that had been ejected. If it was the Councilmare's, she was likely not long for this world, if it was Mercy's, she had a better chance.
>Figuring that the Councilmare's physical state and then somewhat lowered guard precluded taking the initiative against Mercy, Sunny reasoned that her attention should be focused on driving off any further attack by Mercy.
>Using a combination of her fore claws and wingblades, Sunny squared off against the Spirit Walker's attacks and used the remaining momentum to place herself between Mercy and the Councilmare, delivering a rearhooved kick to the latter's horn with enough force to stun her and prevent any reprisal for a time.

[1d6+8 = 11]
< M. Riposte + K.I.A
[1d6+8 = 11]

[1d6+8 = 10]

[1d6+8 = 9]

>Interposing herself between the Councilmare and Mercy, Sunny laid her good eye square on the enraged pegasus and attempted to shout her down, hopefully before she could gather herself for another attack.
"Mercy, stand down! Or I will put you down like a rabid animal!"
>She was already panting, the exertion of effort to put her physical body out of phase taking its toll on her, she had serious doubts about being able to fend either of them off again.
Razorback Fortress: The Courtyard
GM Strangler
>Twisting about to her left side and retrieving something off her armor, a small, featureless flattened tower shield is given a questioning stare.. until she starts talking to it.
"Useful indeed, thank you for the information. ..no, I do not think we will require further assistance, simply being here is enough of a political problem. ..perhaps, though I doubt it. It was alone and presumably the paired unit was destroyed elsewhere. ..no, the level of corruption here should be quite low."
>Reaching up to place the shield atop her crest, Thansimum's expression turns into one of stony speculation.
"Silverine foam and particle whip weaponry marks it as a Starblazer Type One model. Perhaps more surprisingly I've confirmed that was a definite Middle Dynasty survivor, and lived long enough to attack one of several Empire mines in the Southern Plains. Rather strange as I thought we'd destroyed those to the last. It's likely there are limited numbers in storage, or perhaps simply kept in reserve-"
>Cutting herself off with a short head shake, a small hoof wave is given towards the miniature tower shield replica.
"Getting off track, I'll consider this information later. My apologies. If you've seen a Hololith before each is inhabited by at least one InterPony, though they tend to form rather large herds of their own much like we do. In short, consider an InterPony as a Crystal pony whom can inhabit most of our bio-crystalline technologies, cannot be seen, and likewise cannot be interacted with by your species. Well, outside of the newest Hololiths that is."
>Blinking in a practiced marener, she proceeds to study your facial features for several moments before glancing down at the odd, to her, object.
"There is no need for that option, and my ratio of successes to failures is above ninety-four percent, or so I'm being told. Construct corruption is remarkably simple to remove when fresh. Consider it a newly sprouting invasive weed: the longer one waits to purge it the more difficult the task becomes. And, may I say that for lack of knowing what to expect, that is.. quite simple. At least in appearance. The older Hololiths that I like contain at least two hundred components."

>Instantly jerking the gloved hand reaching for the firearm up to chest height and splaying it out in surrender, the fresh Operator sputters in a flat, partially fuzzy electronic tone while raising the damaged bat over her shoulder into a non-threatening posture.
"Fine, fine, okay? I'll just.. fuck off, find something to eat and drink here, and maybe whatever passes for getting decently stoned."
>The human takes several steps to the left, then stumbles northwards, muttering in clear post-traumatic shock.
"Is this a dream? I can't pinch myself til I get this piece of shit off. Am I dead? Did that bastard kill me or was I hallucinating everything? Is this real? Can't be, horses went extinct and none of the pics made them look cute, short, or painted. Did one of those pricks drug me instead?"

>Twisting her ears around at the impromptu escalation and deescalation, the General's face creases in dark humor at the human's now indiscernible mumbling.
"Well, I suppose one of us could potentially squeeze in the time to treat her too.. if that one is entirely human that is. Her voice is quite eerie I must admit. I'll send Garnelia to deal with that one, but I will treat you first."
>Removing the tower shield with her right forehoof, then offering it towards you.
"Please place her on your.. device, you called it? She has no experience with human technologies yet is eager to start. I expect six to ten hours for complete removal. When you are ready, please state so."
Snootadishu City-State: Southern Market Plaza
GM Strangler
>Sitting back on her seat, both hind legs kicking freely, Tapeskat tilts her head up to think for a few moments.
"Sorta. Princess Celestia's first negotiation was for everypony to keep track of what they were going to give, send, and deliver to Razorback. I think that way all the Princesses and Queen could pay them for the stuff humans were intended to get. He PROBABLY told her to destroy that book so she wouldn't have to keep any records which would probably make a lot of ponies in Rushya, Stalliongrad, Germaneigh, and some places in Equestrian found mad that Princess Celestia would still try to keep the contract going. Around a month after somepony that wasn't Princess Celestia melted the Palace in Canterlot, the Duke started ordering all of the smaller farms to sell their stuff to Neightime. It'd be way harder to track what they were harvesting than the big ones 'cause there's so marely of them around."
>Nodding in a highly reluctant fashion, the Zebra filly turns her attention down onto the table for a quick read.
"Yep. They're called.. the Greater Frozen Coast Consortium, a really big one Princess Cadence buys lots of stuff from. Neightime gets a big order from them in spring for certain stuff and we deliver it. I dunno much about them."
>Both eyebrows shooting up high, her jaw drops in stunned disbelief for a few seconds from your questions.
>Recovering quickly, Tapeskat waves both front hooves in negative motions while giggling ashamedly.
"No no no no no! He's not really hostile or anything like that and I really don't think she's trying to betray him! Sorry if it sounded that way, I was just trying to say everything at once."
>Puffing her cheeks out and putting on an abashed look, the original contract is nudged towards you.
"Give this to whoever your diplomat is so she can use it in case something stupid comes up. Now, I've mostly figured out on my own why the Bronze Duke wants to keep Razorback happy with Saddle Arabia and the Crystal Empire: we do lots of trading with each other for stuff that the other doesn't have. Crystal ponies really love sweet fruits and herbs, and we love vegetables and ice whenever we can get ahoof of them. If one got cut off from the other we'd all be unhappy."
>Facial expression turning into a peculiar form of annoyance briefly, the filly continues with a subdued tone.
"You've seen how big our tent is, we can't keep everything safe and dry that Neightime is sold or traded. We have to toss out stuff every week if it gets moldy or falls apart. I really think she's only mad at him for not having a big enough storage building, but out here we don't get enough stone to make one. Stalliongrad and Rushya used to trade us hard stone blocks but somepony made them angry at least ten years before I was born. I'm eleven by the way. They don't even let their diplomats come here anymore and nopony wants to talk about why."
"As for Neightime? She's gone four to ten days at a time, but comes back for two nights at most. If she really does have a marension on one of the big tributaries it's gotta be huge. I did get to peek at her records once without getting caught, she's got at least two hundred ponies working for her, mostly from Neighvada."
"Oh hey, I went to their company a while ago. Gave us some of the amount we needed but not all. Told me it was weird order placement in the year."
>After hearing Tapeskat tell him that the Duke wasn't hostile or anything, he started looking at the scrolls again
>Zhun still smiles at her apologetic giggling though
"I mean, he did come in to order her to stop sending the consortium stuff for us. You also did say she kicked him in the snoot."
>Zhun looks down to the original contract then rolls it up to put in his pack
"So the Duke is trying to grow this trade with us and the Empire?"
>Zhun chuckled at her mentioning the "marension" on the tributary
"That's not just a big house, that's a palace. 200 ponies?"
>Zhun whistles at the number
"The contract will help. I have no experience for this level of trade."
>"A fighter. Maybe medic."
Basin Village: Last Stop Restaurant
GM Strangler
"I've no need for seconds, my orders for the rest of you are as follows:"
>The still nameless batmare reaches up to fling the hood back over her head, vocalizing a string of shrill toned, archaic pegasi phrases directed at the four Cultists beginning to stand.
>Receiving a mixture of half-hearted grumbles until a broad wingclaw is held upwards, each mare turns rigid.
"No. Arguing. This is well above your combined skills. All of you lack my equipmarent, but I will compose extensive notes. Stay here until I return-"
>Reaching into the overflowing saddlepack's flank satchel closest to her, a small, damaged white wooden case is retrieved and clutched tightly in her right wing.
"Some precautions will be necessary. Performing a summoning here is difficult enough to marenage without interference. First, follow me and do not speak. Consider yourself my guard. Second, keep a weapon in either hand until I tell you to speak. Third, keep your eyes on every single earth pony outside within charging distance. Should one or more attempt to interdict then eliminate them, starting with the highest priority threats. Fourth and last: do not allow this case to be taken. Until we cross into the Basin itself you must treat everypony, that includes batponies, as a potential hostile."
>Standing up carefully, her cloaked head swivels upwards, speaking in an unusually grim tone while securing the case in both sets of wingclaws.
"The most I can do is buck somepony in the head or tear their throat out, but I've nothing to deal with armor right now so keep at least ten paces behind me. And, be prepared to kill without hesitation."
>Giving a short nod towards the quartet of Cultists, the mare turns towards the entrance, trodding forwards in the typical, hip-swaying batpony saunter.
[1d6+2 = 7]
[1d6+2 = 8]

[1d6+2 = 8]

[1d6+3 = 6]
<E:Leadership: Assault
[1d6+3 = 5]

[1d6+3 = 6]

>Operation Start: Why It Was Called A Basin In The First Place...
[1d6 = 5]
[1d6 = 1]
[1d6 = 5]
<Opposing Faction

Zebraica: Potswana, Shaman Gresta
GM Strangler
>Kicking his legs sideways, the old Zebra reclines sideways into his hammock with a dour expression.
"As much as can be expected of Her unknown future, little can I suggest outside a valuable venture. Take great caution when speaking with Her is my advice, seek to claim Her honors without undue human price."
>Clasping the pipe with both hooves, then giving it a peculiar look, Gresta offers a respectful nod in your direction.
"We Zebras know well the four Goddesses of Equestria that you must surely have heard, Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter be ponykind's necessary ward. Please allow me to think, it will be naught but a blink-"
>Motionless, and unblinking for a quarter minute, the shaman's eyes light up in quiet fury beyond you.
>Hearing small hooves pattering into the sand next to you, the small, unadorned Zebra filly treads towards the hut's opposite entrance.
>Head turning back, the older shaman locks eyes with her, giving a solemn nod.
"Humans will require great arcane weapons to destroy the corrupted pairs and mechanical horrors of Planar make, so go, follow my grandfilly to an armory where there is much to take. Collect all that you deem appropriate for Razorback's use, but these bones.. have long suffered under too much abuse. Lain to rest they were, perhaps forgotten among the worthy, no paymarent needed to secure the future and human safety. No longer a weapon can these hooves bear from decades of blood, pain, and wear."
Southern Canterlot Outskirts: Twin Hill Overlook, Depository
GM Strangler
>Reflecting none of her inner thoughts, Raindrop is unmoving as she squints up at you, tone unconvinced and utterly deadpan.
"Miss Castella, I'm from Stalliongrad. Barring a few hours of history lessons, there are few ponies harder or more prepared to deal with the most severe situations than us. Just for reference: my last job involved at least eight shattered ribs, one fractured legs and almost lost that hoof, ten stabs through my armor, knocked unconscious at least twice, nearly filled my armor with my own blood, and worst of all had to loot through hundreds of Undead for some damned crest belonging to a pain in the ass royal from Canterlot that had no idea what we'd go up against. All Chisan has given me are a few bruises and a bloody snout, and for that I'm getting paid quadruple what a standard Mareguard normally receives in one month. If he does irritate me enough I'll knock him unconscious and leave him tied naked in the middle of Sea's Bounty fortress."
>Tossing a piercing stare towards the other humans, the Knight's helmet returns, tipping upwards at a slant as if emphasizing a sinister smile.
"Which is a fate way sexier than death and probably twice as humiliating. At the very least he isn't trying to grab my teats and hasn't ordered me to do something awful, so I'll give him a pass. As for how we show our emotions.. I'll have to instruct you on the finer points of understanding that later."
>Shaking her head with an amused huff, another wing tap given while her voice drops into a secretive tone.
"I can't read your movemarents at all but I will say human voices are quite a bit easier to understand than I thought. In the tiny chance that I might need your help with him, I'll ask, so stop worrying and relax. We're in little danger here."
>Staring up at you, her eyes express obvious confusion for a split-second until groaning.
"Buck, I completely forgot to get my saddlepack.. I'm going to guess a 'flash light' is something like a spark lamp or glowstone. No, I don't have either, I travel light as it is but I'm sure they do-"
>Fully turning about to face the Voystran-likes, Raindrop calls towards them in a suitably demarending tone.
"You five, direct all major light sources towards the combination lock on this vault here. Miss Castella believes she has a way in that does not involve explosives."

>Hearing/feeling the resounding codelock being relieved from normal limitations and duties, the Hotshot pistol's tiny Machine Spirit seems to snarl in abject Binary eagerness.
>Not only was it capriciously loyal and angry enough to ignore the tiny insult to what few algorithms were programmed into it, it would probably be frothing at the mouth.. if it had a physical body capable of doing so.

>Raindrop shrugs her wings upwards to you in response to the unasked question, right before a trio of loud clicks, then three nearly blinding incandescent light sources force her helmet to turn in the vault door's direction.
[1d6+3 = 7]
<Modified L-Crys Light #1
[1d6+3 = 8]
<Modified L-Crys Light #2
[1d6+3 = 6]
<Modified L-Crys Light #3

"Enough, or more light needed?"
>Came the tired, older Commissar's question, stepping around into view behind the pegasus Knight.
>Questionably armed with an archaic, unscoped bolt-action chemreaction rifle slung over his shoulder, an oversized leather holster on a comically wide belt and a distinct but entirely unfamiliar grey political officer's cap with a small red 5-pointed star on the face did little to ease the older man's well worn, deeply hardened face.
>Squinting at lock's direction briefly, he gestures towards the trio behind him while speaking in rather harsh common Low Gothic.
"Cannot touch other Era technologies or would have more, the-"
>The following series of swears partially fails to pass your MIU's translation algorithms, ending up with a strange mixture of nonsensical insults related to various anatomical portions between both humans and ponies.. none of which could possibly fit, you think.
"No more made since Marquis gone. This all we have now."
Razorback Fortress: The Fountain
GM Strangler
"I'll try not to then."
>Giving little more than a neutral sigh in response, the batstallion's head lifts enough to graze his ears on the fountain's side.
"I said that was Celestia.. not Princess Celestia. Some of the Honor Guard here think she made a golem or something to fill in for her at meetings or diplomatic functions she couldn't make it to. Razorback was supposed to retrieve Princess Celestia's adopted daughter, a General of the old Solar Guardians, from Old Canterlot. Big fortress-city near the Old Everfree's center, vital transport route, trading and training center. That failed miserably."
>Turning a narrowed red diamond eye towards you, Torven lifts his shoulders remorselessly.
"Two known facts: Old Canterlot collapsed, no General recovered. Only a few ponies know what happened. Humans don't talk about that time much if at all."
>Snorting aloud, both wings raise, a wingclaw flicking straight up at each of his short sentences.
"Nearly killed a Stalliongrad royal. Illegally invaded an old mail depot. Illegally invaded Stalliongrad five times I know of. Killed a bunch of innocent ponies with a giant bomb. Killed an ancient loyal Undead. Used banned weapons during a sanctioned military siege. A public art exhibition was raided and destroyed."
>Stopping at the sixth to wiggle his claws one by one, Torven continues while starting over, this time with clear undertones of anger.
"One human nearly shot a stallion's dick off. Nearly started a civil war by returning an wanted prisoner. Burned down an entire district. Killed a sanctioned assassin without known provocations. Illegally captured another sanctioned assassin and burned her marension down. I could keep going but don't want to now."
>Releasing a long sigh, he remains silent for a handful of seconds before frowning deeply.
"Tired, no, depressed, sort of. Best options: Denra, Hodch, maybe Captain Kitang in southwest Guard camp. Haven't seen the first two in a few hours, last one probably still injured. They keep up to date on politics, events. I tune them out most times, not interesting to me. Lejura is not an option anymore. Twisted Wing and Mist Dancer not good choices: first is biased and loud, second is evasive, rude, secretive. Could try Dancing Eyes, Razorback's illegal prisoner and.. librarian at times, I guess. Dunno where she is. If you do find her bring something 'special' from Tipper's stashes in the Clinic and she'll talk for hours. Besides them, maybe Belltower, but I haven't seen her since a couple nights ago."
>Carefully scratching his neck with the left set of wingclaws, the batpony stops, then points a forehoof towards the Pagoda in the middle of the Courtyard.
"Naliyna might know some general current politics. She's the only trader Razorback has on hoof. Does business with most places except Zebraica, Saddle Arabia, Neighsia, Minotaur Hegemony, or the Dragonspine Mountains since she doesn't know anypony in any of them. She's a Crystal pony though, so she's banned from Stalliongrad and Rushya.. not that I think she'd want to trade with them."
Mallia Castella
>The response from the pegasus mare... Does not really surprise Mallia, her brow doesn't crease to seeing that the mare wasn't at-all moved by her unstable (albeit genuine) emotions.
>Though it does disappoint Mallia to a degree. The gaze in the enginseer's eyes seeming to dullen in brightness as she spots that hint of .... Distrust?

>Perhaps she's seeing nothing.
>But she can't help but feel that, although they're working together, the amicability is being held back by something akin to what she knows as 'her' xenophobia. (Or the Imperium's, so to speak).
>In hind sight, she should probably stop wearing her heart on her sleeve. Though the Inquisitor had said to be friendly.... She will figure it out how to approach this issue later.

>Despite the subtle change in Mallia's eyes, her own body remains stiff and still like a marble statue. Her eyes only moving to gaze down at the hellpistol as she begins to receive a response from the machine spirit.
>Which was mostly snarling. Which she, as an enginseer, took it as wholehearted approval to what she wanted it to do!
>It's eagerness steals a short-lived feeling of happiness, prompting her to smirk as she gave it an encouraging pat on the top of the barrel, like trying to quell an angry pet dog.

"Hmmm, that makes me uncomfortable. Please don't say those things about what you'd do to Chisan, Miss Raindrop... But what you said does give me more questions."
>Is Mallia's only remark to Raindrop's statement about 'Chisan'. The woman was pretty deadpan herself, keeping most of the feeling behind that statement internalized.
>A feeling which was wholeheartedly disgusted and scornful. She understood the context and cultural difference, but it changed nothing in her mind. It was still a torture that she would kill to prevent.

>For a while as she processed the new information from Raindrop, she sort of glances off to the side, distantly. Quirking a brow curiously, questioningly looking to the mare when the word 'Undead' is mentioned.
>Which prompted her to send a query towards all of the Inquisitor's machine spirits. Namely Phenon and Pheral specifically.

(What does 'Undead' mean? It sounds 'familiar', but I'm not sure if it's connected to what I'm thinking...)

>Her surface thoughts inching closer and closer towards Nurgle are quickly pushed aside as, turning her head, she'd shift her attention towards the other operators.
>Mallia very pre-emptively lowers her preysense/Photo visor back over the rest of her face, shielding it completely just as the strange glow orbs project a great amount of light over them!

"This seems sufficient."
>The Enginseer chuckled light-heartedly, lingering her gaze over the 'Commissar' as he explained a small, but interesting bit.
>Her face was hidden, but her head does tilt slightly as the notion of 'not being able to touch "era" technologies' enters her mind fully.
>She's pretty sure that was mentioned before?

"... What do you mean, exactly? What happens if you do touch it? I just got to this world ... An hour ago? I know basically nothing about how things work here."
>Mallia quickly queries her micro-cogitator for an accurate Time Since Translocation, if not for the others then for her to keep track.

>She turned her head back towards the Vault Door's dials, crouching down further as her attention goes towards trying to squint behind the little spaces between the dials, now aided by the light from the other operators. To see what's behind it before she would get to work.
>Pinging Tox-11's visor to give her a visual on the preysense spectrum for a few seconds, just in case there's SOMETHING different in there, before turning the visor off with a thought and looking in normally.
>Keeping the hellpistol handy as she is only a moment away from starting her breaching process, once she finishes looking everything.

>Hopefully she can try to not break the lock itself and simply lock the door even harder than it already is...
>She also quickly sends a ping back towards Tox-11 in that moment, also giving him another query.
(Has Inquisitor Velasi ever had to contend with these kinds of vault doors? I'd appreciate any information I can get, if any.)

[1d6+4 = 7]
<B. Perception + BQ. Preysense visor
[1d6 = 4]

[1d6 = 6]
<E. Engineering
[1d6 = 5]

[1d6 = 1]

>He expected... something a bit more from the councilmare mare than what he just witnessed.
>Something more of the line of blowing past him in futile abandon to achieve her goal, or maybe he had called a bluff and she was going to break down blubbering she didn't want to go into a room full of battle-ready vampires.
>Instead he felt like he just got cross-examined by one of his old psychiatrists.
>Now he's just staring at her dumbfounded and slack-jawed as she turns to Sunny to do the same thing.
>She had played them the whole time, all for a test to see if they'd been enthralled by Lunarites on the other side of the door.
>On top of that, she low-key threatened to kill them all over it. He didn't matter, but the others were there on his order. They were all ultimately his responsibility, and none of them were at fault for what was transpiring except for himself.
>But yeah he understood her reasons for, but she could have done a FAR better job at it. It was unacceptable, from his view.
>What pissed him off more than ANYTHING else was that after everything he had to do behind-the-scenes to get the Moors' restoration underway, not a single pony had warned him about a risk like this when refurbishing these old ruins buried in the Moors swamps. No one in the Basin, no one on the Council, not even anyone in the Fortress!
>And then everyone wonders why Razorback gets a bad rap for being out of the loop. No one tells them anything, ever!
>Jeff grits his teeth, no longer withholding an unapologetic sneer at the councilmare trying to just sweep her shit under the rug.
>If he was a cartoon character, he'd have decompressing steam jetting out of both ears by now at her audacity. He's flustered, embarrassingly.
"You can take your apology and go fuck-"
>But he doesn't get a chance to finish, as Mercy... mercilessly rushes the councilmare. Her rage-filled shriek translates well to him as streaks of someone's blood erupts from the reality-bending bubble.
"Yeah, that!"
>He didn't condone her actions, but he also wasn't about to step in and stop her.
>It seems like Sunny was going to do that for them, as the hire jumps into the fray.

>Taking several long deep breathes to vent and get his blood pressure back down to a livable level, he glances over at an unphased Boris, and then over at the mare pile.
>He's not getting in the middle of that...
"Don't be. I think Mercy's at least speaking for me and herself, right now. Oh shit-"
>He completely forgot about the Lunarites right on the other side of the door, which was still cracked open.
>And he knows how well ponies hearing is. Are vampire ears even more sensitive?
>Jeff facepalms himself as he reaches for his camelback's sippy tube snaked up his left side and forces a stream of cold water to hit him in the face, in a vain attempt to clear his fluster and excess heat.
>This whole thing has turned into such a clusterfuck.
>He takes one more deep breath before walking over to the door, cracking it slightly even more open, and poking his head through to check on the Lunarites.
"Hello. How're we all doing in here?"
>Cheto blinks once at Torven's words on the Canterlot incident.
(Copies of herself? Seems her reach is quite far, although from the contract, she seems to care more about ponies than her pride in order to detonate her own captial, at least from the contract's words.)
>He nods at the gentlestallion, drinking all the info he has to offer on the Stalliongrad incidents.
>His eyes drift off to the scenery in deep contemplation as Torven keeps numbering each and every item Razorback has committed against Stalliongrad, one hand drifting to his cheek in grim realization.
(Uy pero la putísima madre que me parió. How in the everloving fuck did they manage to make so many negative acts towards these ponies?)
>After a bit of frustrated mumbling, he shakes his head and refocuses on the batstallion, hoping he didn't notice the average human's mood being soured.

>When the topic changes to potential wells of political knowledge that could help him further understand his future position better and not commit some sort of crime, he places his fists under his chin as supports for his head as he listens.
>As the winged fellow finishes, the average human listening to him pipes up.
"Do you know by any chances where I can find the first two ponies you mentioned, Denra and Hodch? I'm definitely going to need all the information I can get."

>After he listens to the bat's answer to the question the man presented, he decides that the best course of action both for the batpony's mental health and his own time to stand up.
"I must thank you, Mister Torven. You've been a great help. If you need anything, I'll be going over to the Pagoda, see if I can find Miss Naliyna."
>He takes off his backpack, rummaging through its contents before pulling out the second Fruit Juice(TM) from his bag, presenting the batstallion more of that sweet goodness with his outstretched hand.
"Here. This should ease your mind a little."
>Assuming the bat quadruped takes this chance as well, the inquisitive human awaits the most likely empty bottle, before taking it back and stuffing it back.
"Again. I thank you, Mister Torven. You have helped me greatly."
>Nodding at him, he proceeds to travel to the destination mentioned, the Pagoda, to see if Naliyna's around there, still.
(I'll need all the information that I can get. Perhaps I should take the chance to send a letter to my new employer while I'm there. It's good to chat it up with the boss, also notify I've arrived safely to the other side.)
Bubba the Second
>Giving the two guardsmares a departing nod, Bubba made his way into the crowd and began window shopping himself as he made his way towards the cultist.
>He also shot a quick wink towards the lead filly when her sight traveled back towards him, while he made his way through the crowd towards the dock.
>He definitely acknowledged that moving towards someone spying on him with the intent of messing with them was a fathomly stupid idea but he didn't exactly have much else to do.
>That and she wouldn't try anything with so many witnesses. Hopefully.
>He does makes sure to keep from moving directly to her by walking towards the dock entrance.
>As he passes her, he looks directly at her again for a second before continuing on.
"You can care about yourself as well, you know."
>I sigh softly in relief upon being told that.
>"I should have figured they could fly. They have working wings, after all."
>Still, I was worried for something inadvertently caused by myself.
"That's a relief."
>I watch her repair herself for a moment as I think about what to do, holding back a frown.
>All of the training I've underwent could not have prepared me for being inside an eldritch... Car thing.

>Watching her mini self undergo a small tantrum, I snort in amusement.
"The problem is that getting information on them is, at this point, something that will probably draw them towards us. If it were able to be done in a safe manner I would not argue about getting it."
>Presses my lips together and hums softly.
>"Ten percent is not a good chance.. But its something we need to do sooner or later."
"While I don't understand what the hell quantum fluid passive-flux cycles are, I say go for it."
A Cryptic Lunar Crypt: Breaking & Marentoring
GM Strangler
245854 246002
>Hefting the small sack over his shoulder, the Golem deadpans solemnly.
"Time is of the essence here Miss Feathers, I recommend you do not become invol-"

>Forcefully projecting yourself into the closest approximate spectrum that Mercy might use, it takes multiple phase-flickers through the low density layers to find Mercy's bubble of unreality in the third lowest Void spectrum.
>Which to you was easy enough to access without a second thought of additional dangers arriving.

>Tearing into the alter-dimarensional bubble too late to stop the other white pegasi, she had mostly succeeded in stabbing the Councilmare's chest through with her left set of near-blinding pink wingblades, the right set poised to do the same.
>Missing what either was planning from their heavily contorted bodily postures, front hoofclaws and extended primary blades painfully ring against the fully blind pegasi's weaponry, stopping her assault cold while feeling the Lunar batpony's head snap backwards heavily.

>Taking full notice of her strikes being deflected backwards, Mercy snarls while loosing an insulting, quick mocking sentence.
<Pegasi> "Keep out of this you spurious law-loving whorse-"
>Expression contorting into a cold berserker state, she rears back a fraction only to stomp heavily clad hoofboots forwards, slashing extended hot pink wingblades in direct lines towards your face and neck respectively.
[1d6+5 = 9]
<E.Reaction Speed
[1d6+5 = 7]

[1d6+5 = 9]

[1d6+9 = 12]
[1d6+9 = 11]

[1d6+9 = 15]

>Unexpectedly, pink-hot flashes stream off her wings, the unknown energies balefully swirl into composite masses of expressions/sounds composed from incensed primal fury.
[1d6+10 = 13]

>Remorselessly speaking aloud over the din of weapon clashes, Boris turns his logically neutral gaze from the barely witnessed combat far upwards onto you.
"I likewise apologize for being unable to prevent Miss Sunny's choice of actions, Commander. I must recommend however that we leave this location immediately before the offending parties recover, we will have approximately twenty to thirty seconds until that occurs."

>Peeking back into the Crypt proper, the sight that greets you is both hair raising, and joyous:
>Four precise lines of Lunarites, arranged from youngest to oldest standing in a near-perfect parade ground square formation.
>Heavy looking, dark blue kanpri armor vaguely resembling the basic Starborn roles of Claw, Defencer, and Mage, except resembling heavy Shieldmare plating, each set fit so tightly that they appeared to be mere extensions of their hide.
>Far more heavily armed than you would have thought, each bore a trio of fluctuating, multi-colored and varying tipped lances twice as long as their own bodies clinging to the right sides, all fastened with some sort of snap-lock mechanism.
>Their left sides were covered in large numbers of previously unseen darts, biteblades, short swords, a single short spiked morningstar, and a host of what were probably caltrops, all packed together in one solid mass of jagged spikes.
>Atop the saddle and covering the flank armor of each were massively overstuffed, heavily bulging, and probably armor plated, bright purple saddlepacks and flank satchels, all adorned with Luna's Mark in brightly gleaming thread.

>The rear left mare snaps a short, heavy salute, her merry voice being that of the lead vampiress you'd been speaking to.
"Two hundred doses of Ambrosia, sixty Nightglow, forty Shadow-Gate, thirty Dragonscale, twenty Coldheart, Lofting, and Restoration draughts overall, complete weapon and armor loadouts, additional supplies packed. We are fully prepared to march and have two month's of combat alchemicals available, traveler."
>Either they were ignoring what had been said outside, or none of it bothered them in the slightest.
Snootadishu City-State: Southern Market Plaza
GM Strangler
>Poking a hoof onto one of the pages that you couldn't read, Tapeskat pulls it back to eye over shortly.
"..I don't think their storage depot is big enough to hold everything they get sent, looks about the same size as our tent above here. They're probably forced to rotate stocks like we do, too."
>Head turning towards you fully, the Zebra filly's left forehoof lifts to rub the side of her head, making a sour frown throughout.
"That's not what I said. First time the Bronze Duke came here was to tell Neightime to forget sending stuff to Razorback, I think in late twenty-nine nine-ninety-five before the cold winds came, which is like winter time in Equestria. That's also when he told Neightime to get rid of the book since it wasn't needed anymore, but she kept using it anyways. The second time is when she bucked him in the nose and he threatened her to only sell our stuff to the Consortium or he'd do.. really bad things to her. Maybe he wants to make friends in Razorback Companeigh but the way he's doing that is really quiet, probably so nopony can accuse him of doing something wrong or against Princess Celestia's orders. But, um, that's only what I think he's planning, I dunno for sure what he's really doing. It's impossible to ever get a meeting with him or his sister, and I don't think they'd let me in 'cause I'm just a filly."
>Nodding towards the contract being stuffed into your backpack, both of her forelegs folding across her chest.
"Between that and what I've seen, I think so, yes. Everything we don't sell right here is put into big crystal barrels or boxes and hauled to the Empire traders on the north end of the market plaza here."
>Lifting one forehoof to make several circling motions, Tapeskat gives a reluctant, small smile.
"I know a bunch about Saddle Arabia before the stupid Dynasty stuff happened! Our stone houses are a third or half the size of wood houses in Equestria, so it'd probably be about fifty times the size of our tent here. If she's taken over a really old old palace on a big river then there's not marely of them around, maybe twenty I think, but only a few are still in use-"
>Lips curving back into another frown, the filly's ears flop to either side of her head.
"But I don't have a map and dunno how to say their names right. I could probably find out where she is in a few minutes if you want."
>Lifting her front shoulders in what looked to be an encouraging shrug, Tapeskat swivels around ninety degrees to fall off the chair, landing easily on all four hooves.
"Razorback has a trademare, right? Take it to her and ask what she thinks. We've been trading waaay more stuff to that Consortium thingy in the Empire than we could trade in five years here-"
>Head turning towards you, she becomes cross-eyed for a split-second, then facehoofs herself with a loud groan.
"Oh fillysnacks! I'll send the trade bill with the last shipmarent but I've gotta get all that stuff packed up and written down. Write a note if you need anything else done before you leave, and thank you again!"
>Frantically waving a front leg in farewell, Tapeskat breaks into a run up at the stone door, slamming it open and rushing out panicked.
Southern Canterlot Outskirts: Twin Hill Overlook, Depository
GM Strangler
>Perking both ears upwards, what little you could see of Raindrop's eyes was confidently stony.
>Making a devious 'harrumph' noise, her head swings towards the back wall while stomping a front hoof on the floor below, tone faux-mocking, though obviously hiding a giggle.
"Miss Castella, how dare you dishonor me like this? I have not a single clue what you mean by that phrase. I could never leave a completely deserving human nude and bound in the middle of a pegasus clan stronghold known for their fixations of criminally lewd methods in acquiring friendship by force and using gentle, loving rape to woo their enemies and allies alike. Let us never speak of this again!"

>Visibly trying his best to ignore Raindrop Raspberry's outburst, and utterly failing not to crack a ruthless smile, the Commissar motions towards the three bright sources of light left of him.
"It simple: we, my squad, come from very old Era in nineteen forties. Say if human from nineteen forty-three touches 'thing' not from same era.. say 'thing' is from nineteen forty-nine, that 'thing' turn to ash and human is hurt badly. There also other rule: when 'thing' from later eras is same as prototype of 'thing' from own Era, it safe to touch. Your weapons-"
>Gesturing towards the Hellpistol, lasrifle, the Omnissian Axe, then finally resting a morbidly concerned gaze on the Mechadendrite before returning to you.
"I cannot touch at all, not even by accident. Your Era.. very very far in future, yes? If I do touch they turn to ash soon, then bad event happens. No event the same, always cause great harm. This big rule, but there is way around: if 'thing' built here from materials on world then 'thing' safe for all to use. Not know why but vehicles from other Eras safe to travel in, even ones from fifty, hundred years in future."
>Briefly scowling towards the three holding their lights at the door, the Commissar lifts a gloved hand to adjust his cap backwards.
"Marquis built many safe things so early Era humans use without fear, but he leave or gone while back. No more safe magic devices for humans now. Not happy."

>Acquiring a short datastream of approximately fifty-three minutes since arrival, the additional light combined with Preysense leads to sighting a single dark colored, non-metallic wheel that looked like some form of compressed wood judging by the striations and pattern, embedded between both lock spaces on either end, blocking further inspections from being made.
>What you knew about ancient locking systems, several similar to this one, were designed to prevent any sounds from registering in case a thief was using some form of improved hearing.
>It was easily possible destroy the faux-wheels though more preventative measures was a high chance, yet the additional access to see what mechanisms were in use seemed the better option that you had right now.

>Returning the ping, clipped Binary translates through your MIU in Tox-11's dour taste/tonality, registering his 'presence' staring through the Visor's pict-corders while at the same time making a series of notes based on your spoken findings.
'yes, once in year prior. same style, not this large. 90% smaller? highly resistant local material. impressive construction, few flaws? Inquisitor built, used four sonic compression devices to hinges. attempts failed, could not match harmonics necessary. settled for burning off hinges. took stock lasrifle, rebuilt into mining laser. large powercells. nine to ten minutes each hinge. agreed: combination locks easier to destroy. destruction of contents negligible if same template'

>Lifting a broad wingblade to partially shield her helmet, Raindrop speaks up.
"Should we get some water in case anything is set on fire, and is it a good idea to back up?"
Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Left wing folding back onto his side, Torven points the right trio of claws far south, probably at the Library.
"Hodch is usually in the upper floor with a Moor cat. I don't think he's here though, haven't scented him at all tonight. Denra hangs out either with Hodch, sometimes stays in the big pony barracks on the northwest side of fortress interior.. sometimes visits the Mess Hall for news. Last I saw him was right after dusk storming out of the Commarend Center, haven't seen him since then."
>Red diamond-slitted eyes stare at the bottle briefly, then close as his head shakes in the negative.
"No thank you. The only thing I need right now is a long break in the cold."
>Left set of wingclaws lifting, the 'palm' up in a human-like farewell, Torven reclines against the fountain heavily as you leave.
"Welcome. Sorry I'm not much help right now."

>Reaching the Pagoda in short order you find the scar-covered bright fuchsia mare poring over her table, still covered in giant stacks of papers and notices.
>At least there wasn't any wind, though the icy cold probably meant a storm was incoming soon.
>Seeing no other humans, or even ponies besides Naliyna, she glances up from a heap of colorful letters to blink at you.
"Need anything else? I'm pretty much free right now, just going through some applications again."
Cairn Wharf
GM Strangler
>Hearing twin sorts, immediately after turning away a quiet argumarent starts up on the merits of possible infiltration vectors.
>Good thing you were already leaving or they'd probably try to pull you into that mess.

>Unable to blend in properly, drifting into the closest group of about twenty older pegasi, most of which were definitely main Ferron clan members, they nonetheless welcome you in with merry smiles.
>Browsing with them through the interesting wood, shell, bone, hide, and some lesser valued though quite large gem hoofcrafts, the majority were, as expected, representations of creatures that you'd never seen, while a few were varying pony species in distinct combat poses.
>Seemed like the Ferron were oddly fond of chess, or whatever the equivalent here was.
>Catching the fully in-act filly once more passing her gaze around you, the left ear flicks several inches forwards before returning to nose bumping a large round globe of glass, or similar, filled with what that looked like multicolored oil.
>She knew, but what she knew wasn't apparent.
>Or she didn't know and was merely trying to deflect attention from you.

>Drifting along with the Ferron for a bit until excusing yourself and approaching to the translocation matrices, Pepper Spice Mango's head raises above her wooden plate covered in fruit, staring dumbfounded at you with a slice of pineapple in her mouth.
>Every muscle you could see tenses.. abruptly after which she hurriedly swallows the chunk and stammers out a loud, panicked apology.
>Flinging herself backwards from the low wooden bench with a wing flap, rear thumping into a trio of bright blue painted Lishanki huddled around something, the mare breaks into a rapid gallop towards the opposite pier's end undergoing renovation.
>Taking great offense to being interrupted, the triplets turn as one to shout a variety of crude insults at the Cultist's retreat.
>And of course, all of said insults were fruit-based puns, none of which were possible but amusing.
Down the Grey Bricked Road -A small Nuisance
The GM L.O.N.T
245885 248554
Ambush: +1 Token to Spruce

>A weary sigh, followed by the tired raspy voice of Excelleon came from the ceiling yet again.
"Just..Bring the slaves to the holding chambers, receive payment then GET LOST!"
>He crocked before his voice fell silent, leaving Adon and Spruce with the open entrance.

>What the group saw beyond was a utilitarian tunnel carved from the mountain, concrete walls and ceiling with stone brick flooring with no sign of immediate hostiles. Large square glow stones set in intervals in the ceiling lit the tunnel with a pale light, giving a sense of a sanitised environment. With the light came warmth, although it was warmer inside the passage than the rocky mountainside, it was not welcoming in the least.
"Well, shall we?"
>Asked Golden in his nervous voice.

>Now that the doors were open the Chitqu looked back at the humans and unicorn before running down the corridor, deciding for the old pony. Catching up with the small critter was easy as it small legs meant it wasn't setting any land speed records.
>Golden Horn reluctantly followed suit, his tail tucked between his legs as the clicking of his shivering teeth reverberated throughout the walls of the tunnel.

>There were no immediate enemies in sight but at the end of the tunnel there was clearly something there, something reflective with how the soft light of the glow stones bounced off the unmoving object. It, along with the end of the corridor was a good 100 metres away, if guesstimating was anything to go by.
>With a smile and a wave back, Cheto bids Torven farewell, bottle stored away into his original position.
(Seems like a nice stallion. Hopefully he has somepony to pet. He'd probably feel better by it.)

>With the warm smile he dimissed himself from Torven, he simply nods and bows slightly towards the Crystal Mare he sought out.
"I'm glad you asked, Miss Naliyna. I actually have some questions about the world around me, since everything is quite alien in my eyes so far. Particularly on world events and cultures of the area. Feel free to abstain from answering if the topic is uncomfortable for you. I'm not here to open old wounds if I can help it."
>He clears his throat, knowing that many questions in his mind would probably hamper most individuals with the tiring paperwork back at home.
"First of all, who is Princess Celestia and Luna and what do they stand for, as well as usual agreements, treaties, rules, regulations, laws, and orders from the two? How can I contact them?"
>Pause as he rummages through his bag, thinking Naliyna may want a drink after responding to all of his questions.
"What is the Treaty of Canterlot exactly? Is it in any way related to the tragic end of the city of Canterlot?"
>Going ever deeper, he finally grabs his still filled Fruit Juice(TM) bottle, while still leaking his words out towards the hopefully attentive Crystal Mare in front of him.
"What are the most relevant factions in terms of relationships towards Razorback? I've heard from Torven about the Ferron clans, the Lunars, the Solars, Stalliongrad folk and a mere mention of 'Sea's Bounty' but I assume there's more than just that."
>Finally fishing out the fruit juice from his backpack, he gently presents it to Naliyna without actually setting it on the table, not wanting to break her order of things.
"Who is Sharpened Words? I haven't heard his name anywhere even though he was supposed to be the previous diplmoat of these parts."
>A small pause travels along the room.
"If you need a drink, you can take this Fruit Juice(TM) bottle. I won't mind."
>He smiles cordially, gently shaking the juicy goodness with his average hands.
Sunny Feathers
246002 247195

>At Mercy's shouting, Sunny barely had the time to fall into a defensive combat stance and began considering the mare as something less than a pony, setting her feelings and ethics resolutely aside for clear minded determination.
>The target was a defensive expert and otherwise highly capable combatant, but did not have the discipline or foresight to truly shine, especially given her emotional instability.
>Passionate, herd protective displays. Clear and present risk to the long term operational integrity of Razorback.
>Keep the target away from her area of expertise. Evade, strike and neutralise.
>Allowing Mercy the initiative in favour of evading her blows, Sunny readied her her blades to riposte the remainder once her initial onslaught was spent.
>She stepped deftly away from and under Mercy's strikes, but not as fast as she'd like, and kept to giving as little ground as possible to keep herself between Mercy and the councilmare.
>Sunny was outclassed and she knew it, she'd be able to hold her own for now, but time was running out for the councilmare.
>She estimated a minute or two at most until the mare died to her injuries. Mercy would only have to keep her occupied until then.

[1d6+3 = 7]
< E. Evasion
[1d6+3 = 7]

[1d6+3 = 4]

[1d6+5 = 7]
< M. Riposte
[1d6+5 = 8]

[1d6+5 = 10]

[1d6+5 = 7]

>Sunny drove as much force as was left from her moves to strike Mercy's unguarded temple, it'd take more such strikes to render her unconscious, and she was skeptical whether she'd be able to incapacitate Mercy quickly enough, but it was the best she could currently do in her weakened state.
Lost in the Crag Moors: Stuck (In The Middle Of) You
GM Strangler
>The mini-Wild rolls offscreen in order to de-occupy herself, but points a judging metal finger directly at you from the corner.
"I can be rebuilt unlike you, mom! AND, don't you have a stallion and mare to return to? Wouldn't they be supremely enraged if they learned I was not placing every single nano-effort into preserving your life?"

>Emitting a cheerful electronic noise from overhead, Wild shifts the right screen's focus to a shoulder recording aimed down the eastern coastline, then back five seconds later.
"Variable data located, cross-referencing.. complete. My databases state Ferron outposts and tree-houses tend to be forty to one hundred meters above ground level. It is unlikely that the incoming waveforms will be at full strength or capable of knocking down a significantly sturdy tree."
>One of the medical tendrils silently snakes past you from underneath the couch towards the wall locker next to you, oddly depositing a number of small gems inside before disappearing below.
>The sounds of welding outside cease, each of the large mechanical stalks moving away from view.
"Update: chest cabin reinforcement order complete. The modification was partially botched by an error margin of nineteen to twenty-seven percent, it will take approximately one minute to remove the excessive and incorrect welds. Now beginning repairs on internal locomotion systems and conducting underwater functionality research-"
[1d6+4 = 10]
Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6 = 1]
Repair Tendril #1
[1d6 = 5]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 1]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 2]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 2]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 6]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 3]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6 = 1]
Repair Tendril #
[1d6+1 = 7]
<Basic Engineering Research
[1d6+1 = 4]

>Imposing a 3D model of the Construct Assault Craft's hull, then comparing it to an estimate of the currently offshore Construct's total dimensions, three small components are highlighted within the rear hull.
"Based on previous wavelength scans I suspect these are extreme range, long range, and short ranged data gathering sensors. I do not currently have enough information to counter them. Adjusting previous calculations, revectoring new Threat Level Analysis Pattern, codenamed: 'Paranoid As Mom'.. complete."
>There was that accusatory sass again.
>Yep, it was definitely yours, except much younger.

>Switching the left screen off briefly, it returns to display a number of radar, magnetic, infrared, thermal, and night vision systems, several of which you recognized as being in use on your world.
"My databases contain numerous forms and states of detection systems such as these. Short explanation: each operates on a known spectrum, wavelength, or bandwidth which can be adjusted into various states of detection capability. For example: an active motion sensing device emits certain data, sounds, and pulses that can be detected if an opponent has the necessary equipment. Operating the same motion sensing device in a passive state decreases the chance of being detected by a number of factors and variables. This reduces the total accuracy and increases the time lag between each detection cycle. In sum: I will attempt to adjust my sensor array's operational state which may theoretically prevent long range detection."
[1d6+1 = 3]
<Arcanum Omni-Sensor Array: Experimental Passive Cycle Modification
>The nerd part of Wild definitely wasn't yours though..
>Clem sees the batponies stand then fall to the leader's shrill commands
>He remains seated for this until she starts speaking to him
>"Oh a summoning? Hope it don't backfire. Hmm, she's willing to do it so it might be ok?"
"Why Earth ponies specifically?"
>Clemency gets his pack on and grips his blade, giving the lead mare a nod in compliance
>He especially eyes that case
>Must be some sort of focus for the ritual or something
>Keeping the paces in mind, he watches the mare walk away until ten paces passes
>Turning to the table, he gives a short nod goodbye before leaving after the mare
>Clem begins his tailing, becoming vigilant of all ponies in the area around
[1d6+1 = 2]
<Expert Perception
[1d6+1 = 7]

[1d6+1 = 2]

>"Ok, so he's just changing how things operate around here and Neightime just got pissy. Then he just told her to go through a middleman for trade relations? Seems fine I guess."
"Razorback haven't really gotten word from him. Or they did and that's outside my field. Otherwise, ok I think I get it now."
>Zhun looks over the table of scrolls and pages one more time though, just to have a clear picture
"Hmm, you can go ahead and see where she is. Just in case."
>Seeing her stand, Zhun then gets his bag on then stands
"We do. I think I know who she is."
>Zhun gives off a concerned look when she look back, only to be relieved at it just being time constraints
"You're welcome, thanks for the help!"
>Giving her a wave before she leaves, Zhun then gets his checklist out for the rest of the supplies
>"Critical and common alchemical supplies. Hmmm, maybe that Ash Kicker figure can help. Where was she again?"
>Zhun did recall her needing botanical samples of the New Everfree flora
>He starts thinking about this as he begins leaving the large tent and heads for the translocation stone
>Deciding to drop off the papers and contract, he puts in the code for Razorback Fortress
>He does give Snootadishu one more look around before transit, seeing as it did remind him of home

>When he arrives at Razorback, he looks to see if Naliyna is still at her post with the usual pillar of paperwork
Karl "Spruce" Osmundsson
248554 251631

>Really? It was that simple this whole time?
>The Norwegian sighed to himself, rubbing his face in annoyance as the doors parted and this 'Excelleon' bitched at them to get moving.
"Right. Let's get this over with then."
>He quietly mumbles, hopefully not loud enough that their target could hear as they begin to advance down the tunnel.
>He places a hand on his slung rifle as they move, pulling it back into a low ready position.
>Best to be prepared for anything in this unknown... Mountain bunker place.
>Speaking of the unknown, they had already spotted.... Something down their tunnel forward, reflecting light from the glowing rocks.
>Spruce tried to squint his eyes behind his orange sunglasses to try and make out what exactly was down there.

[1d6 = 3]
B. Perception
[1d6 = 3]

246129 246136
>Pareidolia remains silent as the General converses with her equipment.

[Sentient shield. Possibly otherwordly? Eldritch is unlikely, too calm and form is defensively focused compared to other eldritch inhabited equipment.]

>He slowly exhales as she explains. His brow rises in surprise behind his helmet.

"I was unaware they existed in that form."

[Digital life? Or personality transference? Will need to inquire further.]

>Nodding once as the mare remarks, he holds the N.O.A.H drive up briefly.

"The technology inside the drive is miniaturized to a degree. Human equivalent computing technology to Interponies from my era is generally small enough to be held in one hand or hoof without sacrificing performance. Individual components being small enough to balance on a finger."

>Leaning over slightly to watch the strange human depart, he calls:

"Ask for Allys! You will find her at the Mess Hall."

>He stops a moment to think before continuing.

"And what should everyone here call you?"

[This is why I did not qualify for Social. If only I had a Committee liaison...]

>His helmet hides his awkward grimace at the interaction.
>Looking back towards the mare in front of him, he carefully places the shield on top of the hard drive.

"Either her helmet has a voice modulator, or parts of her are mechanical resulting in that voice."

[Timeframe is far too long. Too many tasks remaining to wait.]

>His annoyed expression does not reach his voice.

"I am ready."
Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Looking down at the letters she'd been poking at, Naliyna circles her left forehoof with the right in a quick motion while giving a polite, albeit devious smile.
"Sorry, but I'm not a 'miss' anymore. Soon as events settle down a bit I'm going to be mareried to a human. As for old wounds don't worry about them, I'm pretty stable these days."
>Taking on a serious expression, the scarred Crystal mare leans back on her short couch, left hoof raising to rub the same side's ear, which you notice half was torn off at some point in the past.
"Those.. are odd questions, but I don't mind answering them."
"Princess Celestia is one of the four alicorns that rule Tallus, our world. So far as I know she represents Spring, the time that most foals are born, the Day, the Sun itself, being a philosophical warrior, is the essence of warmth and the basis for peaceful conduct, the kinds of alchemical elixirs that imply renewal, magic that focuses on defense, the early growing season, and when ponies start socializing after a harsh winter. She's the co-ruler of Equestria alongside Princess Luna. So, Princess Luna mostly represents winter, the time when ponies and flora sleep, the Night itself because it's usually safe to travel then, the Moon, being a logical warrior without showing or being hindered by emotions, cold-hearted diplomarecy, and the kinds of magic that mostly cause harm. Luna also has a lot to do with Necromarecy but I dunno the details on that part."
"As for Princess Celestia's treaties, rules, and laws, the simplest way I can describe those demarends is this: don't lie unless you absolutely have to, don't hurt others or cause conflicts unless you have no other choice, always try to be nice, and don't make a situation worse than it has to be. Solars hate being lied to, hate lying even worse, and act like they have nothing to hide, which they usually don't. How to contact her.. well, from what I've heard, if you send a letter addressed to Princess Celestia, she has an agreemarent with the Vortex Remnant so she'll get it immediately."
>Leaning forwards, right forehoof on her chin while the left rests on the couch, Naliyna frowns in a modicum of annoyance.
"There's a lot of agreemarents and other stuff between their factions, those are a huge problem when trading. Solars, that is, ponies under Princess Celestia's rule, really hate poisons, toxins, acids, the Ethereals, Specctrals, and similar things since they see those as a weakness. Lunars, ponies under Princess Luna's rule, also hate poisons, toxins, and acids, but they really despise Plasma, Ethereal, and Planar things since those make combat too easy. Lunars will lie if they feel it's necessary, or outright hide the truth and say nothing if they feel that's for the best. They prefer both open combat and ambushes at the same levels, which makes most Solar ponies angry. That's kind of a double standard since Solar ponies will try to combat something they know they can't defeat, and Lunars try not to risk themselves unnecessarily. I guess you could say that they have their own general kind of honor, and they don't agree on what is honorable all that often."
"Lunars like using bound spells, enchantmarents, and weird stuff to stay even or have an advantage over their opponents, especially the creatures they target in the Moors and the Southern Equestrian Ocean. They'll try not to lie to you if they're asked a straight question though, but they will direct you to somepony that won't reveal their secrets. I think the worst part is that Solars and Lunars are both really prideful. Sometimes you won't get an honest direct answer from either, they're too proud to admit that they've been defeated or could be. Princess Luna demarends that her ponies and allies be civil with each other, even if they hate each other, but the Solar faction distrusts those that aren't unicorns, pegasi, or non-psionic earth ponies. Supposedly Celestia really hates Druids but I dunno why."
"I have a short copy of the Night and Lunar Guard's laws, not the newest but it usually works if I need to barter or negotiate something with them. It's basically: don't hurt somepony that shouldn't be hurt, don't rape somepony that doesn't deserve it, don't steal from somepony unless they stole wrongfully, don't use banned stuff no matter how bad the situation is, and always share knowledge if they're able to."
"The quickest way to get ahold of Princess Luna is sending a letter directly addressed to her. The Vortex Remnant has some kind of deal with all the Princesses and Queen Chrysalis, they get their mail instantly no matter where they go."
>Taking a deep inhale, the fuchsia Crystal mare lets it out slowly, eyebrows furrowing together while curiously eyeing your motions.
"I don't know much if anything about the current Treaty of Canterlot. But, there's been at least four hundred Treaties of Canterlot. Each of those is an agreemarent between at least two countries, or Tallus as a whole. Depending on what the agreemarent is, certain things become illegal or legal again, certain rare and trade goods are limited so that the black markets can't abuse them, migration is increased or decreased.. it's really hard to say much about them. And, no, I don't think it has anything to do with Old Canterlot."
>Briefly frowning, the trade mare waves a hoof dismissively at your question.
"Just those really. We don't have much contact with anypony else. The Sea's Bounty are General Twisted Wing's kin, some here don't like them because they're awfully lewd."
>Slowly raising both eyebrows, Naliyna's eyes narrow in muted disgust.
"Sharpened Words is Denra's real name. He quit his diplomatic position after he thought Princess Celestia betrayed him. I dunno if she did or not, but he doesn't like talking about any of his time there."
>Lips pursing once thoughtfully, the Crystal mare gives a short nod, reaching out to take it with one forehoof.
"That does sound good, thank you."
>Jeff looks down at the golem, shaking his head slightly.
"The offending party is still technically my superior, and I'll be in deeper shit if she winds up dead on my watch. She may have threatened to kill us, but she's still an ally. It's fine though, that's why you're out here- to learn. I have a plan."
>He straight up lied to Boris. He has no solid plan yet. He just hopes Sunny can subdue Mercy before the vampires are ready to march out.

>Speaking of, Jeff looks out at the battle-ready and fully-armored perfect lines of Lunarites.
'Woooow. They're loaded to win a war just by themselves.'
>It was awe-inspiring, if not a little intimidating at the same time.
>Luckily it sounded like they at least had plenty of Ambrosia to keep them stable for a time. He wonders how long it'll tkae before they need to become reliant on it. Two-hundred doses is all they have... in existence.
>He didn't let this fact waiver him, and nodded in confirmation to the lead mare.
"Right then. It's a fifteen mile march to the closest travel stone for the Citadel. Hope you're all ready for that..."
>Dipping his head back out, he swings both doors open to give them a berth to start heading out.
>He only wish he didn't turn around, only to witness Sunny and Mercy continuing fighting over the councilmare.
>Who looked even more on the verge of death than when she arrived.
>The Nightblade lets out a shrill gasp under his breath out of sheer shock.
"Agh! What the hell, you two?!"
>Can it get even worse, right now?
>He quickly breaks over to the fight and stomps his foot down onto the stone floor as loud as possible right out of the zone of combat to get their attention.
>Him physically intervening might be more trouble than it's worth.
"OI! SUNNY, STAND DOWN! MERCY, CUT YOUR SHIT! I'm mad as hell too, but you made your point! Now break it up before she dies! You're embarrassing me in front of the vampires!"
>It was more of a scolding than a commandeering presence, but the point was to get them to stop and not scare them.
[1d6+4 = 8]
<M.Leadership: Fall in Line???
[1d6+4 = 5]

[1d6+4 = 10]

[1d6+4 = 7]

Bubba the Second
>Bubba felt it was definitely a good idea to skedaddle.

>As the cultist panics in a rather amusing fashion, Bubba watched as she ran off.
"That was... Honestly something I wasn't fully expecting."
>Shrugging, he shook his head and resumed his walk towards the translocation area.
>While he may have wanted to go do some more stuff, he felt that dropping off information, and getting the equipment he ordered paid off, was more important.
>So he set off back to base.
>Cheto eyebrows rise up from hearing the news, his smile widening as the bottle makes contact with Naliyna's outstretched hoof.
"Congratulations, Mrs Naliyna. I must say I'm envious of the man. If I may be so bold, who is the lucky sir to have your hoof in marriage?"
>As the action proceeds it's natural course, his thinking becomes active.
(Seems these Solars are a tightly-knit group. I'll have to expect suspicion, disrespect or outright fear at first. Lunars seem more flexible, but unpredictable. Seems there's some deep differences between the two, surprisngly. I expected them to be a bit more similar, but they would've made up already if that were the case. At least they seem civil about it if these treaties are to be believed.)
>He nods to himself for a bit, losing focus on Naliyna as he mulls over the stream of useful information.
(Really easy to contact, too, huh? These ponies so far don't seem to be lying to me and I don't see much reason for them to do so... Maybe this is what Sharpened Words meant when he was quote-on-quote betrayed? Naliyna seems to strongly against his actions. I wonder what could have made her react that way. Another pony who dislikes politic folk? I hope not. I'd hate to ruin her mood by my presence.)
>Blinking himself back to focus, he looks quizzically at Naliyna.
"You mean if I were to write a letter right now and put it on the... Vortex Remnant, they'll instantly recieve it?"
>He pauses for a bit, expecting a yes.
"Forgive my intrusion, but do you perhaps have a paper to write a letter on? I'd like to contact Princess Celestia. It's the main reason I'm here in this world."
>His brow lowers and his smile turns hopeful, expecting her to have the means necessary to finally meet his employer and see what exactly does she need currently.
"And in the case she writes me back, where will the response arrive at?"
"Yeah well I don't care, I'd rather not need to rebuild you."
>"Plus I highly doubt Kraut has another car to drive into eldritch anomalies."
"That is a major relief."
>I nod softly at her evaluation, before shifting to sit up properly.
"I highly suggest finishing up repairs first, then fixing the botched welds. We need to be able to move, it won't be good for us if you're perfectly welded up but not finished if we're discovered."

"My paranoia has kept me alive back home, thank you very much."
>Listening to her explanation, I could only answer with one thing.
"You're a nerd, Wild."
>I say with a smirk to her mini.
"As long as it works, eh? I just don't want to see it blow up on us or something, okay?"
Operation: Why It Was Called A Basin In The First Place...
GM Strangler
>Leadership: +2 to all Assault rolls.
>????? Ambush Tokens: 3.
"Forgive me for not being clear enough. I was not stating to only prevent the living from interrupting, though they too would be most interested in this ritual. There are Shades, Half-Shades, Spectrals, Eldritch-Touched, those whom were corrupted or tainted by the Scars.. among numerous others. The non-physical aspects of the Moors are still battlefields."
>Head turning nintey degrees left to address you in a flatly stubborn tone, the lead Cultist's ears flick back and forth in warning motions.
"Most drift along and about peacefully due to the marely batponies here projecting their sleepy overherd into the surroundings keeping the unseen calm and orderly. What I carry will incite some but we will not know what, how marely, or their intentions until exposing themselves. Most will be easily dissuaded by a quick enough blow, so I firmly suggest that you strike first."
[1d6+3 = 5]
<E.Leadership: Reaction Speed
[1d6+3 = 9]

[1d6+3 = 7]

>Exiting the Last Stop's low door and following at the mare's prescribed distance, it was fairly ominous to see hundreds of darkly colored earth ponies had virtually taken over the Village's entire northern side.
>Clustered in orderly rows with large, empty black saddlepacks of the types that marecenaries tended to favor, all had the typical stocky, widely built and muscular Stalliongrad physique.
>And, curiously, there wasn't a single stallion, filly, or colt in appearance.
>Amusingly, each of the fruit stalls was swamped as streams of batponies were dragging, pushing, and carrying crates or heavy woven satchels of mixed fruits from the six storehouses around the Village.
>Your skin immediately crawls upon realizing how silent the Basin was outside, then even more so from sighting the contents of each picked up and carefully placed in saddlepacks by definite psions, soft, muted green hues lighting the surroundings.
>Beside the, for once, harried traders, the Village's other batponies were in much the same places that they'd been:
>All but a few were currently snoozing on, around, and several in the fountain, on top of each building's entrance and roof, or simply sprawled out wherever they felt was good for a nap.
>The few awake ones on the south side were staring in varying levels of concern towards the sudden influx of earth ponies, though you notice a few armored ones, likely some reclusive Hunter-Killers on break, taking up strategic defensive positions around the two-level hostel.
>Opposite the hostel you note that Lann's shop was likewise swamped, the four unicorns she had tending to it now barely visible behind a sea of earth mares hauling large stacks of cloth and carpets on their saddles directly towards the translocation matrice.
>Unsurprisingly, nearly all of these mares were psions as well, save for the telltale bright sapphire glow of a Primal somewhere in the front.
>While the atmosphere, mood, and body languages that you could see weren't hostile, the few gazing in your direction were noticeably stone faced.

>Paying little overt attention towards the physical goings-on, the Cult mare turns several degrees in a slight motion, diverging from a course towards the translocation matrice and now heading directly at the wide basin itself.
>Ears twitching backwards under the hood, a subtle flick of claws beneath her robe is made southwards accompanied by a slight, highly familiar pink glow that lasts barely a second.
[1d6+2 = 5]
<Journeymare: Reveal Unnatural
[1d6+4 = 7]
[1d6+4 = 8]

[1d6+4 = 7]

Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Leaving the half-underground building, over a dozen small, sturdy looking wooden pony carts, most likely palm or similar based on their coloration, were currently parked outside.
>Watching the five Zebras scurry about carrying numerous satchels, bags, jars, small crates, and what looked to be cardboard boxes, the amount on order would take at least three hours to complete.
>Which raised the question of where, exactly, everything was even stored in the Alchemy Lab.

>Retracing your steps back through the Plaza, the amount of traffic had increased by at least double:
>Roughly a quarter of the crowds were Saddle Arabians, amusingly near eye level with you, though the more ornately saddled and bridled mares were tossing strange looks in your direction.
>Hundreds of distinct bright blue and green war painted Ferron pegasi were likewise roving around in small groups, paying little attention except to offer wing waves at you between eyeballing the strange fruits, roots, and nuts on display.
>At least they weren't Lishanki..
>Dozens of young Crystal ponies had taken over most of the smaller stall counters, comically baking in the sun and taking zero notice of much else besides trading for pouches and satchels of herbs.
>Reaching the translocation matrice it seemed that business had picked up massively, but for reasons that you didn't know.
>Although, knowing it was past midnight in Equestria the ponies here were mostly Lunar aligned, though you couldn't quite tell why such a large number of Crystal ponies were daring Zebraica's oppressive heat.

>Granted the professional treatmarent this time by the Vortex Remnant, half a second passes in a fuzzy, calm white tunnel before setting down inside the Pagoda.
>Still at her tent stall, only now sorting through letters, the middle-aged fuchsia trader was in the middle of a deep, profoundly angry conversation with.. herself in the Kingdom dialect.
>Pausing to look up with an exasperated stare, Naliyna blinks once before putting on a welcoming smile.
"You've been gone a while. Having fun visiting?"
>Oh so those corrupted beings
>Reaffirmed, Clemency grips his blade, knowing it's efficiency towards those beings

>Seeing the outside, this isn't the Basin he was told about
>So many Earth ponies
>And it is too quiet for a place filled with batponies
>How regular is this event again?
>Just keep vigilant
>And stay on that case
>Clemency resumes his tailing, even under the scrutiny of the earth pony herd
>Seeing her change direction, Clem notices the subtle flick of her wingclaws
>He firsts uses the radar function on his helmet before taking a quick glance over
[1d6 = 6]

[1d6+1 = 2]
<Expert Perception
[1d6+1 = 7]

[1d6+1 = 6]

>All that and still missing ingredients
>What's going on in that Lab that consumed all the supplies?
>Zhun contemplated taking a peak inside of there, figure out if we have the storage for this amount of stuff

>Ah there she is
>Still sorting through paperwork
>Welp, time to not be helpful in that regard
>Zhun matches her smile, as always
"Oh yes. Quite a marked difference coming from the normal temp Empire to the blazing hot desert market. I do have some things for you to handle...told to give the receipts to you."
>Rummaging through his pack, Zhun brings out that Consortium receipt for that trip and the manifest for the Snootadishu trip
"The alchemical supplies should arrive shortly from both. Still need to get more though."
>Zhun also pulls out the contract Tapeskat gave him and puts it alongside the receipts
"Trademare yes? Was told to also give this over to you in case "something stupid" happens. Weird trade agreements after that happened."
>Zhun reaches for a canteen of water to take a sip of
>Relief from the dry heat into this...temperate heat
Mallia Castella
>Mallia manages to hide her expressions better by virtue of having her face fully covered. But behind that mask was a woam smiling wryly and crinkling her nose like an accordion - grimacing in an attempt to not be amused by those words. The only hint that she was not taking this seriously being a slow, half-hearted exasperated sigh.

(It's not funny.)
>She told herself.
>It was kind of funny though.
>Totally not funny. That's not funny. Nope.

>Of course, the enginseer didn't say anything back to Raindrop apart from sideglancing in her direction once through her visor. Taking the time to closely examine what she could see of the inside of the dial-lock, while she listens intently to the "commissar".
>Though she only really freezes and starts turning around when the man mentioned what happens to the guns touched by people of lesser eras, her back straightening up suddenly as the tendril-like mechadendrite starts to quietly slither itself under the shield on her back, as if trying to hide.
>Mallia specifically does not slowly in understanding at the mention that vehicles seem to be exempt from 'the rule', resting the hellpistol on her left lap, with one hand subtly draped over it as she processed what had been said.
>Then her eyes went to one of the lights being held by the ANCIENT operators, squinting towards one through her photo-visor as if to examine it. Pulsing her preysense visor to check how 'hot' these crystals were, just out of curiosity.

>How hard could it be to pick up where this 'Marquis' left off? Couldn't be too hard to learn, with her micro-cogitator.

[1d6+4 = 9]
<B. Perception + BQ Preysense visor + Photo-visor
[1d6 = 6]

[1d6 = 3]
<E. Engineering
[1d6 = 6]

[1d6 = 6]

"Hm. You know, maybe later down the line I could help with that, if this 'Marquis' doesn't come back."
>Her eyes eventually lift up back to the commissar, giving him a respectfully thankful nod.
>While it also clicked in her mind that, even so far in the past, commissars still existed. A slight shiver crawls up her spine as her breath falters for a split second. What this really a commissar though?

>Then finally her head turned towards Raindrop as she also speaks. Her mind quickly processing Tox-11's message and, by instinct, sends a 'Thank you very much, Tox-11.' to him instead of the usual litany of praise to the machine spirit.

"That... Yeah it's probably a good idea to take preventive measures. But it's unlikely that anything will catch fire, unless something goes horribly wrong."
"... Or there's a flamethrower hidden somewhere in this lock. Heh!"
>Mallia chuckled mirthfully, but her words are, contrasting to her merry chuckle, awfully serious as her head turned to the lock itself.

"As for distance. Yes, please try to maintain a minimum of 15 meters, or 50 feet, from me at all times just in case, unless you have appropriate protection to your eyes and body."
>The enginseer looked back to everyone, including the other operators, when saying that. Though afterwards, her gaze fixes back on Raindrop to say an additional remark.

"As a note. I can see a sort of non-metallic wheel behind these dials, which... Judging by the patterns and striations, is most likely made of a type of compressed wood. In short: This is why you can't hear anything from the mechanism, it's meant to prevent you from hearing anything if you start messing with it."
>Mallia begins to lift the hellpistol and grips it tightly, undoing the safety with the swipe of her thumb. Though before she does anything, she tries to quickly make sure to glance into the dial a bit more to see if she can't get a line of sight with her hellpistol with the wooden wheels, hoping to maybe destroy them from outside and see if that wouldn't help opening the lock itself. For future reference.

>And also giving the time for everyone to get to a safe distance, and for Raindrop to get some water if she wanted to grab some.

"I'm going to give you all some time to move away, and grab water. Then I'm going to start cutting this open and seeing if we can't see what's inside."

[1d6+4 = 10]
<B. Perception + BQ Preysense
[1d6 = 5]

[1d6 = 6]
<E. Engineering
[1d6 = 1]

[1d6 = 3]

Razorback Fortress: The Courtyard, Post #1/2
GM Strangler
>Thansimum's lips contort into an embarrassed, wavy S-shape for several seconds as she scuffs the ground with a forehoof.
"Well.. nopony else can interact with them you can tell why we never say anything. Not only that, it's virtually impossible to explain the specifics to somepony that isn't a Crystal pony."
>Head cocking to eye the square once more, the General's face crinkles humorously.
"Simple and impressive. Don't care for the shape, there's too much surface area to catch on something or be knocked off a table, but the overall size does give me some intriguing thoughts."

>Catching the new arrival's free arm making a wide wave, she stops and turns at the waist, pressing something below her neck which results in a partial volume increase.
"Karmine Leto, or Lure.. whichever sounds less stupid."

"Quite a strange name, I don't recognize any component of it.. well, no matter. Would be interesting to perform a physical and psychological assessmarent on a newly arrived humans, perhaps create a baseline for rapid treatmarent. The idea of disguising one's voice is odd to me, though I do understand and respect the security aspect of the first. The second however will present significant problems speaking to ponies, the least of which would be fear."
>Visibly making notes in her head as the human continues to stumble northwards, the older Crystal mare's returns to drop down to the drive while frowning speculatively.
"..really? No, I understand. Allot five hours maximum for.. no? Very well, maximum three hours for cleansing and the remainder for.. ..full recovery? Of course you may, but why do you ask? ..no, that is not allowed. Do not tamper with other functions that you cannot directly and easily harmonize with. Otherwise continue to withdraw, reset, and repeat against significant hostile sub-strata. ..excellent news, I'll leave you to work then."
>Looking up once more with a small, hopeful smile, Thansimum offers a slight bow.
"Excellent, then I shall begin immediately as well. As this is your first time experiencing a solo performarence it will be quite strange. I assure you this: all side effects, if any, should be minor. Clear your consciousness, open your mind, and prepare to deliver all of your focus upon me."
>Without even clearing her throat, a refreshing hum begins and-
[1d6+5 = 11]
<GM.Grand Performarence: Purge Planar Corruption
[1d6+5 = 11]

[1d6+5 = 8]

[1d6+5 = 7]

[1d6+3 = 6]
[1d6+3 = 6]

[1d6+3 = 6]

Razorback Fortress: The Library, Filly Room, Post #2/2
GM Strangler
"At ease, Operative."
>Vague lucid thoughts, unchained together/apart, always alone in the midst of this new, unwanted Committee.
"Yes, we bear your face. Security measures as always needed even outside the temple. You are above us, correct?"
>A timeless-ending melody that tore and mended, conscious trickles of agony rolling to crash inside, outside, sideways.
"Is he conscious or merely responding to impulses? I vote neigh."
>This was familiar.
>The attraction to her voice was remarkable but merely a footnote; perhaps Crystal ponies had succeeded where their sisters failed due to empathy and conceiving others.
>A young dull orange tinted Crystal mare, stern in demeanor as her elongated face glowered towards the others towered high above you, unreachable.
"You have been summoned here today for an empirical review of your performance. I vote yey."
>For now, you think, until acquiring the means to reach her. Perhaps she will reconsider such a soft verdict.
"It is not our intention to cause undue stress since you are, after all, busy carrying out these orders, but we have noticed certain.. unsettling trends that you are having difficulties over. Your new accommodations and personnel are of acceptable proficiencies yet you have become too physically attached. This has led to numerous complaints, Operative, and not ones we are able to take lightly. You have been accused of becoming a sexual deviant. I plead the neigh verdict."
"Between. Are these humans worth salvaging?"
>This voice, distantly harsh as rolling hills, was critical. It considered your suitability, yet knew you would take too much time to sway.
"Enough! The case is closed. One shall decide. We cannot leave this amount of expertise outside of One. My answer is yey."
"Is he aware of this meeting? One knows. One is a fool. One will be removed when the time is right. Four years ago One was removed. We do not agree. My consensus is neigh."
>Third/fourth unwills herself for concern of exposure to the outside.
>Two needs to move were given, the rhythms guided your motions; controlled, stable, but tainted. These were not your actions. You unofficially Puppeted for the Master, now you will you repay her sacrifices.
"What meeting! We are not here? You are not there? He is not us?"
"I object to this nonsense! One did not exist, One told us that One does not exist and we will aide by One's orders!"
"Were you unlying to yourself outside of necessary unprotocols, Operative? Do you take unjoy in unsubversion? Is this not the correct unfreedom to gain your untrust? I unfind these distractions to be unuseful. Give yourself the unyear, then unreturn. That is my judgement. I abstain."
>Supporting yourself with both hands clutching the ancient General's shoulder plates firmly, staggering alongside her into the well lit red room full of dolls and plushes, the small ponies merrily accusing you of being too big to play with them. She defends you by pointing out your tiny mane. The helmet was wrong, it only served to pronounce your unreliability.
"This meeting will not be adjourned until WE reach a single consensus outside of the abstainee votes. One is no longer valid and shall be discarded. WE have been given the clearance to vote yey. Continue."
>It was a soft blade, the scalpel/scythe terribly long reaching into, piercing each nerve only to pleasantly harvest what it needed to feed the rest. You have grown within the field well, hiding, spreading across the land at whim and will. Soon this will be and was yours until the blade reaps not-you in taunting laughter. Two prizes are lost. This bodes unwell for our selves.
"Two objections. Fist, this Operative has not committed enough noteworthy crimes and infractions to be given special dispensations. Hoof, his results have been failure was always advised on multiple public accounts. For those of you that have remembered, that is our purpose: we make use of failures for their benefits, or their allies. You have all succeeded and may be pastured. You are put out to graze, to be bred, or to breed. Serve the needs which occur first. Dismissed. I am last to vote and first to rise. My vote is neigh-"

>Clever little red swirls converge, pushing you downwards into the frayed reality she called yours.
>This wasn't your home, yet it was a home of learning, or a gilded cage that made itself.
"I care not whether you learn or teach. Trust those that cannot, will not, and most importantly: should not trust you."
>Awareness of soft, previously frightened, but warm harvests lie alongside, the passive-aggressive helmet that dared to delay your secrets buried across the inhabited spatial cube's interior.
>What were these fillies for, besides allowing them to warm your worthy self?
"Your soul priorities are to partake in this challenge. You are the taskmaster now. Acquire the respect deserved. Restructure the status quo."
>What purpose did the scared colt's needs of his family and friends grant that you refused to give yourself?
"Assign full authorization to the unworthy. Build the futures too great to be deserved. Be careful: never succeed this selection process. There can be no recovery."

>This was.. acceptable, you proposed to yourself.
>Surrounding your almost entirely nude self, the quiet, appreciable snores of warm, contently sleeping young ponies filled the air.
>Through the cracked door south, the three Kingdom Generals were unaware of your restored consciousness.
>Yes, these fillies and the colt were too young to appreciate their lives fully, said the first.
>The second's disruption, each was too immature to recognize the harsh realities they would soon face.
>It was wrong to hope they could be immunized from grief, the third despaired.
>Their choices crumbled, inconsistent.
>Your own actions, fortunately, would not falter.
"Failure Is Not Authorized."
>This was, for once, certainly your voice.
"Good. I have a great deal of interest in bringing your superior onto my lap and rubbing his or her ears... maybe a light hugging session too. I don't discriminate, you ponies are obscenely soft."
>Doing his best 'you had better' tone towards Venous, the Death Cultist's smile turns into a lethargically cruel, probably unseen grin.
"That I entirely agree with. If the only choices are to punch something's face inwards or scare them into submitting, then why bother wasting time with the first pack of enemies when they can be terrorized up front by throwing the front door into their heads? I'm not strong enough to do like my earliest comrade, so but the point still stands."

>Suffering little offense at the bright cityscape, Corsen's eyes rove across the previously unseen structures in a newfound sense of enlightenment.
(An entire city cleaner and better maintained than the garbage heaps we took over. This is no decaying corpse of warp-ants crawling on the bones of Void dragons, this is livable.. how did we ever manage without thousands of slaves? Wonder how many ponies it takes to keep this entire city clean.)
>Keeping pace with the Honor Guard, brief passing glances are given to the precious metal underneath, and the highly interesting styles of artistic expression afterwards.
(I'll have to come back when time permits, need to take a thousand notes.)

>Mutely shaking his head at the peaceful environments, he keeps his calm until entering the University's grounds.
(An organized military this close to the noble's district? That's.. unexpected.)
>Arms folding across his chest at the Night Guard's demand, Corsen's eyes flick down at the interesting weapons sourly, then back down onto Venous.
(Must not be the mission she wanted. Relaying orders or giving an update perhaps?)
>Giving a short sigh, he reaches down to with his right hand to lift the hatchet up several inches while jealously eyeing the batpony's peculiar weapons.
"Bounty hunter business mostly. I've asked this Honor Guard here to escort me somewhere I can acquire aid in improving this weapon since I barely know Canterlot, otherwise I won't be able to complete my duties. Maybe take a detour into the art college, I have ideas for several paintings but I'm going to need a few refresher courses."
>Pareidolia wakes to the sound of a phrase as close to a personal mantra as he could have.
>His eyes, remarkably were not bleary.
>His head however felt mired in fog and delusions.

[Not a dream... reality bled in to my delusion? Too many parallels... ]

>Remaining still, he exhales deeply in an attempt to focus on his surroundings.
>An uncomfortable feeling of exposed skin to air assails his nerves.

[Once again without my equipment. Why was it removed? Where is it? Where is Thansimum?]

>His eyes carefully sweep the room as he attempts to process what happened.

[Cage of learning... the Library? There were too many voices... ]

>He spares a sidelong glance at the snoring foals laying next to him before trying to focus on the three apparent Generals outside the door and filter the madness from what he had experienced.

[I was moved, and judged? This must be the room across from the basement door with the affected foals. Unshielded due to the open door, so they were affected...]

>His breath rattles slightly, catching in his throat as he blinks several times.

[There were four, or at least three. I was with Thansimum. The others over there must be the two other Generals?]

>He strains to hear and see as much as he can moving only his head.

[I was barely conscious. What were they talking about? Were my memories and my A.I.'s databanks combed? It was an unavoidable risk, but if that biased their reactions... need to figure out what was real... ]
A Cryptic Lunar Crypt: Breaking & Marentoring
GM Strangler
247199 247453
>Marginally anticipating the specialist's incoming strikes, staggered lines of burning pink wingblades blur into focus before your snout.
>Bodily turning sideways and backwards from the hostile glows, rearing back enough to clash your hoofboots through her adrenaline-spiked weapons finds significant holes between Mercy's heavily spread apart weaponry.
>Clashing through unguarded wingblades is rewarded with both hooves ringing off the left side of her skull, sending the Spirit Walker reeling backwards just as a roiling wave of searing pink agony rolls through your muscles, catching you off guard briefly.
>Tossed back into a staggered, barely upright defensive stance, previously enraged blind white eyes roll upwards, then down to focusing onto you.. rather coldly, you notice.
[1d6 = 3]

>Mercy: Minor Concussion, Enrage lost, 117/120HP!

>Immediately behind Mercy, the Councilmare's thin outlines were covered in red spatters and accompanied by a choking gasp.

>Now visibly angered by the trio of interruptions, the Belligerent's eyes flash an angry blue.
"Sir, I am not programmed nor experienced enough to care care about whom is right or wrong-"

>The apparent Lunarite commarender briskly tosses a merrily dismissive hoof at your first statemarent.
"We care not for decorum. Should the Planar spheres dare to outnumber this Collective even five to one our odds shall be an uneven tide 'gainst their own."
>Vocalizing a contemptful snort behind her own batpony styled facemask, this one composed of a haughty, mocking sneer, the lead mare chuckles in derisive confidence.
"Care not do we for pittances of flesh and bone. Overlong have we rested good traveler, now be our time to answer the Night Goddess and her unheard call. Bring us to thy promised battlefield, we shall show these generations how to commit unbridled and unfeeling war before their soft eyes!"

>Hurling the commarendeering shout towards the pegasi fracas, a pink-outlined figure stumbles sideways from the Councilmare's distortion.
>Mercy's head phases back into reality first with a bleary, unfocused stare, quickly followed by the rest of her body.
>Momarentarily giving a deep frown, the Spirit Walker marenages a short nod before crumpling forwards onto her chest with a painful groan, both wings and forelegs wrapping around her head protectively.

>Taking several paces forwards while pointing at the first Lunarite filly shoving the Crypt's partially open door open, then up at the stairwell, the short golem's voice turns becomes a thoughtful, if not grating tone.
"I have learned little from this situation, Commander. As I was intending to state before: the timeframe is dire. Is it not more imperative to deliver these willing ponies to the beleaguered forces on Luna's Moon than it is to deal with petty grievances? If so then you must immediately relocate them."
>Turning a brutally calculating gaze at Mercy, Boris lifts his shoulders as high as possible.
"But I require assistance to move quickly. Should there not be space in your vehicle for me then I will travel back on my own."
Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Unheard by Ferron and the few batponies nearby, despite their excellent hearing, your commarent, sadly, goes unnoticed.
>While the Cult leader had caused enough of a scene drawing attention to her, it was unlikely to come across her again without a significant search effort.
>This of course left the question of how she might try to interact with further humans entering Cairn Wharf.. which honestly wasn't your priority.
>Strolling your way to the offest pair of translocation matrices without being hindered, the Vortex Remnant senses business.
>Immediately dropped into a bright neon yellow, green, and pink tri-colored tunnel, precisely two seconds pass before the Pagoda's uniquely charming atmosphere comes into view.
>Except without ponies or even humans around for once.
>The welcoming sounds of papers being shuffled by Naliyna behind you were comforting while her tone was positively cheerful.
"Welcome back! Did you have... fun? Um.. ..can I ask why you smell like the ocean, or how you fell into a salt mine because the thought of either one is making me really hungry right now."
Sunny Feathers
>Retaking her position between Mercy and the Councilmare, legs braced, head lowered and wings flared wide, Sunny returned Mercy's gaze silently with her own impassive and calculating one. Her instincts screamed at her to go on the offensive and make certain she was no longer a threat, but remained still at Jeff's order.
>Despite the wave of agony Mercy's attack on her had inflicted, the mare stood waiting, recovering her breath even as a slight sheen of lather broke through her hide. She did not like that, not one bit.
>She prayed Jeff's command would stay Mercy's hoof from continuing her attack.

>As soon as she saw Mercy re-enter realspace and fall forwards, Sunny wheeled about towards the Councilmare and dropped down to her side, inspecting her wounds even as she fished out her Estrus flask.

[1d6+3 = 6]
< B. Perception
[1d6+3 = 6]

>...Aestus flask, she corrected herself after a moment.
>Chest wound, tracheal bleeding, partially obstructed wind passage. No time to wait for oral or topical application to take full effect, no possibility of delivery via intravenous injection.
>Sunny shook her head woefully at herself, her lips set in a grim line on her muzzle.
"You'll have to forgive me for this Councilmare, but I can no more let you die down here than anyone else."
>Rolling the mare onto her back, Sunny lifted the Councilmare's rump upwards, supporting it with a wing and a hoof as she pulled the stopper out of the aestus flask, pushed the neck of the flask in and poured a single dose directly down the Councilmare's marehood.

[1d6+5 = 10]
< E. Alchemy + Estrus Flask
[1d6+5 = 7]

[1d6+5 = 7]

>Sunny at least had common decency to avert her gaze as she 'applied' the dose.
>Afterwards, she restoppered the flask and set it back in her saddlebag as she continued to hold the mare's rump upwards to prevent any spillage while she waited the dozen or so seconds she reasoned it would take for the mixture to be absorbed into the bloodstream and take effect.
>Rather than talk to the mare she'd just violated in order to save her life, Sunny muttered to herself just audibly enough for the Councilmare to make out the words.
"This was supposed to be a simple salvage operation, is this what working with Razorback is normally like? Because I think I'm beginning to regret requesting this contract."
Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Somehow grasping the bottle with her hoof and pulling it towards her chest, the crystalline mare's face breaks out into a wide smile.
"He calls himself Thrill Collins but I dunno if that's his real name. Long story between us, nothing I can say openly though. Can't really talk until it's done."
>Placing one hoof on the cap in preparation to twist it off, Naliyna's expression becomes questioning at your thinking posture.
>Cracking the top open and giving it a delicate sniff, her eyes swivel upwards curiously.
"Yep, so far as I know at least. All three Princesses and Queen Chrysalis get stuff addressed to them right after it's sent. The Vortex Remnant-"
>Motioning towards a vaguely eye-shaped, short stalk formed from the granite circle behind you.
"Pretty shy until he gets to know somepony, but he's never lost anything in transit, right?"
>Blinking once, the eye responds with a multitude of neutrally conjoined voices answering in a profoundly aggravated, proud maerners.
"Neither I nor mine have misplaced one item, object, sentient, nor sapient to their intended location or recipient!"
>Snickering at the eye's highly distressed undertones, the fuchsia mare bats her not-entirely-empathetic eyes at it.
"See? He's the best Remnant there is! And.. huh, didn't know that. Denra never said anything about getting replaced but I'm not really surprised since Canterlot is way too important not to have a diplomat for every faction. One second-"
>Head turning towards her left, a short hum in something akin to a low soprano resonates through the Pagoda for several seconds, ending after a black pen, a large human styled ring notepad, and several bright pink envelopes float from behind the stacks of paper, landing on the upper right corner of her table.
"Here, take these. I've got a bunch more around here.. somewhere. Probably under the rugs, or maybe under the desk-"
>Sitting back to give a momarentarily dumbfounded look, Naliyna points upwards with a front hoof before swirling it around in the air several times, probably meant to indicate where you were right now.
"If you can't leave your name for safety reasons then write 'from Razorback Fortress', or 'care of Razorback Companiegh', or something like that. Shouldn't be a problem since it's pretty much impossible to interdict mail, but I do read all the stuff that isn't addressed to anypony or human in specific that show up here.. mostly because they're either trade notices or newspapers."
Lost in the Crag Moors: Stuck (In The Middle Of) You
GM Strangler
"This is a current estimate of my physical parameters. Regardless of objections I'll continue to cross-reference my datalogs for simple to construct vehicles."
>Returning the left screen to a frontal view of her internal structure, a full third of her 'skeleton' was slag or destroyed, the remainder heavily damaged, twisted, or merely in a faulty state.
>As expected the rebuilding process would require a great deal of additional salvaging, though a few components looked reasonably familiar to you.
"Agreed, shifting priorities. Addendum: research notes indicate underwater repairs, maintenance, and modifications will be lower than thirty percent of standard values. Difficult, not impossible."
>Delivering another batch of gems, the tendril is joined by several more carrying a selection of archaic looking and oddly shaped coins.
"Statement recorded, now saving on all primary, secondary, tertiary, and backup storage systems.. complete. Logic node calculations have determined paranoia to be a heightened form of suspicion exacerbated by moderate to extreme obsessive-compulsiveness. I will not permit illogical actions to be taken without prior study or risk calculations."
>Climbing back into view on the right screen, the caricature's single eye makes a comical squint.
>Which COULD be threatening if it weren't utterly cartoonish.
"This 'nerd' is attempting to ensure she is not wrongfully blamed for failures outside of her control and would feel little remorse if events dictate it is necessary to spank her MOTHER into line!"
>And here was that sass again..
"In the event of catastrophic system failure there is a greater than ninety-percent chance my sensor array will require a complete rebuild. Update: modification failed, no damage caused. Source of errors: multiple integrity losses. Querying databases for potential solutions.. complete. Now attempting basic array repairs-"
[1d6+4 = 8]
<Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6 = 4]
<Repair Tendril #1
[1d6 = 4]
<Repair Tendril #2
[1d6 = 5]
<Repair Tendril #3
[1d6 = 4]
<Repair Tendril #4
[1d6 = 4]
<Repair Tendril #5
[1d6 = 1]
<Repair Tendril #6
[1d6 = 4]
<Repair Tendril #7
[1d6 = 5]
<Repair Tendril #8
[1d6+1 = 6]
<B.Engineering Research
[1d6+1 = 7]

>Catching something on the right screen in front of you, an odd, inverted pan-shaped cloud formation moves.
>Naturally he's relieved that Sunny and Mercy broke up, at his command, but the results were mixed.
>One pegasi, his herd second, took his outburst harder than expected.
>Or she was nursing a head injury... it was probably his first guess.
>Sunny, however, recovered instantly and began to assess the council mare's injuries. Going off of the amount of blood, she was somehow in worse shape than she showed up in.
>Fast-walking over to the three, he gives the cowering Mercy a reassuring pat on her wings as he passes her-
"It's okay, Mercy..."
>And toward Sunny, who was already starting on first aid.
>The sight is NOT what he expected, as the pegasi mercenary was administering a potion... vaginally?!
>At this point the scene was less shocking and more tiring, as he kneels down at the councilmare's head end and averts his gaze to the rear.
"I'm gonna not be grossed out and just assume whatever you're doing is going to help heal her wounds. The Dagor also has a medical bag, if we really need it."
>But he wasn't about to argue with Sunny, as he crosses his arms coyly.
"Honey, tip for the future: humans are literal shit-hitting-the-fan magnets. Expect this level of BS almost every time. Keeps you on your hooves, that way. I'll let you handle her, while I begin herding the Lunarites to the top."

>Leaving Sunny to her 'treatment', Jeff grabs Boris by the mid-section and hefts the golem up and onto his left shoulder; sticky-ing him for stabilization.
"Hey, leaving someone to die over a 'petty grievance' is not cool. The Citadel's been under siege for hours, anyway. There's enough time to take care of everything, at their pace. You need to be tactful."
>Speaking of them, Jeff shifts his attention to the awaiting Lunarites through the doors.
"Okay, everypony. If you're all ready, you can follow me to the surface. Maybe my transportation can carry all of you."
>Though he doubts the Dagor's storage space or suspension can handle that much cargo.
>How many total were of them, again?
>Turning back around to begin the lead, he walks over to Mercy again to check on her.
"You okay, Mercy? We're gonna start moving out now."
Bubba the Second
>Grimacing, Bubba readjusted to the feeling of being transported through that infernal device.
>"I'll never get used to such a thing."
>Turning around to face her, Bubba gave Naliyna a brief nod and hand wave.
"I've no idea what you're referring to."
>He shrugs at her.
"I wandered around some docks for a while, very likely broke Sweet, and bought some stuff. Figure I'd let you know, just in case someone drops by with some gear for me."
>Lets out a sigh at seeing the damage done to her.
"There's a reason humans prefer to haul warships out of the water and into drydock before doing any major repairing to them."
>"Plus I don't know if we can even weld underwater."
"Paranoia in this case came from fighting a war, Wild. I was trained to counter enemy snipers, and I did a good job at it."
>"Until the fascists dropped mortars on me, anyway."
>I just dryly look at her image.
"You try to spank me and when we get back to base you are grounded, young lady."
>Blinking, I stare at the screen for a moment.
"Wait, what was that?"
[1d6+1 = 2]
<E. Perception
[1d6+1 = 4]

[1d6+1 = 6]

>Cheto is both awed and elated over Naliyna picking up a bottle without a proper grasp around the bottle as well as her discrete response regarding her soon to be husband, providing a big smile and raised eyebrows to symbolize that fact.
“You tease.”
>He chuckles heartily as his surprise fades

>Turning around to face the eye thing in awe at hearing it speak, he proceeds to inspect it curiously yet subtly, unsure of where to focus his eyes on when talking to it.
“Oh! Hello, Vortex Remnant. I’m Jose Gallo. I’m pleased to meet you and thankful for sending that report from Frost to her superiors. You’re quite the helpful remnant.”
(I hope that’s the way to address it.)
>That’s when his brain alerts him of a fact he didn’t notice before from what Naliyna said, causing him to circle back around to face her.
“Forgive me for my interruption, but I only heard of two princesses in my stay here so far. If I may be so bold, who is Queen Chrysalis and the third princess?”
>A small pause
“And what does the Remnant mean by ‘Neither I nor mine’?”

>After listening intently to her explanation, he gently takes the floating black pen, notepad and 2 envelopes with a bright, cheerful smile.
“I appreciate your charitable help Mrs. Naliyna and I hope I have not taken much of your time. Please excuse me for a minute.”
>With a small, happy gait, he walks towards the nearest empty couch with armrests, placing the notepad on the center of it, while placing the envelopes on the end nearest from where the headrest is and readying the pen.
(Where to start…)
>Chewing the lip slightly, he lowers down the pen.
“Dear Princess Celestia, Co-ruler of Equestria:
“I wish to inform you that I am in a stable condition, researching about elemarentary equine politics and culture, particularly from the Solars and Lunars, as well as the Lishanki, Malurians, Arkadian Divides and other Ferron pegasi clans, who are the closest factions to the Razorback Compony. Not to mention all of the exclusive social norms ponykind has that I may not know of yet.
“I must admit that the entry method to this world was completely unexpected, with my unceremonious entrance from the ceiling of a building straight into a sofa, which I am thankful for. The welcoming committee, after calming down from the surprise entrance, were rather friendly and caring. They even offered some complemarentary cookies and some water, which still surprises me how pure it tastes around these parts. After that, it was quite eventful in unique ways I have never experienced before.
“If I may be so bold, I want to ask a few questions regarding the contract details. Firstly, I would like to ask if I am to pursue diplomatic activities on my lonesome or if I have the privilege to choose from a selection of trained ponies in the arts of protecting others from anything that may compromise my responsibilities as a First Hoof, as my dishoofmarent greatly diminishes my defensive capabilities against any would-be assailants. Secondly, I wish to ask if there is a set of ponial armor that has been mareufacutred for me or if I have to commission a set. Lastly, I am curious about the specifics of how the Honor Guard would come to inform me in the event of being summoned by Your Majesty and the Silver Court of Nobles.
“I will make sure to do well on my part of the contract and I am both grateful to have chosen me as a diplomat of the Razorback Compony and eager to serve my assigned faction to the best of my ability.
“Yours sincerely,
“José Gallo, First Hoof of Razorback Compony.”
>Inspecting the letter thoroughly to see if the letter itself was well written and respectful to the Princess that summoned him here, he nods to himself.
(Yes, this ought to do. Maybe she'll appreciate my attempt to use their pun-like terms.)
>He takes off the paper from the notepad, opens one of the pink envelopes, folds the paper cleanly in half and inserted it into the envelope, followed by closing the letter container, turning it around, and finally writing the following on the top left.
“From: First Hoof José Gallo
“Razorback Fortress
“To: Princess Celestia.”
>With a labored exhale, Cheto stands up and walks towards the Remnant and Naliyna with the letter-containing envelope in hand.
“Excuse me, what day is it, Mrs Naliyna?”
>After receiving the answer, he jots it down between the address and the sender rows and walks towards the Vortex Remnant.
>The average man presents the pink envelope in his hand on the matrix as he sent Frost’s letter not too long ago.
“Vortex Remnant, would you be so kind to send this letter to Princess Celestia?”
>He gives the Remnant a small smile, still lost on how to properly look at it.

>Adon hold his breathe as his deduction finally opens the path ahead of them, and luckily so as Excelleon didn't seem to notice the second attempt didn't give away their identities.
>This guy doesn't really expect a lot from the help, it seems.
>His eyes spark with interest as the large doors open up to a well enough constructed and lit tunnel, continuing up into the mountain.
"We must be getting close to the end, if there's considerable work going into the pathway now."
>The chiqtu starts ahead of the group, leaving him Spruce, and Golden Horn to follow suit.
"He didn't mention any other obstacles, but we might have to deal with someone when we get to those cells. Someone'd have to pay the slavers- might even be Excelleon himself. How should we handle that, seeing as we clearly don't have any slaves with us."
>Something reflective up at the end caught his and apparently Spruce's eyes as well, but he was more focused on the possible combination of upcoming places of interest.
"Hmm... maybe you and the chiqtu could pose as slaves, while Spruce and I as slavers, if it comes to that. Sound like a plan?"
Operation: Why It Was Called A Basin In The First Place...
GM Strangler
>Leadership: +2 to all Assault & Reaction Speed Rolls.
>????? Ambush Tokens: 3.
>Having no recollection of Basin Village ever having been reported as quiet, at least by Razorback human and pony standards, any context of this awkward occasion is lost.
>Noting fewer earth ponies inspecting the Cultist, or you, as they leave through the translocation matrice, your eyes are drawn to a slim, triangular pinksteel blade carried low under her cloak.
>Gripped in her left set of claws, it was shining in the same warning mareners that Mercy's set were known to, and bright enough to create leg shadows off to her right.
>Whether she noticed the slowly pressurizing attention from dozens of unfriendly psion eyes wasn't possible to tell; it was more likely she didn't care.

>Internal screens switching to a compressed view upon delivering that comforting ping of impending knowledge, the entire right side of the screen is filled with hostile bright red 'Watch Guard' and several prominent 'Tower Guard' icons in their faction symbols.
>Barely able to keep track of new arrivals from those leaving, the left side showed several clusters of 'Deep Moors Hunter-Killer' along with ten icons labeled 'Basin Guard' arriving from south of the Village.
>There were enough allied batponies now slowly creeping towards the hostel that meta-icons were being displayed for individual squads.
>Either the IFF sorely required an upgrade, or you needed the COFFIN system to make better sense of packed locations.

>Head turning south, the number of Hunter-Killers in front of the hostel had nearly doubled, more batponies awake now and staring towards earth ponies in visible hostility.

>>Glancing across the Basin's southern end, what the Cultist motioned towards was a familiar sight:
>A mass of gray and white mist in the shape of an earth pony was pulsing in and out and disappearing from sight every hoof stomp directly towards the Cultist.
>Angrily mimicking a second heartbeat in your hand, Ethereal runes scribed on the Executioner's Blade emit bitter, white-pink flares.
>Definitely not something it'd done before.

>Reaching the basin's edge, the Cultist's hooves clop onto a now-exposed transparent crystalline floor of sorts covering the basin itself.
>A small pair of low, white metallic tables covered in scrawled batpony runes appear before the mare, tossing the open wooden box to her right.
>You now realized why the basin was never flooded: this was a protected altar.
"A Tainted, one of those unfortunate enough to be caught in Flux between the Solar and Lunar alicorns. Destroy it else others will follow, seeking retribution for failing their factional oaths-"
>The mare's calm voice did nothing to hide stern condescension as she raises the pinksteel dagger along with a green one in the same exacting shape, gripping them in both sets of wingclaws held high while shouting aloud.
"Snickering batponies of the Moors and Discordants alike, grant our Goddess this paymarent! Come two by five to seek your peace on the Moon!"
[1d6+3 = 7]
<E.Leadership: ?????
[1d6+3 = 4]

[1d6+3 = 9]

>The Tainted, directly reminiscent of mist pony Spectres from the first days on the train, was now less than 50M from the sacrificial basin.
Razorback Fortress: The Pagoda
GM Strangler
>Propping her chin up with the left hoof, Naliyna makes a comical attempt at humorous incredulity.
"A desert? What would you.. nevermind, not my business. I didn't know you knew somepony in a desert, or were you talking about a 'dessert'? If that's the case then I'm jealous, ponies that love kinky stuff like that are hard to find."
>That was indeed deliberate.
>Visibly turning stoic at the word 'receipt', she holds both hooves out to take the crystalline plate first before setting both in front of her for a quick once over.
"Thank you Zhun, that's the best news I've heard tonight. If you want some stuff out of the Enclave for your troubles go ahead and take it, just avoid the locked things. I'm not really worried about what we're missing now, most of the stuff that gets used is on these.. little surprised they're selling powdered gems for these prices, must be overflowing right now. I'm more annoyed those three decided to make everything they could from OUR stocks without telling anypony or making a list even though what they've done will help us a lot more."
>Reaching out to take the roll and placing it atop the crystalline sheet, her face creases into a deep frown.
"I'm.. lost. Like usual. What 'something stupid' is happening? Or is this-"
>Nudging the contract while you relieve the painful stinging of desert sand in your throat.
"More politics from the past none of us know about? Then again it's probably better I try to remember whatever this is before somepony or human gets the wrong ideas. Give me a couple minutes please."

>Unrolling it for a careful read, the scarred fuchsia mare's expression slowly turns from merry to confused, then on to neutral.
>Raising an eyebrow halfway through, Naliyna's jaw drops for a quarter minute straight, then looks up, though not at you, with an icy stare.
>Dropping back down to read even slower, her ears flick out sideways in outright hostility several times.
>Sitting back and leaving the scroll to partially roll up on its own, the left hoof raising to gently rub the same temple.
"I don't know a single thing about this deal. Nopony outside of maybe four hundred are involved, a few more were told about it, some ponies are trying to keep it active but secret at the same time, and now it's landing right on all our saddles. On the plus side we have friends that we didn't know existed, so-"
>Eyes directed towards the receipts in front of her, Naliyna's lips pull back into a devious smile.
"Go ahead and do whatever you wanna do Zhun, I'm gonna be really busy tonight. Might need some stuff from the Enclave, couple bottles of ink, and all that stuff Amerose loaned me."
>Noting the two groups of meta-icons on the display, Clem wonders at the possibility of conflict between the two
>It seems like posturing at the moment

>Seeing the misty figure, he draws out his blade
>Looking at it, the blade's pulse feels weird
>Never could get used to it since it has been a long time since he had fought something spectral, ethereal, or otherwise
>Stepping onto the crystalline floors , he stops to look at the small tables
>Hearing her speak, Clemency focuses on that Tainted
>Taking her words to mind, he starts a run towards the Tainted
[1d6+2 = 7]
<Master Sprint
[1d6+2 = 3]

[1d6+2 = 3]

[1d6+2 = 6]

>Charging at the creature, he swings a feint with his blade before whipping it upwards at the form
[1d6+1 = 6]
[1d6+6 = 7]
<Master Assault
[1d6+6 = 10]

[1d6+6 = 9]

[1d6+6 = 11]

[1d6+6 = 11]
<Airstream Assault
[1d6+1 = 3]
<Ethereal Strike
"Had to go to on-"
>Zhun blushes and chuckles at the attempt
"Hehe, I think there's some on base. I just steer clear away from them."
>Seeing her become serious, Zhun smiles as she expresses thank at his shopping spree
"Oh? Those three? I know right? The Consortium pony was shocked we went through the supplies that fast."
>Seeing her take the contract, Zhun prepares for the surprise
>"More politics from the past..."
>Zhun nodded at that
"Sounds like it."
>As she begins assessing the contract, Zhun waits a while and drinks the rest of his water supply
>"Be sure to remember this thing..."
>He did find some amusement in the variety of reactions the mare had
"Alrighty. I'll still see if I can get more alchemy stuff for the full resupply. You think we got floral samples from the Old Everfree around here?"

Southern Canterlot Outskirts: Twin Hill Overlook, Depository
GM Strangler
"New pony, you have good humor."
"Thanks, I've learned it through hard work and trying not to get caught by Ferron."
>Holding his gaze to yours with a touch of humor, the old Commissar makes a respectful pointing motion towards the Mechadendrite.
"No fear, all human obey rule. Not worth dying for stupid touch."

>Ticking the visor into high mode, the youngest three had an odd L-shaped flashlight clipped into their front right coat pockets.
>Looking closer showed a flat, transparent crystalline plate, behind which rested one large sphere of semi-metallic composition emitting a constant stream that registered heavily on the red spectrum bands without interruption.
>Judging the ancient potential STC's size, shape, and relatively simplicity, it was purpose built for extended ease of use, though seemed a bit heavy.

>Turning to reach into his overcoat, the old human makes a tired 'pah' sound.
"Then do what Sergei say: only make tools from metals, crystals, others from small pony world. They not break like human things do."
>Withdrawing a beaten flask and unscrewing the lid, he deadpans briefly before taking a step backwards.
>Then another step, and a quick drink for good measure before waving the other humans to do likewise.

>Breaking off a much-too-serious inspection on your tattered robe, Raindrop's helmet turns to give an impressed sounding noise at the vault.
"Didn't know mechanical stuff was that complex but I can't even picture simple designs, too marely clouds in my head. Compressed wood means a sorceror was involved so there's definitely warning and alarm spells. If you see anything glowing inside, that isn't from heat or whatever you're going to use, toss your shield up and duck really fast."
>Glancing back to the Vostroyan squad, she asks something in an aery approximation of their language.
>Shrugging at the responses pouring towards her, she scurries towards the entrance, loudly, while calling over her shoulder.
"They said to start whenever you like. There's a couple buckets and some can-tines, whatever that is. Just in case I'll fill my helmet too, be right back-"
>Followed by the Commissar and the younger rifleman, the trio of lights from behind change position several times before the sounds of scraping let you know they'd been set on the floor.

>Calculating firing angles for maximum tolerances, registering it through the micro-cogitator is a secondhand process.
>The chance of maintaining a cutting beam was high enough that being interrupted on purpose, or perhaps your restored, 100% flesh and bone hands might twitch.

>Silently pinging for your attention, Tox-11's channel displays a moving ASCII image-set featuring an Ork firing at the side of an Imperial Field Command Center using a large automatic weapon before the magazine is emptied.
>Of course, not a single shot landed or bounced off.
'welcome. was not ignoring, was creating this. approve/disapprove? corrections?'
>The Binary coding lacked the barest hints of both sarcasm and smugness, which left numerous questions as to why.
Mallia Castella
>Before Mallia did anything she, of course, had to acknowledge what Raindrop had said about 'warning and alarm spells' being present.
>She didn't have a reference as to what these "spells" were outside of what Psykers could do, but she could easily connect these 'spells' as being akin to the protection engrams of a particularly powerful or medium power Imperial Cogitator.
>Luckily, this was probably going to be a gust of flame or acid at best, and an explosion at worst. So her maiming and/or burning would have a chance of not being fatal if she took precautions.

>At the same time, Mallia seems to relax just a tiny bit at the commissar's statements. Though her mechadendrite doesn't come out of hiding, being way too protective of it.

"I'll keep it in mind."
>She would softly, but quickly tell him - not keeping him for anything more seeing as the commissar goes to wander back to his men.

>The Enginseer quickly sideglanced towards the Knight with a quick, quarter flick of her head in her direction, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement.
"Noted. Thank you Miss Raindrop, I'll be watchful."
>After whispering that back to her ally with a soft gratitude in her voice, her prehensile mechadendrite quickly began to whir softly as it slithered itself out from behind the shield and instead gripped it's small manipulator onto the top of the shield, lifting it from the side of her rucksack and placing it vertically, handily at her side without even looking back.
>Her off-hand slips around the grip of it, keeping it ready - propped by her side, out of the way.
"--If you ever don't know something about mechanical stuff just ask me, that's what a team is for."
>She adds, quickly. Before the knight would also move off; after speaking... Vostroyan? Or Valhallan. One of the two.

>Before starting she turned her glance to take a mental note of where the canteens and buckets were positioned, in case she needed to make a rush for them if she somehow caught on fire, or needed it in general.

>Then she would turn, much more seriously, towards the combination lock. Making calculations for the proper tolerances in the background, she began to raise the modified hellpistol - starting from the top of the center-most dial to try to remove them, and perhaps reveal the rest of the mechanism for viewing before she'd have to melt through the dials themselves.
>But before she can really focus, she pauses at what Tox-11 sends her.

"... Hahah! Heh--ahem!"
>The unexpected artistic depiction and his completely serious tone, asking for feedback, made her laugh a little bit. But quickly regains him composure, breathing a slight, cheered up sigh as she sends a response, which is motherly in a way.
(It is an amusing representation of Ork accuracy, Adronal. I approve. If you wish to take my suggestion, add a lone Guardsman on the base to hit the Ork with a single shot just to underline the duality.)

>She felt that this was incredibly cute, but she wasn't going to patronize.

>Instead she just took a moment to lessen the smile on her face beneath her respirator, before taking a deeper breath to steady her nerves and mentally prepare herself for danger. Then, she raised the hellpistol again and moved the mechadendrite closer to her targeted central dial.
>There is a distinct 'click' and a 'hiss' as the gas cutting torch is brought further out from the mechadendrite and the igniter turns on. Then moved it closer.

>She used the gas cutting torch to pre-heat and 'mark' the area for 3 seconds to make a more efficient power expenditure for the las, then used it in tandem with the hellpistol as she pulled the trigger and held it down for the minimum amount of time required to fracture it, hoping to make the most efficient use of the power pack and barrel as possible. Giving the weapon time to cool between uses.

>When the first one is down, she moved towards the left. Only removing the central ones first, and the ones furthest to the sides last.
>Uttering whispered, sing-song prayers. Uttering the Litany of the Lasgun, followed by the Prayer of Smiting, followed again by a Litany of Penetration as she worked.
>Her voice, incomprehensible to everyone now as it becomes like a strange, electronic humming and chanting completely unlike the way she was speaking before.
>The pitch rising and falling with the smoothness and melodiousness of a singing, lovingly faithful voice, as it tried to honor, appease, focus, and soothe her borrowed weapon.

(Techna-Lingua) "Bringer of death, speak your name, for you are my life, and the foe's death."
(Techna-Lingua) "O' Machine Spirits hear my prayer; guide your wrath, hold it true, let it break the weak material and armor, with my hand as your guidance."
(Techna-Lingua) "Anima Mechanica, reward my faith, and smash the target."

>Short, but sweet.

[1d6 = 5]
<B. L.E.W.
[1d6 = 6]

[1d6 = 1]
<E. Engineering
[1d6 = 4]

[1d6 = 5]

[1d6+2 = 6]
<Utility Mechadendrite: Engineering

[1d6+1 = 6]
<E. Tech-Use + Auspex Link: Prayer of Penetration
[1d6+1 = 3]

[1d6+1 = 5]

[1d6 = 1]
<B. Singing
[1d6 = 4]

>As she worked, her thoughts went back to Raindrop's warning. She enabled her preysense visor and pulsed it a few times, in her attempt to spot any 'glows' or heat signatures that might betray any 'spells', as the knight said.
>Her off-hand tightly wrapped around the grip of her shield, flexing her meager muscles in preparation but not tensing up, keeping the shield propped against her side as she focused on what she was doing.

(The Omnissiah protects. The Machine Spirits protect. And I protect the Machine Spirits. I am not afraid. I am ready. I am prepared.)

[1d6+4 = 8]
<B. Perception + Preysense Visor
[1d6 = 2]

Razorback Fortress: The Library, Filly Room
GM Strangler
>Noting dull red light streaming down in shafts among from the giant window, it was clear that your head was facing southwards.
>Hearing a sharp exhale and drawn out kekeke snore, your vision shifts upwards slightly, accompanied by the telltale sensation of tight muscles shifting under soft equine coat.
>Based on the unique sound and Malyne rarely visiting with humans she didn't know well, the only possible candidate was Foggy Patches.
>Surprisingly, her flank currently was in use as your pillow.
>Surrounded on all sides by a quartet of rumbling snores, the impression of uncomfortably warm ponies rested near both legs and arms yet didn't touch.
>Less odd were a set of oddly plush socks and heavy duty, though abnormally soft, military uniform pants that definitely were not yours.
>At least you weren't left nude this time.
>Head turning from side to side on the batfilly's flank, the three pegasi and Crystal filly recovered from Stalliongrad were snuggled face to face less than a foot from you.
>You weren't trapped in the conventional sense as they were spaced apart enough to easily sit up.

>Below the window, shifting parabolas of red, green, blue, and sharp orange hues rotate about from the distinct profile of your helmet.
>Placed on the head of a large stuffed pony doll, the surface featured a clearly enraged tricolored Crystal filly soundlessly engaging an unfamiliar image of a round, metallic Cheeto studded with odd weapons.
>The first appeared to be performing decently given the sphere's exceptional accuracy, albeit numerous fractures across her body were presently ignored in favor of all out assault.

>Shaking off the ridiculous sight and leaning back onto Patches, Thansimum's tired voice drifts in through door's cracked open state.
"-e shall recuperate fully with sleep. What I do not understand were the side effects; fever-like hallucinations, nightmareish lucidity, erratic slow twitch muscular spasms, spoken words and sentences with no clear meanings that I am able to categorize, save for one. It is likely those are purely due to human traits, yet I will leave all explanations out of my report lest somepony in the Spire Guard decide to perform 'tests'. There is a slight problem that may warrant our atten-"
>The second Crystal mare's tone was younger and highly impatient.
"Every minute here presents a new problem piled atop the rest. Make it quick Than, I need at least two more hours with that new human."
"Calm yourself, I may have misspoke. I consider this less a problem and more a surprise: that human knows a method similar to structured layering."
"The same we use to shape Empire crystal and repair our equipmarent?"
"In essence the same, but it is performed by... what sound like allied Constructs. I think."
>Silence holds for perhaps ten seconds until the third, older mare speaks half-angrily.
"You had best be pulling my tail Than! There are zero reports of humans interacting with Constructs before that hybrid was encountered. I'll give you permission to carefully ask him later, only on your off time, and only this once. If he declines to answer then leave it be, am I clear? No sense annoying more humans by pestering them with questions."
"There is little need to hoof my snout in, but I will be polite."
"Acceptable. Had none of us been ordered here this incident would constitute a high risk of corruption spread. Their technologies are slightly more resistant than ours though not enough to matter. I've taken the liberty of dispatching... 'suggestions'-"
>Without a rational or logical reason, the skin across your neck and arms tighten upon hearing the last word's exotic inflection.
"To the Crests and our kin. Perhaps one of them may accept a station here."
"I wouldn't accept being here for too long so don't expect much of them. We can discuss that later, right now can we focus on the fillies?"
>Pareidolia's brow furrows over his narrowing eyes as the deep red light bled into the room.
>He slowly pushes himself up with his right arm as a thankfully still gloved left hand rubs his eyes.

[Day is breaking. Hope Emerald got enough sleep. Need to debrief and minimize contact with foals. Transmission risk vectors, particularly Foggy Patches.]

>With deliberate care he stands up, glancing at his helmet with a nonplussed expression at its current status.

[Will likely take additional time. Need to ascertain how much they learned...]

>His head looks back to the doorway as he overhears "structured layering" and "allied Constructs".

[... Will need to address the misunderstanding during departure.]

>Stepping around or over any fillies in his way without waking them, he gently picks up the stuffed pony plush. Ensuring his helmet is not at risk of falling off its head, he then makes his way to the door.
>An involuntary tensing of his fingers delays his attempt to open the door as "suggestions" reaches his ears.

[Why is that making me uneasy? No time for this.]

>Clenching and unclenching his outstretched hand, he eases the door open and steps into the hall where the 3 Crystal generals were gathered.
>He turns and shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can manage before setting the stuffed plush down at his feet.
>Finally, he meets each of their sets of eyes before sitting down in front of the door, leaning back to rest against it.

"They are not Constructs. I am willing to explain the details, but first I need to know what you heard me say and what you learned from interfacing with one piece of my-"

>One glove splays open, gesturing at his helmet.


>His hand returns to his face, rubbing his eyes before pulling down over his cheekbones and mouth as his eyes adopt a weary, slowly focusing look.

[Would prefer expedient cooperation. Exigent circumstances for debriefing of Emerald and staff.]

"The side effects were... uncomfortably lucid and delusional."



Down the Grey Bricked Road -A Small Nuisance
The GM L.O.N.T
253151 253884
Ambush: +1 Token to Spruce

>As the group walked into the tunnel proper the doors, which they had spent so much brain power into opening, closed behind them on quietly efficient hinges.

>It appeared Excelleon was not listening judging by how there was a click at the end of his rant, telling the Operator that the pony had in his possession similar intercom technology to that of humanity.

“i concur Spruce, this place gives me the goosebumps.”
>Agreed Golden Horn, whom notably slowed in his walk so that Spruce and Adon were in front of him, obviously so he could be the rearguard of the group and totally not as a cowardly move.
>not at all!

>Continuing deeper into the tunnel Spruce saw the Chitqu running back to them and with no hesitation climbed up his legs, he seeing it was now sitting on his shoulder.
>it appeared apprehensive as it shook on the spot, the Operator could even feel its vibrations through his military clothing.

>pony sized.
>That is what could be deduced as he stared at the light reflecting object in front of the trio. Whether it was moving towards him Spruce could not tell as its body was comprised of many glittering reflections as a form of light cover.

>A growl filled the Operators' ear as the Chitqu puffed its coat out, well, what coat there was that wasn't under its tiny suit of armour as a form of intimidation towards the thing before them.

“I don’t like the sound of that, let us investigate to see if its anything actually to be stressed over.”
>Gulped Golden nervously from behind the cover of Spruces back, where he bravely peeked out of to gaze down the corridor at the obstruction. His horn sparking with magical intention.
[1d6+2 = 4]
>B.arcane awareness
[1d6+2 = 5]

“A good observation there Adon, yes, I believe this could be the case. Makes you wonder what the heart of this lair must be like?”
>Piped in the old Unicorn from behind Adons broad back, his voice telling that the question was directed to himself.

>As the Witcher talked about their future situation the Chitqu came pouncing back to the group, the small ball of fluff choosing to climb up onto Spruce instead of Adons shoulder.

>Golden horn was silent for a good moment as he digested what Adon said, the sound of throaty hums coming from over his shoulder.
“I uh...hmm. I do not know a perfect answer to that Adon. Maybe I can pretend to be a Slaver and- No, that is a foalish thing to say. He knows who I am already. He wouldn’t forget one of the faces that saw him banished from Canterlot.”
>sighed Golden, memories flooding back.
“We will just have to do things one step at a time, who knows. Maybe we might be lucky.”

>Eyes squinting in Concentration on the aura of magic manifesting around his solid golden horn, the old Unicorn grunted something in response to the Witchers different plan.
“I am unsure if that will succeed either Adon. He might be expecting the Slavers he knows, the ones back in the forest. The key word is might however. If we go with this plan he might be so incensed by my presence and the return of the Chitqu he won't ask questions about you and Spruce being human. Then again he might throw you in a cell along with me.”
>A squeak made Adon turn and look at Spruces shoulder where the furball had its arms crossed, glaring at him and Golden Horn.

>Golden opened one eye slightly and looked at the sparkling object down the tunnel.
“...if we’re lucky.”
The L.O.N.T

>lont Chuckled.
“If only they can freeze or starve, easier to kill. And I will keep you to that promise, as soon as we have a problem with them.”
>”Which could happen any day now I suppose with how active they are.”

>He straightened up.
“I wont fail, it won't even be an option for me. Though speaking of which do you know any good places to take her? Razorback is good and all but its becoming to samey, along with my bed...”
>He promised with confidence, he was sure in getting Cadence out of the Spire even when she sounded stressed as fuck when she talked to him.

“Problem is I don’t have time to sit down and read, feels like I have everything to do but have no time. Thank goodness I have these Alchemy Tablets to help me with medical emergencies.”
>he smiled a genuine smile, the tablets have paid themselves in their weight of gold from the constant usage. His smile faltered slightly as he remembered where he got them from, and stopped himself from glancing back to check on the unconscious Tacit again.

>The idea of Interponies intrigued him for the moment before his stomach grumbled for him to concentrate on the now. Such as now will he get dinner?

>Another list. This time of different ponies.
>“More to add to the list.”
>he thought humorously.
“When I return to the fortress I will talk to the appropriate people in establishing a trade. More food to go around makes everyone happy! And thank you, you just added four more things to add to my fuck list.”
>Explained the Operator, a twinkle in his eye as he stared into Glaciers.

>Once the chef quieted down and Glacier asked Lont if the uppity chef could join, he reclined in his seat and exhaled an exaggerated sigh.
>He made a show on mulling it over in his head, throwing up his hands to make questionable displays too.
“I don’t know-“
>He started.
“-If she does a good enough job as our Chef she can be our naughty petmare for the night.”
>Lont promised, punctuating the end with a wink he shared with the playful Shell and the fuming Chef.
253884 258929
>Adon scratches his chin in thought, imagining lairs of usually elven sorcerers who've gone mad from their own egos.
>Aged and tasteless architecture, libraries full of tomes and arcanums even the elves themselves could hardly decipher.
>And experiments: potions, tinctures, various things in jars, and there's always at least one imposing portal opened to some place he'd never dare entering.
>Such the predicament he was currently in, right now.

>After saying his piece, Golden Horn makes some critiques.
>Excelleon just sounds far too unpredictable at this point.
"Mmm. Playing it by ear it is then. But if he knows you two, then maybe Spruce and I should do the talking if it comes to it. How we present ourselves could get us past whatever's ahead."
>Ahead, was the question for the sparkling object atthe end of the tunnel.
>The Witcher squints his eyes to try and focus on what it was from their distance, so he can at least get a idea before they get up close.
[1d6 = 3]
[1d6 = 4]


Karl "Spruce" Osmundsson

"So what you're telling us then is that we're probably fucked? A good chance we're totally going to have him throwing everything he has at you and the kitchen sink for banishing him?"
>He asks this, shaking his head in disbeleif.
>Still, he looks between Adon and the beared unicorn, scratching his chin.
>Suddenly, like a dim lightbulb flickering on, he got a plan.
>A really dumb plan.
"So this guy... Incelleon right? Is it possible that we could convince him that me and Adon are still slavers or something? He's a recluse so maybe, just maybe we could pull it off."
>Spruce chuckles, shaking his heas at his own idea. It was stupid, but it was the kind of stupid that just might work or just fail horribly.
>He stands there, still paused as they investigate this... Light... orb thing the furball was now growling at.
>Cautiously he furrows his brow, staring at it and acting his role of meat shield to defend the poor pony professor from anything that might even come close to sunlight.

[1d6 = 2]
B. Perception
[1d6 = 1]

OIE: REG, Approx. One Month Behind Present Time
259509 259544 259588 259609 259627
>Looking over a multitude of maps strewn across the stone-lit table for Tallus' reference, Jeff rubbed the bridge of his nose.
>For the time, only he was currently in the map room. The back room currently closed off, hopefully nobody on the other side had to pee for a while.
>The bunker's main door opens, a cobalt blue batpony groggily shuffles his hooves in and over to where Jeff was.
"How did the treasure hunt go?"
"Promising. I think..."
>Torven puts his front hooves on the map table to peer at the shuffle of half opened maps, through half-lidded eyes.
"Still looking over ley lines?"
"They're definitely connected to what we're looking for, somehow. I need a more powerful one, and nothing I'm looking for is in Equestrian territory."
>The treasure hunter turns his attention to one of the lesser crammed map shelves and begins to pick through them with his claws.
"I'll begin perusing for viable locations. Can't promise anything."
"Thanks. I'm waiting on one more pair of hands."
>As if on que, a seven-foot outline of white light draws itself out of thin air. The creaking of a door emanates through the map room, the steps of dress shoes hit the floor and the door closes shut behind.
"Jeff. I take it you have a lead."
"More of an idea. Need help narrowing down likely suspects."
>The tall faceless green entity shifts an eyeless gaze over at Torven before focusing on the mess of a map table, an identical colored hand scratching his chin.
"How far do you plan on going out?"
"If they can make it from here through conventional means, so can we."
"You know I'm not omniscient, nor omnipresent. If they went in an area I can't see or go, that's really it."
"Any trails you may know of would be helpful."
"Hmm. I'll see what I can do to help."
>A wingful of maps, some larger for full kingdom territories and smaller ones for regions, litter the table even more. It's depositor looks up at Jeff confidently.
"These are good places to check."
>Both human and human-like avatar begin sifting through the newest additions, the previous maps quickly being discarded and stacked to one corner of the table. The taller of the two began murmuring under his breathe.
"No... no. Too far away. That one's much too hostile."
"What about here?"
"... that might do."

[1d6+3 = 9]
[1d6+3 = 7]

[1d6+3 = 4]

[1d6+3 = 6]
<E. Cartography
[1d6+3 = 7]

[1d6+3 = 4]

[1d6 = 5]
<B. Geography
[1d6 = 3]

A Light Show -A Small Nuisance
The GM L.O.N.T
259043 259516
Ambush: +1 Token to Spruce

>As the party moved deeper into the bland tunnel, the walls with every step changed, dull monochrome became slightly lighter in colour.

>Adon saw in the corner of his eye that Golden Horns' ears twirled as the unicorn listened to his plan of prisoner delivery. His features furrowed in scepticism.
"The only thing I am at odds with this proposed plan Adon is the reality that you and Spruce are humans. This might complicate matters more than grant passage."
>He finished with his eyes squinting towards the sparkling object up ahead, its form covered in dazzling lights.

>As the Witcher concentrated on the obstruction in their way, his medallion began to softly vibrate his collarbone and stay at that light level of movement as he drew closer to the sparkling thing.
>He saw now it was the size of Golden, so an Equine at least. Its head and neck were larger in both width and height however. It reminded him of the bulbous head of a spoon head.

>The old unicorn fidgeted under Spruces’ bleak questions about their immediate future, a small yellow aura materialising to rapidly stroke his moustache. A force of habit perhaps.
"W-well I uh yes um-“
>He paused, grunting, clearing his throat of his stammering and to sound more confident.
"-A possible scenario that could occur if we are not careful, or we are unlucky when the time comes."
>Continued Golden Horn, his fidgeting ceasing now that some semblance of a plan was emerging.
"From what I can tell Spruce, this is our only idea at the moment. If I keep quiet and stop our little friend from making too much noise I think you and Adon could pull it off."

>At being referred too, the Chitqu turned its fluffy head back to stare at the two humans and the one unicorn, squeak, then turned its attention back to the shimmering object in front of them all.
"And as I said before, my one worry is that he might be too fixated on you being a human, Spruce."
>Golden said to the Operator, concern at the edge of his voice.

>Perhaps it was an errant twinkle or Spruce stared too long and hard at the dazzling object, but he could not see anything significant about it other than it being pony sized and having a really fat head.
>And all it cost him was having some stinging eyes for a moment.

>Golden too began to stare at the thing, the aura on his moustache moving to engulf his horn as he spread his awareness to gleam something about the groups obstruction before coming face to face with the it in this narrow corridor they were all in.
[1d6+2 = 7]
>B.arcane awareness
[1d6+2 = 6]

>The party was about 19 yards away from the reflective pony shaped thing now, it unmoving as a statue blocking their way forward.
>Although there was no sign of it happening, Adon and Spruce felt they were being watched, as if the object in their way was meeting their stares with its own more intense stare.
[1d6+3 = 4]

>Seemingly in response the Chitqu' began to puff its fur out to make itself look bigger and ergo scarier. Who would find it scary at all was the real mystery.
Karl "Spruce" Osmundsson
259516 266477

>The Norwegian looked between the golden, horse shaped glowing statue and the mustached unicorn, unsure what exactly to make of this strange phenomena before him.
>Was this the medieval equivalent of a security camera...?
"... Well, what if you made us look not like humans then? Is it at all possible we could fool him with some sort of magical disguise? I've got no idea how this magic stuff works, but pulling a trick like that would make Loki proud."
>He glances to Adon, the man who is apparently somewhat more familiar with magic than the soldier is.
"... Well, what do you think, Witcher?"
>He asks, before looking back towards the statue, then around the hall at anything else that may be around that they might have missed in their focus on this... Thing in their way.
"... Whatever this is, it's giving me a bad feeling, like we're being watched."

[1d6 = 1]
B. Perception
[1d6 = 6]

OIE: REG, Approx. One Month Behind Present Time
259544 259588 259591 259609 259627 259817
>While you were waiting for a radio message from Jeff, your time was currently occupied with either getting armor and weapons upgraded, equipment restocked, something to eat or drink (some of you, Everclear), or taking a nap.
>Krinza wasn't a sport about getting five different orders from five different operators at once, so some of your gear was either currently getting worked on or it was in que to getting worked on later.
>Finally, your peace and quiet was expectedly interrupted via your radio.
*"It's Jeff. Head to the command bunker. I'm pretty sure I've got a spot picked out."*
>The Witcher carefully mulls over Golden Horns concerns with his plan, as well as Spruce's.
"I'm sure a magically and alchemically mutated human would be even more of an interest. I've been prodded before where humans are the common, can't imagine how well I'm gonna fair in a world where humans are a rare novelty."
>It would also explain the mugging from earlier. He'll have to keep an eye on his gear where ever he plans to go from now on.
"As long as it can fool whatever's ahead of us, but if we get found our our first impressions are gonna be sore from here on."
>Speaking lightly, of course.
>But as they continued to move forward, the object ahead of them began to give definition to its silhouette.
>A warning stare pricked at his instincts, and he lightly felt his medallion's vibration with his left hand to gauge its intensity.
>His right arm and gloved hand began flexing for a sudden sword drawing.
"As long as we don't have to fight it..."
Citrine Blaze

>Citrine was near one of the entrances built into the walls that surrounded the human fortress, his cheeks extended as he chewed some food. He didn't really examine what it was he snatched from the Mess Hall but from the taste it was a pie with sweet apple chunks, seasoned carrot strips and a thick flaky crust.
>"Bucking score. Now to get the Tartarus out of here. I paid my debts so I ain't feeling sorry for leaving!"
>He thought, lips curling into a grin.

>The shimmering Crystal Pony was tip-hooving for the gate that led outside when Jeffs' voice blared into his unprepared ear.
>Neighing like a filly and falling onto his stomach, Blaze swallowed several times to get his food down his throat so he could respond in hast.
"R-right boss!"

>The last thing he needed was for anypony to notice his absence when they were looking for his flank. So he got up, sighed turned his back on the outside world for now. The clop of his trotting hooves were accompanied by rattling coughs, produced from the crust flakes stuck in the back of his throat.
Lucius the Weary
>Lucius stretches his limbs dramatically, groaning against the sloth still clinging to his body
>regretting deeply the parting of company with his warm bed sheets, he swings one leg, then the other, over the side of the wooden bed frame, resting and flexing briefly both tired feet and worn out toes on the splinter-prone floorboards below
"Sir Jeff is quite the slave driver, to be sure."
>the ranger scratches at his stubble for a moment before shrugging and rising bodily from his bed, strapping on his gear and muttering to himself
"Would have liked a few more hours' sleep..."
>he turns towards the door, striding forward and pushing the door open absentmindedly with the back of his right forearm
"Well, won't do to keep the master waiting."
>with this, Lucius sets out for the Command Bunker, his mind definitely still stuck on his pillow
>Noah was doing maintenance on the Dagor when the radio beeped
>The maintenance was basically getting bug guts out of the engine block and wheel wells
>Pulling a giant proboscis out, he threw it to the side before messing with his radio package and comm bead
"On the way."
>Giving another cursory look over the Dagor, he heads over to the rear to gets his vest and armor on
>Too hot to keep wearing the stuff but got to wear the uniform when duty calls
>He will leave his shield though as he leaves the garage for the Command Bunker
>He does sniff himself though
>Don't want to smell too much like insect
Hildemar Veiel
259817 260168
>Hildemar suddenly jerks his head up at the sudden voice interrupting him reading his scriptures and hastily written notes and conjectures on this world's magic.
>It is only after a few moments that he begrudgingly decides to answer, cursing this new technologythat serves only to interrupt personal matters.
*"Very well then."*
>The witch hunter's belongings are swiftly packed up and he once again dons his armor and his far more important hat.
>Before he can meet back up with his current boss, he stops at the dagor to collect the fancy small repeater he's been allowed to use.
>If he's on duty then he's taking his duty repeater over his own, much more cumbersome one.
>He follows the Noah to the command bunker and successfully suppresses a sigh at the sight of his current least favorite colleague.
>Not the worst by far, but the crystal vagabond was far from professional.
"Right then, where shall we explore today?"
LCDR. Nevil Wayne

>Nevil Wayne had an almost irrational amount of guilt over giving Krinza work for his behalf. He ALMOST decided to not improve his arsenal ... Until he thought more about it.

>He still had work to do. As much as he wished it, he still had future missions to look forward to - infact he was waiting to be called that very day; his 'squad' might count on him to have himself squared away to support them. Maybe this one improvement might even be the difference between an easy fight and a less easy fight,
>He'd apologize to Krinza in his own professional way. A resolute, but genuinely guilty tone in their voice.
"I'm very sorry, Krinza. I would not be asking for your services if I didn't think I needed it. If it matters at all, I appreciate what you do for us very much."

>Still. Despite everything, he always felt guilty asking anything from Krinza. He was always thankful, but he always felt more and more guilty whenever he came to ask anything. It felt heavy to ask for other's help now-days.
>Or so he thought, at least. In his head he was a burden to everyone. A byproduct of all his regrets. It's probably why he was always so thankful for everything, even the smallest of things, from others.

>He left his M3 pattern armor for Krinza so that they could work on it, leaving himself in his finely remade service uniform and advanced weapons when he'd saunter himself back outside.
>Of course, his "squad" had already dispersed to make use of their free time by that time.
>As for HIS use of free time... Nevil decided to go back to the second building of the barracks. Though not to nap, like others.
>He went straight to his assigned room to stow his trusty M41A and (mostly pointless) combat pistol, and satchel. Then his service uniform in the armoire. To transition into a more shower friendly nakedness, with a towel.
>He takes a "hollywood" shower of about 3 minutes. Mostly to unwind, and think back to what happened.

>He knew he fucked up on the last mission. Or rather, those under his command fucked up. He just hadn't watched them diligently enough.
> ... ... ...

>Before more bitter thoughts - before thoughts of the past could come back to haunt him, he shuts off the water and goes to dry up. brush his crewcut hair, shave for 5 minutes, wash his teeth.
>He makes sure his personal hygiene is well taken care of for the long day he expects to come.

>Though he still had an hour or so left, he wagered.
>So he returned to his room, put his undershirt and garments back on, and the uniform, helmet beside him so he would hear the radio... And... Sat down on his bedside for a long time. Elbows on either lap, hands between... While he's away from everyone else, behind closed doors where nobody would be bothered by his bad mood, he lets his face fall a bit more. Looking just a bit older. As his shoulders fall.
>His eyes went to his shoulder patch. It bore the USCM insignia. Still pristine as the day he was given it. Regularly cleaned, regularly maintained, like one maintains a dress uniform.

>He breathed an angsty sigh through his nose, and stood up to do his daily ritual. Which was to stand up, go to his locker, open it, and start re-reading the names of the bundle of 48 dogtags that composed the two platoons that fought by his side, once upon a time. On another Earth.
>Every, single, day, - whenever there was time - every morning, he committed those names to memory, and wrote a new letter to a family he would probably never get to see to deliver said letter.

>Without his knowing, 30 minutes would pass.
>He looked at the wall clock. Then hurriedly put the dogtags in their place, in the locker, and withdraws his weapons. Slinging on his M41A, clicking the belt buckle of his pistol holster rig, putting on the explosive's pouches on the velcro of the belt.
>He takes the somewhat heavily modified, cream colored M10 helmet and puts it under his arm, as he strides back outside with a slight hurry in his gait.
>At least his hair was properly dry now!

>He hadn't been called yet. But that didn't mean he had to linger.
>Looking around outside once he left the barracks, eyeing the other operators that there were and the ponies that might've been there.
>Specifically, a certain crystal pony. He spies them in the distance, as they wandered from the Mess Hall. But he just followed them with his glance, not following them.

>He made a beeline for the Command Center. Posting himself outside the front entrance in anticipation of a call. Until the call finally did come in.
>He didn't even chime into the radio, he just walked inside as he was already there. And reports to Jeff instantly, as soon as he'd see them.

>Nevil carried himself with a straight back and a more purposeful and confident gait now that he was in the command bunker. And despite the lidded, weary look of his eyes, he nods quickly to Jeff and gives them a salute in greeting. Resting one arm over the butt of his M41A, while the holds the helmet under the arm.
>He waits patiently. Waiting for the others to inevitably file in. Or for Jeff to address him.

260168 260606

"N' Noah's drivin' us in circles, skiddin' awl over th'place n' Nevil's yellin' SHOOT 'EM SHOOT 'EM n' Blaze's doin' his pony magic keepin' the bug bits outta the grill n' awl us together's showin' them thangs a preview o' bug hell!"

>Joel is getting near the end of his drunken, rambling explaination of his adventures with the RE-whachacallit.
>His friends form around Razorback are gathered around a table at the mess hall, listening and becomming increasingly unruly and drunk as the story reaches its climax.

"Ah tell ya'll, ah ain't felt so young in... Ah don't remember how long."

>Joel eventually notices the faint noise coming from the ear piece which long ago fell out.
>Raising his flask to his lips, he finds it

"Awraht, I guess that's prolly Jeff wants a word with us, Ah'll tell ya'll the rest later own."

>He scoops up Annabelle in his arms and thanks himself for giving his armor to Krinza, so at least he wouldn't have to hike down to the command center in full kit.
>Arriving at the command center, Joel finds his team has already arrived.

"Y'know Blaze, Hildemar. He wants ta explore lots o' places, an' awl of 'em got girls' names!"

>Joel slaps his knee and laughs uproariously, more proud of his joke than is reasonable.
OIE: REG, Approx. One Month Behind Present Time
260214 260267 260565 260577 260606
>Your near instant entrance made Jeff, hand still on his radio's broadcast button, turn his head at you reactively in surprise.
"Well then. Excellent timing, there, Nevil."
>Other than him, Torven was overlooking the map table Jeff was currently hovering over.
>Hanging in the back was the towering figure of the well-suited, blank-green faced man you've met on rare occasion. He initially gave you proper introductions to Tallus, and explained your predicament. He made the transition... easier.
"He posted himself outside for the last ten minutes, that's why. Greetings, Lieutenant Commander."
>Despite his faceless features you feel him give you a curt smirk and a two-fingered salute off of his bald forehead.
"Nevil, Krinza told me most of the upgrades you requested are a little too electronically advanced for him. I will handle them for you, later on."

>The rest of you make your way to the Command Center at your own paces, but you all end up arriving one after another.
>Upon making your way into the bunker, Nevil apparently beat you all there first. The others being Jeff, Torven, and a seven-foot tall green-faced man giving you a silent greet of acknowledgement.
>For those of you that weren't human- his face came of blank and mysterious, unable to read his featureless facade.
"Right. Now that everyone's here, time to unveil our next stop."
>Jeff reaches for an open map on the map table, and spins it around to orientate it so you can all read it on your end.
>The majority of the regional map mostly consisted of Saddle Arabia and outlying borders of other territories. One city in the southern end was circled, along with a red line drawn drawn over what looked like established railroad tracks. This trailed out of Saddle Arabia's borders, and towards the border of two regions on the South-Southeast corner of the map.
"Saddle Arabia. Neighmara, to be exactly. We're going to take a freighter train, southbound, to these two regions: Horsepen and Maren. There's a ley junction there dangerous enough to fit what we're looking for. Despite that there is some long history of activity going on there, even up to a few years ago. Problem is that its a lot of lawless, civilization-devoid, eldritch-filled territory so we're going to need to be extra prepared before venturing there."
>Jeff claps his hands together and looks at you all expectedly.
"Before I go any further and tell you the reason we're all doing this for, I need to make sure you're all in for the long haul. So if you want to back out, now's your final chance."
>Noah nods at Nevil, acknowledging his punctuality
>The rest files in and Jeff delivers his briefing, Noah following the map closely
>He did glance over at the seven foot faceless man
>Interesting garb he thought
>A freight train?
"Train got commissioned for this?"
>He then poured some thought into his ride and looked over at the map, seeing if the terrain is good for it
>Should be better really, with it being a desert
"Think we going to need the Dagor for this? And is there more wildlife to be wary of?"
>Hopefully the junction is consistent with it's telltale signs

Lucius the Weary
>His forest green cloak swirling about him, Lucius steps smoothly through the door of the command center
>He spares a polite nod at Nevil
"Good to be working with you again, Nevil. On time as usual."
>Jeff's expounding on their new objective and plan gets a puzzled look from the ranger
>Leaning on an elbow against a nearby wall, he groans at the mention of the train
"Another metal steed to bear us. I prefer my own two legs, but... I see the advantage of expediency in these cases."
>With a look, the ranger gets the attention of Jeff
"This place is a desert, yes? Then I'll have a job keeping myself hidden, if I need to hide. Should I arrange to have my colors altered to suit this environment? I am currently working with a set aimed towards forest environments."
>After this, Lucius resigns himself to leaning fully on the wall, arms folded in resignation
"I would not abandon this company, in any case. I'm in, for the long haul, as you say Jeff."
LCDR. Nevil Wayne
>Nevil seems to smile a little bit to the surprise he had elicited from Jeff. The Lieutenant Commander always looked a little bit tired one way or another, but for once Nevil couldn't help but look a little bit proud of himself - looking almost nostalgic as the dulled look in his eyes softens somewhat.
>Though that lasts only a few seconds. He quickly returns to a neutral expression; saying nothing mainly because the other, more (uncanny) familiar man in the room had clarified his methods.
>Anonymous manages to pinch out a smirk in return from Nevil, as the masked man is nodded too in kind and in earnest.
"Good to see you again, Anonymous."
>His response was dry in tone compared to his expressions.

>The knowledge that his request was complex for Krinza made the Lieutenant Commander purse his lip a little bit, and they could hear a slight sigh coming through his nose; drumming the butt of his advanced assault rifle with his fingers once.
"I see. I should've thought about that... Thank you again Anonymous, for all the help."
>Nevil gave another nod and a weak, but genuine smile, before quickly turning his glance more towards the map to give it some thought as well. See what location had been picked out in advance while the others are still coming.
>Quirking his brow slightly with interest when he recognizes the Region... But stays quiet, since they'll be informed soon enough.

>As Noah comes in, Nevil is quick to move his eyes from the map table and to him. They exchange a nod, giving him a silently pleased glance at having him there, even if he didn't smile.
>Nevil takes a step back to be more in line with the coming, familiar operators as they came in. Listening to the questions, but otherwise turning again as others come in.

>A greeting, slightly deeper nod is given to Lucius when he came in.
"Welcome back."
>Nevil simply said, in his indoor, soft-spoken voice. Then fell quiet as he briefly casts a glance back - expecting a certain Crystal Pony to be coming soon.

>Though his attention does move back to Jeff when the briefing begins.
>The Lieutenant Commander straightens subtly, then listens with rapt attention. The word 'Eldritch' elicits a reaction; a deeply pursed lip and a slight roll of his neck. Already expecting something.
>Despite the danger's involved, He doesn't even hesitate for even a second to reply.
"I am committed."
>Simply put, and matter-of-factly spoken. A resolute look in his eyes and a focused looking frown.

>And he had his own reasons to keep wanting to help Razorback.

Citrine Blaze

>One of Blaze's eyebrows cocked at seeing Nevil there first. He must of been in the Bunker when the call was made.
>Though that was nothing compared to seeing the tall green human with no bucking face!
>Mentally screamed Citrine at the sight of the big weirdo.

>Although Jeff talked, Blaze stared unblinkingly at the green giant as maps were unfurled.
>Eldrich filled?
"L-like this big human right?"
>Asked the stupor stallion as he pointed a hoof at the anonymous humanoid.

>The clap snapped Citrine back to reality. Back out? Really? Was he still dreaming? This could be it this could be how he can leave this place with no debts!
>He pursed his lips as he side-eyed the others. And gulped. So far everpony else was for it and for him to scoot out it would bring all eyes on him, especially Jeffs. He can still taste the stolen food on his dry lips.
"I uh, yoh yes I am for this."
>'who knows, maybe there is a lot of treasure lying around.'

Hildemar Veiel
>Hildemar’s gaze seldom left the faceless man as Jeff gave most of his briefing.
>Can’t trust anything you can’t look in the eye.
>He does perk up slightly and shift his attention when he heard about a more active ley junction in what sounds like horse araby.
>Although his decision was already made, Hildemar made a show of closing his eyes in thought before nodding in approval.
“I’ll certainly not be refusing opportunities to explore areas with abnormal flows of magic.”
>The possibility of purging foul, eldritch sorcery didn’t hurt either.

>The witch hunter turned toward and crouched closer to Citrine’s height once he was done stammering.
>He had done some thinking on how he treated the crystal vagabond as though he had spent every last bit on his hedonism.
>It was a not entirely accurate judgement.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I may have judged you a tad too harshly before and it would be an insult to my goddess to leave it be. I’m sorry.”
>Hildemar then stands back up and returns to his usual glaring.
“However, that does not mean you’re free to do it again.”

Disco Fever -A Small Nuisance
The GM L.O.N.T
Ambush: +1 Token to Spruce

>Golden Horn cracked open an eye slightly to look at Spruce as the magic swirling around his horn flashed with intent.
"I am afraid conjuring up disguises or illusions were not something I studied."
>He admitted’ voice low in concentration.
"The idea is sound sadly we cannot use magic due to my limitations, another practical way for subterfuge is needed. And I assume 'Loki' is some form of Trickster, Spruce?"
>He asked with a hint of interest in his hushed voice.

>At first Spruce could not see anything out of the ordinary, as much as that word applied to a depressing grey hallway where its stand out features were its square light sources embedded in the ceiling.
>He looked at the sparkling statue again. It was certainly in the shape of a pony yet its features were made of small shiny angular shapes that flashed randomly from refracting light.
>The Operators’ gaze led to the hooves of the statue and there, saw that there were instinct dark rings on the floor surrounding the hooves. The rings looked like they were made from a sudden discharge of energy, an explosion perhaps? There! On surface of the ceiling directly above the statue there was a similar marking too, however more faint than the ones on the floor.
"That would not surprise me Spruce, maybe Excelleon knows who and what we are already and is just observing us. For now..."
>Golden speculated grimly before closing his eye again.

>Vibrating from the chittering noise it was making the Chitqu slowly moved close to the reflective statue.

>With a pop the magic surrounding the old Unicorns horn was dispelled, leaving it slightly glowing from overuse. Golden sighed in slight discomfort as a hoof rubbed his horn soothingly.
"Knowing what I know about that deranged nutcase he will covet you, Adon. I do not wish to see that happening, no living creature should be used for experiments, no matter its level of sapience."
>He spat as his tail flagged in agitation. Sounded like he was resuming an argument he had rather than responding to the Witcher directly.

>The medallion in Adons' grasp was continuously vibrating with what could be assumed was the latent background magic exuding from...somewhere, either the shimmering statue or the hallway the Witcher could not discern.

>Upon reaching one of the hooves of the obstructing statue the Chitqu tapped on its surface with its paw experimentally. It squeaked, removed its paw, examined it then returned to patting at hooves’ sparkling skin.
>Golden watched this carefully, brow knitted in thought.
"We will not need to do such a thing Adon."

>Stepping tentatively closer to the statue, Golden Horns’ ears were flat against his head as he tippy-hooved nearer.
[1d6+1 = 5] >B.Stealth
[1d6+1 = 2]

"This used to be a pony all alive and well. Now they are this metallic golem. It reeks of displaced power. Whether they can be reverted back to normal I suppose only Excelleon would know."
>He swung his head to stare back at Adon and Spruce with worry at the edge of his features.
"I think we should traverse through this hallway by being a bit more discreet."




Naliyna_Remostrine_a_happy_gal Small.png

>Adon thought over Golden Horn's statement, grimly. If Excelleon was that much of an experimenter, he might be able to use it as a convenient distraction for the others.
>At the cost of his own well being, that is. He'd cross that bridge, if it came to that.
>His medallion only grew in intensity as they closed in on the statue, which of course was a clear warning to him.
>Maybe it was the golem they were steadily approaching.
>He did not like the look of that. Mages and sorcerers kept them and elementals as guard dogs, and most of the time they were made in the same way: by casting a heavy spell on an unfortunate individual. Usually it was someone that crossed them, HARD. Occasionally, an ex.
>But it was also a good sign, as they were normally reserved for a hideouts's inner sanctum. A last line of the defense.
>Oddly enough the chiqtu was able to get right up and touch the sentinel without reaction. Either the small animal wasn't big enough to be a threat, trip the security spell.
"Just another sign we're closing in on him. Huh, it didn't do anything. Maybe it's more of a warning? Remote activation, maybe?"
>The Witcher silently agrees to keep his discretion at its utmost, even though he still can't fully grasp the whole personal invisibility thing...
[1d6 = 4] <U.Stealth
Karl "Spruce" Osmundsson

>Spruce sighs in a bit of disappointment. It seems magic wasn't as limitless as he thought...
>Or well, this particular unicorn just wasn't that good at it.
"Yes... Loki is the trickster God in Ásatrú. The 'Old' Norse religion. As for other ways of subterfuge I uh... I'm a soldier, not a spy. I blow more things up than try to sneak into them."
>He explains as he looks over the... Statue in all of its strange. golden mystical glory.
>Given its look, he almost expected it to come alive at any moment and try to attack them, given his... Limited knowledge of such things.
>Though it wouldn't be too far out there from the things he'd seen already in this world...
"... He could, I don't see any cameras but i'm sure there's some way he'd have of observing us magically or something."

>Spruce double takes at the explanation that this golem used to be a pony, he blinks in surprise and horror.
"... This... This was a pony? By the Gods..."
>He mutters, in a bit of shock and horror.
>The Norwegian then frowns, starting to get a bit of an angry look in his eyes as he looks at the Golem, then back to Golden.
"This is a great crime. It should not go unpunished."
>He growled those words, sounding more than a little bit angry at the thought of such a thing.
>Still, he decides to play it smart along with the others and try and be a little more sneaky in his approach.

[1d6 = 5] <B. Stealth
[1d6 = 1]