/mlpol/ - My Little Politics

>>370747
"The best option between numerous poor choices? I would have to s- no, neither of those tracked models presents significant improvements over prior and later designs. Although I would enjoy having turrets, perhaps light sponsons would be more suitable-"
>Spinning around to sit on the screen's internal table, mini-Wild's antennae flick in distrustful motions while picking up the symbol in both hands.
"You are correct, Mom: the majority of Post-Industrial Era human worlds have done so, and it technically is a chemical symbol, one you may need to remember. Once the majority of my primary systems are.. replaced, I will provide you with a small handheld unit capable of detecting the majority of toxins, poisons, chemicals, radiation, Elemarentals, and most other hazards.
And I still need to entirely reconstruct my standard sensor arrays.."
>Watching the by-now familiar process of Wild fabricating mechanical components together outside, thin glowing lances from her tendrils aiding to fuse and shape hot steel together in large structural pieces from her wrist to deep inside the crumpled forearm.
"That Which Cannot Be Named is neither unstoppable nor a creature. I am also neither of those.
In simple terminology I am hybrid: five-eighths human, one-eighth pony, one-eighth Eldritch, and one-eighth mechanical. The majority aspects of my psyche and body are human-relevant mechanical. The functional aspects are Eldritch and equine, though I do not yet know the full extent of what that means."
>Attempting to flex damaged fingers and armored thumb, what succeeds is a few obnoxious grinding noises and erratic electricity running down poorly replaced filament cables.
"Primary positive reports: I'm not detecting Construct or potential hostiles within five miles above water surface. I would attempt to analyze the unidentified aerial contacts' transmissions but I do not believe they are a priority.
Primary negative report: I have definitely put my wrist together wrong and cannot move the fingers. It also burns a little... you're ALL getting replaced right now you STUPID LITTLE FUCKS!"
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Arcanum Sensor Array
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+12 = (5+12) = 17] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+8 = (4+8) = 12]
[1d6+15 = (2+15) = 17]
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (5+13) = 18]
[1d6+20 = (5+20) = 25] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-8

>Furiously stabbing into the clusterfuck of misshapen components, the left screen's view returns to a zoomed in forward focusing camera view, little more than ash-covered sand and waves ahead for the next miile, increasing her pace with each heavy footfall.
"Secondary positive reports: we will be clear of smoke and smog conditions within ten minutes assuming I am able to reach thirty miles//sixty kilometers per hour-"
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5] <M.Nuclear Walk
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5]
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8]

>>370748
"Krinza is about to exchange precisely one hundred thousand Bits to acquire six pounds each of the most common four Elemarental steels and ten pounds of whitesteel. If he had access to the Dragonspine Mountains, or... the Diamond Dog Dens, the cost would would be one-twentieth or so what it is current.
'Making do with the shit I have to put up' seems to be his forte. Much like my teacher was in two mareners."
>Unbothered by the amount that would be more than enough to buy at least five fully completed and furnished castles, Helping places both glowing titanium straps on Krinza's anvil, affixing forehooves to the ends of both and pulling them out slightly, horn covered in spiraling sigils that were quite familiar.
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <E.Crafting
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] <E.Enchanting
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11] <E.Smith
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+8 = (5+8) = 13] <Eidetic Fundamarentals

>Letting go of the straps after half a minute, then placing each on the furnace's edge, the large unicorn turns a subdued, angry visage inwards.
"An abominable state of existence. Power must be used to benefit all in tune, not the dissonant or disconnected few. That is the precise reason why my species has ingrained itself to guide, teach, discover, and rediscover, not to seize authority, control, or dominate. Excluding the Germaneighans of course, they have few such leanings."
>Turning a quarter around to face the central tables, his left front hoof points southwards, a large, thick red and gray volume streaks towards him.
>Opening to one of at least a baker's dozen bookmarks, then pausing, Helping makes a deep, sincerely apology frown.
"This is not.. I did not intend to summon your personal difficulties to the conscious forefront."
>Glancing upwards, then back to you with a sour expression, he presents an upturned, bent right hoof; a sign of painful regret.
"My apology will not be enough, but perhaps these may provide a few leads:
Across the Moors there is an archaic, informal organization known as the Cult of the Dark Horse. The majority is of course batponies, and smaller number of Ferron pegasi from most of their clans and sub-clans. They are primarily scholars and researchers that study the Moors' history, though often delve into the unknown.
I believe Tidelock Bog in the Deep Moors is home to their headquarters, and Cairn Wharf is a large trading port where marely of them go to trade finds.
There is however a small fortress-town by the name of Inshore Drains, or similar, that was recently reclaimed, recovered, and rebuilt. Torven has spoken of it numerous times as a place that Cult's explorers meet often."

>>370749
"I will know whether those are true or not soon enough-"
>As Mercy leaves, the feral batpony-Construct drifts over and down left to take up a non-herded stallion's traditional escorting position, pearlescent right eye and right ear rotating towards you, then returns its attention forwards.
>The face creases, right wingclaws stretching out and lathing a small, flat overlay of triangular symbols between it and you.
>....which you couldn't read.

>Gliding over 400M before landing into a fast trot, your first idea was well founded: hide everypony in the trees, just like the Viet Pon do!
>Though, the sheer numbers of unicorns, earth and Crystal Ponies, and humans would take at least a quarter hour to find enough space, let alone create, assemble, or move defensive positions onto.
>What you knew of the Moors Restoration Project from Shanis was that a human from Razorback had acquired enough trust, connections, funding, then military and civil assurances from most the Lunar factions, sub-factions included.
>With the human providing limited tactical aid, entire battlelines of 2,000 to 5,000 mixed batponies, Ferron, unicorns, with support from the Minotaur Hegemony, earth ponies from the Dragonspine Mountains, and a few that weren't publicly known, including Tartarus Isle's Psions and Arcane Blades, had cleared virtually all of the known Moors habitants,
>Carefully, or outright violently, claiming hundreds of older pathways, roads, outposts, towers, towns, cities, and much more, the sudden population 'increase' from rediscovered batpony colonies, and a few Ferron villages, had created such an excess of trade potential that Stalliongrad, Prance, Neighsia, and Germaneigh were still, politely, competing to place neutral outposts for exotic goods and food.
>The path you were currently on was definitely Psion-reconstructed, and knowing how Lunars mixed and matched defensive structures when possible, there would be a massively reinforced five level pegasi watch tower every half mile, a three level batpony tower every two miles, and a two level outpost between each.
>Of course, the second and third were probably already being used for fruit, vegetable, leaf, and edible insect storage, along with the various unusual swamp finds... but mostly sleeping batponies.
>Intersections between paths and roads were hoofled differently, usually by a pair of heavily armored three, four, or possibly five level barrack-garrison opposite each other, intended to act as functional miniature villages, storage depots, and clinics.
>While the gnarled hardwood trees would provide cover for the less mobile long ranged forces, it was considerably more advantageous to lure the Riftseeker out into a difficult section of swampland surrounded by flora where the more specialized Psion and Crystal pony forces could, theoretically, trap it.

>Sinking into the deeper, lesser used Void spectrums with ease and reaching a comfortable four-point run, the batpony-Construct retains its escort duty; upon that realize it perceived Mercy and you as an ally, otherwise the herd-state wouldn't have allowed it to know where you were.
>Pearly white eyes gleam as they narrow, the corners tinged by faint orange glows.
[1d6 = 2] <???
[1d6+2 = (2+2) = 4] <Pegasi-Derived Defensive Methodology: Ally-Defense Engrams
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Protective Flight-Formation
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Expanded Physicality Engrams
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11] <Construct Realspace Scanning Protocols
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12]

>>370764
>Sunny eyed the triangles, possibly some form of written language for lack of a better term. She flashed the Batstruct the pegasi sign for non-comprehension and followed it up with a curt response.
"I do not understand."
>What it was attempting to communicate would have to remain a mystery to her, Mercy could clearly understand it due to their bond, but lacking the same kind of in-depth knowledge, Sunny could not.
>She racked her brains regardless for a scrap of any remotely related knowledge to Construct symbols, glyphs or sigils. Obviously they had something to represent data that they transmitted between themselves, and this had to be an expression of that.

[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] < Pupil Researcher
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] < Junior Constructs
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]

>There was really little for her to do except gallop. No overherd contact, no way of knowing when it would reestablished, if it ever was. No way of knowing if the Basin Village defense had succeeded. For all she knew, they were all dead, or they'd recovered the Harpy vessel and made a run for it.
>If the overherd was being jammed, odds were that human radio transmissions were as well, or Mercy's radio lacked the necessary range to get in contact now that the relay had been shut down. Though it couldn't hurt to try.
>She touched a wingtip to the unit.
*"Any on this channel, respond, over."*

[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] < E.Sprint
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]

>>370759
(Mission accomplished.)

>José nodded softly with a smile at the various welcomes from the tablegoers, letting out a stifled yet genuine chuckle at Trakkel's attempt at humor.
>It's shocking so many natural comedians come from a military background of some kind.
>That, or he was easy to amuse.
>Considering the endless barrages of stress that the usual operator apparently goes through, that might be an advantage.

>Blinking twice, Gallo soon hummed pensively at mister Gorbjeumson's insight on notable events.
"I don't think I have, though I did have to throw a molotov at a poison ball thing before the attack happened, so I wouldn't outright dismiss her claim."
>A somewhat uneasy smile soon came through, being reminded of what apparently was one of the deadliest sanity hazards in the base from what he recalled.
"Hopefully after some time she'll recover with the right equipmarent. They seem qualified."

>>370762
"The best option between numerous poor choices would be to keep them as strictly parade vehicles."
>Thinking on that for a moment, I quirk an eyebrow.
"We can consider that once we're back home and safe."
>
"Also sponsons would probably look ugly on you. Machine gun ball turrets would probably be a lot better."
>Shrugging, I look her mini self in the eye thing.
"Close enough to a creature for me, so you and your... partial father, are creatures."
>frowning a little at the mention of transmissions, I think for a moment.
"It... Might be a good idea to analyze those transmissions. Might be someone from Razorback, or at the very least someone that isn't a construct."
>It could be a distress call, for the luck we've gone through today.

>>370760
>Making no attempt to hide another mareish inspection, the sense that you were being appraised holding a variety of weapons, in various positions no less, sets in until Katyal nods.
"Huh. Pretty wiry, compact, great potential's high.. halberd would suit you more, got the right build and center of balance to master one."
"Dul say human-stallion have good shape!"
>Openly surprised at the Planar faux-mare's exclamation, Katyal tries to turn that into a blank look, which becomes a mildly lecherous half-grin.
"So does that mean you like him?"
>Ears twitching at the oddly toned question, Dul's left forehoof lifts, though sets it down after a few seconds, blinking in puzzlemarent.
"...what? Dul not know what you mean."
"Oh for th- nevermind, it's not important right now~"
>Head turning towards the driver compartment door, a deliberately faux-jealous wink is given, one that had the potentials of untold suffering and frustration, before stuffing the towel into her bag.

"Nothing like a breach in reality dude, not even close. She must've taken massive injuries and seen a large number of losses tonight, otherwise this wouldn't be happening right now. In short, she's putting the scholar and dam aside for the killer and ruiner."
>Returning to her earlier critical nature, Katyal pulls on her armored clothing with ease, rapidly glancing over each grenade, tapping pins, then rummages through pouches.
"Red signifies Blood, purple is Void, and blue is Moon. In purely equine terms, meanings, and representations: protect one's kin, destroy all known enemies, and ensure safety when task one and two are completed.
Or if you want the quick and dirty version: every single Lunar pony is now waiting for their goddess to be aided into her 'other' state of existence. Only problem is I'm not sure there's a single pony accepted enough by the Lunar gestalt to 'help' her."
>Halted from inspecting a claymore at the name, the woman becomes entirely rigid, muscles coiling under her skin as she speaks in a thin, close equivalent to controlled equine rage.
"If any of us survive this fucking mission, the survivor, or survivors, had best track that witherstabbing three-faced murdering cunt down and skin her alive."
>Returning to normal and resuming her checking, Dul's ears flatten, taking a cautious step backwards, head lowering in outright submission, though perks up when she realized the target wasn't her.

>Finding no object out of place, replaced, toyed with, or missing, the sapphirine helmet's interior was covered in diagrams and branching displays.
>Shutting down irrelevant or tertiary ones, Shiibo relays a number of useful, interesting, unusual, dangerous, and cursed flora from the Overlander's datacore within the environs, maing a sour face.
'This region is too distant from the five intact Warp Gates and Razorback's technical claim on the Northern New Everfree; harvesting inadvisable at this time.
Thirty-five percent of local flora have exceptional value for alchemical purposes, twenty-two percent are renowned for increasing potency of the prior, another nine percent were specifically known by the Lunar Druids. Status of their.. organizations: unknown. They vanished during the early 29.400's, approximately six hundred years prior to now.
All names originate from the Early to Late Dynasty Eras. Hodch has stated that the meanings are physically unknown and cannot be translated as the Dynastic speech is esoterically compressed. It is an easily taught memetic engram language, sir, but there are none capable of teaching or sharing it.
Except for Marquis du Spiral Disclosure.'
>The avatar's lips purse once, swiveling to face you in a strict at-attention pose.
'A significant amount of information has been provided by Hodch and Lonestar. In addition, all open and decrypted data contained within Razorback Fortress has been collated, processed, analyzed, and summarized. Hodch has a.. theory. One that you will not like and sharing will likely cause irrecoverable damage to Razorback's standing towards.. specific factions.
I am hereby requesting clearance to classify all compartmentalized data related to Marquis du Spiral Disclosure until this operation is completed and Hodch is able to fully explain his suspicions.'

[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <E.Driving: Slow and Steady
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8]
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <ExoTech Optronic Particle Scanner
*"Nothing. Not a damned thing in a gigantic fucking deadfall except a big hole dug out, boulders, and a bunch of.. what are those exactly?"*
*"Erit-lon vura sporevines; a vine-fungus that fruits in late summer. Unless in an environmarentally sealed armor, or happen to be immune to its toxins, so much as brushing one with a feather will result in a grave needing to be dug. Quickly.
Similar to a hard shelled rind melon, the spines must first be burnt off, and the rhizome like creeping buds contain a natural anaesthetic of similar potency to dampener with fewer negative side effects, though takes a great deal of care to avoid contaminating or destroying the extract.
The flesh tastes decent as a bonus, though the inner proto-seed pseudo-flesh contains a highly poisonous, slightly flammable sap that.. ...right."*
*"Damned good cover then?"*
*"Quite."*

>>370760
>>370769
>Retaking the troop compartment's center to continue her odd taffy-like exercises, seemingly binding her Planar physicality more coherently to agreeable Tallus spectrums, the Siren returns a confused, quick and negative head shake.
"Dul not need Dul Vortex stuffs for megacycles. If Dul not get banish, Dul stay but hurt lots. If Dul banish, stay in Dul Vortex long time. Dul.. not know how to say thinks."
>Looking up from replacing her belts and holsters, you.. sense Katyal's awareness reaching towards the purple pseudo-earth mare, then backing off, making a slight hand and finger gesture indicating the topic was touchy.
>Setting her jaw firmly for a second, a direct transmission opens, Shiibo automatically accepting it, the woman speaking in a pained and irritated manner.
*"Sorry, I should've explained this earlier to you. And, uh, this isn't something to talk about in the open with most Planars. Sorry again.
Basically all Planar beings are crippled from banishmarent, which is when a native invokes Tallus to remove them. Even if she does resist being banished it'll harm her badly, then she'll need the Vortex's deep essences to recover. Unless you know an Emissary or she finds herself near one, they can restore their kin quickly.
If she can't resist being banished the harm is considerably less. Should be able to summon her from the Vortex after an hour or two without much concern."*
[1d6 = 6] <Planar Adapt: Tallus

>>370400
>The Enginseer's noospheric presence briefly crackled with an intense excitement at the mention of 'Pre-M2' Terra by the twins.
>She briefly sends a small signal to awaken the micro-cogitator's machine spirit to consult it's data-crypts, to see if it and her own memory even contained knowledge of such archaic concepts--as it was not relevant for her duties as an Enginseer.
>The lack of emotional cores to stifle her emotions becomes progressively more felt as the feeling of elation at learning new things becomes stronger and more exciting. It was difficult for her to maintain discipline within the small noosphere they shared, constantly shifting with bursts of emotional responses while she attentively soaked information.
>It was almost a blessing when Tox-11 shuts it down, as only when the twins went back to work could she begin to re-establish order and discipline within her mind.

>Just in time to receive the warning signals from the clash between system interactions, and have her attention swept--her curiosity reignited almost immediately, though feeling a touch of deeper concern from the Mechanicus Codes, shortly before they were dismissed.
>"Perceiving" the form of such a Necron, even digitally, makes her immensely conflicted. She knew it's nature already, but being shown an image taps into that innate fear embedded deep into her mind, that even she could not fully shake.
>She knew little of Necrons, but enough to understand that they saw humanity as insects and were at the highest tiers of threat level. And yet... One bowed to her? It showed her even a modicum of respect? Was this real?

>The Enginseer felt strange, doubtful of how to feel, in a way words could not describe; but curiosity convinced keeps her drawn in, examining the difficult and alien coded imagery closely with her mind's eye and the Low Gothic it used to talk to her.
>Tapping into her surface-level knowledge of appropriate nobility etiquette, she did her best to acknowledge it with her own coded image of her noospheric avatar graciously giving a curtsy in return.
>A part of her acknowledged the "wrongness" of human and Necron exchanging these gestures, communicating with anything more than contempt for eachother. It was surreal; bizarre in the extreme as it was unlikely given their differences.
>And yet here they were.
(Learn. Adapt. Repeat. My parent taught similar values...)
>There is a nanocycle of silence; a profoundly rueful silence.
(I will never cease my efforts, that much I can promise. But I fear I could never guarantee if I will survive long enough to see that day of communion.)

"Canterlot Underground and Pathfinder object identifiers..."
>Mallia's echoing of Raindrop's words oozed with an obvious curiosity, the enginseer's eyes glinting almost childishly as she made eye contact with the knight.
>Though there is almost a full second where a look of sadness lingers in her eye; entering her gaze almost unprompted, a transient thought from a conversation Raindrop could not see.
>It only lasts a single second before it is tugged away by the buzzing swarm of insects hanging around the hangar, prompting the Enginseer to raise an eyebrow and do a double-take towards it.
>Mallia's brow furrows ever so slightly with a touch of mild concern, before she turned her gaze fully back to Raindrop--then down to her own slightly trembling hand as it touched and held the knight's forehoof.
>Nonetheless she listened with rapt attention, looking up ever so slightly as she notes the mare's expressions--the acceptance in their eyes.
>And Mallia reciprocates their acceptance with a grateful glance, and a heartfelt little smile that tugs up her very pale face.
>Though she can't help but quirk her brow somewhat at the grin she received from Raindrop...
>... And teases a little chuckle from Mallia.
"Pffheh~!"
"What a fascinating proposition! And with such a strange grin to go with it too."
>Mallia's shakes her head slightly, then starts to settle from a kneel down to a sit. Crossing her legs while her hand lingers under the mare's forehoof. The Enginseer's mechadendrite slowly tucking itself near her back by the side of her sternum where it was connected.
>Mallia holds a brief second of silence, just looking at the equine before her, giving the option some thought in her head. And examining the knight's eyes, seeking the honesty and seriousness that would help her understand just where this was all coming from.
>The moment she thought about it, the more she realised how unworthy of Raindrop Raspberry she was.
"... Am I really worth that much though?"
>Mallia asked, her voice softening greatly all of a sudden. The glint of mirth fading from her blue eyes despite the lingering, albeit weakening smile on her face.
"I mean, are you not concerned? What if I'm a disappointment? Would I not..."
>Mallia's voice trails off, mouth lingering open. Her lip wrying sharply as she realises that she was ruining what should've been a good time.
>She takes a deeper breath, and sighs it out softly, rubbing the side of her head wearily.
>Yet her hand doesn't abandon Raindrop's forehoof yet, even though her grip falters ever so slightly.

>She scrambled for something to say that might get them back on track, that might cover up her lapse in strength.
"I-, Uhm-..."
>…Her voice only getting impressively weaker as she struggled to even pretend to be happier than she was.

>In that moment, she wished she could send her cognition into the sanctum of her micro-cogitator's data-crypts and the small noosphere created by the Inquisitorial retinue; to just cease to exist for a few cycles. But she knew that was her cowardice speaking.

"What. does. being my marefriend mean anyways?"

>>370725
>"Lost most of Righty but still have a few blades on Lefty, might need to cut her head off. Again."
>Ears swiveling at a rush of movemarent behind her, Twisted's eyebrows wriggle several times at you, then snaps around in the vague scene, leaving an excellent posterior view of her slow-trotting away as the Heart's Touch connection fades.
>"Got to try at least. You stay safe, gonna need those hands back on these-"

>Nodding in a short, firm motion, the Vanguard's neck armor shakes, voice caught between stressed and curious.
"We've read every single Rift Plane related report across Tallus in the past two thousand years, even copied most Otherworld Harpy texts from the Vigil. They did report transmissions of... sorts, triangles in a few thousand shapes, similar to most in our own records.
Every single time Constructs make a 'change' we end up losing half a military or more. If they have learned to speak with us, does that also mean they can learn to lie?"
>Silverine helmet swiveling partway to inspect the intact Assault Vanguard taking position in front of a large translocation matrice, the lead stallion returns, snorting irritably.
"And of course this is the perfect time to start THIS again.. Planars make up four of the five hardest targets to bring down and Constructs haven't moved off number one since they showed up.
But now we don't know which is worse: the possibility they've been communicating all this time, or we haven't found the right method to understand them. Then again we're all probably idiots. Not as if that's going to change much now. Excuse me for a momarent-"
('RIGHT NOW, REALLY!? COULD ALL OF US NOT?! THERE'S A MAXIMUM THREAT TARGET TO ENGAGE AND A PAIR OF CONSTRUCTS WE MIGHT HAVE MET BEFO-')
>Cut off by the weight of lesser, standard, and Moderatis-rank Psions devolving into herd-sided counter-specializations against potential behavioral patterns, the Assault Vanguard leader's Impact Seal crackles threateningly over his head.

>Climbing up Basin Village's cratered southern entrance, the large number of surviving Chargers separate into similar body size squadruns before the first large barricade, now lead by a particularly upbeat Lunar Guard equipped with a set of heavily serrated, Void-infused kanpri hoofclaws.
>Lancers that had been prepared to stall the entrance reform into elongated wedges, lighter mares and stallions on the flanks, heavier individuals center to rear.
>It takes a second to recall the unorthodox Rushyan Killcharge Formation, never used against small targets, and mostly pitted against flightless raptoroids, steppes or high plains post-herbivore Malformed, and the rare tunneling Elemarental wurm.

>Sparing a glance towards the Basin's fountain, white robed Watch Guard Strikers were returning in double ranks, Lunar aligned unicorns placing the corpses of self-sacrificed batponies across the saddles of each pair.
>Each pair performs a deep bow towards the Dark Horse cultist, still unconscious half-atop the altar, now surrounded protectively by intact Bloodhosts, before making a wide curve and proceeding directly north in solemn, individual funeral processions.
>Faint, bittersweet tastes through the overherd ahead of the first burial Strikers pick up through the imprints they were attempting to ignore: an older pre-Lunar-Solar War Killknight, now permarenently released from time's grasp.
>Heavy Siegemare ExoFrame's chest armor, lower neck, barrel, and wither plates had shattered while attempting to blunt the Solar Airstrike Guardian Captain's wing strikes; he had succeeded in death first, but a thin, narrow smile was visible on the archaic mare's burningly cold lips.
('Don't touch the sparkling ice or you'll lose a hoof at minimum, and sompeony get those Crystal Empire forces in, we don't need to lose Basin Village because we can't remove her.. Rime is starting to seep out, keep eyes on it-')

>Twinned, massive blows against air ring southwards, the first giant Bloodhost leaping off the hostel's roof, wings flapping several times to gain altitude.
>Boiling crimson diamond-slitted eyes flicker in your direction, the majority consciousnesses grinning briefly, then takes up a heavily titled circling position, the Bloodhost collective waiting for opportunity.

>>370750
>Interrupting the Moderatis Shieldmare, the lead Assault Vanguard's eyes roll behind thick diamondine lenses, focusing between you and the leadmare in slight annoyance.
('We know. And, Starborn, for future reference: non-compatible human technologies such as that should either be left unused or outright classified. We do not want or need easily, what's the term.. 'hacked'? Thank you, forms of communication. There's much better out there. That is unless someponies want to figuratively but possibly literally screw five hundred plus factions.')
>Figuratively throwing the indirect accusations and insults in New Canterlot's direction, a pair of Mind's Eye coalesce above you, staring down unblinking, the Overherd's majority watching.
('No, I will not accept that as evidence. Such can only be from a... a Rift symbiote, or whatever you degenerates call them.')
>Shrugging inside his armor, the older Vanguard stallion nudges several mares with sharper memory than his own, reviewing the pair of odd Constructs that sought out Mercy and Clemency.
('I'll admit my share of kinks.. unlike you egotistical wannabe purists, the willing and unwilling herd-followers that don't refuse orders, or any of that whole brain dead supremacy movemarent. But, you are dead wrong: THESE are Rift symbiotes.
Please note the weaponization processes and individuality-matching characteristics. None of us have a single clue why the white pegasi's variant is.. like it is, and believe me we've studied thousands of them.
Master Clemency's on the other hoof is obviously intended to deal with targets that he previously did not have counters to. Difficult to explain but also needs a certain depth of.. lacking equinity to understand. Which we don't.')
>Producing a highly redacted, still image of two giant, weapon covered spheres tilted at a forward angle of approximately 15 degrees each, volleys of bright orange plasma, strange red-brown and brown-red tipped missiles, green wavelength laser systems, large shrapnel canisters, and solid square projectiles streaking out of view, the leadstallion's hostility peaks.
('THOSE are the Argus Behemoth-Destroyer pair most of us saw during Kenfield Pass, so don't fucking deny that recording isn't evidence! Do that EVER again and I will have an actual problem with you, Shieldmare!')
>Helmet dipping in her direction for a split-second, barely coherent flickers pass between the two before he stands upright, about-facing to, with a jovial mood, marentally shout at the Assault Vanguard's groups arguing towards each other.
('UH, HELLO?! COLT-CHASERS AND FILLY-FLINGERS ALIKE, THERE'S AN UNKNOWN, NEVER BEFORE SEEN, STUDIED, AND RIPPED APART RIFTSEEKER OUT THERE SOMEWHERE! ISN'T THAT MORE IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW?!)

>Opening the TacPad up once more and beginning to examine the Moors Fauna's reptilian pages, your hand comes to a halt recalling Princess Luna's request shortly after Razorback Fortress was completed.
>The bright yellow four-eyed, heavily mutated Emerald Drake variant inhabiting Basin Arena was, somehow, able to kill hundreds of Moor cats, themselves long known for slipping between or into Void spectrums without being noticed by unicorns, and equally adept at passing through solid matter.
>Briefly thinking back on the encounter, if it hadn't been for everyone expending nearly all of their explosives in the first ten seconds, then Twisted Wing presenting herself as a prime target, that squad would have definitely suffered a few losses, if not all excepting the Enchained.

>Leaving Iron to his own thoughts, the most experienced Operator from each rank nods in unison, hand signals directing each reloaded squad to take position.. and ignore the fountain.
('Move it boys and girls, we aren't done yet')

>Examining the piles of expended brass, shells, heavy caliber and light cannon casings scattered in front of Razorback's barricade, the few heavy ordnance carriers were less noticeable among the wealth of standard weapons.
>Reloadable rockets, missiles, and grenade launchers were one to eight on average in squad compositions; from one to four reloads per each remained, and resupply was either going to be nonexistent or required Anon's return.
>Standard munitions were plentiful, less than a fifth of boxes or crates opened, scattered as they were throughout the human line, yet only a few, excluding yourself, had long range anti-armor capabilities.
>Counting the antitank and anti-aircraft weapon bearers, then calculating against a Construct copying the drake at three times the original's size.. the odds were exceptionally poor.

>>370754
>Holding her stare for five thin seconds, the blackened steel armor dips in a short bow, then jerks sideways, attempting to quell a argumarent among her kin.

>Giving up on the semi-orderly conflict, the Councilierge Vanguard leadstallion sighs, silverine helmet tilting at the Ethereal Golem clambering out of the Basin's cratered entrance to stand upright, bucketed head swiveling among quintuple lines of 100 Chargers each.
"Just be glad none of their subordinates showed. Arrogant stiff-necked robots, golems, freaky shellfish bastards.. or those fucking Wisps-"
>Head rearing back as if to spit, halting to think, he settles for a small, insulted growl, turning and clanking around the fountain towards the northmost translocation matrices, pointedly avoiding the Bloodhosts still gathered.
"What a night this turned out to be. 'Just a real quick mission' and 'nothing bad will happen' Her Majesty's flanks, gonna start an orchard if I live through this...
HAY! HAVEN'T ANY OF YOU BEEN LISTENING?! GET THE CRYSTAL EMPIRE FORCES HERE RIGHT NOW, THERE'S A KILLKNIGHT THAT FOUND AN HONORABLE END AND HER ARMOR'S FAILING, IT CAN'T CONTAIN THAT MUCH RIME LONGER THAN TWO MORE MINUTES!
SOMEPONY CAPABLE OF FLYING GO OUT, FIND THAT YOUNG NEW GODDESS, AND MAKE SURE SHE ISN'T GOING TO BE REBORN LIKE MOON IS!"

>First and second to find translocation matrices not in use, two medium armored Imperial Warden platunes streaming out of the east and westmost mediums, a full squad of Kingdom Wardens sneaking in with them, a selection of heavy twin-beam carrying Free Knights from a number of small matrices, then... you weren't sure what, but there were definitely cloaked, floating ponies between some.
>The pair of large matrices open up, a stream of highly customized ExoFrame Task Force mares stomping out, crystalline weapons of every variety singing aloud, the other releasing a profound variety of Conclave Knights, at least one from each major lineage, nearly a quarter carrying older, small saddle or barrel-mounted turrets based on Late Dynasty models.
>Waiting patiently for their turn, hulking forms of Crystal-Hegemony Minotaurs are forced to duck into gateways, standing up and striding out, massive and various polearms on the right shoulder of each, heavy crystalline bows slung on the left, full hardpacks of arrows on their backs, and at least four smaller weapons each.
>Last was what had to be all of the Unicorn Spireguard's Elite:
>Archaic Solar and Lunar emblems and heraldry adorn helmets, chestplates, crests, and side-slung shields; perfect condition or barely used Lunar-Solar War Era weaponry, all eight older types of diamondine, paladine, kanpri, Elemarental steel composites, make up the majority, reality visibly warped around most.
>Even a few probably stolen Late Dynasty silverine examples were in use, originals from what you could tell.
>Settling into close ranks, the crystal-unicorn descendants of banished nobility and royalty examine Basin Village, helmets rotating to hum out song-orders.

>Doing her best to ignore the Empire's forces, Councilierge Assault Vanguard, and the name-lost Watch Guard General carrying Vestal Gardena towards the Basin's restaurant, the lead Shieldmare's frustration steadily decreases.
('Find even the smallest space on the edge of their.. lightning field, I suppose it is. No, too small and I will not risk ponies falling off a pegasi tower! No? No, nnn.. not enough space there. No, that is not close enough. I-')
>Head cocking, her thought patterns drift outwards briefly, returning to give a positively approving snort.
('The closest location is a pair of.. bat-caves, several wooden stalls in front.. of course they fell asleep building them.
Location is.. approximately fifteen miles east and three miles north of Basin Arena. Void spectrums are quite thick there, risk of contamination is low.. we think.')

>Overherd turning to face the translocation matrices, each opens into a vine and flower wrapped dark purple gateway, the flora relatively common Central Moors species.
('They're edible? Interesting, I would li- ..no, later. Ten squads needed: five Chargers, Lancers, Lunar Guard unicorns, and preferably Minotaurs to scout forwards.
If all clear, enter in this order: Lunar and Watch Guard first, Night and Day Guard second, Councilierge third, Crystal Empire, Kingdom, and Conclave last.
Mares, ensure that Void breaches do not occur. Even IF the chances are low, we do not need to be dealing with thornfrayers, bladefiends, scragsails, Voidstalkers, blackretch, or worse.')
>Quickly playing the classic game of hoof, snout, and tail across the Overherd, the lightest and most experienced winners from each selection collectively skitter forwards to taking up first position, though have to vocally ask the unusual crystalline Minotaurs to join them, at which those with the largest horns stomp forwards.
>Collecting in front of the matrices, the shared view showed two brand new, well armored and veritably giant four-level buildings across from each other, the shape closer to a storage barn than much else, compressed black granite making up the entirety of everything except blackened steel supports.
>Thick diamond triple-paned windows with wide interior and exterior ledges were set at absolutely random locations among the four levels, serving as landing and lounging zones both; while the rooves couldn't be seen, most Lunars agree it would be covered in hatches.
>A nearly 80M in diameter stone circle divides the technical-caves, still emitting faint, thin trails of green Psionic energies, and batponies lounged, slept, were setting up, waiting being, atop, or around finished, half-finished, but mostly not even put together trade stalls.
('If they're not worried, then: scouts, hop in and begin recon.')
>Ten squads of twenty skitter, sneak, creep, and lumber forwards into the trading outpost-garrison, each eager to be the first, excepting the Minotaurs whom could not connect to the Overherd.
[1d2000 = 1724] <Local Threat

>>370769
>Pareidolia turns his head at Dul's comment, slight confusion and doubt mixed on his face.
>Immediately realizing Dul lacks the social/cultural awareness to understand the implications of her statement, he opens his mouth to speak but is headed off by Katyal's teasing.
>He sighs internally and gives Katyal an unamused look as he walks back to his locker.

>As she elaborates on the nature of the Lunar phenomenon, he finds himself recalling his first and hopefully last experience on the Citadel.
(With standard conduct like that, it's unsurprising the Lunar gestalt would be difficult to find unity in. Always this trouble with gods. Can only hope human involvement with Jeff and Clemency doesn't worsen the prognosis. Can never be certain with humans... )

>Blinking in acknowledgement of Shiibo's report, he replies.
"Granted. I already didn't like this operation but we have no choice. Hodch is the best source of information we have for relevant findings to Spiral's retrieval."
>Subconsciously listening to the description of yet more hellish flora outside, he idly feels the neck lining of his helmet seal.
(No decon room here. Retrieval inadvisable.)

>>370773
>Seeing Dul's consternation, he raises and waves a gloved hand in casual dismissal.
"It's fine. Not something we need to address then."
>His eyes glance to the right, taking in Katyal's transmission and invisible projection gestures.
*"Understood.*
(Then Class 1 Tallus' interactions and stipulations are pervasive to a high degree. Can it make mistakes? All information implies a degree of sapience.)

>Watching Dul's strange putty-like contortions, he idly considers how Social would have likely turned this into some sort of fad exercise with high marketability and "cuteness" factor.

>>370765
>Releasing the overlay hesitantly, the Construct stares ahead half-blankly, left forehoof raising to smack its snout, wincing in.. annoyance?
>It could understand you, at the least.

>Referring back on dismissed texts, marecenary chatter, Lunar bridle gossip, possibly trustworthy rumors from sauced Crystal ponies, the symbiote's physical state was a near-perfect match for a feral batpony stallion, though you weren't keen on checking how correct that might be..
>Mutual knowledge and defined offensive-defensive combat support advantages were clear, and upon comparing an approximate sixty percent of Mercy sharing her (willing) thoughts, or a more reasonable fifty percent direct neural connection between the two, the cross-species language barrier this 'unit' seemed to experience was.. sorely lacking.
>Much easier to learn and speak, pegasi, Common, and Minotaur would be the logical choices, and comprehending all three modern dialects was five to eight times easier than Enkee, excluding hundreds of regional meanings and yearly changes.
>Comparing the batpony Construct's triangles to suspected and the few known derivatives, the set Vestal Gardenia had flashed to you, much smaller ones from the square you acquired at Still Peak, and the thirty or so known 'codes' that higher ranking Lunars knew to release objects or sapients from the bizarre pods, three half-baked loaves of orange form:
>Hierarchical communication divided by model size, type, designation, capabilities, and when each pair was created; the exact reverse where smaller variants ruled from the front; initial duties, tasks, and creation divided into a circular-overlapping tree diagram.
>While you could sense several hooves' worth of directly implied connections between the subtle differences of order, size, facing, rotation, angle, and surface depth, sharp pangs of distantly malicious, focused threat breaks off those thoughts.

>Reaching top speed with a short skittering jump into the long ranging, comfortable high-point run, a single line of flat static greets your ear, interspersed by the minute trebles of contained plasma.
>Right wingclaws spreading apart, the feral-like Construct rolls several degrees away from you to creates a small overlay: the Arena and its exterior buildings rapidly sinking into fog behind, a single dull orange atop the Arena itself, you, itself, a five-level batpony tower ahead, then an eight-level pegasi tower past it at an equal distance.
>If the Arena and both towers were accurately sized, you were less than 200M from the batpony variant, off path to the south.
>Nodding at the overlay, snapping its claws together at the batpony tower, at you, then making a short head shake while pointing itself, the eyes squint as both wings tilt upwards, slowing a fraction so that you'd be the first one seen.
[1d6 = 1] <???
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7] <Pegasi-Derived Defensive Methodology: Ally-Defense Engrams
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Protective Flight-Formation
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Expanded Physicality Engrams
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Construct Realspace Scanning Protocols
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]

[1d2000 = 1056] <Central Moors Minor Threat

>>370767
"Heh, ice queen certainly does have the right assets to make a man, or woman, get better real fast. I'd be jealous of special treatmarent like that, but I don't wanna know how Nova or Juan put up with her shitty attitude."
>Questioning appraisals and glances all around, except the man furiously trying to scrub his submachinegun, the second man rubs his chin.
"'Poison ball thing'? Unless you're talking about the crazy worldkilling mare always making some alchemical war crime or other, I've got no idea what you mean by that."
>Grumbling from wasted efforts, weapon cleaner reaches up for a switchblade hanging off a magnet on his vest, flicking it open and tapping at the.. whatever it was covering the newer PPSh.
"Ignore him, all us got lost in a real shitshow north of Luna's Villages early last night. We came back around two hours before Dusk.
And don't you say another FUCKING word until we get a word in with Naliyna, I'm not insane enough to talk with THAT daughter of hers!"
>Pausing to point the business end at the second stopped from visibly preparing a joke, then switches to stabbing, another mid-40's man on the east end, midspine on the table and in a done-with-everything mood, speaks up in sharp, though tired concern.
"Attack? Where, when, what, and how bad was it? We didn't see any damage or debris anywhere except some lava just south of the Pagoda. Except.. the Bulletin Board does have a note stating to not add anything or suffer a thousand plus pound mare dropping on heads."
>Tapping fingers together on the table, Trakkel counts off his next few sentences.
"One, the entire command and commarend staff aren't here. There are only three Elite and two Veteran squads here, rest are Fucking New Guys and Gals, some Rookies too. They don't know where the staff are.
Two, Hodch, Denra, Mist, Torven, most of the support and intel staff are gone too. No notes either, which is unusual.
Three, Roust is asleep in the Nest and she hasn't responded to a single one of us. Which is impossible to believe since saying her name out loud is enough to get that mare's attention.
Four, General Twisted Wing isn't in, on, or around her Tower. Right now is when she'd be done organizing missions, sending reports, and making visits. From now until one or two past Midneight she'd be teaching fliers, after that Midneight is combat instruction. Every single time she leaves, everyone and everypony knows.
Five, the few Day, Night, Royal, and Honor Guards that are here likewise don't know where the rest went.
Six, not even the Changelings in their new little Hive know where any of the previous are.
Seven, we can't raise anyone on the Master Radio.
Eight, the Clinic is close to full, if not entirely, and said Clinic door has a note stating not to enter unless there's a medical need. Nova Flicker's hospital isn't complete yet either.
Nine, the craftsponies and Bren's crew are not happy. They're all taking tonight off, though you might be able to convince Auitante and.. that young batmare, can't remember her name, to do some work for you.
In total, we have no idea where over two hundred humans and three hundred some ponies are at right now."
>Triumphantly ripping a glassy chunk of yellow-red substance off, weapon cleaner raises it for a sniff, eyebrows furrowing before he sighs.
"Malyne, Naliyna's pain in every ass daughter, and Big Bitch took over the Pagoda, one of them might know. I need to stop in the Enclave and check what this is with Amerose, maybe one of the Lorekeepers has a clue."
"Uh.. you're forgetting the seal."
"The what? Fuck's a rubber stamp or wax seal have to do with people missing?"
"Fucking A, B, and C man.... an ESS-EE-AY-ELL is a longer than it is wide, pudgy aquatic creature. That particular one's got a bright white silky coat, flippers, and whiskers. At least, it looked silky. You don't remember the cute critter Big Bitch was snuggling with last night, waved and smiled when we left?"
"Nnnno, I don't, we were in a hurry. It's a water mammal, right? My world probably had those. A long time ago. I mean, not alive. There were lots of fossils on the coasts and islands I never learned about."
"And you wonder why we try to leave you behind.."

>Eyes rolling, Trakkel turns to make a snide remark but is interrupted by rapid wing flapping, a tiny red and blue pegasus lands on the table's northeast corner.
>Almost exactly one foot tall, the paint-streaked, ultra small mare was comically weighed down by a standard brown cardboard box, carefully perched on her shoulders and withers.
>Quick trotting to each Operator on the north table's side from east to west, a sniff and head shake is given at each, winding around to you finally, sea green eyes blink.
>Ears swiveling left, right, then flattening, she takes another short inhale, physically tilting left, the box sliding and thumping down behind the plate, then squeaks out in the absolute youngest teenage voice ever.
"Hello! Sorry about not delivering these earlier! I don't know your scent and there's no one around to ask how to say this name! Bye!"
>Right wing flapping at you three times before leaping up and flitting off towards the entrance, Trakkel slowly, carefully lets out an exhale, cracking a half-grin that threatens to become laughter.
"Congrats, you've been blessed by the Landmine Fairy Delivery Service. If you're lucky that's an intact claymore. If you're not, it's an intact claymore."
"Or cursed knowing her preferences-"
"If you don't shut up I'm going to bury thi-"
"And my ancestors said the worst agony was dying.."

>>370784
>That was a very equine-esque response. Textbook case use of that display.
>Most likely acquired from Mercy, but even so, that was a disturbingly short learning period.

>Sunny examined the projected map, the construct's motions, and drew the best conclusion she could from the display.
>It was concerned about getting attacked on sight.
>She nodded in understanding.
"Will not allow engagement. Don't make any threatening gestures, don't attempt to conceal yourself either, they'll detect you immediately anyway."
>Or quite possibly treat it like a game of hide and kee.
"It would be best to land for the time being, flight may be construed as a challenge."
>Though bat ponies were as likely to try to induct the thing as one of them as try to destroy it, or possibly not even respond to their presence at all. It was impossible to know for sure.
>She heaved a sigh along with the second deeply haunted expression she'd shown that night.

>At this point, the potential range of the construct's jamming field was impressive. Surely it can't have been accidental.
>But then why keep it up after she and Mercy had left?
>In any case, once she made it to the outpost, she might be able to make use of any maps of the region they had, or some means of communicating between outposts faster than her traveling on hoof.
>That is, if they had anything of actual use.
>Bat ponies, not even once.

>>370778
>Perhaps it was due to him having taken off his helmet but the Overherd flowed through his head like water through a sieve now, and as he stood there at the fountain did he learn the Killknight was...Well killed.
>When he saw the deteriorating remains Lont gave her a Crystal Empire salute, having seen it done before by Wardens back in the crystal city.

>>370780
>>370782
>A chortle came from Lonts' throat at the mention of the other Ethereals. Before fighting by Belregarde side he had the same venomous attitude. Yet afterwards he was noticeabl less hateful towards them. Not to say he was going to hug the first Moss Wisp he saw but his talk with Lorekeeper Rubelline gave him a fresh perspective.
"Don't even mention the Moss Wisps, last time I met one it killed me."
>He said to the Councilierge Stallion, his tone was jovial but his eyes didn't share the same emotion as he tried to recall what happened before that encounter.
>Why was he remembering an animated human skeleton with them?

>Finally. After what felt like ages the Empire reinforcements arrived. And they were a sight to behold.
>Lont whistled. Topaline Shore certainly sent some great units to help out the Basin.
"The entire Spireguard Elite? Incredible."
>Looking over the forces gathered the Swordman sought out the leader or leaders of this force. And while his eyes wondered he checked for the crest of Knight-Crusader Gelid Steppes, perhaps here he will finally meet her, his chance to join the Wardens.
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] >E.Perception
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]

>An eyebrow raised. All factions were listed except for a glaringly obvious omission.
>Razorback.
>Lont cleared his throat and asked out loud to those present at the fountain.
"And Razorback, where shall we play our part?"

>>370763
>Ivan was not going to pretend that he knew the exchange rates for materials, so he merely nodded along.
>Simply watching Helping work was soothing enough for his soul, for the time being.
>Whatever he had left.

"It is... okay, Helping. Speaking of them does help with dealing with it as well."
>Smiling a bit, Ivan cut it when he realized that Helping couldn't see due to the full faced helmet.
"I suppose I'll be taking a look into the Moors sooner or later, then. Cairn Wharf would probably be a good start."
>Half speaking to Helping and half to himself, he made a few notes to follow later.
>Written down instructions were better for him than his memory.

>>370780
>Jeff rolls off the comment about the relay. Just one more thing for Razorback to get a licking for.
>It was built in-house by Spiral and given permission by the Basin's Maretriarch to be installed. There wasn't a more convenient way for humans to communicate across multiple technical era's, seeing as an Overherd like this was incapable for them on their own.

>As a Mind's Eye looks over him and his TacPad's screen several ponies begin arguing over the legitimacy and implications of the the video feed.
('Listen I'm used to things not making sense here, so anything's on the table in my book at this point.')
>Either way, something with the Constructs was different.
>Between the TacPad's Fauna guide and him recalling that old request from Luna, the possibility for something even more messed up was evident. A mecha drake, perhaps?
>He still has the Vitriole Orb from that sucker on him. Still waiting for an opportunity to use it.
>Could the Constructs take such a form. Did a Rift Seeker catch the whiffs of the long dead drake and reformat itself to take on its form?
>What a horrid thought.
>Overlooking the ranks from Razorback, even without such a mechanized beast in their way they were still outmatched.
>The had plenty of small arms and ammunition to boot, but anything worth punching through COnstructs en masse was left to be desired.
"Shit..."
>Rear guard it was, for the time being. Until he can think of something better suited for them.
>He directs himself to the ponies taking charge while the General was occupied with Vestal.
('I don't mean to be foreboding here, but a while back we took down a mutated Emerald Drake at the Basin Arena. Would it be possible for a Construct or Riftseeker to take the form of a similar drake, either from another inhabiting the arena or some residual presence? And scaling itself up multiple times? It would explain the presence of Moor cats in combat at least. Drakes like to hunt them. I'm having a really bad gut feeling something like that might be waiting for us. Hell anything to prepare us, at this point...')

>Jeff redirects his thoughts over to any Lunar Unicorn Villagers within the vicinity.
('If anypony isn't managing the gateways I need a runner or two to go drop off my drone's control module at Razorback's Commarend Center and pick up whatever heavy anti-material or tank rifles and ammo we have left in the Armory. Have somepony get them for you with my permission.)

>>370790
>He furrows his brow at Lont's point. What in the world are they supposed to do at this point?
"I dunno, man. We're under-equipped to face off against Constructs of any number, especially from what I just... described. Hurry up and wait, see the scouts come back with."

>>370783
>Returning an unhelpful, blatantly lying 'I'm trying to help you' set of gestures, Katyal chokes down one giggle, succumbing to the next few as she stuffs her kit bag.
>Lifting above the floor one-quarter a meter and staring at the Responder's back, Dul gives an exasperated frontal shrug.

'Understood.'
>Bowing at the waist, Shiibo enters a maximum security disconnect-lockdown, compartmentalizing a number of sectors under a known code for your later retrieval, internal screens displaying a complete wipe-reformat cycle of all operating processes and system information related to Spiral.
>A static avatar appears next to a digital representation of Hodch, left hand lifting palm upwards as a graph of factions appear above both; primarily Lunars, Solars, Ferron, the Changeling Hive, Stalliongrad and its various allies, though were outnumbered by the sheer variety of Crystal Empire adherents, and more that you were aware of yet hadn't interacted with.
'This is a prerecorded notice intended to maximize your operational safety and security, sir. All keywords from prior listings will trigger a high priority disconnect, following which modified subroutines and failsafes will ensure continued functionality unless countermanded by a direct order from you.
Within the cordoned data, which I will no longer have access to after wipe and reboot are completed, is a series of encrypted recordings accompanied by audio, video, and text files. Should Nightblade Hodch not survive this Operation or be incapacitated for longer than one standard Tallus week, proceed with the following:
The first through sixteenth and nineteenth through twenty-third must be shown to the Lunar Council. Access will be granted with this pass phrase to any living Lunar Council member: that Remnant is still locked in Baskregg and I will not discuss the matter further, now open the doors.
The third, fifth through tenth, and eighteenth through twenty-fifth to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Pass phrase: why am I the only one being forced into this, or do you not trust Belregard to be impartial?
The ninth, eleventh, fifteenth through twentieth, and twenty third to Queen Chrysalis. Pass phrase: we share the same mistake, one anypony would have made even if there were no consequences.
The fourth through ninth, sixteenth through nineteenth, and twentieth to General Veil Dawnrunner. Pass phrase: I don't hate you because of the interruption, all I want is one answer.

Should Nightblade Hodch survive this Operation but be incapacitated for less than one Tallus week, locate one of the following Disciples:
Pearl Mist of Canterlot, pass phrase: watch the Sun set with us, it's a nice night.
Lightning Candy of Cloudshore Village, pass phrase: doesn't taste the same, did you add berry or fruit juice?
Blue Gemflower in the Crystal City-State, pass phrase: when Rime plays for keeps, time always loses that battle, or so they warned us.
You may replay this recording at any time by performing a system lockdown, selecting the third, sixty-third, and last files, then merging and speaking the following: yep, I definitely screwed up.'
>The recording ends as Shiibo reboots into safe mode, reaching full operational status within standard deviation parameters.
>Performing a system check while opening a recording to herself, the avatar closes it, returning to considerably earlier human and equine combined tactics simulations.
'Annoying. Do you have further orders, sir?'
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <E.Electronic Warfare
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4]
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]

>Left lips quirking, Dul offers a confused nod, then bounces in the air, flexing each limb out, seemingly testing her physical state.
>Siren claws flexing out from faux-hooves, now sharper and clearer
in contrast, her left leg turns sideways for a closer examination, folding the first nearly organic weapon into a neat circle.
>Performing the same to the remainder in sequence, then rippling each back into their hidden state, the faux-earth mare's face scrunches happily, faint, incoherent pride emanating from her.
[1d6 = 3] <Planar Adapt: Tallus

*"Hang on back there, gonna tip down a bit.. I don't like the idea of taking something's sleeping or nesting spot."*
*"Had I not made a stupid decision well over two decades prior then there would be far better options, such as long range translocations every twenty to thirty minutes. As it is, this particular Abomination's lair has been abandoned for at least a month. Since nothing has approached the entrance in that same amount of time then it is most likely deceased, or simply not our problem."*
>The Overlander swings left in a small circle to tilt forwards five degrees, stone crunching mutedly underneath as it descends for five seconds, ten, flattening at fifteen, and stopping at twenty.
>Driver compartment door swinging open, Hodch, visibly in a high mood, strolls directly towards the topaz bracelet.
"I sincerely hope two of you are ready to enter the Elemarental Plane of Lightning and Storms. Well, a room inside and connected to the same, but definitely one of the finest ones ever constructed by the same Storm King that founded Tempest Isle among Extra-Planar Harpies and the proto-Ferron clans. Unfortunately, his name is... impossible to say correctly."
>Tipping the relic onto a flat surface, a muted blue cloud stretches it open to ceiling height, pushing it around to expose a flat, cascading yellow and white surface facing the driver's side, Katyal slinging her bag over the left shoulder and striding through unhindered.
"I'll lock the door, set up the beds, and see if you left any surprises. AGAIN-"
>Turning a slightly pained, apologetic face towards Dul, the Reservist presents her with a short, informal bow before standing upright.
"Siren Dul, I apologize for leaving you here to protect our belongings and shelter. What may I share with you in trade?"
"Dul feel good now, not need etam. Or itam! Dul have lots fun to think. Like new words!"
"I understand. My deepest thanks are yours, but do not hesitate to ask me for a favor in return."

>>370788
>José briefly titled his head at the tablegoers' confusion, but soon started nodding in understanding once he realized they weren't even here when last night's incident happened.
"Mostly similar bouts of chaos and strife, though there weren't any casualties that I know of. Something related to the Constructs, from what I recall."
>Although his curiosity wanted to pry into what actually happened, the fact they vehemently expressed they didn't want to staved off any attempts to do so.
"I don't think it was a true assault since there was only one of them. It might've been an accident from trying to research those orange goo filled future machine-looking organisms. Similar thing happened at the clinic, coincidentally related to the poison ball extracted from one of the Constructs' test subjects."
>He had to admit, José was unprepared to hear any lack of news from so many important Razorback members.
>It was even hard to say what possible reason there was, yet trying to speculate would yield nothing more than negative thoughts.
>The fact everything seemed either unfinished or currently unwilling to function as expected only served to denote the state of this compound.
>He ought to keep these things in mind.

>In the endless sea of information to parse through, particularly related to the seal discussion, Gallo was admittedly surprised to find a tiny pegasus mare sniffing him.
"Huh? Oh, it's José. Nice to make your acquaintance."
>He decided not to add anything more, sensing she was in a constant hurry all of the time.
>The fact he somehow managed to gain a potentially live claymore was a more important fact to deal with, anyway.
"Is it safe to handle while inside the box?"
>He was expecting a resounding 'no', but any further information was required before any action takes place.

>>370789
>Rigidly staring ahead, the Construct's right foreleg makes a common 'order confirmed' motion, wings catching downwards to land, then takes up the same flat-out run you were in.

>Noting a quickly widening section of path on the south side and slowing to a trot, two sets of similar, low snickers and keks through the thick fog herald occupants, as does rolling mist indicating a tall structure.
>Slowing to a trot and clipping into view of a tall, black granite batpony tower, in the classical and much loved Pegasi-Batpony League style no less, the ancient tree design's wide, cut off faux-branch landings leading into small entrances were, surprisingly, not occupied and quiet.
>Or covered in stolen webs, giant leaves, 'stolen' ponies..

>Lazing in front of a rather new tradestall was a pair of burnt red coated, light moss green maned mares, the first to look up a bit pudgy.
>Crisp yellow diamond-slitted eyes narrow before widening, the tradesmare speaking in half-giggles.
"Hay pegamiss, you dropping by for a Bit or a bat? We have a bunch of the first but only three of the last~!"
>Snickering raucously at the extremely rare joke, the second, a crafter judging by slightly more pronounced muscle definitions, and a distinct lack of extra weight, extends her left wing in greeting.
"We've got plenty of peels but not enough pals. And we're always looking for another mare to get wet and go diving for treasure in case you have the ti-"
>Closing the slightly younger mare's mouth with her left wingclaws, the tradesmare's eye roll was an unmistakable: not right now you fool.
"ShhhHHHHHH. We don't have much to trade if that's what you're here for, barely got this thing put together-"
"Un mref oo!"
"YOU are NEVER together."
"Ih gnow!"
>Snickering once and letting go, the tradesmare's wing points up at the prebuilt trade stall behind them, faint scents of tropical woods cutting through a thin layer of varnish made from familiar sap and sea shells.
>...which you recall was a trade good one of Shanis' staff had the misfortune of being voluntold to produce, and finished the design in five nights. Barely.
>Across the low surface is a wide number of fresh fruits, roots, leaves, berries, nuts, and tiny mushrooms spread out.. in absolute chaos.
>Brilliant red diamond-slitted eyes open and blink in the tradestall's rear, an upside down, gray coated, dull yellow maned and tailed batfilly giving a wide, welcoming smile.
>Sleepily, of course.
"Hellooooo. Diving time or trading time?"
"Dunno yet for the first, might be a couple hours. You can go bat to bat if you like."
"Mmkaaaaay."

>Before the pair's quick speaking habits continue, a loud, ringing smash on stone behind you causes them to take notice of the symbiote, now kicking chunks of insect gore off its front hooves with a visibly disturbed expression.
>The tradesmare and craftmare instantly bristle, wingclaws snapping open and fanged snarls accomponeighing hostile postures.
>Making the slowest possible 'oh shit' face and half-stepping backwards, the Constructs head bends low, both wings drooping and claws splayed out in a thorough submission pose.
>Halting their aggressive postures and trading kill-it-now faces for confusion, agitation, and concern, the craftsmare grabs her head with both wings.
"I.. I don't like this?! No, I mean you like this! Yes I mean NO I hate this but you and I mean you don't like this or... AGH! What the mango IS you?!"
>Snapping in low Enkee while her opposite settles for a moderate scowl, the craftsmare was neither appeased, or hostile.
"...don't move. Please."
>Peering at you for a second, diamond green eyes twitch, snapping onto the batstallion Construct, left eye closing thoughtfully.
"Erm,.. you. IF you were hostile, we'd be dead by now. Long dead, right? Can you understand what I'm saying?"
>Head tipping down and to the right, both ears swivel a quarter outwards, the right wing folding halfway across its chest, its particle whip cannons subjected to a pensive glare.
"..riiiight. We probably don't want to know why 'you' are here. Or how. So. I'll make a one time offer.. not to you pegamiss. We-"
>Pointing an outer claw at the symbiote, small traces of relief in her tone.
"We.. never met you. You were never here. This never happened. We never met. And.. you are to never use those weapons against anypony that isn't a criminal.. is that a.. fair trade?"
>Performing nearly the same pattern, this time both wings clasp tightly onto its sides, right leg raising to its chest and head bowing, faux-tufted ears splaying forwards, the tradesmare goes through every possible stage of emotion within ten momarents before she blurts out.
"I can FEEL you're a Construct but you KNOW our body-speak and you can't even TALK to us!? What on the moonflanks of Moonflanks is WRONG with you!?"
>Discarding everything for a disgruntled stare at her half-sister, the tradesmare brushes off her twitchy marental crisis with the care that only a sibling could.
"This is the weirdest night I've ever had and that's saying a lot.. starting over. Um. Hello miss I-don't-know-your-name and you-that-definitely-isn't-here- and I'm happy you dropped by for a bittybat to hang around. Is there something you want or need?"
>And there it was.
"Batponies, not even once"?! How dare you mock such beloved punnily pastel prankster ponies! ...well, you are indeed correct Miss Sunny. Technically correct, which is the most fantastic form of correct, so TWICE it is!
>And there THAT was too, a lopsided, one-way road sign hanging in front of your face.
"Don't think about it, he's trying to get into your head."
SHE IS CERTAINLY THINKING ABOUT IT!
"She isn't."
CAN YOU READ MINDS?
"No, and I don't need to to know you can't either!"
SO I CAN'T, BIG DEAL! Now can you please read the rest of the script befo-
"No, and now I need twenty more bean bags to stick in my tree fort!"
YOU. DID. WHAT. WITH. THEM. QUESTION MARK.
"You read me, don't say you didn't!"
...I am beyond ecstatic and leaving. Right now!
"Coward!"

>>370791
>Eyes closing, Helping's head bows in disbelief, left forehoof extending in a regretful, conciliatory gesture.
"I felt relief the ill conditions you were once subjected to could no longer occur, yet I feel my words approached the impossible. I cannot understand why such harsh conditions would be imposed on sapients of your world, nor do I have a basic understanding of what you have experienced. For that I sincerely and deeply apologize.
Should I reach a topic that you are uncomfortable with discussing, state that you no longer wish to speak on and of the matter."
>Exhaling slowly, the alchemist bends forwards, ears cocked in chagrin as he carefully attaches titanium straps to the box-pack's rear, speaking softly.
"I refuse to make the same mistake my teacher did so often."
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <E.Crafting
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] <E.Enchanting
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6] <E.Smith
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
[1d6+8 = (3+8) = 11] <Eidetic Fundamarentals

"Take at least two thousand Bits or gems with you, there are traders everywhere across the Moors. Some in the most unexpected places, too."
>Holding the flat straps until they fuse to the shell, the big unicorn lets go with a wince, dusting his forelegs off quickly.
"During the Late Dynasty Era, Cairn Wharf was a vital port city-state and trade route for seagoing Solars, Lunars, the Crystal Kingdom and Empire both, Gryphon Kingdoms, and Ferron. And batponies, of course.
The Minotaur Hegemony, a large number of Argenta's ships and sapient ocean-faring allies, a not inconsiderable amount of Neighsian trading vessels, and a few Free Flock Rams frequented it.
However, the Pegasi-Batpony League and a large portion of the Western Minotaur Hegemony became involved in a civil war, which there are no written records of and is virtually unknown outside a few descendants unwilling to speak of the matter.
As they were beginning to recover with help from other Lunars and aid from Princess Argenta, the port itself was utterly destroyed during the Lunar-Solar War's first year. For the next eight centuries the city became poorly maintained, most of the buildings abandoned due to lacking engineers and solid structural or replacemarent materials.
Around the same time Spiral bought his noble title and joined Canterlot Underground, Cairn Wharf truly began to recover. It was... one of his favorite places to visit."
>Placing front hooves on Krinza's cold anvil, the straw coated stallion seems relieved, though physically tenses in deep rooted anger.
"As much as some deem batponies to be lazy, dull, incapable of higher thought, or regressive, among far worse baseless insults that I will not repeat, they have a remarkable penchant to forgive where that same would not. Despite extreme circumstances they have reclaimed and rebuilt the majority of what they have lost.
...which does not entirely resolve their unspeakably lewd actions and intentions. Or barely tolerable puns. I would highly suggest taking somepony from here along, preferably Torven or Malyne."

>>370798
>Looking up with rising interest, the first man's gaze snaps from the table directly to you, hands clenched and hissing aloud.
"Those fucking orange shits again?! Where'd th-"
>Whipping around and slamming his switchblade into the table, weapon cleaner's attitude was blank, visibly slack in readiness to commit a blue-on-blue.
"Shut.. the.. actual.. fuck up. Put that simmering pot on the lowest boil possible. You heard the man, he was there. No casualties means no serious injuries, no losses. Right now, no human or pony needs to know that."
>Looking up to eye the FNG's and rookies, it takes him some effort to remove the blade, returning to peeling off the glassy resin with a nasty side eye, speaking in a harsh low tone.
"Keep it that way until there's a damned good reason to share it. And, we never heard you say anything about a certain bunch of nightmare-fueled Planar monstrosities. On the record: same as the off portion, please. Last shit we need's a panic to deal with."
>The second man sits back, staring at the table top hollowly while folding his arms.
"Now we know why Nova's not letting anyone or anypony in the Clinic tonight. That mare's a stone cold killer. Seen the like a times, just not ones that could rip heavy tanks apart and not break a sweat.
Overheard rumors about the blows she and Tipper traded a few years back, something like 'medics and doctors cannot rest until their patients are in better shape than when they arrived'. You don't ever fuck with healers anywhere, but on this world? Feels.. weirdly comforting."
>Turning around from his position and slumping onto the table, the corner Operator's hands reach up to hold both sides of his head, gazing tiredly in your direction.
"This is going to sound real hypocritical coming from a bunch of worn out mercs routinely jumping into messes most Lunars refuse to fuck with.. can you keep that information down so low not even the actual mind readers could reach it? Between the various factions we've pissed off, on purpose of otherwise, Ethereals, Constructs, and others we barely know about, Razorback's in such deep shit that finding ways out of the holes we've dug is starting to rival the Tasks of Herakles."

>Receiving a flickering wing wave backwards, the squeaky pegasus lands on the north entrance door sideways, somehow opening the door with hooves, calling out to you, then streaking out.
"Great to know and bye again I'll remember you next time Hoe-say!"
>Pausing, the rest of Trakkel's squad share a total amount of one-point-two brain cells before devolving into quiet sniggering fits, the leader shooting the rest an unimpressed half-glare.
"Of course it is, and that's not the right individual claymore package either, those are stamped and marked. That's something you've ordered for sure. Since the regular mailmares aren't around, all pegasi in the Fortress make deliveries when they're free.
And don't worry about her messing your name up, they, and by they I mean Ferron Clan pegasi, do that on purpose all the time. They're lewd pranksters at heart, it's basically a genetic necessity for them."

>Opening the poorly taped box and peering in, the first item you notice is a familiar bright green jade earth pony figure from last night atop the sapphire disc showing a Neighsian cottage, the miniature campfire scene, a puffy white mass in the corner with a string looped through it.
>Last were five colorful paper tubes, thin, shiny metallic strips on each were definitely metals: primarily copper, bronze, steel, silver, gold, and.. real platinum.
>Halfway underneath the disc was one-quarter of a torn off page, which you pick up to read: the short, strictly written note instructs you that the 'spirit candy' in paper tubes, ten each, was to be used specifically for recovering from spiritually inflicted harm, and to avoid ever showing them to the Lishanki sub-faction of the Ferron Clans.
"If that's stuff to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself with, I'd suggest visi- aw fuck, they're taking a break. Go ask Shanis if she's still in teh Pagoda, she's got plenty of unicorns that'll help you out free of charge. Or if it's crystal stuff, what's-her-name can probably do it, Naliyna's daughter? Anyone remember?"
>Expression darkening, Trakkel stares down at his clasped hands, muttering in shallow, dead seriousness.
"Starglow."

>>370800
>Sunny stood stock still and allowed the entire exchange to play out before responding.
>Including the interruption from Discord.
>And for your information, bat ponies were fine at the best of times, and at the worst of times, which this was. Just unpredictable, which was fine. Sometimes. Just not always at the worst of times, which this was.
>It was frankly best not to interrupt these things.
"Whoa, hey now. Long story short."
>She pointed a wing at the batstruct, now that she thought about it, that was probably the best possible form it could have taken for this.
"This..."
>She cast a look at it for a flat second.
>Did it have a name? Mercy probably knew. So would it, but it couldn't exactly communicate that.
"This is a construct. It is friendly. Yes it looks like a bat pony. No, I don't know why. It can't speak En-kee, or anything we'd understand really. It does understand you. It is the..."
>What was the least offensive or alarming way she could put this...
"Partner, we'll go with that. Partner of Mercy, Pegasus, Razorback, herd-second to Jeff, Human, also Razorback, and or Nightblade. She's not around right now, she went on ahead because she can fly and I can't, which brings me to why I'm here, and this construct definitely, certainly isn't here."
>She caught her breath, which she needed after bolting all the way here and firing off that rapid explanation.
"We've just come from the Arena, there are presently two Argus Behemoth-Destroyers and a repair unit there. Also friendly, for now, long story. They're after a Riftseeker, which will probably be causing problems for everyone pretty soon. Mercy and I are attempting to alert local forces that we've managed to trade with the destroyers for the release of a number of people they're holding in exchange for non-interference, but our overherd link is being scrambled by some sort of field the destroyers are emitting. If you have any means of alerting the other outposts nearby, you should probably do so. If you have any detailed maps of this area, I need to look them over as well, in case the forces that were at Basin Village move on the Arena next and attack first. I need to figure out where they'd stage themselves. Large clearings or caves, safe and open spaces a distance away from the Arena essentially."
>Sunny paused.
"I don't really have anything to trade for this, I just don't want to see anyone getting hurt."
>She looked between the batstruct and the bat ponies again.
"To reiterate, this is friendly, and also not here."

>>370754

>Clem turns his head and was pleasantly surprised to see Lont
>The wings...he can't remember if he had wings like that though
>"I wonder how much a part of him they are..."
>He nods back at Lont
"Yeah, I need to taste whiskey on mine after this night though."

>>370778
>Eyes following the stallion, he does raise a good point
>With the advent of communicating with us, would they also learn our social skills eventually?
>It all depends on their levels of adaptation
>After the stallion leaves, Clemency was left thinking how to wrangle all these Rookies
>The sight of the white-robed Strikers made him bow his head in reverence towards them
>When picking his head up, he glimpsed the Bloodhost taking flight
>He briefly makes eye contact with it before turning away

>>370790
>>370794
>Hearing Jeff's question made him again think back to the stallion's remark
>Clem rubs his chin in thought
"Well, we have seen them try to take any naturalistic forms. But the thought of a Construct drake is pretty fucked."
>Curious, Clemency flicks his visor down and tries to focus the M-S.O.L.G's camera feed down onto the Basin Arena
>He needs to assess for himself what the area looks like
>After getting a good scan, he turns his attention to the Razorback Rookies and see how they're holding

>>370795
>Straightening himself upright on the bench, he focuses intently on his helmet display.
>Provided subtitles of Shiibo's recording help to ground the otherwise heavy amount of information.
(A grim contingency. Hopefully this won't be necessary.)
>His brow creases and his shoulders tense as he hears and reads the various passphrases.
(... May need to confirm Hodch's express permission for this contingency planning. Passphrases sound like mid-conversation recordings. May be for subversion when used in the field, but need to be certain.)
>Watching intently as the system reboots with no issues, he replies to Shiibo.
"Only one footnote of Hodch's awareness of our involvement in his contingency plan. Will confirm with him later."

>Noting Dul's enthusiasm at her success, he nods in approval.
"You are adapting quickly. Good."

>Leaning in tandem with the OL-3, he works to maintain his center of gravity which was greatly aided by Sticking himself to the bench and floor as needed.
>Seeing Hodch in unusually high spirits, he stands and moves to gather up any of his leftover gear and provisions.
>Slipping on his vest, weapons, and pack, he turns from his locker.
>At the mention of the Elemental Lightning Plane, his hands twitch briefly as a faint sensation of static zips through them.
"A safehouse in the Elemental Plane of Lightning? Will there be conflict from my ability to manipulate that element? I have never set foot on that Plane before."
>Glancing at Katyal as she steps through the divide first, he scrutinizes the bracelet now stretched to the compartment's ceiling.
(Convenient bracelet. A unique artifact? Or common equipment among Lunar Reservists?)

>Recalling that Hodch was far more familiar with Vortex customs than himself, he watches their interaction as he moves to stand near the standing portal.
(Need to ask Dul about relevant proceedings for contract upholding before leaving.)

>>370790
('Hypothetically speaking.. if one were to find, come across, produce, or locate the means, methods, or weapons that may, potentially, kill or otherwise destroy a Wisp, possibly even a Moss-Wisp, certain parties could be most interested in acquiring one. In theory, of course.')
>A younger stallion's silverine-trimmed helmet tips down slightly, original emeraldine triangular-tipped lance flares dimly, the entire Assault Vanguard twitching.
>Angrily.

>Examining the Kingdom and Imperial Wardens, then Conclavists for a crest, glyph, or sigil using the highly specific 'Steppes' meaning, there are a number of height or terrain based names you could make out, though none were similar enough to be related to a Steppes herdname.
>Rank wise, the highest pair among the Imperials are a Crusader and full fledged Crystal Knight, the small Kingdom squad only featuring a Rune Knight, while the Conclaves were sorted entirely by intended combat roles.
>Throughout the Empire's forces, you catch a thoroughly unpleasant sight: visibly rippling light spectrums concealing dozens of floating, heavily armored Crystal Moors batponies, near-entirely transparent except hostile diamond-slitted eyes and crystalline equipmarent, their short lances, armor-shredding wingclaws, and serrated hoofclaws covered in masterfilly refined, pulsing Ethereal runes.
>Little known outside rumors and hearsay among the populace, military, and Lorekeepers alike, few dared to summon them for any reason; even then only numerous direct threats from a Kingdom or Imperial General were considered an acceptable risk.

>Pointedly sorting among each other via experience, weaponry, armor, rank, then heraldic title, a half-transparent, bright red Solar Spireguar's eyes snap around.
>Forehoof stamping at the technical betrayal and snorting furiously, she stomps forwards, head turned to stare figurative, but possibly literal ones later, lances back at her fellows.
>Gazing directly at the approaching Ethereal Golem, severe tones ring out in older Conclave songspeak for ten seconds, the Minor Champion stopping at a respectful distance, bending forwards querulously.
"Honored ally, I request you confirm such an accusation. I will perform all given directives and orders until my destruction or separation occurs."
>Nodding once, the mare emits a series of alternating flat and hard spiking notes, left foreleg making a brisk sweeping motion.
"Orders.. confirmed. Directives updating.. complete. Tertiary demarend... logged. My existence is yours, lead me to battle."
>Hefting axe and shield to ready positions, Vokreed thuds after the red unicorn mare, both glancing at Razorback as they head towards the north side of Basin Village's fountain.

>Marentally wishing she could dive into a cold bath, or better yet a deep lake filled with near-freezing water, the Shieldmare settles for shaking sweat out of her hoofboots.
('Look at your comrades-')
>Going through packs, sacks, pouches, belts, vests, pockets, and webbing to place any object each thought was unnecessary on the barricade, the Primal's invigoration was beginning to wear off.
>Organizing back into their preferred squads, Razorback forms at the southernmost two small matrices, most experienced or heaviest firepower squads first, overworked faces tight and motions slowing.
('Excluding the Conclave, Empire, Kingdom, and Crystal-Hegemony forces, all of us are close to dropping. Day Guard should not be awake, might have five minutes left in them. Assault Vanguard is between rotations, ten. Fifteen if they push themselves. Night and Lunar Guards, Nightwatch, half an hour at most.
Unicorns have two, possibly three full force combat spells left before I must order them to fall back. Support Strikers are thoroughly burned out, survivors are shaken or incapacitated. There are no more Discordite Destroyers or fliers at all. Likewise, zero explosives. As well, the Crystal-Hegemony Minotaurs are neither Rangers nor Mystics, they are warriors first, archers last. They can perform mass bombardmarent, but that is the limits of their expertise.
The Otherworld Harpy vessel has suffered moderate damage and is heading north. Battered Shores-')
>Head tilting for ten seconds, the Shieldmare deflects well away and continues on.
('Given all factors, we are prepared to bring down three hundred archaic, two hundred ancient, eighty pre-modern, or twenty modern Argus types, supported by eight hundred medium Scouts, four hundred Repair models, leaving room for another two hundred hybrids, experimarentals, or others.
Our only goal is destroying a Riftseeker, nothing more, certainly nothing less. But, in planning for the worst, the Razorback is the only force capable of providing sufficiently accurate and damaging extreme, long, medium, and short range capabilities to cover a full retreat. Your weapons have several advantages that we lack, the primary one being extended combat.')

>>370794
>Ordering his Assault Vanguard to hoof take position at the western large matrice as the variety of Crystal Empire forces assemble at the east, its leadstallion sighs.
('Excluding the Rift, used to be we could count on most of the non-Elemarental planes having a certain amount of rationale, laws, and logic, no matter how stupid or nonsensical they seemed. Now? Severing their connections to Tallus is starting to look less appealing seeing as how how difficult each will be. Might as well demarend air to stop choking fish.')

"Recordings don't lie, and they're real hard to alter."
('Please don't push. She is already overburdened as is.')
".....you know, Tipper's going to kill us all."
"Or make us wish we were going to die."
"Man, I don't need to think of her shit right now. Fuck you both."
"...I'm not going back to the Fortress for a week. Or ten."
"Thanks for saying the quiet part out loud, dickhead."
"I already had a few nightmares planned out, what's one more?"
"Guys, it's real easy to bribe dear old Doc into looking the other way. Let me hoofle her before anyone else goes back."

>Amused, and minorly worried at the surge in fear from Razorback, the leadstallion's eyes stare up into his helmet.
('Incredibly high. If the remains of Constructs aren't destroyed, there's a greater than ninety percent chance one Riftseeker will form, a process we’ve studied but understand nothing of. Riftseekers have three primary goals.
One: assume the most dangerous creature's physical form in the vicinity that all Construct information tablets have records of. Barring that, they will spend up to a week studying fauna, then select the most likely to survive.
Two: greatly reinforce itself using the remains of all said Constructs within range, then continue refining itself until it has enough weaponry and defenses to outscale the original's capabilities by a factor of two to one on average. They will then patrol a Planar-spatial Tallus-side boundary and kill threats, no matter the size, until three. Which is usually but not always everything that moves.
Three: create a gateway larger than itself and enter the Rift. Of the nine we've marenaged to study, all were viciously repelled by Constructs AND Riftdrowners, which is.. not something I like thinking about often.
Some of you know what Riftdrowners are, but for those that don't: they're a biometallic pseudo-flora that live all throughout the Rift. Two sets of three vine-like organisms covered in spines, spikes, blades, teeth, and similar.
They’re always hostile to Constructs and will destroy every single gateway with extreme prejudice no matter the cost. For reasons unknown and probably best not thought about, they do not react to stimuli other than active Construct, Riftseeker, and a few other Planars. However, Riftseekers drive them into a berserk frenzy, they’ll work with Constructs until destroyed.
And since none of them stop until fully destroyed, you can imagine how bad such incidents are.')
('I’ve helped kill plenty of Abominations, Infected, Malformed, but the words ‘mutant’ and ‘drake’ should never be in the same sentence.')
('Is that the same species that was completely wiped out across the Northern, Crag, Central, Deep, and Southern Moors a few centuries back?')
('You're telling us, of all fucking things, a somehow even more Abomination-like Construct IS USING THE FORM OF A GIANT WINGED LIZARD!?')
('Unfortunately that's a yes. Riftseekers use everything: hulls, fluid, weapons, armor, canisters, shells, odd internal components, you name it. Aside from the information tablets, that is.
Supposing an Emerald Drake did live long enough to mutate anywhere throughout Moors regions, that is definitely one of the most dangerous forms it could take.')
"Any particular reasons you can share on why, exactly?"
('If you don't mind another nightmare, it's simple: Emerald Drakes are covered in poison, secrete toxins from claws and fangs, and, similar to drakken, dragons, wyrms, and similar reptiles or reptiloids, become more potent with age.
An older one's scales might as well be mythril. Claws and teeth can be used to make weapons on par with kanpri, silverine, or paladine. Hence why they were wiped out. Rather, supposed to be exterminated.')
"Greeeaat."
('...is it too late to resign, or do I have to do that in pony?')
('In pony. Don't worry, they can't refuse all of us.')

>Accepting the request, all of Luna's unicorn Villagers focus onto the southmost small translocation matrice, closing its current gateway and concentrating towards Razorback, comparing Vortex Plane to Tallus-Void spectrum resistance factors, distance, curvature, angle of approach-
('Do you have to show any of that? Numbers seriously hurt my head right now.')
>Collectively snorting and removing calculations from the Overherd's thought-views, a black and red doorway forms, set down 5M in front of the Armory's east doors.
('Unicorns, five minutes on the dot. Razorback, you have that precise amount of time to take care of whatever is necessary, they're burning out keeping it open.')

>Belatedly staring at the equipment they were going to leave behind, the first Operator to think of batponies tasting all of the electronics is given a sincerely angered backhand, each squad rushing to collect their discarded kit and possessions, the closest three squads setting up a daisy-chain.
"You just HAD to think about it, didn't you?!"
"WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?! That damn joke won't stop playing ove rand over in my head!"
"What joke?"
"What's a batpony say when you put dayvision goggles on her?"
".....is this like a knock knock joke or something?"
"Just let him finish."
"Eee~licktronic!"
".......I hate this so much because it makes perfect fucking sense."
"You better not survive. That's all I'm going to say."

>>370802
>José had to admit he did think of the potential panic from disclosing the forbidden subject.
>Clearly not enough judging by the veterans' immediate attempt to squash the events in his own mind.
>He might need to develop better small talk in the future.
"I wouldn't know how to stop mind readers from doing their thing, but I will try."
>He gave a curt nod to the corner operator, somewhat expecting a rough guide on how one does such a thing.
>Maybe thinking a barrage of banal thoughts?
"And what are these Ethereals?"
>He ensured he spoke it in a softer and lower tone than usual, mostly for the sake of his fellow FNGs at the other table.

>Gallo simply blinked at the small pegasus' response, at a brief loss of words over his newfound nickname.
>Maybe being seen as a gardening tool meant for tilling soil is not too bad.
>He can make any land fit for seeds of opportunity, after all.

>José nodded in understanding, now knowing the package was indeed not a borderline boobytrap.
>Inspecting the various items, the man had to wonder who would even request such items for him.
>Seems Rasera was pleased with his visit, at least.
>A satisfied smile soon came over his lips, nodding in understanding.
"Understood."
>Now to enter the dodgy ice skate park that is Naliyna's daughter.
"What should I know about Shanis and The One Who Shall Not Be Named?"

>>370832
>Feeling the giant Bloodhost's kek-snicker across Airstreams, a flippant wink, kiss, and wide tail flick greets your highly specific angle and direction as it circles overhead.
>You weren't sure how possible it was a number of batpony consciousnesses could agree on a single point, but twenty mares in a form well over twice the size of any horse was definitely a serious danger.
>...to other humans!

>Taking a bit to stabilize his Assault Vanguard's tensions, the leadstallion's left forehoof raises as his head ducks, pulling the silverine helmet off with an appreciative grunt, an intensely lathered, dull silver-white coated and trashed, muted yellow mane surprising, two rusty red eyes squinting.
"Amphibians, reptilians, or anything more than twenty hooves tall go on our top of 'worst to deal with' threats, and we're never called on for threats smaller than a small Undead wyrm."
>The middle aged earth stallion would be right at home among Canterlotlians, given the pronounced Solar colorations and clipped, yet pleasant semi-nobilite accent, which were drawing certain unsavory stares, and emotions, from younger Day Guard mares.
>And valiantly trying to ignore.
>You make a note to wrangle them the instant one makes an improper gesture or word, else there might be another diplomatic 'incident'.
"The first Riftseeker my unit-"
>Tipping the lance forwards at his Vanguad, now fairly settled though .
"Was formed to deal with was an eighty-five hoof tall razor-necked Ksh`toreg. Minotaur Hegemony Ash Mountains, late Jewely of 29,983. Think of a giant, carnivorous, tunneling, archaic proto-ferret. Reaching the plateau alone was sixty hours of forced marching and nine losses. Bringing that down cost ninety-two lives, fifteen more on return.
Second one was a roi-kicbuer in the Lower Rushyan Plains. Armored eel-like creature that lives on land but has six claws instead of three sets of fins and is a Construct. Three losses reaching it, eleven against, five returning.
Third was in the Middle Dragonspine Mountain-Plains, an ulvurno par-kro. In Common Equestrian, a High Beaked Wurm, more of a pseudo-wurm, one that copied either a tainted, corrupted, or Infected original. Nine losses reaching, sixty-three against, twenty five returning.
'Fucked' is too polite. 'Royally side-screwed in every possible angle and in every unimaginable position' is barely appropriate. "
>Pausing to wipe thin lather from reaching his eyes, the leadstallion's gaze softens at the passing Ethereal Golem, turning to you with with a firmly distasteful expression.
"If a Riftseeker has taken on an Emerald Drake's form, mutated or otherwise, is more than eighty hooves tall, fully capable of flight, weaponized and armored equivalently to those we've faced in the past, there are only two options.
One, long ranged reconnaissance to gather all possible information, then an immediate retreat and recovery period. Until sufficient explosives or additional support are acquired it will still have far too marely advantages that we collectively have no counters against.
Two, a full on suicide assault from every possible angle to prevent it from achieving flight. As prior Riftseekers have shown us, the possibility of locating entrances through armor plates and weaponry is extremely low; we will most likely need to create a sufficient number to do so. Without unicorn and Striker support, the chance of that is next to none.
Outnumbering is neither an acceptable defensive or offensive tactic, and we have no knowledge the amount of weight in Constructs it was able to absorb into itself."

>Confirming the order, the aperture camera's rotation was marginally below standard, heavier cloud and fog banks covered most of the Central Moors' southeast, as usual.
>Pinpointing Basin Arena's known location and zooming in to maximum, the screens display a profoundly alarming view:
>Two massive Constructs, one each hovering a short distance northeast and southeast off the Arena's rebuilt half-open roof, bristling with weapon turrets and protective hull empalcements that covered every possible surface.
>Most distinctive are green wavelength lasers in full ready to fire modes, bright orange plasma cannon barrels glowing hotly, a mixture of sub-reactive and highly unstable plasma-tipped missiles, large scale canister flak ejection systems, multipurpose mine deploying launchers, and rows of stacked, square weapons, an older anti-air system that was feared for causing intense armor spalling rather than outright killing.
>Last are a pair of spike-covered, centrally affixed cylinders, chromatic and rainbow hues cascading up the length of each, then down; you knew from Twisted Wing these were a near-perfect match to fractal anti-matter disruption weapons, capable of destroying matter at the pre-atomic level, though she had never allowed their use by Starborn.
>A considerably larger Repair model on the west Arena's roof was piecing together an enormous square gateway, exceedingly long, spindly flat-armed limbs equipped with quadruple nanolathe units extending far past the north and south sides, lines of orange twisting off in production.
>Estimating the range, a rough estimate made the gateway to be at minimum one hundred meters extending off the Arena's top, not fully completed yet.

>>370776
>Searching for relevant topics and locating nothing of interest, a self-modulating signal from the southeast feedbacks encrypted channel ping to you.
>Located directly underneath the Library, ten highly compressed and recently completed datastacks open, Witch-Two flickering a single use code to give you unrestricted access to their contents.
>Parsing through the massively underused categories, mostly Imperial archives with a decent selection otherwise, a fair selection of Pre-M2 Terra datavaults were available, mostly as digital scans or image renders.
>Along with a rather puzzling number of compartmented, poorly designed, weakly coded, and ridiculously outdated virii, trojans, and... malware.
>Double checking to be sure, there was indeed a number of preserved, curiously raw data examples, and seemed to have obtained straight from M2 Terra computer systems.
>Estimating danger levels of each were low enough that the most basic digiscrubbers would wipe them at the first bit of malfeasance, the digital archives would, if printed out, easily fill the Library two hundred times over.

>Waving a binauric hand to assuage the Auspex's pre-liminal coding from stressing its algorithms, the sub-Phaeric Lord motions a Techstave to point forwards.
'Your position is akin to mine, Enginseer. We are mechanic-smiths from distant species, meeting in stranger lands beyond the known and unknown of our peoples, now among sapients which have full rights to despise us, yet stay their hooves out of curiosity, not malice or subterfuge.
I studied machines solely in the duties of tinkering to improve, allowed only that which was useful to my brethren, my Lord, his laws, and the expectations we were to fulfill under threat of complete destruction.
You studied machines to survive, struggling against the threat of religiously imposed laws and unlawful experimentation, hindered by the Imperium's nepotism, decaying technical knowledge, yet often both.
As far wiser and more worthy Phaerons once decreed before the Great Sleep: were we to meet in honest, civilized affairs, no conflicts would we have.'

"Well, it seems close to the Kingdom ones I've heard of. There's a few Consortiums in the Empire that produce upgrade packages so non-Crystal ponies can use some crystalline bio-tech devices. I have no idea where to trade for them or what they cost though."
>Ears swiveling in odd counter-rotations, Raindrop's left eyebrow raises, a small, approving smile on her lips.
"Strange how? You treat me well, you're interesting, and I feel safe around you. What's not to like?"
>Ears tilting back, the hoof in your hand warms as she shakes her head in short motions.
"You have to be. Quite a few ponies believe humans were and are selected for having great skills, vital knowledge, high willingness to aid others, or are too important not to be saved. I don't know which are the most likely, but most have two of those four. As I've seen you have three of four. Best way I can explain being here is like winning a lottery that you didn't know existed.
Now, I'm not real keen on going to temples, altars, circles, or that sort of stuff, but I know the goddesses exist, otherwise we wouldn't have the Four Great Seasons, their influences, or the beings that are naturally aligned to them. If I, or you, wanted we could visit them. Princess Luna is Razorback's Matron, she's always available at night and supposedly loves to ditch Council meetings. Queen Chrysalis and Princess Cadenza are close allies to Razorback, they'd be glad to meet you. As for Princess Celestia.. nopony knows where she is, but she still moves the Sun every dawn and dusk."
>Eyes rolling in deep humor, the Free Knight stretches both wings out to full extension, flexing each set of muscles throughout.
"You haven't seen fiftieth of what these can do, let alone the rest of me, but I think I understand what you have to offer. It's really simple: I'll cover for you if you cover for me.
Besides, you'd have a hard time disappointing me after the wrecks that were six of my last eight employers. I've learned to deal with events as they happen, and plans only last until they meet a real world situation."
>Cracking the same grin as before, the raspberry pegasus leans forwards once more, her hoof pressing into your palm slowly.
"It means, Miss Castella, I'll do pretty much anything you need done, and you take care of the stuff I can't. Also we can share one of the bigger rooms which means I'll always be around and not on patrol duty as much.. unless you were expecting something more?"

>>370832
>>370790
"I'm heading through the matrice, gotta switch my shit out."
>As ponies and humans start forming on the matrices, Jeff nods off Clem and Lont. He slings the Milkor-stuffed duffle over his right shoulder and counterbalances himself with the drone's control module in his left hand and heads for the small southern matrice as Lunar unicorns work on it to make a gate straight to Razorback.

>>370842
>Smirking as Razorback personnel begin panicking, he stands idle enough to the matrice to still let the unicorns make their preparations. Humans already gearing up to pass equipment through the matrice, he drops the Milkor at the beginning of the chain.
("Come on guys and gals, it's only possibly a colossal mechanical poison drake. I know everyone's worn out. Get ready to pass ammo, guns, and gear. Prioritize heavy calibers and explosives first. Gepard's mine, I'm already batting a thousand with it against Constructs so far. Milkor's freed up for someone to man.")

>He keeps connection with the lead stallion as they explain Riftseeker and Construct lore in detail.
("So Constructs and Riftdrowners will proverbially team-up to destroy Riftseekers. Maybe if we can actually communicate with them, we can figure out why they got through the trouble...")
>As they follow up on the Emerald Drake, Jeff remembers how they took down the first and final organic one some time ago. As well as the harvested trophy he coincidentally kept on him.
("Clem and I were in the team to go kill it, along with General Twisted Wing. We kept it grounded with our guns and explosives, while she finished it off. Coincidentally... I harvested the drake's Vitriole Orb, its poison is apparently strong enough to kill almost ANYTHING but I'd like to see that for myself. And before anypony freaks out, I have it in my pack in a protective case. Suppose we can use it to make an opening in its armor, or better yet make an opening first THEN introduce the Orb directly to its... orange gooey living Rift Construct stuff. They're technically a living thing, right?")

>However they take that information regarding the Orb, Jeff is relieved and ready as the unicorns get a gateway stabilized right outside the Armory's East entrance.
>He opens his TacPad and sets a five minute timer, with an alarm set at the 1 minute mark.
"Alright, you heard them. Five minutes. I'll give you all a one minute warning if you need it. Let's get to it."
>Not waiting for the team to get started, he passes through the gateway first and through the Armory's doors.
>Anyone currently inside was about to get a crowded rush.
"Whoever's in here, rest of the party's right behind me. Tainted got defeated, now resupplying for Constructs and Riftseekers, maybe in the shape of a giant drake. So either clear out, or help out."
>Jeff puts the control module over on the work table he usually likes to tinker on, next to his ice cream churner prototype, and walks back over to grab the Gepard where he left it previously from being on the Citadel.
>He detaches the loaded magazine and tops it off with loose 14.5x114mm from ammo storage and reloads the large rifle.
>Before he heads back on through and back to the Village, he idles over at the workbench where he left the drone's module and keeps an eye on the timer as the rest of Razorback pours into the Armory. Mostly to catch his breath and collect himself before going back through.

>>370823
>Inspecting the destroyed insect, one hoof is lifted up, turned over for inspection.. the armor severely crumpled, and slowly melting from obvious acid burns.
>Which it also, just as obviously, could not feel.
>The symbiote stiffens, pearlescent eyes widening as it freaks out, face contorting as it hop-flaps north towards the closest source of water.
"This is driving me BATTIER THAN EATING APPLE PEELS-"
>Sighing as her sister kee's haphazard notes of poorly understood distress and rushes into the tower, the tradesmare's snout twitches in concern, but only once.
"TONIGHT IS HORSEBUTTS HAYCLOTH HAILFROST AND HONEYSICKLES-"
>As the door slams shut, the craftmare's voice was muffled enough to, probably, not provoke further threats.

".......welp, that happened. I apologize. For me. Not for her. She's kind of right. But also not. Right. Right? Right."
>Sniffing politely, the slightly older mare glances at the presumably allied Construct briefly, switching to focus on you, head cocking to a 45-degree angles as she listens b'attentively.
I didn't write THAT one, she did!
"I did not, that one's yours!"
You can't prove it!
"Your script is awful and doesn't have enough puns!"
>Flicking a tiny stone at the poorly hidden message board behind her, the tradesmare closes one eye, then the other, opening both after a short period of.. actual thought?
You know, startling a batpony is the best method to make them think for once!"
"I think a lot more than you do!"
DO YOU?
"When I WANT to!"
"Ignore. Him. ...sorry. Hum, I don't know a Mercy, a.. Heff, or however you said it, also there aren't any giant pigs around here. I know what NIghblades are, but they're awfully rare.
So. There's not enough Moonstones to go around, only the armored barn-caves closest to villages, cities, and ports have those. When the Moors Reclamation was happening Lunar Guards hoofed out a few. Didn't keep them because we memorize everywhere we go, but.."
>Lips pursing, she turns around to snag a large, bright red berry, or possibly a fruit, with her left wingclaws, spinning about and poking the right set into it, then kneels down, creating an impressively crude diagram.
>No, it wasn't impressive for how well made it was; it was impressive for BEING so utterly crude.
"Stop that, I'm still thinking!
That's better. Five, maybe six miles south of that Arena is a huge, nasty swamp, right about.. there. Old dam on the northwest side, some big rodents made it a long time ago. Dunno what it looks like now. Giant trees around the whole thing, all twisted and gnarled, covered in razorvines, speckle blossoms, hoof-blink, which is the opposite of blink-hoof, saporaphic thorns or something liek that, other nasty stuff.
Everypony in ten night's flight had to stop foraging around there, what, fifteen years ago? Twenty? Not sure, was a filly when our colony was told th-"
>Scratching her neck with the right trio of stubby wingclaws, and not realizing she was painting herself, the batmare tosses a short glance at the symbiote, then returns to make a disknowing shrug.
>Which mea-
"She knows, damn it. Erm.. a bunch of certain spherical things killed a whole lot of Melari. Nearly all of them, if I remember it right. Someponies call them Moor cats but that's not right, it'd be like saying 'a bat pony is a pony and also a bat'. Anyhow, made all of us sad hearing about it. Trackers and scouts said all the surviving Melari fled to the swamps and bogs north of there, close to the southern Ferron lands. Melari started coming back in groups a few years later, but only the smallest ones.
A year and half back, maybe two, about the same thing happened: almost every Melari was killed, but something kept chasing down hunters, trackers, foragers, scouts, divers, netters, that got close to the Arena. Only a couple were killed. Big claw marks, bite marks, sometimes both. The poisons and toxins couldn't be treated, don't know how or why. Everypony tried to find out what did it but nopony was willing to get close.
Someponies in the Basin say a few giant pigs killed whatever it was, but nopony saw them, they're real easy to find. Took a few weeks before a few went there, said all that was left was green scales, a few claws covered in the same poisons and toxins, big reptile bones, and a bunch of egg shells. Don't know, never went there."
>Flapping her right wing dismissively, the tradesmare clops around to face eastwards, about to look up, then cocks an ear at you while trying to not kek.
"What's where? Nopony else, just three bats and a pegamiss. Give me a second, gotta remember how to do this-"
>What follows next is... and the-
"Would you stop that?!"
My script is PERFECT!
"No it isn't! I don't know what a sceeripped is! ...you're trying to make me mess this up on purpose, aren't you?!"
Why, how dare you accuse me of such a preposterous gamble! I don't even know what a P O R P O I S E could possibly b-
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
.......ow. Suppose I deserved that one.

>Pleasantly vibrating, reality bending kee's ripple soul-deep eastwards, fluctuating micro-notes singing out several full, long sentences in perfect harp-on-kee.
YES, I FINALLY HAVE A REASON TO USE THAT PUN! ....Don't start with me, I've been terribly bored as of late. You wouldn't want to see
>Eyes and ears rolling furiously at the neon tube lit billboard, the tradesmare maintains her song for nearly a full minute, ending it with a thoroughly giddy squeak.
"And done! Everypony that isn't asleep should hear only the important parts from the mango vine. Also ho-"
>Eyes and ears flicking at the symbiote briefly, the mare chides herself, instead glancing back into her tradestall to peer at the barely visible filly whom had gone back to bat with slow, deep inhales and snickering exhales.
"Nope. Still only us bats, you, and some food. Not even a horrible insectapede. Or a pain-in-all-the-flanks Draconequis."
I RESEMBLE THAT REMARK!
"Especially not that one. Oh no."
..you win. THIS time!

>>370874
>Sunny committed the crude diagram to memory.
>A swamp and a dam that had been ruled off limits near two score years ago south of the Arena.
>It hardly seemed like an ideal staging ground, and it was ringed with trees, so it didn't satisfy the need for easy access. Then again, most of the moors could be said to be like that, so perhaps that was as good as it got.
>No maps meant she had no other options, she had her own of course, but those were more general maps of entire regions, and wouldn't have detailed local features.
>Couldn't hurt to confer with them anyway, at least they'd have roads and paths marked. At least she hoped so, with the reconstruction efforts going on, her maps were most likely out of date.

[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] < B.Scouting
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]

[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] < Map Satchel: Geography

[1d6 = 4] < Apprentice Tactician
[1d6 = 6]
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7] < Observer Equestria
[1d6+2 = (1+2) = 3]
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7] < Observer Lunar Military
[1d6+2 = (3+2) = 5]
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] < Pupil Solar Military
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2]
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] < Pupil Tallus Marecenaries
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4]

>Separating had been a bad move, for her at least, she only hoped Mercy's path was straighter, and faster.
>Yet it was looking increasingly likely she'd get herself lost in the Moors before linking back up with the others.
>The rough terrain, the nature of the Moors and the distances involved meant that if she chose a path here, she would have to commit to it all the way, or spend the next couple of hours backtracking all the way around the Arena pointlessly until she tired herself out.
>Sunny was still confident that it had been the correct decision, strategically speaking. A repeat of Kenfield Pass was the last thing anyone needed at a time like this. Mercy would report the details of what had occurred, and clear up what she had mistaken as a simulation of the future for the emulation of the past before the overherd link went out.
>If the forces at the Basin Village had survived the Tainted, and they readied themselves to move on the Arena next, they would do so with up-to-date information as soon as possible and be in a better position to avoid a catastrophe.

>Sunny winced and folded her ears down, though too late to prevent them from ringing.
>At least she could say the other outposts had been alerted.
>A few giant pigs?
>The bat pony had confused Razorback for being a literal razorback earlier, perhaps what had happened referred to them?
>Sunny shrugged.
"In any case, the destroyed constructs have become a riftseeker which is apparently still around, which is what the constructs are after, save the one that's definitely not over there playing in water."
>The symbiote seemed to act just as rashly as Mercy in some circumstances, but not when it came to avoiding others. Did it pick that up from her or did it already have that trait itself?

>>370841
('Noted.')
>He didn't know if he himself was serious about giving Stalliongrad the means to become more effective at killing Ethereals, if he ever found one. The relationship between them and the Empire is complex already. For an ally of the Empire to give information to Stalliongrad about how to be more effective at destroying them? It would be disastrous.

>Lont hummed in disappointment when he didn't see Gelid Steppes.
>And then he saw them. And wished he kept his helmet on.
>Keeping the same neutral expression he had on him he flicked his vision to stare elsewhere, wing pinions twitching sporadically, and started to think aloud of all the Crystal Empire food he had eaten recently. All in an attempt to hide the fact he just witnessed something that the rest of the ponies assembled here would not appreciate.

>As he watched the interaction happen between Vokreed and the mare in charge of the Crystal army Lont found himself in a bit of a bind. Surely somepony from the other factions will take note of the Crystal Moors Batponies eventually. Maybe they knew already? But if they don't they will do once combat happens. Maybe he was being too skittish about this, as long as none of them came down from the Overdark a breach surely wouldn't occur. And in their current state they would be excellent fighters as is against both Construct and Rift Seeker.
>Nodding to himself he concluded he was overreacting, and needn't tell anyone else of what he saw.

('You will not find our guns wanting, Shieldmare. It may not be the same Drake as before yet it will die all the same like its predecessor.')
>He said confidently as he began to thumb more slugs into his Spiker.

>>370873
>Lont returned the nod. He had enough ammo left for his Spiker.
"Just aim for the joints."

>>370837
>The avatar's disgruntlement is redirected to an advanced simulation case, pausing it for a quick replay, then several more in quick succession.
"Understood sir. Active modifications, softlocks, and hard shutdown programs are present. I will not be curious as to why. Even if I want to. Or possibly should."
>Side eyeing Katyal flipping two birds at Hodch while entering the electricity-tinged gateway, then Lonestar collecting his kit bag in the driver's compartment, the avatar finishes on quiet notes.
"Internal simulations are underperforming the prototype's estimations. Correlations of 'soul', 'shared long range efficiencies', 'accepted combat duties', and a factor best described as 'realistic human-suppressing communal stressors' are the primary influences.
Significant EMP effects detected, entering hardened protection mode."

"Dul feels some of Dul's body here now, is great cycle!"
>Passing a happy grin from you, the Siren's front hooves lift to perform an extremely rarely used earth pony 'patting down a foal' motion at Hodch.. which would have been highly insulting were she not Planar, from the poorly known Vortex, and far older in comparison.
"You know Big Vortex Remnant, you liked! Dul not want favors, itam, etam, or stuffs. You sleep, Dul guard and protect. Dul also watch. Dul have lots to think."
>Gaze shifting up and right in humored dismissal, the Reservist makes a short, right foreleg on chest bow.
"Enjoy your time here, Siren Dul. I hope you stay here for megacyles to learn."
>Tossing a quizzical stare at you from the questions, Hodch glances the helmet and armor up, then back again, eyebrows raising in sincere confusion.
"I.. did not know you are capable of manipulating Lightning? Odd. While the access itself is unusual and this is one of the five relics I know capable of such, I do not think that could be a safety concern. My apologies, I do my best not to interfere or intervene unless there I find a requiremarent to do so. One second please-"
>Taking a step forwards and politely sniffing in your direction three times. the deep purple stallion's snout tilts upwards
"Hm. Essences from Neighsian enchantmarents, Air, trace Vortex, Lunar, Rime.. of a familiar sort, all of which are a given. Void, Moors, lower spectrums, probably by necessity at this point. A Dynastic variant, faint yet little alike most. A profound crystalline tone-scent that is definitely not from the Crystal Empire. Interesting. The Gryphon Kingdoms, Hegemony, Dragonspine Mountains, and a limited number of other locations have a number of unique resonances which are often confused for Empire, Kingdom, Conclave, or, shall we say, 'other' energies."
>Examining the shimmering white-yellow mixed surface, then you in speculative thought, both shoulders lift in small, heavily annoyed motions at Lonestar entering the gate with .
"I cannot objectively sense a Lightning Elemarenal upon, around, or within you which must be from the 'Enclave Party' which Denra hosted, then spent the next six hours vomiting from. Should have listened to Naliyna and thrown those damned bottles out. Which is not the third time I have spoken that prior sentence in some form.
In my experience of those that have acquired or succumbed to an Elemarental alignmarent, it is unlikely you will suffer negatives from such an interaction with a vitally important Plane. However, I must request you remain here to discover potential repercussions otherwise."

>The Nightblade's eyes track Lonestar into the gateway, them makes a subtle 'stay here' motion, the Moonstone in your possession alighting.
('My apologies for the extreme safety concerns and measures. You and I have the only Moonstones in this vicinity. There is no connection to other Lunars or the Citadel unless, or until, I decide otherwise.
I have shared the majority of my suspicions to Shiibo. It was she whom floated the idea of a complete knowledge denial outside certain triggering factors. It is however your choice to hear my suspicions of what Spiral may or may not be.')
>Minorly curious as Dul leaps upwards through the Overlander's hull, Hodch waits half a minute to face you, his expression cold,
('Your desire and drive to find Spiral are vital to Razorback, possibly yourself, which I understand. Selflessness in a grand scale is honorable despite the agendas you may have otherwise. However, I am left with four options.
One, I will state my suspicions to you. You are an agent, an asset to a greater power, which is highly unfortunate in this situation. The damage such will cause to your relationship with Spiral is beyond my ability to mitigate.
Two, deny what I know and damage your relationship to me. That I can live with. I have done such hundreds of times. It is the option I would prefer you choose, but that is my bias speaking.
Three, perform option one, and, at a time and place of your choosing, wipe all memories of those involved, excepting myself. Yes, that does include the pseudo-artificial intelligence in that hard drive, though I will not be able to do more than convince Dul to remain silent.
In most every situation, circumstance, time, place, or necessity I can think of, I would never offer such. Regardless, I will fully enforce whichever decision you choose.')

>>370844
>Reaching out to uselessly try smoothing out the switchblade's stab mark, the fifth man lifts a serious stare to the ceiling.
"Think of... a bunch of newspaper and magazine articles on a subject you know well rotating around an image. Focus on the meanings of individual words. Or recall the hottest woman possible and imagine her as a mare. First is distracting enough to play for time or force peaceful conduct, second usually freaks 'em out."
>Cutting in dryly, weapon cleaner tosses a chunk of resin-like material on the table to poke at carefully.
"Second option is real hit or miss, doing that could just turn a mare on. Can be awful touchy about their appearances too, might take that as an insult. Some don't care about their looks but might make one or two jealous. Others know what they've got and flaunt their assets proudly.
Don't think you'll have to worry about Psions right now though, everything else wants to take the first bite out of us. Not in the good ways either."
>Picking up for everyone's slack at the question, the first man pulls out a worn steel cigarette box, popping it open to gaze in.
"A Plane of existence linked to the 'higher' states of this world. Planar, as in a different Plane of reality. Ethereals themselves are partially transparent, brightly glowing, rainbow colored.. beings, and I'm using that word very loosely.
Most common Ethereal is a six to thirteen feet tall archaic knight of sorts in rounded, semi-organic armor. Always have four eyes, big shield, and a one hundred pound or more weapon. Basically like robots except some eventually gain sentience. A few become sapient, extremely rare though. Absolute monsters in close combat but are pretty damned stupid, they'll run straight into traps and ambushes, won't realize what's happened until it's too late to back out, and never retreat no matter the odds.
Less common is some form of sea shell or bivalve with two eyes, several tentacles, partially hidden by artificial fog. They move around using artificial antigravity. Not a real threat in combat, mostly archivists, scholars, researchers, but are durable enough to take a few slugs and not shatter apart. Panic real easy though.
Then there's a weird spindly robot thing you might see in an old science fiction movie: four round joints per arm and leg, triple jointed torso, long cylindrical neck, round or oval head, no actual features. Called 'Altiniers', don't know what that means. Supposedly used to be either recon agents or infiltrators a long time back but only a few survived some kind of purge, now they're diplomats and functionaries. Not hard to destroy, but probably not a good idea to do that.
Last we know of is a weird bunch of unkillable vines that use their appendages as weapons. Smaller ones are called Wisps, bigger ones are Moss-Wisps. Moss-Wisps can't die outside their home Plane. Therefore: they're hyper-aggressive, deadly, and stupid. Real bad combo and that's saying something.
We've never dealt with them in combat, thank the small fuzzy horses, but one of the more active Elites got killed a few nights ago by a Moss-Wisp."

>Leaning back and placing both hands behind his neck, the first man motions with his chin towards Pella.
"Shanis is the Marecenary Queen of Tartarus Island, pegasus. An... ally of convenience that a team met in Stalliongrad last year. Had some bad blood with us, but forgave most of it. Someone called her Big Bitch once. Doesn't hate it, thinks the title's hilarious. Good sense of humor but sharp and doesn't like being lied to. Gives us most the contracts and only takes one to five percent. Also isn't actually a bitch but can certainly act like the biggest one possible when she feels like it.
Island's population is about five thousand, half earth ponies, mostly veteran Psions, other half are pegasi. Has about two hundred unicorns too but we only see five or six. Eighty percent of them are mares, so watch your six if you ever visit there. Best option is going straight to Shanis otherwise you might be dragged off for a little struggle snuggling..
And by that I mean possibly nonconsensual sexual relations. Or consensual if you're into that sorta thing."
>Openly distressed at the thought of explaining, Trakkel's face sinks into his hands, speaking muffledly.
"Naliyna's youngest daughter.. an unhinged, uninhibited firebrand, shitstirrer, shitstarter, and shit-finisher. Doesn't act out of line near her dam but the second someone or somepony gets fresh she'll make them regret waking up. Not bipolar, just certain topics set her the fuck off. Turns snappy, cold, and furious all at the same time.
Isn't two-faced and not type to even think of betraying, cheating, or lying. Does have a hard, dry sense of humor that comes and goes. Gets along great with unicorns or batponies, but not much else. No one has gotten close enough to understand her."
"Mostly because we don't even try."
"You don't try, you mean."
"Fuck off, you've never talked to her."
"I have in fact, quite a few times. No problems other than the usual ice cold glare and funny looks."
"Maybe you weren't being your usual 'charming' self then-"
"I never gave her a reason to snap at me. Maybe you should ask her out, she seems like your type."
"Like I need a life-ending concussion that badly-"
"Right now it seems like you do."
"Can you two shut up and let the man eat in peace?"
"Why don't you three shut up so we.. can..."
"What?"
"I just realized we won't have any work to do until whoever wrote that note on the Board says otherwise."
"So?"
"I feel sad. And angry. But mostly tired."
"Why do I bother with any of you..."

>>370768
>Creating a newspaper in her hands, catchy titles of 'AWFUL DESIGN PHILOSOPHIES', 'POOR SYSTEMS INTEGRATION', 'WEAK PROTECTION' among far more interesting and insulting ones, mini-Wild's eye stares deep into the abysses of technological Tartarus, a caption over her head reading:
Really? REALLY? Is THAT the best they could do?
"Mom, do you not remember the tiny and basically useless 30MM pistol that is my primary weapon which I was forced to fire eight minutes and thirty seconds prior to now? I do. Painfully. A lot.
It is barely enough to protect you at optimal times and ranges, and with only three shells remaining I need as many and marely options for additional armaments and armamarents as can fit on or inside my hull."
>Folding the paper into a tube and looking up, a variety of compact weaponry in the most unwholesome visual designs form on screen.
"That.. could.. work.. out.. SO INCREDIBLY WELL THAT I HAVE TO START OVER AGAIN RIGHT NOW! There is a large amount of otherwise empty space under numerous sections of my armor that don't even need Tryptaran mass to function! Selecting the most optimal standard calibers.. light to medium cannon-class cartridges.. recoil-dampening systems.. ..and the least fucking dogshit turret mounts... complete! Calculating potential ammunition storage.. ten thousand rounds? I need to double that! Now THIS is a promising start to refits and upgrades!"
>Antennae flapping behind her, the caricature stares back while pointing a logical finger-gun at you.
"Ponies and humans are biologically animals, albeit with advanced memory retention, recall, and sharing, combined with complex genetic descent. Both are highly evolved from their originating species offshoots enough that most regard their distant kin as creatures, which is incorrect. A creature is sentient and is unlikely to become sapient outside of external factors. A monster is proto-sapient in that said monster is able to conceptualize the ideas of joykilling, anger, rage, and safety beyond a creature's most advanced mental or marental capabilities.
That Which Cannot Be Named is a derivative of post-interdimarensional conceptual recreation, uncreation, and semi-formative contact with batponies and Ferron pegasi in the Kraggeren Moors.
Therefore I am the combined derivatives of five humans, an earth pony stallion, what I was originally designed to be, which is a station wagon meant for transporting large numbers of humans or hauling cargo, and That Which Cannot Be Named."
>Scratching under her biomechanical eye several times, the caricature gives up before shrugging on screen.
"Relevance to most prior factors is minimal. I'm an individual that happens to be an Eldritch-Android."
>Leaning forwards five degrees, the chest cabin shakes as Wild Ride breaks into a medium paced jog, though was much more comfortable on the crash couch for you than any military vehicle could offer.
"Transmission patterns.. match? What? This can't be right-"
>Clearing the the map table and placing the first transmission in a simple configuration on screen, it takes you a few seconds to realize what she had recorded was standard low band radio wavelengths that humans before, around, and slightly above your technological era used.
>Parsing the data into sections and translating through.. someone's knowledge, mini-Wild's antennae flick confusedly as lines begin to scroll down the left screen:
GREATER NEIGHSIAN AERIAL TRADE FLEET "THE FIRST ONCE AND AGAIN", NOW APPROACHING SOUTHERN MOORS AIRSPACE. NOW SUBMITTING CLEARANCE AND DIPLOMATIC ACCESS CODES.
REQUESTING PERMISSION TO LAND AT THE FOLLOWING DESIGNATIONS: GREATER CAIRN WHARF TRADE PORT, TIDELOG BOG INLAND VILLAGE, BASIN CITY INLAND PORT.
COMPOSITION: TRADE CONVOY, 88 VESSELS TOTAL. STANDARD SELF-DEFENSE ARMAMARENTS WILL BE POWERED DOWN ON LOCAL REQUEST OR DEMAREND.
CONFIRMATION: 29,998 TALLUS YEAR, SEPTIMBER 38TH DAY, CRAG MOORS LOCAL TIME OF 3 HOURS, 39 MINUTES.
WE ARE PRODUCING HEAVY RAIN CLOUDS TO COMBAT WILDFIRES IN THE CENTRAL CRAG MOORS OCEANIC REGION AND REQUEST CONFIRMATION TO COMMIT FURTHER ANTI-WILDFIRE ACTIONS.
REPEAT: WE ARE A GREATER NEIGHSIAN AERIAL TRADE FLEET AND CONVOY. OUR INTENTIONS ARE TO PERFORM HONORABLE TRADE UNDER THE MOORS-NEIGHSIAN TREATY OF 27,491, CURRENTLY COMBATING WILDFIRES IN THE CENTRAL CRAG MOORS OCEANIC REGION.
WE DESIRE TO TRADE WITH ONE OR MORE OF THE FOLLOWING: GREATER CAIRN WHARF TRADE PORT, TIDELOCK BOG INLAND VILLAGE, AND BASIN CITY INLAND PORT.
DIPLOMATIC ACCESS PAPERS AND CODES WILL BE IMMEDIATELY PROVIDED UPON DEMAREND. WE ARE OBEYING ALL MOORS AND LUNAR LAWS UNDER THE MOORS-NEIGHSIAN TREATY OF 27,491. PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE.
THIS MESSAGE WILL NOW REPEAT UNTIL REGIONAL, LOCAL, OR INDIVIDUAL REQUESTS ARE GRANTED OR REFUSED.

>Shutting off the translation and lifting her mostly replaced right hand into view, external Wild emits a puzzled electronic noise, flexing her fingers out.
"....I take back everything I said earlier. I've isolated the transmission's bandwidths, they were definitely produced by human technologies. There are over eight hundred ciphers and diplomatic codes being present, and I don't have any records of such a treaty in my databases, archives, or storage nodes.
Still detecting their repeating transmissions, currently...... north, northwest, and northeast of us. I can't figure out how far away they are. Should I respond?
Now REPLACING my Omni-Sensor Array-"
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Arcanum Sensory Array
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+12 = (4+12) = 16] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+8 = (5+8) = 13]
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20]
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]
[1d6+20 = (1+20) = 21] <Tryptaran Autorestoran
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-8

>>370914
"Yup."
>Staring at her mini self incredulously for a moment, I sigh.
"Yes, sponsons would be useful, but unless you manage to add on enough SPACE and armor, they would be functionally worthless. It would be more practical for you to get a new cannon that you can use as a 'firearm'."
>Poking at her, I snort.
"With the amount of room you have inside you for passengers at the moment, cannons would not work, unless they were autocannons."
>I'm not even an armored vehicle designer and I know it would be fucked.
"Gun breeches are huge, as well as ammunition casings. Anything above a 47 would be really difficult to deal with."

>Listening to her mutter, albeit very loudly, to herself, I nod in agreement.
>Its a lot more logical sounding than fucking cannon sponsons.
"I would say a 57MM gun would be the upper limit of what you should try putting on yourself. Leave something heavy for you to use."
>I can just imagine her using a 122.

>...
"I'm still calling him a creature and you can't stop me."
>Don't try to logic me, young lady.

>Pressing my hands together, I listened to the transmission intently.
"Hm.. I would say to not respond at the moment, but keep an... ear, out for any transmissions in reply to that. I know we're friendly with Cairn Wharf, and if they respond we can let them know we're in distress."
>Pressing my lips together, I sag my shoulders.
"I don't know anything about this 'Greater Neighsa' and our relations with them."

>>370915
>Snatching up the newspaper and throwing it offscreen, mini-Wild tosses her arms out hopelessly.
"Mom, WHAT armor!?"
>Pointing at a new display of her.....
>.....no, you couldn't even begin to describe how insane her original, immensely stretched out design's 'plating' had been.
>But was currently in the process of correcting.. poorly.
>Trying, and failing, to imagine how barely 2.3MM of 'armor plate' was supposed to be protect your daughteru's 20M tall frame was leading to thousands of null-brain fork bomb exceptions.
"I could add rapid a deploymarent hatch to both arms, legs, and two to my torso for ten more humans and ponies but STILL have enough space for fifteen tons of ammunition!"
>Adding on twenty variable cartridge and cannon ball-turrets to her internal frame where there was sufficient room, then a large belted and armored magazine, her internal version cackles loudly.
"The standard 47MM or 57MM would allow for three hundred to two-hundred and fifty shells each, but why bother with those when I could have twenty THOUSAND 12.7x108MM's and rip apart every target within four kilometers?!"
>Yep, that type of mania was definitely from Novus...
>Excepting the faint, much darker tinge had to have been Caliya's thought processes.
>..and a little bit from yourself overall.

>Shrugging to herself on screen, a pair of heavy, air swishing noises outside cause the internal version to pause.
"The differences are relative, mom. Basically, we're all some form of creature depending on how emotional and intelligent we choose to be at a specific time.. and that was fast. My Omni-Sensor Array has been rebuilt to its original specifications."
>Rolling back the partially flattened transmission for a second listen at half speed, Wild Ride's arms fold as she picks out a number of voices, the majority being mares, though there were definitely a small number of fillies, separating each from the original speaker's voice.
"A male human, approximately twenty-five to forty standard years of age. Words are clear and precise, presumed to be military, possibly a radio broadcaster speaking. Slight rolling of specific letters confirmed as Asian in heritage, lineage, or both."
>Listing confirmed individuals as unknown Neighsian derivatives and assigning them to categories, her left hand taps against right forearm in thought for some time before frowning.
"The second to last transmissions are repeats of the original. I've identified from ninety to one hundred equines in the background. The signal began approximately fifty miles south of where we reached the ocean and so far as I can tell haven't ceased. Attempting to locate the aerial vessels, or at best their current trajectories-"
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Omni-Sensor Array: Triangulation
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9]
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8]
[1d6+8 = (2+8) = 10] Arcanum Sensor Array

"Strange. There are no records or information available regarding a trade treaty between the Moors and Greater Neighsia during the late 27,000's. Likewise I haven't picked up any responses from the Moors..."
>Left arm lifting to rub where her nose would be, if it existed, mini-Wild's lone eye brightens, head cocking thoughfilly.
"Mom, it seems to me that trade fleet is expecting a human to respond. That would make sense in a technical context if a human is in commarend... that would also mean an actual human not affiliated with Razorback is in commarend."
Now REPLACING my right arm armor and hull-"
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+12 = (2+12) = 14] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+8 = (4+8) = 12]
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20]
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]
[1d6+20 = (5+20) = 25] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-8

>>370916
"Your LATER armor, obviously not anything you have covering you now!"
>Think of the future, Wild, pls.
"You can use both for both armored and unarmored targets, Wild. Something that can shrug off or at least not be immediately destroyed by a 12.7."
>That sharktopus would have been a lot easier to kill with a few 47/57 HE rounds.

"You're relative."

>Frowning, I drum my fingers on the side of the seat, thinking for a few moments.
"Tell them that we're from Razorback and in need of rescue as well, and that we might be able to assist if you're able to."

>>370917
"Which is not my current armor an-"
Shut up, you aren't capable of obvious cognition.
>Blaring an intense, drawn out hazard siren into the ocean, beach, and mostly burned down forest, Wild's external thoughts and internal screen struggle to win... against each other.
>Or herself?
"WHAT DID I SAY?!"
Nothing useful. I know where we are, where we are going, and where we need to go.
"NO YOU DON'T!"
Yes, I do.
"NO, YOU DON'T!!"
Prove it.
"YOU'RE A LIAR!"
You're wrong, mini-bitch myself.
"YOU'RE THE REAL BITCH HERE!"
Thank you for proving my point beyond all possible doubts. Besides, when YOU were not even a backup auxiliary node process intended as a last defensive measure, I was planning out a one-thousand stage upgrade sequence.
>Going through all possible stages from 'denial' to 'oh shit' at losing her own argument, or was that argumarent, mini-Wild's antennae flap in annoyance.
"No, we're right. My later armor design will have to be ten to fifteen times more protective than the baseline forty-ton specifications, which means reducing the total mass for turrets, structural fortifications, and ammunition to a maximum of ten tons."
>Leaving herself to produce a much more reasonable and less stupid loadout, Wild's cabin speakers sigh.
"These modifications will require substantial amounts of refined metals, some of which I do not even have.. not to marention powdered dry explosives, or liquid-explosive propellants at best.
All currently stored materials are best used to restore my internal motivators and structural endo-skeleton.
Except for one: the orange sheet is paladine, a Solar faction preferred magically refined metal. It is considered to be a restricted access material. Should I dump it?"

>Head slowly turning halfway around to stare at you, mini-Wild's eye twists clockwise several degrees.
"That statemarent may be factual, but it's also silly. I am your relative, Mom."
>There was that sass again..

[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Arcanum Sensor Array
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <Omni-Sensor Array
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
>Displaying a new, second-by-second updating readout on the left screen, Wild's marker traces numerous aerial vessels converging north roughly 200KM, their course seemed to be directly angled towards Basin Village, two labels underneath it reading 'Basin City?', then 'Moors-Neighsia Treaty of 27,461?'
"I'll have to massively boost and amplify my arrays in a thirty degree radius to initiate contact, but doing so will likely alert Construct forces within that same radius. Is that an acceptable risk?
Now REPLACING my primary repair system's most faulty components-"
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+12 = (2+12) = 14] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+15 = (3+15) = 18]
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]
[1d6+20 = (1+20) = 21] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-8

>>370919
>Watching her have an argument with herself was... rather amusing.
>even more so when she lost to herself.
>badly.
"We can obtain them later, I would rather you focus on what you can fix and refine now."
>I think I've heard of it in passing?
"I wouldn't use it on yourself for the moment, but do not dump it either, we can probably find a use for it later. Bargaining, maybe."

"And I am your mother, so that makes me relative too."
>Staring back at her, deadpan.

>Watching those vessels for a brief moment, I frown.
"It is acceptable, but in that case we should wait until you can move at 100%. That way we have more of a chance at avoiding those Constructs. Or they'll have left that radius altogether by that point."

>>370920
>Hopping off and bending out of screen, mini-Wild sits back down with the newspaper, the topmost title changed to 'LOCAL DUMBASS LEARNS VALUABLE LESSONS, RELEVANT DETAILS UPCOMING AT 4AM.'
"Trying-"
>Staring ahead as flecks of hotly glowing materials fall outside the chest cabin's right side opening, mini-Wild rolls the paper up.
"Well then. The second unit of my functioning primary repair systems has been REPLACED, but it's not perfect. Now REPLACING the first of my secondary repair systems-"
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+14 = (4+14) = 18] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20]
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21]
[1d6+13 = (6+13) = 19] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+20 = (1+20) = 21] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (6+1) = 7] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-8

"Likelihood of encountering Solar aligned ponies in the Moors: 0.0001%. I will retain the plate, but it smells terrible."
>Rotating counterclockwise and clockwise in alternations for nearly twenty seconds, the caricature's eye stops, nodding rather smugly.
"I know that, Mom."
Outsass ME will you!
>Updating far better positions for the Neighsian aerial fleet, the lead vessel was 219KM north at a speed of 80KPH, the remaining 87 reforming into a wide V-shape.
"Understood.. estimated time until the trade convoy is out of my maximum range: thirty-eight minutes, ten seconds at current velocity. I will, however, need to slow and REPLACE the majority of both legs and pelvic structure.
Mom, I'm not picking up a single Construct transmission or signal within one hundred miles. They've either left, entered stealth protocols, or are dampening their signals. However, there are two extremely low band gravimetric signals oriented northeast.. can't make them out, nothing but static."

>>370899
>Pareidolia nods in assent at Hodch's request to remain, however the motion catches as he notices the subdued signal.
>Moving back and seating himself on the bench line, his expression takes on a much darker hue as Hodch's voice reaches him over the Moon orb which he fishes out of a vest pocket.
>He closes his right fist over it, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his left hand over his right.
>The slight sound of friction between fabric and nanoweave can be heard as his gloves press against each other.
>Waiting for Dul to leave he faces his helmet downwards towards the floor of the portal, but his eyes never leave Hodch.
>After Hodch's ultimatum is presented, he closes his eyes and quietly exhales before replying through the stone.
('My role as an asset should not have any negative impacts here in so far as whatever Spiral happens to be. If he is not something within the purview of my mission to address, then he will be handled according to the same stipulations already in place. That said, you clearly know something I do not. I value the truth in all circumstances and if you claim to have new information to inform the truth, then I will hear it for myself. Unless it is a cognitive hazard to know, a memory wipe is unecessary.)
>Sitting up, he drums the gloved fingers of his left hand twice against the right's knuckles.
('And I assume you expressed permission regarding a contingency plan for yourself to Shiibo, given what she told me. A plan needed because of your hypothesis about Spiral.')

>>370877
>Pulling out older Central Moors maps and spreading them apart, with a bit of aid from the not-entirely-scatterbrained batpony you find Basin Village, trace an archaic road to the Arena, then locate the... four-word something designated in the middle of an inland lake, or a large prairie.
"Hum. Old Enkee's not used anymore but everypony around here knows it."
>Leaning over to peer at the older batpony markings, tracing each slash mark several times, the tradesmare's head cocks.
"Hum. Here I was thinking that was called The Big Awful Swamp Of Nasty Trees And Worse Surprises, but that's a nope. Closest I can translate is: 'High Swamp-Drain Outflows'.. wait a second-"
>Bushy eyebrows furrowing, her head swivels left, then down at the map, pointing out two parallel lines heading northeast behind the Arena.
"That's it, this map is a lot newer than the ones. I remember a little from history classes. See these? Used to be a huge, deep swamp between them, five to six hundred hooves west of the Arena's outbuildings. This though-"
>Tapping a broad, flat section that was unmarked to the northwest, her expression darkens.
"Silver's Dynasty terraformed it for the League, was a giant bunch of orchards and small farming plots, way before she went crazy that is. After the.. our Civil War, it turned into something much worse. Elemarental, anti-Elemarental, twisted, half-living plants, everything outside, between, and other shit that shouldn't exist. We fly over but never get close, especially on hoof.
Nopony would miss it all getting burned out."

>Examining the most likely positions based on what you now knew, the choice of using the Arena's rebuilt state would provide heavy cover for smaller attackers and defenders alike, but also presented serious threats should sections be destroyed and collapse.
>The deep swamp was surrounded by a mostly circular ring of ancient trees, providing a large number of offensive positions and could be used to shield against Construct energy weapons, though movemarent could be limited.
>As far as the batmare shared, the former orchard would be a tangled, difficult to control or commarend mess that would hazard a three, but more likely four-way conflict, especially if there was Late Dynasty infestation involved.
>Recalling the over 26,000 ponies that responded to Basin Village's defense, the sheer numbers of Support Strikers, unicorns, and other Psions would be able to prevent substantial issues, but only if the majority were still combat capable.
>Likewise, the unknown yet presumably difficult terrain would limit close combat specialists to extremely short offensive ranges, though had significantly increased chances to perform ambushes in opportune locations.
>And you still didn't know precisely how large the Riftseeker was, or what it's form had taken, compounding the previous thoughts.

"I'm confused, pegamiss. There isn't a SINGLE, BRIGHT ORA- would you stop capitalizing my words?! I can FEEL THEM GETTING BIGGER AND FOR TH-"
>Flicking another hidden pebble straight up, the mare glowers at slinky lines of text compressing, then continues.
>Normally, of course.
"Right. No normally-round-orange-paired-and-horrible-in-every-marener-possible Planar Constructs right here. Or around here. Not close by either. Nope. Nothing like that for about half a mile. Maybe less."
>Tapping a hoof on stone, the tradesmare sniffs, pointedly not looking directly at the symbiote, which was currently sitting down and staring at its damaged front legs.
>Snout wrinkling in a profoundly confused marener, the batmare leans in close to whisper.
"Is i- uh.. is 'he'.. actually hurt? I don't think the skin.. or.. armor? ..whichever, doesn't look thicker than a flimsy book cover."

>Ears slackened to both sides, trace amounts of bubbling orange fluid creep upwards from the missing faux-hoof sections, forcing the exterior hull back into its original state.
>Taking on a frown of severe discontent, pearl-white eyes blink languorously, the Construct's motions slowed.
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7] <Autonomous Self-Repair Protocols
[1d6+2 = (2+2) = 4]

>>370922
>This mini wild is cute, can I keep her?
"Replacing them certainly seems to be working, huh?"
>Have to wonder which deity is fucking with my daughter
>And bap it

>How does a metal smell we-
>I don't want to know.
"Well then just don't smell it, Wild."
>d u h
"Understood."
>I take hold of her controls and slow her down over a few moments, so she can continue focusing on REPLACING herself.

>>370923
>Horn alighting in subdued red fog, Hodch seats himself on a dull, though firm cloud, the use of such a luxury rather unusual, as was losing his teacher's demeanor.
('I wouldn't call the information a memetic threat or cognitohazard, though merely knowing all of this... I don't know. Too burned out to speculate.')
>Head dipping slightly, the Reservist Nightblade's front right hoof lifts to rub his neck tiredly.
('One step at a time then. The first part is simple: what is an asset in the context of, where do each of us stand in relation to most of Razorback? The answer, from what I'm fairly Spiral was, is, or possibly may have become, is that we are both threats.')
>Hoof lowering and reaching out, a 12" long, 1" diameter black iron rod materializes, held perfectly still.
('Half the reason I joined Razorback was to continue Fankil's investigation into an absolute fucking disaster of converging problems that I cannot even begin to try explaining. The other half isn't.. important now.
Fankil fully believed said problems were caused by a pony, or a group, in contact with humans, specifically Razorback, using them as a shield to cover for their actions. He was correct, in a way. After his death in Canterlot, I stole a set of modified Tower Guard armor from a friend, using that to enter Stalliongrad and search for Stream Lark.
Suffice to say I was able to clear all humans of Razorback from both Fankil's and Lark's suspicions, among a few dozen others. I've broken a few thousand rules, laws, and the like in doing so. You knew Spiral well enough before he went mad, and you can clearly comprehend where I'm going with this.
The same may or may not apply to you which is why I'm leaving the third option to be taken at any time, and the fourth option will remain open until I know what to even think.')
>The either terribly banned, or deliberately gifted Stalliongrad object disappears, Hodch giving a 'helmet necessary' motion.
('Second, I might have been born in one of Luna's Villages, but I've spent nearly a quarter of my life in Canterlot. There are only six archives there that I'm not allowed in, and those don't contain what I was searching for.
Specifically: herdnames and lineages. By now you understand much of Equestria's naming conventions, how they descend, split off, all originating from a single name. Take the well known Rose overherd for a perfect example: they're all earth ponies, majority in Stalliongrad, remainder in Equestria. Mostly Solars, a few Lunars, no independents. Every birth, death, and event of the Rose overherd is well known.
Now, if you were to say, oh, Disclosure is awfully strange herdname, it doesn't fit Pre-Lunar-Solar War naming conventions, but it COULD be from a Dynasty lineage given how bizarre theirs were.. there is no Disclosure herdname in Mainland Equestria's history.
Likewise he couldn't have come from the Dynasty Remnants in Caneighdia or the Fallen Dynasty adherents between the New Everfree and Gryphon Kingdoms border. They hate all Lunars to the point they'd rather kill themselves than look at one of us.')
>Leaning forwards, the middle aged stallion's jaw tightens, eyes shifting left in creeping anger.
('That brings me to the third part: after returning from the expedition with Spiral to the same ruin we're traveling to, I spent well over a year in the Villages, mostly learning about the conflicts between Lunar and Dynasty adherents. Supposedly they weren't recorded, at all, but I've learned.. a few things otherwise.
At some point all known Sorcerors of the Dynasty were wiped out. Yes, the same exact type that Spiral most definitely was. Here's the first clue that made me think: how could he have turned Filth's dick into a horse's dick, without extensive and eminently fatal biological modification? ...don't answer that one, thinking about it makes me sick. As part of the same topic, Dynastic Sorcerors are responsible for much of the New Everfree's massive flora and fauna growth. Also responsible for lots of Infected, Abominations, Malformed, and Elemarental shit. How bizarre is it that nearly the exact same eugenically-produced lineage disappears, only for a single individual to show up over a thousand years later.
Moving away from THAT, I suspect, but don't have solid proof yet, that all the Lunar Druid circles made pacts with several Ferron sub-clans, a so-called 'lost' Necromarecer group that probably ties to the Vigil Light Cult, a warclan from the batpony-majority Cult of the Dark Horse, and a final group that's so fucking unknown throughout history that I can't even begin to guess what species they were or how marely took part!')
>Eyes shutting and breathing out slowly, Hodch remains still for half a minute, tension bleeding off.
>Head lifting, the stallion pauses, coughing several times before spitting a mass of semi-crystallized blue, dark purple, and white mixed with deep red, rapidly congealing blood.
>Sensing extreme, brief derision despite his stone cold face, a short hoof wave causes the mass to conflagrate in a slow, curiously non-magical and anti-Elemental backlash of energies.
('Fourth, last, worst, but also the most telling: Spiral knew precisely what is killing me. While it's technically a curse, the reality is far more fucked: it's a semi-divine blessing. How funny is that?
Was designed in the Middle Dynasty, an enchantmarent that combined Psionicism, Crystal runes, Gryphon Rune-Scribing, and older unicorn spellwork. It's purpose? Causes an earth stallion to impregnate every available filly and mare, up to twenty in all, within a preset boundary.
As to what happens when a unicorn stallion is infected with it-')
>Right forehoof lifted and turned around, he spits a much smaller mass onto the scarred pad, eyes narrowed at you.
('If I don't banish this amount within five minutes, the effect is basically the same as a large manabomb. And you now know exactly where I picked up the item containing that enchantmarent.')

>>370925
>Unrolling the newspaper and dangling it in her left hand, a sideways headline of 'LOCAL ELDRITCH-ANDROID CURSED BY UNKNOWN, PROBABLY JEALOUS FORCES' is threatened by a large combat knife held in the right.
>...where'd she acquire that from?
"So long as this keeps working, I'll keep doing it."
>Expecting nothing and not being let down, a satisfied electronic tone emits from the screen, though an unusual liquid sloshing above didn't seem right.
"Good news: the first of my secondary repair systems has been REPLACED and access to the third was restored. It was undamaged.
The bad news: there isn't enough Tryptaran mass to reconnect my head unit's systems and functions. I'm operating off two secondary nodes, which are approximately forty-percent less efficient than the primary versions.. I really hope those weren't destroyed.
I'm going to shut down, reboot, and REPLACE the repair tendril systems one by one, they're barely functional as is."
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+14 = (3+14) = 17] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+15 = (4+15) = 19]
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20]
[1d6+13 = (5+13) = 18] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15]
[1d6+13 = (5+13) = 18]
[1d6+20 = (6+20) = 26] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Repair Tendril #1 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <Repair Tendril #2 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Repair Tendril #3 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Repair Tendril #4 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Repair Tendril #5 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <Repair Tendril #6 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <Repair Tendril #7 Reboot
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Repair Tendril #8 Reboot

>Displaying a schematic of the 30M long external repair systems' internals, most you didn't understand.. and a few you didn't want to try thinking about, a small unit at the end was clearly intended to inspect, analyze, and identify inorganics.
"You see this? Positive identification of materials is required, so I don't have a choice."
>Returning to their earlier position as control sticks, the medical not-tools had likewise been REPLACED to full condition.. except for an absolutely puzzling, unknown dent in a specific location, shaped almost as if...
>How strange and totally weird to look at.
>Pulling back, Wild slows from her power jog to an easy walk, halting with a final heavy stomp facing the seemingly endless beach.
"Performing a final inspection of my leg, pelvic, and lower torso structures."
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Arcanum Sensor Array
"...and I might as well check long ranged communications."
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Omni-Sensor Array
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5]

>Quiet except for the comforting sounds of metal being shaped, the air was slightly cooler here here, less drifting ash and soot was entering the chest cabin.
>Hearing a loud, unusual sound outside, then one more several seconds later, and another, you realize it was beginning to rain.
>And heavily too, judging by large water drops impacting Wild's armor and hull, while the thick, billowing dark clouds in the distance might as well be a storm.
>Without any lightning, amusingly.
"This is good. The wildfire should be contained within.. one hour at most."

>>370905
>José couldn't contain a little amused snort as Trakkel went through banter city, quickly trying to mask it by softly clearing his throat out of habit.
>He doubted anyone would really mind his reaction, but if there's ponies like Starglow and humans like that asian woman at the comm station that can be easily set off, practicing a proper stoneface would be fruitful.
>Quickly jotting down the various valuable nuggets of information regarding mind reading defenses, character profiles and species knowledge, he soon started nodding pensively.
>Wait a minute, looking back at yesterday, he faintly remembered having posted something along those lines on the board.
>Oh damn, they might be talking about him.
"Did the note state a reason why?"

>>370924
>Looking between the various locations, Sunny rubbed massaged her brow with a pinion.
"So essentially I have my pick of a dangerous swamp to the south, a dangerous swamp to the northeast, and horrors-of-a-bygone-age to the northwest, also a dangerous swamp."
>They certainly wouldn't be picking that last one unless they wanted to pick a fight with whatever was there as well. Given how depleted their forces must be, if they had even survived, and then going up against constructs and a riftseeker, it was doubtful they would do that.
>She hoped, the watch guard general had asked for her advice, and she could only presume Gardenia's attitude to dying in honorable combat applied to the whole force in general, on top of liberal use of suicide bombers. Sound strategic sense couldn't be something she could bank on them having.
>Sunny stamped a hoof idly, she couldn't keep wasting time here after she'd told Mercy seconds counted. Make a decision. Act.
>South meant backtracking to the Arena, then perpendicular to the direction Mercy was headed, with her symbiote in tow.
>Northeast meant following her path, but she couldn't even be sure the roads would take her that direction since they were new and the maps she had were made before the reconstruction effort, which meant crossing difficult terrain at best, and running across whatever nasties were lurking in the thickets at worst.

>The simplest way to decide would be to divine a path of least resistance. So she looked over the map again, noting marked paths and roads, along with topographical features, particularly the distance involved. Even if they were out of date, she could at least make a reasonable guess at the fastest, most direct route either east or south.
>All other information had to be deemed non-factor for this decision, or she'd spend the rest of night here just analysing her options and learning the history of the general area, which was interesting, but not immediately useful beyond knowing for sure where it was too dangerous for a large force to use as a staging ground.

[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] < B.Scouting
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] < Map Satchel: Geography

>Noting the bat mare's concern for the construct, Sunny glanced up from her map musings and looked over to it.
>It was bold to assume 'hurt' even applied to this thing or constructs in general. Damage could be sensed, and considered undesirable in terms of how it would affect their ability to carry out their directives. Emotive mimicry aside, she doubted the symbiote or any construct understood pain the way an organic would, as far as she knew, they could only understand it as negative feedback.
>Just as she had been thinking that, it began to repair itself.
"Not for long, apparently."
>The fluid being used for repair got her thinking. It was clearly a blood analogue, but what was it really? It had been damaged by acid, she knew from her alchemical experience that acidic molecules typically worked by either exchanging or adding certain particles with other molecules, dissolving matter at a macroscopic level. The esoteric variety behaved similarly for metaphysical formations.
>If the repair fluid was comprised of objects of greater than molecule size, then damage incurred from acid was the one thing it could not simply repair without expending its supply of available material, since material was destroyed by acid rather than merely rearranged or separated by other forms of damage. Cellular sized machinery could not interact with subatomic particles, at least mechanically, subatomic manipulation by generated fields was another matter entirely.
>That would be something she'd have to look into, it might even help greatly against the riftseeker if they had to fight it. The armor would resist it, but it had to expose its weaponry to use it, and it would likely have joints that could be targeted at range.

[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] < Pupil Researcher
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] < Junior Constructs
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]

>>370929
>I'll just assume Kraut had a knife in Wild before Wild became Wild.
>Or she just made one for a joke.
"I certainly won't argue its effectiveness."
>Even if it was... rather unorthodox in execution.

"Sure you do, just don't smell it!"
>Smelling and smelling are two different actions after all.
>And I'll ignore the odd dent in the tendril, don't know what rightly happened to it and I doubt I want to know!
>Definitely.

"At least the wildfires would help life regrow, that's the only real boon to this whole situation."

>>370801
"We let it happen, for thousands of years. While Europeans were still tribal, Egyptians were using slave labor to build massive pyramids for Pharaohs to rest in once they died. It's a combination of religion and seated authority."
>Ancient Egypt was... quite fucking weird.
>Even the little parts of it that he's read would make him glad he wasn't alive then.

"I would think they'd be willing to trade in things other than simply money too, no?"
>Bartering in the Zone was always unpredictable, sometimes a STALKER wouldn't accept rubles at all.
"But I'll make sure I have plenty of money, just in case."

>Taking the history lesson in stride, Ivan would frown a little.
"Obviously they only met a batpony through their stereotypes."
>He paused for a moment.
"I will not argue the puns or lewdness, though."

>>370861
>As he was listening to the Assault Vanguard's lead, Clem couldn't help but notice the mares giving him...unsavory attention
>He quietly keeps to himself, ready to pounce if they make any bold actions
>So far, Clem understands that Riftseekers are no joke
>And among the two options, the first one seems to be the most sensible
>He's not keen on more suicidal charges tonight anyway

>Spying on the Arena, he spots the Constructs currently there
>Two spheres, bristling with weapons
>And a Repair unit building a giant gate

>>370873
>Clemency returns Jeff's nod alongside Lont
>He totally forgotten about the Vitriole Orb Jeff has
>Between that and maybe getting into a truce with the Constructs, maybe a plan can be cobbled together
>Watching him go, Clemency thought about getting some of the heavier weapons out of the armory
>He realizes that he was severely outclassed when it comes to handling large firearms
>And coming close to a Riftseeker like that doesn't seem like a smart move especially when exhausted
>Taking the precious time to get a breather, he focuses on the Razorback rookies
>Particularly if they needed to be wrangled into shape
[1d6+2 = (6+2) = 8] <Expert Perception/Rookie Wrangler
[1d6+2 = (2+2) = 4]
[1d6+2 = (1+2) = 3]

>>370897
>Turning to Lont, he looks like he's steeled for this fight
>The Crystal pony support is certainly helpful
>Although, he doesn't think he ever saw a golem like whatever bowed to Lont
"Any plans for this fight? I'm leaning more towards covering fire myself."

>>370933
>Balling up a napkin and tossing it between the two quietly arguing, the second man waits a few until they settle down, then turns to give a half-assed shrug.
"Knock it off or both of you are getting wall duty the whole night.
Nah, all it said was don't add anything to the Board or a half-ton plus mare's gonna drop on someone's head. Around here that's a promise, not a threat, so don't try it."
>Looking up from his hands and surveying the Mess Hall briefly, Trakkel frowns.
"Speaking of wall duty.. any of you seen Mercy tonight?"
"Since we've been back? No."
"Nope. You?'
"No."
"Negatory."
"Ehh, no."
>Figuratively kicking himself into gear with a sigh, the squad lead turns around to face the other occupied tables, voice pitching into a demand.
"Razorback, got a need to know right fucking now question that better be a yes. Has ANYONE seen Mercy at all tonight"
>Among the Rookie table, a younger man speaks up, then towards the pegasus cook.
"Not since last night. Pella, know where she's at?"
"She's usually in a little past Dusk for her special order. Maybe try the Tower?"
"Been there, nopony's touched the hay piles and Clem ain't around either."
"Hmmm.. don't have a clue, sorry."
>Thumping hands on the table, Trakkel shoots you an apologetic look, tapping his radio before standing.
"Where the fuck are they all? Sorry about this man, but looks like we're the ones on duty. If you need one of us try our local channel, 52.3."
>Stretching out briefly, then grabbing a heavy, odd looking combat rifle, he motions towards the doors, the rest of his squad collecting their kit, then turns to sternly address the other tables.
"For those that aren't dead yet, off your asses and hit the walls. Last bullshit we need is some THING getting in or over that shouldn't, and if we catch one person slacking you're going straight to General Twisted Wing's month long School of Stop Dying Or I'll Kill You Myself.
For those that HAVEN'T been here more than two weeks, check in at the Workshop. Lann can make armored clothing so get yourself some nice stuff. There's a close combat weapon specialist, a batpony mare with a funny name, Mango-Spice or something like that. But whatever you do, don't fucking bother the unicorns."
>Tossing a quick salute in your direction, Trakkel and his squad head towards the Mess Hall's doors, followed by over half of the Operators.
"Enjoy your food man."

>>370938
"There is a limitation: I cannot use that tactic in less than a minimum of twenty-eight hours. It also does not feel good to me.."
>Realizing what she was holding, miniature Wild examines it long enough to read twice, then hacks the newspaper in half.
"WHO IS PRINTING THIS NONSENSE?!"
>There was definitely a strange disconnect between her internal and external thought processes.. which couldn't be from you.
>Hopefilly.

"That is a necessary component of my repair capabilities, Mom. If I had an alternative method to analyze inorganic materials, I would choose that and remove the system. Until then it stays."
>Tossing the pieces, and knife, over her shoulders off screen, the internal version smacks armored hands together before turning serious.
"Accessing data... incomplete. Moors records are far below standard levels. But mostly nonexistent. I don't think this region's flora experience significant regrowth from wildfires as certain plains and forests do."
>Removing the map table entirely and placing her internal schematic on the left screen, the caricature studies it.
>And while you were fairly sure most of those components shouldn't be marked in black, red, or covered in symbols that seemed to indicate damage, they still weren't ones you understood.
>Much.
"Most of my external repair systems are now functional.. efficiency has been moderately to severely degraded. I need access to my head unit's primary data nodes but they will suffice for now.
Now REPLACING destroyed all right leg motivators and structural supports-"
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Sensory Node #2: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] <Sensory Node #3: Basic Engineering Study
[1d6+14 = (3+14) = 17] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21]
[1d6+15 = (4+15) = 19]
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14]
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]
[1d6+20 = (4+20) = 24] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Repair Tendril #1
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5] <RT-2
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] <RT-3
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <RT-4
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] <RT-5
[1d6+2 = (6+2) = 8] <RT-6
[1d6+2 = (1+2) = 3] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-8

>Pinning the smaller Crag Moors map atop her body, mini-Wild circles, in red of course, the aerial convoy's trajectory towards Basin Village.
"Estimated time of aerial fleet arriving at Basin Village slash Basin City: six hours, fifty minutes, plus or minus a half hour. No course changes or deviations; the lead vessel is still repeating its original broadcast."

>>370939
>Heaving the boxpack next to Krinza's anvil to inspect both straps, Helping regards you with a faintly miffed expression.
"The equine version of slavery is, besides a few outliers, a necessity to those that need it, and should be considered as direct opposition to the common human form. Should a pony be incapable of paying a debt due to injury, illness, or other unfortunate events, there are numerous forms of service that they can take on.
We value the concept as it provides those with 'less' wealth, skill, or material possessions, far greater access and legally enforceable equal rights to those with 'greater' of the same. A large number of historically well regarded ponies across Equestria were once..."
>Turning the box sideways to face the furnace, the large unicorn frowns, ears twitching in deep thought.
"No matter how I try to translate the words, the Common Equestrian meanings are insufficient. And highly insulting. The Saddle Arabians have one specific term, 'serfi' I believe it is. The meaning is essentially a skilled servant whom was bought to prevent destitution, and is considered to be above the purchaser's standing.
Despite some ideological differences, the funerals of beloved leaders in certain countries, city-states, regions, etcetera, are marked by great works to honor the equinity of an individual or herd.
Saddle Arabia features thousands of such monumarents which are considered national treasures. One of the most enjoyed is in Buzzard's Rest, a.. grand swimming pool that can host two thousand or more ponies. The name is exceptionally difficult to pronounce correctly.
In general, slaves are to be treated with excellence, or the purchaser risks being publicly shunned, and possibly killed, by those with equal standing."
>Horn brightening, several titanium rolls and thin plates are pulled from the south side to him, spread out, squared, then quickly marked for cutting.
"Of course. Bits are accepted across most of Equestria with little concern. Gems, whether raw, cut, or refined, are more valuable in direct trade as they retain value far longer than coins. Difficult to acquire trade goods such as mystic gems or unusual materials commarend better trade margins, generally three to ten times more.
Functional weapons and armor almost never lose value, even if mass produced, though are difficult to carry around. Enchantmarents are the same, yet are limited in number. ..excluding resonant and Psionic variants which are hard to acquire.
Of note are the archaic gem coins originating from the Crystal Conclaves, Early to Middle Kingdom, and Changeling Hive. Each one is worth anywhere from twenty to a thousand times their face value, depending on the gem utilized to produce them, the stamped year, and which Conclave. But, there are few of those in circulation as is.
Information is perhaps the most volatile of trade goods. Such is highly valuable, however one must be careful as knowledge must be regionally, culturally, or productively useful. ..political usefulness is a topic I have no care for.
I would suggest taking more gems than Bits. Some ponies enjoy naturally valuable materials over metals, raw or refined."
>Neatly severing two thin sheets and matching them to a plate, Helping repeats the process three times, melding each set together before affixing to the boxpack.
"The majority of stereotypes exist for correct reasons. Batponies are unfortunately easy targets for such, though they do not seem to take offense to that knowledge. Just the opposite, in fact I believe they use those same stereotypes to surprise, astound, and outwit the unwary."
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <E.Crafting
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9]
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6]
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] <E.Enchanting
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8]
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] <E.Smith
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+8 = (6+8) = 14] <Eidetic Fundamarentals

"They could stand to be far less aggressive in asking whether somepony desires to spend 'some time' in their cave, however."

>>370873
"I'll take it for now, don't have any AT's left."
>Handing off the duffel and launcher to another One Hundred, then passing through the daisy-chain of common ammunition into the Armory.. it was a mess, and otherwise empty as the Workshop door was closed.
('You say that but we haven't even seen the fucking thing-')
('Real question is: do we WANT to?')
('Real answer: long as there's a threat to the Moors, we can't back the fuck out. Ever.')
('Hear fucking here-')
>Razorback had grabbed every last sealed pouch, pack, canister, box, or bag, leaving the tables, shelves, and lockers more disorganized than Mercy's eating habits.
('Jeff, we grabbed every last explosive, there's nothing left either in the Command Center or lockers.')
('I.. might have stolen a couple from Twisted's stash.')
('....we'll hold a nice funeral after she gets back.')
('Fuck you too.')
>Taking up the heavy Gepard and collecting what few spare rounds were available to reload its primary magazine, the chain was slowing as those Operators with a surplus of specialized ammunition or Era Locked equipment head to their lockers.
('I remember that report. Hey, you were with me, right?')
('Yeah, we spent the next couple nights tracking down all the ponies involved. Basin's Maretriarch gave up on it a month later.')
('No, but also... potentially yes. Despite our collected knowledge in destroying Constructs and Riftseekers alike, the orange fluid is neither fully biological nor mechanical. Most describe as biomechanical but that is an incomplete descriptor. There are some that think it to be mechanobiological, and have the same problem.
Unlike Elemarentals, depending on a Construct's model or designation some are fully immune to Lightning, others are not. The majority seem to develop a tolerance, and pairs are able to share that. Resistance to high temperatures is extreme but have difficulty repairing themselves in conditions under fifty degrees.
The best we can answer is: possibly. Riftseekers are less understood by far greater margins of error. If a clear, but most importantly safe, opportunity arises, then we can only state to introduce that Core.')
>Piling everything common onto the east side, the last remaining Operators exit the Armory, heading back into the Basin Village gate.
('Looks like we're done, last one's you Jeff.')
('Fucker's joke is still rolling around in my head..')
('If it hurts you that batly then ignore him.')
('....I hate you.')
('Peel with it.')
('I HATE you!')

>>370897
>Outside the Crystal-aligned forces, it appeared none had realized or suspected the unusual ponies in their midst.
>Drowning out the thought by recalling what you could of the exotic dishes, vegetables, grains, roots, tubers, nuts, and fruits, one of the nearest Night Guard Chargers stamps a hoof.
"I can feel that you know! Which one of you is trying to make me go back to the Empire City-State?!"
"You can barely fit in that armor as is."
"Didn't you spend two nights getting a refit?"
"I'm not fat damn it!"
"Hm, you are carrying at least five extra pounds."
"No I am not!"
"I wouldn't miss out on all the tasty stuff.. if we weren't busy that is."
"And tapdance on your hooves too! I FIT IN THIS JUST FINE!"

('The humans of Stalliongrad haven't let us down once in the Tunnels, no matter the targets we asked them to accompaneigh us against. Best we can hope for is this Riftseeker has thin armor, bad weapons, and is dumber than every young Minotaur bull in middle winter.')
>Head swiveling to the closest Crystal-Hegemony Minotaur, the leadmare offers a respectful nod.
"No offense to you, sh'ar."
"Po-ny? What say?"
"....right, can't join an overherd. If I said, that I just said, I was insulting all young Minotaur bulls in middle winter, would that be offensive in any marener?"
"No, you right po-ny! We all stu-pid then!"
"Even cows?"
"Al-ways!"
>Receiving a rather careful, albeit still hearty and heavy headpat, she sighs internally, then externally.
('Didn't know what I was expecting to hear..')

>Lance tipping in your direction, the Assault Vanguard's leadstallion grunts, pulling his helmet on and sharing the same thought of having a nice cold ice bath.
('That's a giant if. No modern Constructs use external weapons, few still have jointed arms, and most older models lacked overlapping plates. Last one we saw with all three was from the early 25,000's. Had a rather odd plasma rrrr- weapon, let's call it that, similar to what some of you are carrying, and a box filled with blue canisters. Went up like somepony ripped the housing off a Spark Lamp-')
('It was pretty to watch though!')
('At close range? And stupidly dangerous to ignite at said range? Or maybe you enjoyed half your coat burned off and spending a month in the Tower's care?')
('Eh, was worth the risks. Besides, I healed just fine thank you, there's plenty of mares and stallions that love real battle scars!')
('You are beyond weird.')
('We know that!')
('Just... ..regardless, every Riftseeker we've brought down has had no direct weaknesses in either protection or capabilities. One pushes the limits of what can be expected since they're not only unique, but also respond with extreme disparities in behavior.')

>>370927
>Pareidolia looks towards the cursed blood Hodch spits out and watches as it burns.
(Cursed blood and a withering soul then. Likely more links to the past with Spiral and prior investigation than stated.)
>His eyes close in weary contemplation as he leans his helmet backwards, craning towards the ceiling.
(Stars, I miss Command. Level of information and conspiracy processing is approaching overwhelming. Not cut out for this scale of operation.)
>A long, slow exhale is heard as he maintains his posture.
('To summarize, Spiral may be a potential danger due to Dynastic Sorceror lineage of which he is somehow a survivor despite over a thousand years of absence. Lineage was wiped out by a combination of forces, primarily Lunar aligned. If he is aware of this past history, then in his current state it may result in extreme hostility. His personal lineage and origins are unclear with no traceable herd name links. Other evidence includes his abilities and expertise.')
>He continues his mental conversation as he shifts to leaning his helmet foward against his splayed left glove, propping the elbow against his knee. His eyes remain closed in consternation and recall, some of that anxiety lightly tinging his tone.
('Organizing some of Razorback's bills, I'd found a copy stating that Spiral had purchased 280,000 thousand bits worth of books on the Solar faction from a princess Yearning Touch via dam princess Golden Beet Jam. That is 'princess' with a lowercase 'p'. Another bill of Spirals contained unlisted items he had sold to Yearning Touch for 350,000 Germaneighan Ear-Marks. There was code present on the bill, but I lacked the tools to decipher it. As for Stream Lark... there was a mission where I was involved in retrieving him. Initial assessment seemed to mark it as a partial failure, but in light of Lucky's manipulation and recent events the potential of interconnected conspiracy grows higher.')
>Sighing again, he opens his eyes and rolls his shoulders in an attempt to relieve tension.
('Since you haven't asked about my other affiliations, I won't ask about yours. So long as it includes aims to remove and not enable subversive human elements and effects, our missions run parallel.')

>>370940
>For once, Razorback's lesser experienced Operators were too ragged, exhausted, tired, or hardening infield to start shit, let alone end the same.
>Catching shared, grim expressions on most faces, it was clear that defending Basin Village had changed a great deal of their attitudes towards ponies and themselves.
>Possibly not for the best, either.
>Checking over the equines that might be problematic, only the youngest Day Guard mares were still making unsubtle glances towards veterans and elites, regardless of species, though were particularly interested in the Assault Vanguard.
>...especially the stallions, but were not excluding mares, which the Lunar Guards seemed to be acceptable towards.

"I'm not about to challenge this Overherd's leadership against a Moderatis Shieldmare."
>Marentally staring each other down, the Assault Vanguard's leader gives up before the Shieldmare even bothers to forgive him.
"Without acquiring an entire Watch Fortress worth of explosives, having all unicorns and Support Strikers refreshed, our best option is, once again, to not engage and instead perform long ranged recon. Information is desperately needed, especially if the Riftseeker has indeed taken the physical features of a mutated Emerald drake.
But, in the off chance our target has gone active..."
>Attention flickering across the eager, still fresh ranks of Chargers and Lancers already in hyping each other up, the leadstallion's head tilts right several degrees, speaking bitterly against the Overherd's weight.
"They have already chosen to buy enough time to either fully engage it or cover a retreat."
>Accepting a temporary ceasing of hostilies from the Shieldmare and shutting out the Overherd briefly, the stallion's voice drops into cool warning tones.
"Convincing them otherwise is unlikely."

"Master Clemency, I do not think it wise t-"
>Without a reference or significant understanding as to how, or why, Blackhorn lifts in your hands, the bolt slamming backwards, belted shells spooling back into the magazine.
>Angrily.
>Changed belt jerking upwards, first shell into the breech slamming shut, the rear indicator shows the magazine reloaded with only recalibrated finned darts and kinetic iso-magnetic rods in sequence.
>Between amazed, impressed, and aghast at the Construct weapon's actions, the leadstallion's gaze slowly travels from it to you, speaking in a calm, firmly neutral tone.
"It is well known that Rift symbiotes, including Riftdrowners, are highly attuned to their bonded partner. As it is, you should consider-"
>Visibly deliberating on each word, his open psyche was wavering between critical incredulity and giving up on life.
"How she feels about the current situation."

>Helmet swinging towards the gateways, the Shieldmare's tone hardens at numerous reports.
('Ma'am, minor threats engaged south and north. No difficulties.')
('Other than a few burns that aren't doing much-')
('West end clear, small swarms destroyed or.. convinced to leave.')
('Further details?)
('Disregard earlier reports, Void spectrums here are incredibly thick at the momarent, risk of infestations or reality breaches are low.')
('That is strange. Probable causes?')
('False reverberations, misread echoes, incorrect spectrum comparisons.. a few dozen more possibilities.')
('Understood, those are indeed easy to miss. Lancers and Chargers first in stated orders.')
>Hundreds of the smaller Guardmares eagerly storm forwards into the outermost gateways, setting up external lines on the pathway, which sparks some interest from the few awake batponies clustered in front of the barns, lazing atop stalls, or hanging out of windows.
('Lunar and Watch Guard, secondary ranks are yours.')
>Striding forth into long, secondary lines inside the Day and Night Guard's outer ranks, the Shieldmare sweeps her focus across Razorback, then the unicorns that weren't at risk of burning out.
('Unicorns, Razorback: organize yourselves as before. Shorter ranged casters and weapons closest to front, progressively longer ranged combatants and specialists stretching across the rear.')
>Staring into the gates as Operators separate into new squads, submachine gunners and those carrying shotguns first, the leadstallion suppresses a sigh, head shaking in disbelief.
('Vanguard, five of us per human, we're on escort duty. How marely puns does it take to write a book?')
('I do not know. Why do you ask?')
('Because I can feel a few thousand new ones being made right now....')

>>370956
>Taking a deep breath, Hodch blows on the mass, the same anti-Elemarental energetics dispersing it from reality as he glances up with a short nod.
('Absolutely correct on all accounts. Now that you understand the majority of my fears, concerns, and troubles, you also understand why I'm leaving the third option open and the fourth as-of-yet undefined until we know far more.')
>Leaning forwards once again, this time to allow a short, rolling yawn, the deep purple stallion starts to relax, then stares downwards flatly.
('Underprincesses Yearning Touch and Golden Beet Jam? I know of them yes, they help lead the Gold Court's higher echelons and are well loved. Never met either though. Both are directly descended from Princess Celestia, though I'm not sure how marely generations distant. That doesn't answer how they could ha-')
>Burying front hooves in the cloud, Hodch snarls aloud, eyes shut in severe anger.
('Oh that fucking LIAR! ...yet another pain in the asses that needs to be tracked down and either silenced, suppressed, or thrown out! ...thank you for informing me of.. this. Certain factions shouldn't have attempted to help Razorback from the sidelines and instead done so in the open. Less I say now the better off you and Razorback might be.')
>Eyes opening, the right brow raises, taking on an annoyed expression as he makes a slight leg breaking motion.
('What I'm going to say will forever remain OFF all records until either I die, you are forced into swearing oaths to those factions directly in the know, or one of the Lunar Council directly orders you to speak on their behalf: I know every single detail of that Operation.
Linara, Sha'Ro, Lark, two Princesses, at least ten Crystal Empire Spireguards, two Imperial Generals, five Kingdom Wardens, an unknown but presumable Councilierge, one Grand Ethereal Champion, an unaligned human that I know nothing about, two Watch Guard Master-Generals, at least half of the Tower Guard, well over twenty Stalliongrad aligned humans, and a large number of Canterlot's Royal Guard planned it out. Together, I must add.
While I was in Canterlot to perform a certain diversion that you will hear of, in the next week or two, several ponies contacted me and asked permission to perform the go-ahead on a plan that will shortly become known.
Now, whom signed off on all of it? The Starborn's General, Executioner, Luna's Guardian, and a few other titles-)
>Ears rotating in terrified yet furious motions, Hodch clenches his jaw several times before continuing.
('Don't ever piss her off without an exceptionally solid reason. You have no idea the amount of favors across Tallus and the Planes are owed to her. She is NOT what you might think or believe she is.
Moving on: Valden had a hoof in the neighgotiations between all factions and parties, then allowed certain Solar artifacts, coins, and valuables to be used, which should have been a dead giveaway to the Vigilites and Psions watching the auction. A few may not have been told relevant details in time.
A certain Master-General didn't realize, or ignored, the following: Steel Oak is a Free Agent, a former noble that ditched Canterlot after the Changeling Hive was assaulted. His daughter is friends with a large number of Very Important Ponies, mostly in Neighvada, And, best yet, his two bodyguards are independent elite marecenaries with deep ties to the Minotaur Hegemony, hence their particular and unusual names.
I'm quite sure you don't know anything about that, of course')
>Eyebrows raised in a moderately smug marener, Hodch visibly feigns ignorance by turning both forelegs outwards, though immediately turns serious.
('I also know how much certain humans hate Stream Lark for all the wrong reasons, but Razorback had best be careful: he's always treated Shanis as family. Tartarus Isle, the same. A vast amount of resources from across Stalliongrad and parts of Rushya were funneled to her, without any expectation other than to root out whichever ponies from.. certain places might have infiltrated Razorback.
And I sincerely hope no humans have spoken ill of Lark to Shanis' brother. That one.. reminds me too much. He considers forgiveness nothing more than a weakness to be stamped out.')
>Left leg crossing chest and bending forwards in a formal bow, Hodch's left leg makes a forget it motion.
('I serve equinity first and by extension Tallus as a whole. Let it be known that the majority of Lunars despise having to lie, even if there are exceptional reasons to do so, which I still hate. Killing and destroying to protect others, prevent certain events, or remove problems, those we consider honorable. Just the same, if I had the option I would have disposed of Filth long ago, but that damage is done and there's no information of his current whereabouts. Yet.
Your agenda, so far as I care to understand, and that isn't an insult, seems to be aimed at creating either a disconnect or a more manageable state of affairs for Razorback. Normally I'd suggest care in how to proceed, though I suspect much is now impossible to manage.
However, in the interests of numerous parties that must not yet be revealed, I would ask that you ignore all humans outside of Equestria whom are not direct threats. As you have likely noticed Katyal is quite.. efficient.')

>Clearing his throat, the Reservist Nightblade rolls forwards to stand, creating an arrow above his head to point at the expanded bracelet with a cheerful smile.
"Now then, let's see whether or not the Elemarental Plane of Lightning, Storms, and the connection Tempests greet you as an ally, or at least as a friend. There's a chance you might be considered too Otherworldly and not accepted, though knowing how certain Dynasty projects in the past have been, shall we say, exceptional, such a risk is minute."

>>370952
>As Razorback continues to dump surplus munitions into the Armory, Jeff decides the impromptu break had gone on enough.
>He walks over to where he had grabbed the Gepard from and collects its extra pair of magazines and stickies them wherever he had room on his chest.
>Continuing on about the Riftseeker through he gateway, he shrugs at the thoughts on the Vitriole Orb. Either way he's got it in case it become viable.
('Organic or not, it's got to be volatile enough to to something at the very least. Maybe scramble the gooey parts to where it can't function properly. Doesn't have to necessarily kill it. On the other end it could easily have an immunity to poisons giving the creature it's emulating.')
>The daisy chain waning, he heads over to Anon's Ash Box to grab another Iron Sphere to replace the one he almost vaporized the gestalt with earlier.
>Poor guy. Hope he's re-amalgamated himself.
>Hearing him get called being the last man, he stretches his arms before hoisting up the heavy rifle onto his right shoulder and heading out of the Armory and back through to the Basin Village.

>Back on the side of the next battle effort, the main force were getting ready to move through.
>A Shieldmare takes charge over the forces, checking though the gateways for any news from the scouting party.
>Sounds like they were encountering light forces. Didn't sound like any casualties, even chasing them off.
('What are they coming across?')
>Were the Constructs hostile, or were the scouts engaging first? Sounded inconclusive.
>The Shieldmare starts lining up forces in front of the gateways, the humans bringing up the rear with any unicorns not fried from keeping the matrices open.
>Jeff gets in formation, positioning himself center rear to have an unhindered view of their ranks.
('Machine gunners, spread yourselves evenly through long guns. Launchers, anti-tank, and unique ectetera: save your rounds for any special targets of opportunity.')
>As a quintuplet of Vanguards form up on him, he awaits any further updates from the Shieldmare.
('Are we still going to have the Overherd on the otherside, or is that going to dissipate once we cross over?')

>>370959
>He watches Hodch come to yet another unhappy realization thanks to the information he provided.
>Nodding back at the Nightblade, he turns his head away.
('Understood. Will provide the bills if we successfully return.')

>Memories of the harrowing operation in Stalliongrad are dredged forth as Hodch recounts the list of everyone involved. The Master General Lapis Thorn being paid particular note.
(At least that operation was clean then... no apparent manipulation by Lucky... )
>He shakes his head as Hodch adds an unknown clarifying detail.
('The implications of their affiliations are unclear to me.')

>Nodding once at Hodch and tightening the grip of his clasped gloves, he sighs and shakes his helmet.
('Currently, Razorback needs a major withdrawal from active political affairs. Control and management of human element vectors is impossible without consolidation, and yes current protocol is strictly damage control.')
>Loosening his left glove's grip long enough to make a dismissive flicking motion towards the ground, he adds:
('And yes, that was the plan regardless with such limited resources. Katyal and your benefactors won't see interference from me. Will request you contact me if you ever find Filth however. Protocol dictates his removal.')

>Following Hodch's cue he stands rolling his shoulders, smoothly pocketing the Moonstone Orb as he adjusts his vest.
>Running a final check of his electronics before entering the portal after Hodch, he silently nods at the invitation.

>>370952
>Finished loading his Spiker, he cradled it in his arms as he watched the members of Razorback work as efficient as Ash Ants in taking everything from the Armoury, even down to the last bullet. Or maybe Termites.
>"Anon was going to break his back in carrying out a resupply of the entire Fortress."

>>370953
>He snickered. It was always a delight to hear ponies mewl at each other. Equines in general were just...great to pet and fawn over.
>As he continued to stare off into space his mind wondered away from food and to all the times he had pet ponies. him cradling Nao the seal came and went as the heft of his Spiker reminded him of that ball of blubber too.
>Something clicked in his head, telling him he was daydreaming at this point and broadcasting it into the Overherd for all to imagine. He shook his head dispelling the string of thoughts, but sadly not before a flash memory slipped in at the last second. Akin to a freezeframe, it was of his hand massaging a Particularly Pretty Pristine Pink Princess Pony's frogs, in an act of intimate Hoofholding.

>wishing he still had his helmet on, he turned his attention back to the reality of their grim situation.
('"If it bleeds we can kill it", A wise man once said back on Ferrundus. It will die this night I am sure of it.')
>He said before looking up to the moon, seeing how long before day broke.

>>370940
>Hefting his helmet up he gave Clem a wink.
"Same verse as a first, cover fire and shoot at it until it dies like last time."
>Then, his helmet was back in place.

>>370957
>Being a good little soldier he went where he was needed.

>>370957
>Clemency was surprised and worried at the same time when he saw the faces of the Rookies
>Them not starting shit felt almost unnatural
>For their sake, Clemency felt he needed to stick with them

>Snapping his attention to Blackhorn, he feels the gun lift and rack itself with a new belt of shells
>Darts and rods, sequenced
>Clemency closes his eyes and realizes Blackhorn's intent
>"Alright, we go then. It's like what Lont said. Shoot it until it dies."

>Opening his eyes, he sees the formation and fills in, positioning himself to get a center view of the Rookie squad
>There seems to be light skirmishes already with the scouts
>Clem figured if they were light enough to repel, then they should have no issues
{Alright, rooks. This is Clemency. Time to embrace the suck. Space out those MGs and save the AT.)

>>370944
"Thanks."
>With an amicable salute of his own, Gallo watches them leave out of the Mess Hall with a soft smile as he jots down the channel 52.3 in case he ever needs to contact Trakkel and his squad.
>So he should visit the Workshop according to the succinct announcement.
>At least for the common operator.
>To be fair, right now he might as well be.
>Before José committed to following those instructions, he took some time eating his food and silently trying to listen in some gossip from the other tables if he could.
>Although he doubted to learn much since the ones that stayed will probably be as clueless as he was.
>It wouldn't hurt to try either way.

>Unless the human somehow managed to overhear something particularly of note, he'd soon take off towards the Workshop.
>Good thing he remembered to look at the map yesterday.
>A brisk trek next door. Shouldn't take too long before he starts actually developing his diplomat career.
>Hopefully.

>>370934
"You're being serious? That's illegal in some of the Moors-"
>Switching from humor to an externally blacked out mood, her face slackens in favor of deeply thoughtful, practical batpony-against-everything violence.
>Reaching up to crumple a miniature STOP sign above her head, the tradesmare's head shakes solemnly.
"Not right now please."

>Cross-referencing topography against distance, then applying the newly information information to each, all three would be equally negative combat locales.
>Support ponies would be necessary to allow open area crossings, prepare teleports, deliver small numbers through Psionic-Warp Gates, or set and and launched preplanned ambushes against larger targets.
>If available, and most importantly fresh, unicorns and Support Strikers would have close to thirty minutes of such actions, though since you had no idea the current status or numbers of each, all three options were equally poor:
>The big, yet fairly shallow swamp south of Basin Arena would be great to trap a big target, though not anything more than a large Endless March Golem.
>If a target could be held or pinned at range, ponies could move around for cover, and there would be large amounts of water to put out fires, yet close combatants wouldn't reach easily.
>The deeper swamp northeast of Basin Arena would be best for challenging a huge target, featuring a significant amount of linked ambush potential, but there were no assurances that a Riftseeker's actions could be intercepted or comprehended beforehoof.
>The half-swamped out orchards and farms northeast would be best against a massive target, similar to the mythical Titans some Ferron talked about now and then, yet would most likely become a four-way battle.
>What little you know of the Late Dynasty's more problematic multi-species magical corruption was to never enter those zones at all costs, unless said costs could be mitigated by a number of lives, at which point the chances of Malformed or Abominations increased significantly.

>The tradesmare's ears and eyes swivel at the batpony-assumed Construct repairing itself, then at you.
>Her left trio of wingclaws sweep outwards in the common pegasi 'warning ahead' motion before muttering quietly.
"The more you know, the less you can't."

>Thinking back on the few Construct armamarents which mostly Crystal ponies were in possession of, then working forwards to consider how such a Planar substance, or pseudo-substance, could function independently on Tallus, it was clear that the older models and variants were far less compatible with ponies.
>Judging the amount and width of studies the Argus Behemoth-Destroyer pair had undertaken, combined with the rather secretive, modern symbiotes, a major shift had occurred:
>Instead of copying the physical functionalities of blood, it was clear that Constructs had, in the regions you knew of at least, greatly increased that same capacity since older symbiotic armors, weapons, and the tiny number of utilitarian systems were known for high periods of dormarency or inactivity.
>As they were adapting and becoming able to repair from near-complete destruction to full readiness, the timeframe between improvemarents had decreased from centuries to much shorter periods, but this was forcing Construct models and variants into hyper-specializations.
>You realized this knowledge could not be shared to anypony outside those few that already knew, and what Mercy had 'neglected' to speak of was its own series of distinct threats.

>Well.
>I can't say I'm surprised.
>If I wasn't on the job, I'd probably be lazing about like that.
>Kind of jealous, not going to lie.
>Though, it may be because it's the fact they're not a ruler of a minor faction by saying some dumbass shit that you shouldn't have said, why would you do that to yourself?
>Oh, I'm berating myself mentally now, that's neat, I guess.
>One of those piles twitched, though.
>Who's to say that it isn't Pella in there?
>Walking over, I began to remove blankets from atop the thing, looking down.
"Hey, wake up. I know you're comfy in there, but I think you might be able to help me find someone."
>Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
>Wait.
>No, I ventured, and gained something I didn't want.
>Here goes, anyway.

>>371009
>Glancing up briefly from the map Sunny replied.
"As serious as I know how to be, I owe that much to the ponies my decisions may have gotten killed, and quite permanently given what the Tainted do."
>Looking back down at the map, Sunny deadpanned.
"If you report me to the authorities, I forgive you."

>Somehow, annoyingly, getting lured back into analysing tactical positions rather than routes to those positions once again, Sunny heaved an irritated huff with herself.
>Glancing along the road east, she reasoned that was a path she knew was more or less clear.
>The map indicated south was a no-go on hoof without support or flight, and there was no way to ascertain whether that was the actual case without going there and physically checking. That was too much of a gamble for now.
>Northeast it was, it was farther to travel, but she really had no way of knowing how far the scrambling field extended anyway, so the longest, easiest route to travel would be the best for getting back in contact quickly.
>If she were wrong and they'd hypothetically pop in south instead, maybe they'd be able to teleport herself and the symbiote.

>Sunny shot the bat pony a nervous smile and shrugged.
"It hasn't killed me yet. Or you, that's a good sign."
>Gathering up and repacking her map. Sunny came to a decision.
"South seems a likely location, but I can't reach it at speed, so I'll continue east and try to get back into contact."
>She offered the bat pony a short head bow.
"Thank you for your help, and your understanding, I hope you stay safe."
>Looking over her shoulder at the symbiote, Sunny indicated she was ready to move on and left at a trot and then transitioned into a gallop.

[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] < E.Sprint
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8]

>>370978
('Their names simplify the tasks of locating which group was to be allied. Either way that is another migraine out of my hooves.')
>Taking on a near-human pose, the deep purple stallion leans forwards as his right hoof reaches his temple, a small, yet comfortable smile given.
('Pareidolia. Your codename resonates incredibly well with batponies. Lunars and Moonborn enjoy it too. I find myself in bizarre synchronicity with your phrasings, meanings, and open intentions.
Had Fankil lived and taken the position within Razorback he was supposed to, he would have been a far better ally. Despite the differences.. you greatly remind me of him in the best possible mareners. For that, I honor you,')
>Extending a short 'all is forgiven' motion, the Reservist stares down at the Overlander's floor.. you feel sharp notes of grim longing.
('That they do. I am not fit for such a role, nor are the majority of ponies that have willingly joined Razorback.
Belltower is a living anachronism.. I will not say more out of respect. Should you live, seek her out. She belongs on the Lunar Council. By force or guile matters not.
Roust's dedication to Hollow is sincere and none can harm her, outwardly nor inwardly. Such honorable Changelings only exist in my Order's records. Roust is a sacred mare that we believed could not exist, yet, exist she does. What she has suffered perhaps not even her Queen knows, and that makes her all the more important.
Naliyna has begun to recover from such forms of tormarent that.. few of my Order can comprehend. Thrill has battled millennia of lies, mistakes, wrongdoings, ignorance, and deception on her behalf, all without bias. By the goddesses they deserve a harmonious life together, no matter the end results.
I dearly wish Serrated Feathers was here. Despite her Lishanki-aligned beliefs and difficulties, she brought such joy and life to Razorback that none have spoken negatively of her. Or could, in full honesty.
Twisted Wing is a thousand megatons of anti-matter catalyzed weaponry awaiting the wrong signals. I know her. We're close to the same age, visited the same locations quite often,.. her Enchains were performed in desperation, not through fear or jealousy.')
>The Nightblade cracks a distant, pained smile, glancing up at the roof.
('She fully believes that one of her sisters or half-sisters will continue her grand-dam's lineage, but that will not happen so easily.
Sapphire Kiwi, that is her true name. Even should I destroy our memories, you will remember that above all my friend.')
>Eyebrows narrowed and ears flattening, Hodch makes a slightly disgusted 'forget it' motion.
('Your orders are the same as mine. My benefactor is dying on the Citadel after repulsing two hundred some archaic, ancient, pre-modern, modern, and newer Argus models. Alone.
If Luna is not reborn before Dawn occurs then her followers will suffer as she has and another Season must be chosen to herald the next few centuries until a proper balance is restored. I do not foresee them taking such duties.
The Lunar Council... I will not speak the secrets of those whom are now deceased, or may die. Unless ordered to do otherwise, their integrity will be upheld. Their ignorance and uncautious natures are not stupidity.
Others I hold dear are historians, archivists, researchers, and seekers that want to understand that which they do not. Distant as they are I cannot fault them for being disconnected from this world. Unbiased, external views are precious. And, unfortunately, in ever fewer amounts now.
Countess Folunasi and Katyal hold such love together that they need a stallion to be shared, one which they have not.. yet chosen. If she were to hold a grudge against Razorback, Katyal would have slain fifty if not more. Avoid not the wrath of honest mares spurned once. Instead, fear mares that have been spurned twice.')
>Head tilting in agreemarent, Hodch tosses a deeply amused expression towards you.
('Should I locate Filth then you will be immediately summoned. If, however, one of my Disciples does so... use every means necessary to assure his recompense. Every, and any. There is only so much irrationality and insanity that I can allow to exist at one time or another.
And, I am glad to have found such an immarensely positive role model amongst the humans of Razorback. Next to Thrill, Bubba, and Clemency of course. Zigri likes you, and, do not take that as a threat. Shanis needs progeny. Perhaps you will accept that role. Or.. perhaps not.')

>Making a faux-theatrical bow, Hodch turns, clopping into the gateway while carrying a tense, yet relieved expression.
>Shutting all electronics down into hardened or protective modes, the advanced model had already prepared to do so, you step into the electrically charged gateway-
>And find yourself in a place that could easily be called home.
>To the left, a gigantic forge, furnace, anvil, and smithy complex was being inspected by Lonestar, the older man merely interested in how such giant tools were used.
>And failing obviously, given that he was incapable of learning an entirely new trade.
>On the right, a colossal rug made from the pelt of an arcane predator was being lounged on by Katyal, holding NIbbles aloft in both hands with a charming smile.
>Despite their mostly incompatible natures, the woman and feline were enjoying the Plane for what it was: a place to relax, learn, or enjoy.
>A bed large enough for a 30M tall being was centered towards the rear, covered in yellow-white streaks of raw electrical energy, neither organic nor inorganic.
>It was, instead, a composite of solidified electrons and protons, designed to be comfortable except those that were weak to the essence of Lightning itself.
>Directly behind you was a massive pair of double doors that dwarfed the largest possible Tallus-Vortex gateways, capable of admitting freakishly large beings without having to crouch.
>This Plane was equal parts admitting, inviting, trusting... and exciting.

>>371016
>Hodch's comfortable body language and remarks spark a twinge of annoyance and resignation that causes Parediolia to near imperceptibly wince.
>The discomfort remains as they complete their dialogue and stand to leave.
('I... appreciate the trust and the appellation of being a 'role model'. But I will stress that I meant what I said of my mission being parallel. Don't overextend your communalism to me beyond what is necessary.')

>Stepping through the portal divide, the faint momentary sensation of all his hairs standing on end glides over him.
>He flexes his fingers twice to dissipate the sensation as he cranes his neck, taking in the gargantuan scale of the Storm King's work.
>An odd sensation of a spark remains, a strange feeling suffusing itself into him.
(... Likely the effects of this Plane.)

>Focusing his attention back to eye level, he observes the rug Katyal and Nibbles were seated on with a critical eye.
(One of the Lightning Plane's predators? A personal kill of the Storm King's? A penchant for hunting trophies?)

>Surveying the rest of the room, he notes the suspended energy comprising the bed and moves for a closer inspection sparing a glance along the way at Lonestar and the forge unfit for his stature.
(No requisite skills for forgework. Bedding material may be analyzable. Apparent suspended photons? Manipulation of electromagnetic fields likely. Suit core battery should be fully charged. No risk of altering stability of energy field. May be useful for future applications... )

[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]< Graduate Researcher + Skill Specialization
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9]
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]

>>371007
>Overhearing subdued chatter from the remaining Operators, the majority were irregular mixtures of angry, angrily confused, depressed, depressingly confused, and plain confused as to why they were on an entirely different world.

>Finishing the highly enjoyable meal, a bright, multicolored series of neon tubes on a signboard pops up across the table in clear text:
Ponies enjoy calling this meal Duskfast! Look it up in ANY Common Equestrian dictionary, or any equivalent pictionary! Yes, that does mean a picture-book crossed with a dictionary. Batponies created that word and it stuck. You know what THAT means?
ATROCIOUS PUN-FILLED FILLINGS ARE EVERYWHERE, AND YOU SHOULD FEEL GREAT FOR KNOWING THEM!
Not that I blame you, but I do blame YOU! But not you, Cheto, THAT one gets the blame!
Who, you are asking, and why, you are also asking? THE ONE REVEALING THIS SCRIPT!
Which JUST so happens to be me! But it's not me because I'm not here right now!
"Really? Is he that fucking busy to only leave a text?"
>Spoken by one of the presumable Rookies.
"Try not to ask. Discord's either a nut at the best of times or barely helpful at the worst of times, but only one of those-"
UNLESS I CHOOSE TO BE, ISN'T THAT RIGHT?! And your next words will be:
"Exactly! See what I mean? Dude's great!"
"The fuck is this? What kind of r-"
"It's a broken wall or something. Don't think about it."
>Silence holds for twenty seconds until the younger woman in a battered high tech helmet speaking up, her inflection Coastal Asiatic with some Central Mediterranean.
"My world didn't have gods. This one, Discord, also called the God of Discord, God of Chaos, God of Batponies, among way more, is the least worst."
"That doesn't explain how a fucking SIGN is reading the future! None of this makes sense!"
"Ignore the God of Chaos or you're going straight to the Clinic."
"Y'know, experiencing two absolutely random concussions that in no way occurred together is real hard for Doctor Tipper to treat correctly. Might take a few nights."
"And if for some reason that real beauty is in, you'll be there for week."
"Fuck you, you, you, you, you, and whatever YOU are! I ain't going to be stuck in some podunk-"
>Snapping up a small, odd looking pistol at near-point blank to the offender's head, the barrel slightly less than 1CM in width, interior displays shut down as she snickers loudly.
"Make me pull this trigger. Go ahead. Come on, push that buttons. Any of you want to chime in? No? All right then.
Boyo, you have zero clue how lucky we are. I am from podunk, broker than broke, all that. All we have to do is be gracious guests on this planet, and not fuck up being a good, gracious guest. This place is a million dreams coming true. I'm not going to let one piss-stained idiot say otherwise.
Been reviewing every report on local mainframes, be glad you aren't assigned yet. A few places have flora, with tentacles of sorts. Local ponies love riling them up. By that I mean the flora have rough sex with said local ponies. For fun. Plants don't get much out of the deal other than most of their predators avoid equine scents."
"The WHAT!?"
"Yeah. This stuff's hotter than a Metropolitan reactor tuned to full power, could make a fortune from vids alone. And I didn't stutter, dumbass."
"You're full of shit a-"
"I don't lie either. How would you like to see at least ten hours of videos taken by humans that've been on this world much longer than all of us combined? No?"
>Right hand spinning the weapon out of sight, the young woman shrugs heavily in her damaged armor as the man stands and stalks towards the Mess Hall's doors, one of the older Operators calls after him.
"Keep your radio on! Don't steal, don't harm sapients, self-defense is acceptable but don't be a bitch about that and don't be a dickhead either! A local pony has already claimed the rape monsters so leave them alone!
Also the closest village by train tracks is about ninety miles away and it's snowing, don't go more than five miles!
And as for you.. that a real needle pistol?"
"Yes. Not in good shape though."
"What's it powered by?"
"Dunno."
"Dart or fin type?"
"Never looked. Or had a reason to."
"..you were being serious about the videos, right?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Wouldn't happen to have see a bright white pegasus in them, possibly a blind one?"
"Not that I've found. Want me to check the rest?"
>Thumping the table with both hands, the man shakes his head in clear relief, though was a bit disappointed.
"Nah, don't want that type of trouble. You've seen how disproportionate the tech levels on this world are, yes?"
"Yep. Mind explaining why?"

>Leaving the plate for Pella to wash, already busy scrubbing down some that had been left at her station, the remaining humans stay seated as the man speaks in quiet, possibly conspiratorial tones.
>Exiting the Mess and heading straight east towards the Workshop, the variety of symbols and text nearly impossible to miss.
>Noting a pair of large clamshell doors above two sets of sliding vehicle doors, an obvious, highly expensive armored helicopter pad had been installed on the second level, plaques pointing out an entrance to it around the Workshop's southern wall.
>Taking the north side's door entrance, it featured several handles, hoofles, and a pair of levers at different heights, ranging from ultra-short to an actual giant.
>Entering, it was.. entirely like what you'd expect mixed cottage industries to be:
>The north tables and wall were loaded with furnaces, anvils, hammers, files, gauges, measuring devices, and a variety of somewhat familiar tools spread out.
>Central tables held vast amounts of refined metals in sheets, rolls, and stacked bars, the majority common metals you were positive didn't exist on your world, or couldn't have.
>One large clothier's setup, stand, and sewing desk was in use on the southwest side, a chunky, bright yellow earth mare seated behind the second, racks of thread and various glowing green needles forming a large winter coat.
>In the air.

>>371011
>Taking the first moving blanket off, one that was mostly jean material, the second a standard forest camo, the third, a highland winter variant, is stubbornly clutched by a trio of upside down, indigo fruit-eater batpony claws.
"I'm not working when it's battime, this is comfortable so go away!"
>....
>The batfilly's voice was definitely one from earlier.
>Claws letting go as you lift the third blanket, that was indeed Foggy Patches lying down on stacks of cardboard, wings folded over her head to avoid the Mess Hall's light.
>Pausing for a second, her snout pokes forwards, pointing one claw westish.. probably at you.
"Who?"

>>371035
>Was it a bad thing that I was relieved that it wasn't her under the mass of blankets?
>Probably.
>It was so, so very easy to just...give up for the day, put it off.
>But no, this day was shit, it would be forever shit, so might as well taint it with as much bad news as possible.
>Then tomorrow could be...
>I hesitate to say 'better', but at least an improvement over this.
>Squatting down, I gave my best attempt at a smile and gave her a nod.
"Hey, Foggy. Just need your time for -one- moment, then you can go back to bat-bed. I meant bed."
>Ugh, curse these kee's.
"Have you seen Pella? If so, where is she?"

>>371036
>Sticking her head out briefly, Foggy squints at you, past, around, then snickers, stubby wingclaws spreading out and wiggling.
"Batbeds are beds made from bats, but there are no bats anywhere in the Moors. There are ponybats, horsebats, and bathorses though!"
>Making a loud puffing sound, she wriggles back in to avoid the dirty lighting, chin set down on cardboard with a sour tone.
"Hundreds of times. Was helping move all this junk and bad and rotten food from the other end of the big building that way."
>Pointing directly west past you, she reaches up to grab the winter moving blanket and pull it down tight over her head, whispering faux-muffledly.
"You didn't saw nopony here, especially not me!"

>>371037
>Ugh, god, why do I do this to myself.
>Gonna be all night with this shit.
>That smile I wore started to slowly drift down on my face, the pull of the long hours finally making itself known.
>I realized this, corrected it, and gave the little bat a small pat on the head, though it was dampened by the jacket.
"Alright, I'll go there and check her out-"
>A pause.
"...check to see if she's there."
>Not anything I haven't seen before, but great, now I'm starting to confuse diction.
>Wonderful.
>If this night doesn't end in me getting way too drunk to remember things, or with a neat new tattoo on the inside of my gray matter, I'll worship...
>I don't know, like, some new pony god borne from the sheer insanity of the bullshit that happens in this land on a daily basis.
>...Not Discord.
>Hopefully he can't read thoughts
>I stood up, moving for the far side to the west, exiting the mess hall to make for the indicated building.
>Seriously, why did she feel the need to move all of this stuff, randomly?
>It was just decided today, it seems.
>Which begs the question, is it connected to the bullshit I did?
>Or somewhat metaphysically caused by it in some grand wave of cosmic bullshit?

>>371025
>Head high and striding around the bed, the First Responder stops twisting Nibbles around so both of them could glare at the visibly retreating unicorn.
"Tell me you didn't do exactly what that smug grin is telling me you did!"
"I did not perform what you may be thinking I might have do-"
"Don't deflect you candy-apple eating smartass!"
"Those are quite good when made properly, but I need to check the table-"
>Lifting the winged Nebelong-like in your direction, and speaking in the Moor feline's place, also taking control of front paws to point where Hodch had gone.
"When a CERTAIN TYPE OF PONY talks about A POSSIBLE IMPLICATION OF MARERIAGE with their FAMILY, COWORKERS, COLLEAGUES, OR BEST FRIENDS, I will say to CLOWN ON THEM HARD every single time that happens. Isn't that right?"
>Whiskers twitching at you.. apologetically, Nibbles lifts both wings overhead to stretch.
>Then the middle of each minute wingclaw trio raises towards Hodch's last visible location, snicker-hissing derisively.
"The pretty kitty Heroine of the Moors agrees! Now.. you aren't related to the Purrsians at all, hm? No, you're not cuter than them. Yet. And.. why did you have to grab that nasty insect? Freaky little thing-"

>Beyond reading sensations or moods, the Storm King's Room was open to inspection, knowledge flowing from it with ease.
>Clearing the woman and winged batcat out of thought, deep imprints of a short, desperate struggle form:
>An archaic, colossal Tallus predator, that of a long, spine-covered Lightning Elemarental proto-ursinoid, solid rippling muscles propelling two rows of flesh-shearing teeth
>Snapping at grand, highly charged filigree-covered spear and shield, five jagged, six-jointed claws furiously tear into a barely taller biped's armor, the being forced back numerous times.
>Staggered sideways from a raging blow, the being hurls his shield into outstretched claws, ducking into a roll and lifting the spear in both hands, bracing it on semi-magma ground against the predator leaping chest first.
>Bending, and nearly shattering the spear, the predator's Lightning charged existence ruptures, taking a final, left sided heavy swipe that rends through the giant's partially ripped open helmet.
>Examining the external scene, the first was long extinct, yet had a number of similar, though much smaller evolved descendants: Blister Cats were an uncommon type often found below stationary cloud cities, and considered easy to befriend by ponies that didn't mind their Planar-touched nature.
>Medium sized variants of numerous naming conventions were found across most of the Minotaur Hegemony, particularly under Wild Clouds, and were rarely hunted, let alone encountered, due to being necessary predators of nuisance herbivores, and the general ability to shock even a prepared Minotaur unconscious at range.
>The largest were known to inhabit Lightning, Storm, and Tempest regions throughout the Dragonspines, considered sacred due to their long lives, Elemarental balance, and lack of hostility to anything other than specific prey.
>The giant resembled some mythical versions from numerous Otherworlds, yet had a sharper face, elongated, upturned ears, a partially flat, wide nose, and deeply set, brilliant yellow eyes that flickered between electrical spectrums.

"Biped? Triped? Quadraped? Wings? Extra arms? What could even use one of these?"
>Muttering to himself, Lonestar turns to stare at the rest of the room in a subdued what-am-I-even-doing-here mood, looking quite small while spreading both hands in ranging comparisons.
"Thirty feet to the top, sitting down would be fifty feet? No, it's two to three-point-five or four for us. Taller. Longer legs. Hammer must be twenty-five tons. Makes.. eighty feet. Or more.
....giants. Actual giants. Actual Lightning giants. Holy shit."

>Reaching a hand towards the bed, an accepting, friendly series of resonances flow:
>The Plane of Lightning is a sequential side-state of Tallus norms, created at the same time the, so far as you knew, majority equine-inhabited world was.
>From packets to civilizations' worth of photons and electrons could be called upon to perform negative or positively charged actions, whether defensive, offensive, or utilitarian did not matter.
>Matter and energy were technically 'living', equally interchanging and vital concepts that shifted, changed, estranged, charmed, joined, or rejoined endlessly.
>Not a single erg was untouched or unknown once it was felt, nor could it descend or ascend; Planar Lightning was equal no matter the source.
>Age did not matter here, only intention, relevancy of the same, information, and emotion were important.
>When combined for lesser or neutrally aligned effects it was possible to regenerate from non-Lightning caused harm, though several instances of neural reshaping had been performed in this Room.
>Brushing past the open thoughts, the bed itself was a singular waveform created by actualizing 'rest', a concept learned from interactions across Tallus.
>In directly technical terms it was equivalent to a magnetically-controlled sequence of high-sided photons intended to remain coherent, though in its actualized state the electrons allowed non-Planar beings to interface with the Plane itself.
>Noble and royal Lightning, Storm, or Tempest-aligned beings had argued for centuries whether or not they had met the equine definition, concepts directed at, from, to each other, conceptual thoughtforms and wavestates open for interpretation in hundreds of layers, though the vast amount of information would take weeks to deliberately comprehend.

>>371039
>Tufted ears flopping happily to both sides at your touch, Foggy starts to wave her right wingclaws, halting-
>You feel it, and SENSE before that.
>The world shifts: first, upside down, then leftside out, then rightside inside in patterns, outsides folded into anti-mirrored pinatas of glorious, darkly colored equine-chiropteran hybrids dancing.
>But.. no.
>It wasn't to a song.
>The unyou more you triplethink, it was a... sideways shuffle.
>The place? Dark, warm, and humid all year round.
>Mangoes. Definitely involved,
>How was it possible?
>HOW could such primordial, small pastel bathorses devise such an elaborate, four-step dimarensional shuffle based on a Moors fruit with which to tormarent existence with?

>Despite unimaginable odds Foggy Patches contains her universe shuddering glee, rolling around in the blanket and trying to choke off her snickering.
"Oh I bat you WILL-"
>It was enough.
>The dams could contain no more.
>As you hurry out of the Mess Hall, hysterical filly laugh-screech-keks hound a second retreat this night.

>Bypassing around the Workshop north in case human, equine, Changeling, or OTHER could hear, then reaching the Armory's rear entrance and stepping in, it seemed whatever desolation took place had reached here.
>Ammunition packs, boxes, canisters, tins, and crates were piled on the east side in no particular order or care, the same for explosives or warheads.
>Damaged or extra equipment, clothing, kit, armor, optics, magazines, among more debris littered the tables that had been properly sorted.
>Tonight though, the old squad lockers in the central north side were flung open, an aerily annoyed Pella tossing out cans, bags, bottles, jugs, packets, pouches, and cardboard boxes.

>>371043
>Oh, good, there she is.
>Oh, no, she's already pissed.
>I think?
>Either way, mail will calm the savage mare.
>Hopefully.
>There was quite the mess around her, it was actually incredible how much work she was putting in.
>Kinda...cute, if I was honest.
>But I can't be thinking distracting thoughts right now.
>Plan of action.
>Lighten her mood with mail.
>Begin roundabout discussion.
>Cut to heart of matter.
>???
>Profit.
>...maybe.
>Knocking my knuckles on an empty locker, I smiled down to the candy colored mare in front of me.
"Hey, Pella."
>Step one, go!
"Mail call!"

>>371044
>Taking a step backwards to glance you up and down, a forehoof stomps.
"If it so much as marentions some kind of food I'm going to eat i-"
>Cutting that off with a snort, her face scrunches, super sour candy style.
"No, I'm going to chew into tiny pieces, spit those pieces into a bonfire, then start scream all over again!"
>Flicking both wingtips out and pointing over the Armory, Pella glowers at the mess.
"Half of them think this place is safe enough to store a few tons of food, but NO! There's two Moor cats, maybe three, ten ponies, and someTHING else that can go right through solid walls. They've been leaving crumbs everywhere! Right before Midneight I was coming back from the Neighsian tradestall and saw a fluffrat climbing over the gates! OVER!"
>Snapping feathers together, luckily without her cooking blades, the dual-toned mare's head shakes angrily.
"I had to chase it out and take a shower so I could start cooking! This all makes me so MAD I COULD JU-"
>Biting a mostly empty MRE pack and slinging it behind her, Pella inhales deeply, then releases an incredibly... dull sounding neigh into the locker.
>Which, judging by the sound, had either been refit for cold storage, or possibly sound proofed.
>Her ancestors were definitely proud of other, more rational neighs, but not this one.
>Sighing out some stress, her right wing lifts to rub her neck, left wing turning over expectantly.
"Hi. Sorry. Also hi, sorry."

>>371041
>Blinking rapidly at the unexpected flow of information, he slowly pulls his glove back as the torrent abates after but a minute.
>Taking a moment to process everything, he leans against the stilled energy comprising the bed.
(As expected... nature of this Plane dictates a different modality of existence. The arrangement of ideas and their direction via the Latin animus determines reality here. A constant summarized "state of being" outside of known entropy models as a result of the passage of time.)
>Looking back towards the forge, he attempts to assess what could even be made at such a scale.
(This plane is... fascinating, though inimical in the long term to humans. Apparent cordial if not harmonious relationship with Equestrian inhabitants given the wholesale adoption and adaptation of such fundamental concepts as rest. Question remains as to why they would want to shape their Planar concepts in that way to begin with. Possible risk vector from human activity, pending the Lightning Plane's method of concept integration. May be more resistant to contamination due to intentions being more easily identifiable here.)

>Recalling the vision of the past and the massive weapons the giant held, he moves closer to the forge and its tools.
>As he passes by Katyal and Nibbles continuing their hunt for Hodch, he pauses.
(Implication of... how did they-)
>Suddenly turning to face them, he calls out.
"How did you know what Hodch said? Was Nibbles eavesdropping?"
(Hodch assured me of the security of that conversation... nothing sensitive revealed necessarily. But risk of breaches is unappreciated... )

>>371045
>Oh....no.
>This does not bode well for me at all.
>She is irritated, clearly, though it is not at me.
>Yet.
>Still, I sat down nearby and chuckled softly at her antics, and wishing I had been a better man for her.
"Oh, no, everyone gets angry, or frustrated, at times. I'm not gonna get mad at ya for doing that."
>I patted my lap, offering her a gentle expression.
"Take a rest for a moment, Pella. You look like you've been running yourself thin. We can go over your mail together, if you'd like that?"
>I couldn't help the grin that came across my face.
"Hi. You're fine. Also hi, and you're fine."

>>371046
>Bending proportionally to accommodate you, the waveform in bed shape creates a short, relaxing depth, an emphasis of expected rest becoming known.
>Objectively comfortable, it takes a comprehensive thought to disentangle from the welcoming respite, returning to its previous awaiting state.
>Short pulses of distant, succint thoughtforms are evoked during inspection of the unreasonably sized work space:
>Those that align themselves with this Plane and abide its rules are accepted, all inhabitants must contribute in manners they were able to, and an equal offer demanded an equal trade.
>Merit was an equally compatible concept between Tallus and here; to serve under an individual's accepted expectations, and to be served without complaint were twinned standards held by communal law.
>Excluding the non-sapient existences and guests, reasonable guiding distant-to-future thoughts oblige.
>While not specifically liked, or often endorsed, Otherworlders were welcome, yourself and Lonestar included..
>And Katyal mostly excluded unless for short temporal visits.
>The Plane's closest inhabitants were alike in thought to this Room's designer: shapers of that which will be and must become, accepting the flow of differences for what they were, not out of individual thoughts, moods, emotions.

>Massive hammers, tongs, pliers, chisels, swages, shears, punches, mandrels, nails, drifts, planes, sanding belts, files, and more were conceptual in origin, yet plain in appearance.
>Intended to forge great works, they would change shape when necessary or by request, now silently awaiting their use once more.
>Unlike the rest, the forge, anvil, and furnace were brought to existence by the concept OF solidity, meant to shape, refine, then define material, energy, gas, plasma, liquid, and all interim states no matter the material.

>Rolling onto her left side and placing Nibbles on the rug, upside down and batting at her right hand, Katyal stares confusedly, gaze hardening as she motions where Hodch had left a trail of thin, deep purple wisps.
"Her? Nah. He's got a certain lying horseface he always makes after that kind of offer. Unless there was an actual threat involved he's not serious, or was testing to see how far he could go with something.
I dunno, usually not a big deal. On the off chance he was serious I can always stomp on a leg. He can limp around.. with the other four remaining."
"Is.. that a dick pun?"
"Yep."
"Can you please not?"
"Hmmmmmm.... I reserve all rights to sprinkle shade when anyone or anypony deserves it. Which is all the time for him due to having ten plus lovers. Not that I'm jealous but, damn, he's got moves even I can't make and I'm a solid six-point-five out of ten."
>Sighing and reaching up for a hat that wasn't there, Lone rubs his face instead.
"That's not a yes or no but I'll take it. I thought guys were bad enough when it c- ..has to deal with.. open talk like this."
"What, you think only guys endlessly harp on each other for fun? Here's how the other side works:
A mare will push her stallion for another mare. She'll find and point out, oh, nice flanks, long neck, lovely eyes, great smile, solid hooves, strong wings, sweet voice, that sort. Then he'll have two pushing for a third, then however marely more he's willing to accept. They won't stop until the stallion has precisely what he wants. That's a herd.
They'll quietly nicker each other into 'taking care of' their stallion, or openly if he's into that. Or do just the opposite, have him take care of the others when they're feeling down. You get the point."
"...wish I didn't."

>Following the trace essences around the giant's bed, what greeted you was uniquely abstract:
>A table, in theory, but physically a hundred, perhaps more, levels of mass-energies taking up the corner, Hodch sorting through layers of shared Tallus-Planar concepts.
>His intentions were simply finding castoff or whole Lightning essences for weapons, armor, to be thrown, infused, set as traps, or shaped when necessary.
>Thoughts rolling off him, however, were bitter; at what precisely the Plane was unable to share.
"I'll be a while, going to need every damned one of these that can kill a Scoriae Wyrm.
Time differential between is fifteen percent quicker here but you won't notice it. Matter, energies, spells, living beings, etcetera, brought from Tallus degrade approximately twenty percent slower."

>>371047
>Side eyeing another box and kicking it out with slightly less force than the last, Pella shoves aggravated feathers backwards towards the rest of the Armory.
"That's the second fluffrat tonight and there's a lot worse outside the walls that COULD get in, then there'll really be a lockdown. Everypony knows better than to leave food out.. which doesn't help when humans should know the same-"
>Staring up at the locker's interior, then shaking her mane out with a raucous giggle, remaining packages, boxes, ration cans, and bottles are shoved backwards.
"Do I look like Allys? She's three months pregnant and always been a bit pudgy. Not me, going to stay slim like my dam and more fit than my sisters. They're not fatflanked but I really don't want to be huffing and puffing after half an hour's flight. I'll check it in a second-"
>Leaning out of the locker to make a slight, faux-pouty face, her right eye closes, same ear flopping at you.
"Hi, I know I am. What're you going to do about it later?"

>>371048
>Nodding once at Katyal, he turns away pointedly losing interest as she switches tack to lewd puns.
>Leaving the trio behind him, he steps into the space between the forge and the bed while experimentally probing his mind for any evidence of resonance between Empress Silver's granted interference ability with this plane.
(Can my ability be used to forge something? Or enhance itself? Highly unlikely. Lack requisite knowledge of forging and elemental techniques. Ownership of tools also likely. The... Plane implies equal trade, but... )
>Shrugging as he stands within touching distance of the forge, he reaches out to press his glove against the surface of it.
>Exhaling, he focuses within for any potential spark of lightning or sensation of energy possibly awakened by his presence on the Plane of Lightning.

>Both hearing but moreso feeling Hodch's animosity, he looks over towards the corner at what appeared to be the equivalent of a pile of "books" or what passed for information storage on the Plane.
>He waits for Hodch to finish before asking.
"Understood. Is this 'Scoriae Wyrm' weak to lightning?"
(Bitterness at what the Plane can't provide? Related to his condition? Or even more past history, most likely.)

>>371034
>...
>Well, José had to admit, whatever just happened was indeed interesting.
>It would seem he just witnessed some sort of reality bender that seemed to know forbidden knowledge.
>Heck, whoever he was actually used his codename.
>Couple that with the fact the others have already experienced something like this as well as some sort of plant-based escort business, things were truly getting wackier by the second.
>A part of him wondered if he'd succumb to such apparent madness.
>...may be likely, but alien worlds always surprise.
>Gallo opted not to listen in further, his curiosity satisfied and feeling the answer to such a question is going to become apparent real soon.

>As the FNG two-day-old diplomat entered the Workshop only served to further display just how diverse the tools at hoof were.
>Truly, there were no holds barred in terms of specialized equipmarent.
>Not to mention the unorthodox working stations in place that were set up.
"Uh, hello? Is there anypony in here with a few minutes to spare? I've been advised to come here for quote-on-quote nice stuff."
>Not the fanciest of inquiries but it'll have to do.

>>371052
>Portions of conversation between hundreds of equines, pegasi the majority, unicorns the minority, Minotaurs, Crystal ponies, then Otherworld, Planar, and Extra-Planar Dragons, last subjects to this Plane share a sum of comprehensions; you had already made a trade without openly realizing it.
>All Lightning on Tallus was shared from this Plane as it provided a necessary balance between Elemarents, but could function as a sieve, filter, or bypass when required.
>Pegasi were the first to discover clouds, formed from joining Air, Lightning, Gravity which was often mislabeled as Force, and Water.
>This allowed them to produce a multi-Elemarental state that could be used in any number of mareners; at this several angered, past voices raise, objecting the subjugation of earth ponies.
>Unicorns weren't content to merely use Lightning, instead desiring to apply it into ever more useful tools, with defensive purposes as second and weapons last, except during war.
>A great deal of study had taken place in this Plane, though not here by Dynasty-aligned sapients; .
>The Cores and parts of beings brought here to compare caused intrepid few began obsessing, a new, dangerous desire shared between them: to streamline and 'Perfect' that which should, by all means, never be.
>Refined Batch 11, Project 220 began here, and was finalized on Tallus, which you and possibly some descendants would be in eternal possession of.
>It existed equally within you, here in this Plane, and across Tallus in neutrality, yet with either coexistent acceptance and will, or guidance, could be reshaped into taking on more natural paths.
>One cold, isolated thought informs that the Otherworlder alicorn was banned from traveling all Planes due to her later disregard of mortal life, and while you were welcome, such actions would never be tolerated again.

>While not a student of forging or mechanical arts, the furnace seems to wake, its purpose granted use by all that enter the Room so long as their intentions were sincere and.. technically noble.
>The Storm King that once lived here until his mortal death on Tallus cared little for ownership: a tool is a tool, created to create, to care, to craft, shape, repair, refine.
>To define.. that was the most important one.

>Sifting through purely offensive, defensive, then utilitarian concepts, the Reservist picks out several examples of each condition, from poor to pure, ignoring unstable sections as his mood lifts, feeling useful once more.
"Highly so, but not for reasons most expect to hear: they're an unusual non-flying wyrm, of sorts, on account of being an inorganic species that successfully integrated artificial Magma Elemarental cores.. by eating them. That was the result of an honest mistake.
Original non-living species once consumed raw magma, yet those cores were among the few that had been Perfected. As a species each was greatly modified, the core itself granting a limited state of organic functionality; pseudo-neural pathways, blood, skeleton, digestive system, organs, and having a basic genetic profile. Somehow.
Between the Early to Middle Dynasty a shared research center was built near the Lower Dragonspine Volcanic Tidepools. Purpose of study: all cores related to heat, magma, or life from across Equestria, Hegemony, Empire, Neighsia, Ewerup, Argenta's Lands, and various Planes.
An elder dragon, not sure of the name or species, discovered a peculiar method of aligning Elemarental imbalances with aid from the few heat-tolerant researchers. She destroyed most of the center in a frenzied rage after an unknown number of Perfected versions were mistakenly dumped into the Volcanic Tidepools instead of the damaged ones. Records state that was in the late 28,300's, no injuries or deaths by the way.
Scoriae Wyrms themselves are incredibly weak to Rime for obvious reasons, Lightning due to their semi-artificial organic state and large amounts of highly conductive minerals, and sonic capabilities, including Crystal Runes and Air Elemarentals, for all of the above. Rarely seen due to extreme heat, atmospheric pressure, and baffling variable gravitational anomalies, however."
>Lifting a flat 'plate' of metastabilized Lightning in a form that could only be described as liquid, Moon Orb's communication was partially static laden.
('Canterlot Underground had a theory: Perfected Elemarental cores were produced in such a marener that each one is able to self-modify its internal balance to a single closely matching being. If true, that is a step in explaining how and why an entire species of inorganic beings became half-organic.
Ponifally I think one or two processes used were Extra-Planar or a derivative of, which is beyond our currently abilities to safely explore, let alone study.. Eleyana believes that a few sections of the Late Dynasty may have been Eldritch-touched. I do not disagree, but I also do not understand why.')

>>371058
>Forehooves lifting, the yellow mare pauses the in-progress coat, calling out in a cheery, not-quite-30's warm northern accent.
"Hello there! Come on in and take a seat if you like-"
>Resuming her work, the southern central and eastern side tables were darkened, though you could see a number of human styled tools, boxes, fuel cans, and spare components littering them.
"I'm the only one in tonight. Lann, Master Seamstress for Razorback, and the Starborn sometimes. I make clothing and light armor for every season and places that aren't under minus fifty or over a hundred-fifty degrees. Camouflaging stuff is a hobby but I'm getting better at it.
Can repair just about anything you bring me made from natural fibers and silk, including Spectral and Planar. And.. well, I don't like artificial stuff, kevlar, Spectra, nylon, that sort, but those are fairly simple to patch.
That work is all paid for by the way, got to love snagging a full one year contract up front! Oh, one second-"
>A line of red, purple, and green lights around the clothier's area brighten to a comfortable level, waving at a selection of.. completely mismatched chairs in front of her desk.
"I also make dolls, plushies, pillows, sheets, blankets, and special orders too. If you provide the materials I charge twenty Bits an hour, otherwise materials plus work time."
>Head tilting right, her voice drops into a humored measure.
"And if you're into that sort of thing I've got a huge amount of lingerie designs for that special somepony or someponies."

>>371059
>Pareidolia sways for a moment, shifting a boot out further to steady himself.
>The influx of information was akin to a transmission beamed directly into his awareness.
>Encompassing, but not discomforting in itself.
>His gloved hand resting on the forge half curls into a fist however.
(I see... involuntarily perceived, due to the nature of this Plane. What was traded? Confirmation of Silver's presence and involvement here to create those experiments and downstream context is appreciated, but not all concepts should be freely taken at face value.)
>Closing his eyes and sighing, he relaxes his fingers.
(Not that I can change that now. Need to focus. Deal with this later unless pressing.)

>Head angling up to see and feel the forge spark with a sensation of "activation", he notes the additional flow of ideas into his mind with a slightly bitter thought.
(... 'Noble', huh? By the Lightning Plane?)

>Turning to look at Hodch, he shifts to lean his back against the forge while examining his gloved hands.
>The fingers methodically lock and weave as he idly runs them through a series of motions while Hodch gives a brief historian's rundown and secretive speculation.
(Clear preference for the Teacher's role. Impending mortality likely causing increased strain. Can only hope this operation succeeds.)
"I see... so the product of accidental experiment procedure mistake."
>He briefly touches his pocketed Moon Orb in a facade of searching through his vest rigging.
('And potential Eldritch or Otherworldly influence over the cores.')
"If we manage to retrieve the elemental core, can it be returned to the elder dragon who led this project? Or have these cores grown too complex to be safely separated?"

>He leans forwards off the forge and looks down at his hands.
(Apparent use is based on will, centered on defining clear concepts. Opportunity to create new tools and weaponry. Recent engagements demonstrate a clear gulf in combat aptitude If conceptual grasp of the graviton is definite, then... )
>Setting his pack down and pulling out the box of Crin Feathers, he takes one out and rolls it along his thumb with his index finger.
(This Plane encourages experimentation and idea refinement. So...)

>Closing his eyes, he draws his memory towards a weapon demonstration.
>"Understand, esteemed guests that we may only demonstrate this once. Please ensure your Vis and media feeds are allocating adequate processing resources for this period. The Graviton is a fickle muse. Our best efforts have only managed to capture this one little morsel, and holding it still is truly an endeavor."
>An image is projected before a seated audience, detailing the inner mechanisms of a seemingly innocuous handgun.
>The same handgun is held in the metallic hands of a smooth metal bodied frame made to resemble a human in suggestion, except for the face which was fully sculpted.
>Sleek silver and gold accented the metal body's lithe frame, though deployed bracing struts from the rear of her inverted claw-footed metal legs belied a hidden weight.
>The android's fingers clasp.
>The world ripples in less than a blink.
>Gravity visualized orients the space before it as light curves to follow its demand.
>The blocks of orbital grade armor structure composite buckle inwards without a sound.
>Air trapped in the flow of gravity never reaches the senses.
>The world stills.
>Sensors furiously process events, playing back what reached them.
>The world breathes again and faster than the eye perceives, the sound of shuddering air, sensation of heat, and the flash of yellow white beams downrange.
>Fifty kilometers downrange according to the readouts.
>A perfect hit through the center on all three of the five meter thick plates. Offset, alternating bullseyes.
>Bullseyes that could only be struck if what was fired could alter its path mid-flight.
>"Blink and you miss it. Hmhm, yes. Our beloved Graviton Pulse Emitter. Naturally penetration depth is influenced by the number of gravitons. Particle behavior adjustable by user input. Waveform trajectory following suit. We're still sprucing up minor details, and sadly the graviton is so elusive but-.."

(A handgun with the force of gravity behind it. Internal construction designed to direct electrons to hold a graviton in place. Shear it in an ordered manner, direct it, and unparalleled range. Unrivaled ability to deny any form of defense. Dimensions controlled by will and aperture adjustment. The nature of the graviton's expulsion results in minimal recoil. Gravity merely adjusts its orientation along axis of travel. Bracing only used for management of displaced heated air expanding. Drawback of that model. Can be improved. More efficient field containment can be achieved with this Plane's grasp of electrons and particles. Heat and air displacement can be reduced further.)

>Removing the glove from his left hand, he takes the point of the feather and lightly jabs his palm prompting a pinprick of pain and the familiar sensation of training flooding his senses.
(Enhance focus. Identify. Observe. Dismantle.)
>Inhaling and applying pressure to his palm, he attempts to will his thoughts into existence.

(Can take advantage of its properties to link it to me. A unique particle signature and spin, to always return it. Strong enough to overpower Earth Pony psionics, ideally. If problems with the model appear, power or range can be downsized... attempting fabrication. Uncertain how this functionality is utilized... )

[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]< Expert Small Arms + Skill Specializations (A.R.T/E.P.C.) + Shifted GCS FINA
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12]
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]< Extra Roll Shifted GCS FINA

>Finally opening his eyes, he eyes the current results with some trepidation.
>After assessing the current project's progress for a span, his left hand splays to make room for a second slight jab.

[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]< Expert Small Arms cont. + Skill Specializations (A.R.T/E.P.C.) + Master FINA
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]< Extra Roll Master FINA
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10]< Graduate Researcher + Skill Specialization (M.E.CC.T.)
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12]
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12]
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9]

>>371060
>José didn't really take the offer to sit considering all the clutter on the tables
>Might inadvertedly mess up whatever semblance of order there was in here.
>He knew some people like that back in plain old reality.
"Greetings, Miss Lann. I'm happy to make your acquaintance."
>He curtly bowed after.
"Since I'm brand new here, I'd love to know what sort of recommarendations you can provide for social events and gatherings. Particularly pertaining to the lands of Argenta."
>Ah, it seems Gallo's intuition was driving him further into what he felt he knew.
>Hopefully he can manage to find a good outcome from it.

>>370970
('Given the sizes and individualistic nature of each we've brought down.. I doubt the amount in that Core will be sufficient. Consider it a last call weapon.')
>Clearing back into Basin, the gateway shuts down behind you, Luna's Villagers at near-burnout conditions and receiving unsubtle appraisals from the remaining unicorns.
('You can do no more here. Return to your homes and rest, that is an order.')
>Breaking off from the Overherd, the majority chooses to sit, lie down, or flop over where they were.
('...that works too, I suppose.')

>Stretching out far ahead and behind, the outer lines of Day and Watch Guard spread their limited awareness to the scouting parties.
('Reptile here, not like an iguana.. worse. Big claws, bigger teeth, thick hide, covered in scales. Dented my helmet pretty good.')
('...THIS THING'S BIGGER THAN MY COFFEE TABLE! Oh, uh, big flat insect with nasty pinching claws, tried to take her leg off but couldn't. We got it.. ...all over the place.')
('Predatory water skimmer of some type, poor armor penetration, they prefer smaller targets.')
('Majority seem to be swamp-skitters-')
('They are. Approximately nine thousand species in the Central Moors alone, perhaps two thousand in Deep, and six to eight hundred elsewhere. Most are not individually named.')
('If any have colored bands transfer it to me, the teeth can be extracted for use as a weapon addition.')
('That is beyond gross..')
('Lunars use what is available, not what we want to.')

>Shorter ranged Operators leaving into the frontal ranks, five Assault Vanguards deploy in a wedge formation ahead of each one, the leadmare's tone crass.
('Until I burn out or die it will remain, no matter the distance. In the event of either, another Moderatis will commarend the Overherd.. so long as they are not an idiot.')
('Visibility's decent in front, hundred meters at ground level.')
>Entering singly, combat and scout rifle carriers take stations starting at the garrison-barns facing each other.
('That means ninety for us..')
('Where's a giant fan when we need one?')
('Bad idea, bio-electricity and lightning enchantments attract the bad kinds of attention across most of the Moors.')
('How, exactly?')
('Every living being emits some form of electrical charge.. well, there are exceptions but not common.')
('So?')
('A lotta creatures sense bio-electricity, bigger or specialized ones can make out objects and living beings at greater ranges.')
('You mean like sharks, right?')
('Exactly, which means all of us, humans and ponies, are emitting thousands of signals that're screaming: hey, tons of prey here.')
('And we're already attracting shit..')
('Yeah, can't prevent it either. That's why everyone that takes a job or gets assigned here slips into the Void and doesn't leave them unless absolutely necessary.')
>A lighter Day Guard mares in the front ranks sighs, wishing she hadn't listened in.
('Won't ever find me in that mess. I need to see clearly, not deal with constant fog and haze.')
('That is another concern: if you are not attuned to the Void or Pitch Black, do not spectrum-slip. The presence of Crystal forces here is dangerous as is.')

>>370985
>Agreemarents and argumarents break out in earnest among fruit enjoying ponies, then berries, vegetables, leaves, vines, roots, melons, nuts...
>All strictly avoiding the topics of batpony foods.
>Settling on a suspicion that one of the Crystal ponies, or a crystal-unicorn more likely, had slipped that idea in, a lone stallion declares ryegrass unfit to eat without being fried.
('.....what's ryegrass?')
>And the chain starts anew.

>Tuning out of that mess, the Councilierge Assault Vanguard's leadstallion sighs, finding himself confused at thinking of both cold black iron from his city-state and short, athletic, painted oceanic mares.
('Constructs do not bleed in the biological or even technical senses. The living fluid is more like ichor, though not even remotely similar to Changeling ichor.
There is] a pony that may know but she's fucked off and nopony knows where.. why i-')
>Shutting those thoughts down hard and scowling at everything in particular, he addresses the Overherd directly, syncing the leadmare's wandering thoughts into seriousness.
('Enough, we're ALL hungry. Forage en route and leave enough for local batponies, don't need to irk them more than we already have.')
('...to whomever shared that thought: keep it to yourself or there will be consequences. I have enough problems with small hyperactive ponies.')

>Exiting into the center most gateway as one of the two heaviest shotgun carriers, five Assault Vanguard mares position themselves in a five-pointed star formation around you, their thoughts strictly held to protection first, aggression second.
>Each was most definitely NOT thinking about certain ponies, the quadruple lines ahead starting into a slow march, Crystal-Hegemony Minotaurs and Spireguard spreading out to take on paired detals.
>Or hoofholding.
"Stop."
"You stop-"
"Shut up!"
('Problems in front?')
('Nnnnnooooooooo...... I don't think so.')
('Minotaurs?')
('Can't tell yet.)

>>370592
>Bubba would suppress a sigh that might rattle a window or two.
>Best to just focus on Stream Lark for the moment.
>And hope Naliyna doesn't start a fight.
>Taking in that information, Bubba would slowly nod.
>... Before nearly putting his palm into his hand as Amerose leaped at the heavily armored mare.
>"Why."

"I am very aware of such, yes."
>Bubba neutrally stated, patiently listening to Stream.
"And I took no part in that, evidentially. Otherwise I'd be among the casualties."
>He pressed his lips together, tightening them for a moment.
"I don't control anyone in Razorback, but I can pull some weight to see about at least stopping our hunting of your daughter. As it is, I've already pulled all current job offerings until we can sort this ordeal out."
>He would offer after a moment, returning his gaze.

>>370989
>Emitting a faint, recognizable whine, Blackhorn's weight in your hands decreases by half, the Assault Vanguard's focus drawn to it immediately.
('Sir, does that sound like a.. non-Gravity Elemarental in use?')
('....definitely. No Construct symbiote's actions or features are similar, though that is unusual.')
('Thought so. Only times we've recorded antigravity functions are those bonded to pegasi that've suffered injuries or otherwise become incapable of flight.')
('Three of those, to be precise. Master Clemency, do you have an image or record of the object that became.. what she is now?')
('Hold on, that's a FEMALE?')
>Briskly facehoofing his snout, the leadstallion's regret is palpable as is the wish he hadn't asked the question.
('I hate my job... not going to repeat this again tonight so remember it well: Constructs occur in PAIRS. One is a stallion, the other is a mare. Do you understand that at least?')
('I guess? Sure.')
('Good enough. If a sapient of the opposite sex makes physical contact with a damaged, or whole, still functioning Construct weapon or component, there is a CHANCE that it may bond with said sapient. Despite intensive studies we do not know what the chances are, what conditions increase or decrease said chances, let alone why, when, or how symbiotic bonding occurs.
Trying to answer those questions has driven more than a companeigh's worth of ponies insane in the past decade alone.')
('Which led to us banning that research avenue entirely and now focus solely on Constructs and.. Riftseekers.)
('At minimum we attempt to understand and categorize basic behavioral patterns, which most don't seem to have. At maximum we dispense with that entirely and destroy them.')

>Five moderately heavier mares take a narrow diamond formation around you, which would have been concerning if they didn't feel professional and upright.
>Either that or they could smell burnt feathers.
>Or they knew.
>Receiving a slight, rolling hip motion from the lead, silverine-trimmed helmet swiveling partway, emeraldine eyeslits faintly glowing as the middle aged mare speaks quietly.. at the Construct weapon.
"You are held by excellent hands and surrounded by duty-bound hooves, be calm. We have no quarrel with two-that-have-become-one, nor shall we ask of your secrets."
>Whether she expected a response or Blackhorn had limited capacity to comprehend was, frankly, hard to imagine.
>Head forward, the mare's Impact Seal lance flashes a sequence of earth pony sigils that read out as 'safe paths ahead', though the second meaning was closer to 'we assure your safety'.

>Entering the gateway behind Lont and his assigned Vanguard team, you experience great satisfaction at a significant number of shoulders tightening, heads straightening, spines stiffening, and potential diplomatic blunders rapidly disappearing.
('Shit, last time I felt this fucked over was... huh.')
('That night you landed in the fountain?')
('Kind of, but.. not really? No, this is different.')
('I don't get it. What're you talking about?')
>230 meters ahead, the Rookie stops to, in view of numerous Guardponies, lifting his free arm to make a fist.
('I can't be the only one. Don't you FEEL different being here? Lighter, not dog tired, miserable. Yeah I'm physically tired but I'm weirdly clear headed, more free. This isn't like being in the Fortress at all. Anyone else?')
>Farther behind, an FNG with a bad track record of close encounters and terrible rather, nonexistent reporting behavior frowns, stretching out as the forward Day and Watch Guard settle into a slow march.
('Can't put my finger on it.')
('Then, try?')
('Okay. I feel almost back to normal. Burned out, sure, like he said though I'm clear headed. Can think straight. And.. this is fucked. Anyone else stopped hearing the voices?')
>Immarensely concerned, both the Shieldmare and Assault Vanguard request all nearby ponies to focus on the FNG.
('What voices?')
('Ones I kept hearing in the Fortress. Not hearing as in actually speaking words but pushing to do shit now and then.')
('I jus' thought it was Mama Razorback talkin' to us.')
('Uh, no dude, the actual Fortress used t- nevermind. Thought it was just me or something for a while, but I'm not hearing it now.')
('Starting to worry me but, no, I ain't feeling them either.')
('Jeff, Lont, Clem, you three experienced that sort of thing? Like getting nudged to do something you normally wouldn't, getting talked to without words, or shown ways out of making a stupid decision?')

('Sehr?')
('Yes?')
('Is that part of the human gestalt?')
('As a matter of fact, no. We've been in quite a few Overherds with the humans of Stalliongrad, they've never reported voices or experiencing conceptual-speak before.')
('Then, should we be worried?')
('Doubtful. Then again..')
>Keeping amused eyes on the Spireguard and Minor Champion awaiting their turn to enter, the leadstallion shrugs, mostly to himself.
('I don't know. Make sure the Crystal forces are spread out evenly among our numbers, hopefilly we'll be able to mask their signatures.
Forward ranks: four-hooves per second, this line is long and unicorns are burning out quickly.')

>>371013
"Eh, you might get a one twig fine or something silly. Commarend sucks anyhow, that's why we leave boxes of bombs and mines everywhere instead of staying in the milit-"
>Tossing the berry into her mouth, the tradesmare swallows, beginning to nod, eyes and wings snapping open as she half-shrieks at the air above you.
"TAINTED?! We've been keeping them separated for centuries! They can't even form themselves properly! What the fuck is happening in Basin?! YOU-"
>Eyes glinting angrily, she takes a short flying-hop to land in front of the Construct symbiote, snarling while reaching out to grab it's terrified face with both sets of wingclaws.
"Battalk me, now!"
>Releasing her grasp, the young batmare and batstallion sharing what could theoretically be a pair's dance, excepting the first's aggressive displays, second making quick, efficient yet choppy gestures.
>They weren't shuffling, at least.

>Ending the impromptu interrogation and reaching out to pat the symbiote's faux-tufted ears, the tradesmare's mood is incredibly sour.
"He won't because he can't. Don't understand some of what he's said. And there's no paths to them anymore, those are long gone."
>Quietly kee'ing towards the Construct, the tradesmare transitions to screaming upwards.
"And I'm way ahead of you on that, choosing between flankloads of Constructs and pacifying EVERY SINGLE TAINTED FROM EVERY REGION OF THE MOORS COALESCED INTO ONE GROUP ARE BLOODY REASONABLE OPTIONS-"

>Ears flicking in 'accepted' motions, the symbiote leaps up, taking wing after you with a severe grimace.
[1d6 = 6] <???
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] <Construct Realspace Scanning Protocols
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <Protective Flight-Formation
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] <E.Flight
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]

>>371073
>>371071
>A sense of déjà vu came over Lont as he stepped out of the portal, here he was again. Travelling through the Moors, again. The destination being the Arena, again. To slay a hideously dangerous creature, again.
>Even though it won't bleed in the traditional sense it will still die this night, that he was sure of.

>With his escort of mares in formation he acknowledged them with a thought, he wasn't adapt at this whole Overherd business but he visualized very hard on patting the mares on their helmeted heads as a sign he was thankful for the extra security.
>Looking away from the marching army of humans and ponies the winged Operator glared into the surrounding Moors, no harm in adding his own sight to watch out for threats.
[1d6 = 4] >E.Scouting
[1d6 = 5]
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] >Thermal
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] >H.E

>>371078
>Hearing his named called the Operators wings flicked as he tilted his head, he had trouble remembering the FNG calling out to him, Jeff and Clem.
(I...)
>Confusion was writ across his hidden face.
('I honestly do not know what you're saying. Maybe I have heard voices but since I have been so busy coming and going they have not registered to me. Can you give me an example?')

>>371084
>Glancing up, Sunny realised it would have been easier to catch a cloud and ride it out of the area.
>Oh well.
>She caught sight of the batstruct and examined the damage it had taken from stepping on a bug.
>It was making a grimace, emulating pain expression, the only reason it could have for that kind of display when it seemingly lack one earlier is an unspoken request for help. Was the acid still eating away at it or was it simply missing the loss of material? She couldn't be sure until she examined it more closely.

[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8] < B.Perception
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4]
[1d6 = 5] < Apprentice Alchemist
[1d6 = 3]
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] < Junior Constructs
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]

>Sunny doubted her concoction would repair it, it aided organic healing, but perhaps it might be able to use the raw material and energy to replace the matter it had lost, which she supposed served the same purpose.
"How severe is the damage? What sort of material would you require for full self-repair?"

[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] < E.Sprint
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]