/mlpol/ - My Little Politics

>>370190
"Could've been something to put on that insane calendar idea Jeff wanted to do. Oh well. I tried."
>Snickering at that one, Anon's priority shifts to performing a sarcastic theatrical bow, then lifts his right hand palm upwards.
"I said sixty percent as a joke, but that's closer to fact than most would want to believe. Human, pony, Minotaur, Gryphon, you name it. My take? Dear super-ancient Empress failed to realize, ignored, or flat out forgot that every side of the Dynasty would be recorded. Not for posterity mind you, but simply to say they were here, or there, they did this, didn't do that, why they did such and such, how this, that, and the other turned out, and so on. Reading between those lines is an artistic science all sapients have.. just not one that gets mastered often."
>The Gestalt slowly turns to face the exact direction of your face, left index and thumb pulling the mask's fabric outwards an inch.
"Of bloody course I do. And.. please stop saying those words. And everything else related to what I certainly do not want to hear. My dreams are already haunted enough. Damn gel-ponies anyways."
>Placing both hands over his eyes, mostly as a defensive reaction, Anonymous makes a noncommittal noise of pure neutrality.
"Never mind then. It's probably extra-dimensional static I keep picking up during translations and risking time constraints grabbing what's close by."
>Standing up and freezing at his phone beeping, the tall man sighs.
"Portal will stay open until you return to Razorback. It's not one of mine, got it from a side bet from Queen Lovebug. Said she can't deal with the colors, reminds her too much of some pony she won't talk about. Or ponies. Either way, can't stay here any longer, there's a few discs I need to catch up on."
>Tossing a two-fingered salute, Anon heel-twists around in a passable 180, tossing a two fingered salute before striding into a quickly opening white doorway.
>Leaving the folding chair, of course.

>>370198
>Nodding towards Shiibo in appreciation with a short movement, he confirms his bearings as the conversation continues.

>Pareidolia remains non-plussed as Katyal's scathing remarks rise to the surface.
(Expected. Clear priority to protect ponies harmed by human incompetence. May actually be a useful motivation.)
>He waits for her to finish before replying.
"Your assessment is correct. Hence why I opted to undertake this as soon as possible rather than waste valuable time gathering more personnel and ponies. Razorback owes a great deal to Spiral. One of 'his' close human friends is in critical condition. Everyone misses him, the lowest of them the humans who benefited from his labors while respecting none of himself."
>He glances towards the feed where Katyal was visible, turning his helmet to make his focus obvious.
"Results showcase why wholesale human integration with ponies does not end well. You are a rare an exception to the norm. Spiral and most normative ponies are not ready to handle human attitudes and cultures."
>He wraps his left gloved hand over his right fist in his lap. He inclines his helmet towards Lonestar briefly while speaking of Hollow before straightening.
"I'm not here for any other reason than to return Spiral to a network of his friends and achievements that miss and need him. Or failing that, bringing back what's left for closure. Damage control and a responsibility I have to bear. I was there when Hollow threw the final straw and said nothing despite knowing."
>Taking a breath, he allows a modicum of ice to form towards the end of his statement.
"Your dislike of humans who don't integrate well with ponies aside, if you want to take the lead I won't object. But don't doubt my intentions or motivations. It's humans that have brought Spiral to this state and any human whether myself or someone fully adjusted such as you is not immutable to these mistakes."

>I nodded, staring at the man's mask.
"You know, it's -really- hard to tell. Like you got recesses there but it's like...more shadowed. Almost like a pattern or something."
>At least the portals are working, even if he got in a game of (I'm asssuming) poker or blackjack.
"Well, there's a -lot- of weird shit that is going on, went down, or -will- go down in this world. And...uh....we've done a lot of it."
>At least it wasn't -all- me.
>But goddamn, looking back, it's just been fumble after fumble after fumble.
>Starting off with Celestia going thermonuclear.
>That was so long ago, however.
>But now the man was leaving.
>And, well, let it never be said I was ungrateful for a gift.
"Hey. Thanks. And uh...good luck with whatever you're doing."
>I lifted my hand to wave the man off as he vanished into a doorway.
>I would have been surprised by his magic use if I wasn't already used to it, though oddly, not many of the humans I'd personally worked with had abilities inherent from where they came from.
>Odd.
>But now I miss Hollow.
>Crazy mute bastard.
>I sat down, pondering time passed and people come and gone for some time, thumping my leg up and down.
>...right, I'm still naked.
>Good thing my clothes and gear are nearby, or I'd be coming back after that shit storm in my birthday suit.
>No problem for the ponies, but the humans...
>Yeah...
>And so, I sat down, settled in, and enjoyed the cigarillo as long as it lasted, waiting for the potion to end.

>Eventually, the potion did pass, and I kitted myself up again, checked my hat, rubbed my face, smelled my breath (like death and citrus) and then stepped through the portal back to Razorback's main holding, looking around as I stepped out...whether into a warzone, or just business as usual.
>Which looked like a warzone but organized.

.>>370199
"Just... something that the Motherland did in an attempt to up-armor T-28s. It did not work well."
>Shaking my head, I gave off a shrug for the mini-Wild, as confused about the ordeal as she was.
>I really didn't know what they were thinking.

"What is... radiation?"
>It did not sound fun, and after asking that I could already feel a lecture coming on.
>Settling in for a couple minutes wait, I finally got to relax and let my mind wander.
>...
>Probably not a good idea to let my mind wander, otherwise the reality of our situation was going to crash full force onto me and I did not need a mental breakdown.
>That'll be reserved for when we get back to Razorback and I get that bubble bath.

"Well, that's good!"
>Though I'm pretty sure she could think before.
"That's good to hear, hopefully you can repair a lot better now. Seems whatever you did worked."
>shutting down and restarting works 90% of the time, I've heard.

>>350118 →
>>350128 →
[1d200 = 23] <kek

>>370393
Don't you do this to me

>>370192
'That was done on purpose to prove her point.'
>Returning to simple ASCII form, the pair glance at each other in mild confusion, stare back to you, then pseudo-visibly sigh, both sets of hands raising in defeat.
'We do not fully understand what our Inquisitor does. Pre-M2 Terra records state the aquila was a symbol used by a highly militarized culture known by their enemies as the Mongols. An original text describes the Mongolian Comrades as showing that symbol presents and is intended to prove solidarity with one's true family, a concept equal to philia as stated by the Greek culture, not the kin they were born with. A later, partial translation reads as follows: not even an eagle can not function without the entirety of its body in harmonious accord. In short: our family cannot function without all members present and worthwhile. Numerous concepts were added in later eras, yet most cultures were loathe to explain them.'
>The sister cracks a helpful smile, speaking in a youthful tone while the brother's face creases in mild rebuke.
'Busy as we may be, we exist in what is called an octo-solemnical disparate spatial engram, Enginseer.
You know this quite well: a Terran standard day is twenty four hours made of sixty minutes each which is comprised of sixty seconds, all by ancient customs that do not matter here, nor include leap years and the one-quarter day Terra experiences.
In sum, we function at an extensively improved temporal ratio of anywhere from 100:1 to 5:1 that is highly out of synchronicity with the physicality you inhabit.
While I am not troubled by interruptions-'
>Punctuated by data-nudging her brother with a smug look, whom responds with a disgruntled stare upwards.
'It is a deci-second's worth of extraneous activity. We'
'A month's worth of analyzing, filing, and cross-referencing raw data still awaits.'
'Stop being logical for'
>The connection cuts at Tox-11's command to work smarter, not faster, at least until the four (technically five) have fulfilled their duties while a brief apologetic blurb fills the local datasphere.

>Figuratively expressing a lack of relief on returning to normal, the Necron device produces a highly artistic rendering of... something that would probably have been censored in any other place.
>While your MIU translates, connotations of system interactions that were simultaneously Ordo Chronos approved but were attacked by openly malevolent macro-level Mechanicus codes to be heretek in nature compete.
>Which, ironically, weren't heretikal.
>The Ordo Chronos coding wins after a ten nanosecond interval, leaving the unusual image of a Necron Sub-Phaeric Lord making a respectful bow, text above it reading out in Low Gothic:
'Care not for the treacherous paths of intrigue and deception. Expose knowledge for all to share and debate. Learn, adapt, repeat. Do not cease in your efforts. I walk the Path of Machines as you do. One day in this strange, unfamiliar place, I will answer a communion between fellows.'

>Ears flicking in obvious puzzlemarent as you pick up the moderately heavy Auspex and affix it firmly, Raindrop's eyes squint while it produces a merry series of musically-mathematical noises, ones which the MIU struggled to identify.
"Looks a lot like the older Canterlot Underground and Pathfinder object identifiers. Don't know much about them except for funny noises they make, or highly detailed information they provide."
>With the barely consequential damage restored each of the micro-harpsichord's strings are eagerly plucked, delivering a succinct amount of information from an imperfectly described form of temporal analysis.
>...which was going to take a while given the few billion reams of raw data that would have overloaded an Imperial battleship's cogitator core.

>Visibly taken aback by your words for a second, the Free Knight's head tips backwards, face scrunching in confusion at a swarm of exceptionally bright, multi-colored neon glowing insects buzzing in front of the hangar, then chasing after the ultra-mini pegasus with what sounded like angry clicking.
>Left ear twitching first, then the right, Raindrop shuts the problem out of sight, and probably mind too, giving you a highly pleased smile.
"To most Otherworlders, Tallus is crazy. Most curses, outside a few examples from the Late Dynasty's nonsense, don't cause insanity, or negative marental problems. The worst I can think of trade one great positive for a subtle or openly bad one. Decent ones trade two, sometimes three, or four good effects for a single bad. That doesn't include the various rare, strange, unique, Planar, archaic, Psionic, or Crystalline variants.
Overall, being super tiny, blinding fast, and basically impossible to hit like her has benefits most highly charged enchantmarents can't even hope to match. Being physically hyper excited and thinking in double to triple speed at all times is a tiny price to pay for those benefits. I wouldn't ponifally make that trade given the options, but since she didn't have a choice I respect her for not being depressed, bitter, or angry about it."
>The pegasi's muzzle creases deeply, holding her hoof out further to meet your barely trembling mortal hand.
>Which was nice and warm, yet quite firm save for the nearly hot underpad.
>L-lewd~
>Raindrop's expression softens to one of comprehensible acceptance, tinged with a curiously relieved expression, pressing her hoof into your palm encouragingly.
"No Miss Mallia, thank you. You were found worthy enough to be granted the right to stay on this world, and the fact you were involved against a single Construct with nopony permarenently crippled or killed is beyond words. If any event has gone poorly tha-"
>Halting to give a sour glance left, the mare turns a, somehow, irresponsible grin back to you.
"If you'll take me as a marefriend then I'll gladly accept those responsibilities, even if doing so means I have to sleep next to you."

>>370201
>Displaying notifications of missing advanced functions and a probable stealth system that wasn't available, Shiibo makes a short wave at the physical controls.
'Forty percent of operational capabilities missing due to weight limitations. The complete model includes a functional non-artificial model created from cross-species nodal heuristics. The operating core exists in the OL-3's current configuration but cannot be removed or implemented as is. This-'
>Displaying the schematic of a partially egg-shaped, heavily armored powered frame dubbed the: Nine Sectors Coalition, Exotic Technologies Designs, Power Frame Class 59-5UC: Extreme Depth Infiltration & Land Capable Offensive System.
>A bizarre, liquid-chemical catalyst rifle in 16MM utilizing mass reactive shells intended to be carried in both hands, a dual-tubed 58MM Semi-Guided Variable Yield Missile Launcher system mounted on either shoulder, the engines being miniaturized cold-plasma reactors, and lastly a high energy MASER that was, for the most part, classified appear.
>The design was solid, albeit simple, though had limited field endurance. And cramped.
'Is the finished Marine ExoArmor he spoke of. The so-called android core however-'
>The AI frowns, showing a direct image listed as coming from the early 15,800's, days, months, and location redacted, this time of an exotic, partially energy state 26-limbed sea creature, appearing to be much like an octopi, lifting itself high on the end of a metallic dock while clutching the hands of ten surrounding humans, their faces, uniform markings, and boots covered by large black bars.
>Similar to a few of the beings you'd seen or read reports from, this particular example had a number of proto-human features on the 'face', including the ability to emulate a nose, move pseudo-eyebrows, and could distinctly show most human expressions as it had, according to Shiibo's rough translations in view, relatively similar thought processes.
'High energy human synthesis capabilities and scientific philosophies combined with partial energy-state aquatic extremomorphs providing meta-material physics.. in an extremely substandard, highly irradiated situation. FTL potential: extreme.'
>Arms folding, Shiibo's avatar turns sideways, leaning on an invisible wall and lifting the left hand upwards with an annoyed look.
''All further data is classified. Genetic lockout codes cannot be bypassed or infiltrated.'

>Suitably called out, Lonestar's eyes close for a few moments, then nods slightly.
"Did ask a lot from him. We helped out the same, but he never asked anything in return. Maybe he didn't want to?"

>Visibly listening in as the Overlander picks up speed, Katyal shakes her head on the display, Shiibo opening a vehicle-skin transmission hijack.
"The fuck's he talking about? Rare exception my ass, I was tired and depressed. Razorback hasn't been allowed outta Equestria after they blew up New Canterlot Palace. Is that man the odd one out or's he brand new?"
>Image clearing to show a winged Moor cat sitting in front of Katyal, shrugging its front shoulders, the transmission ceases for a few seconds while she stares downwards.
"Fine, let's play your favorite game. Little kitty catty with warm wings a-batty, look me in the eyesm. We've known each other for a while now, if I'm about to screw up telling them shit they might not know and can't deal with, claw my face."
>Right paw lifting and motioning in patterns you didn't recognize, Nibbles' head swivels to focus directly at you, the operator-gunner's screen distorts and resolves faster than Shiibo could notice.
*"Right, I'm going to start with this much: Razorback fucked up by nuking New Canterlot Palace. I was a second from signing that contract. Only stipulation was I had to kill every single human that didn't give binding oaths to ponies. Would've had an entire country to co-rule. Could've been a multi-millionaire. Whole harem. Anything I wanted. Nobles and royals included. Big city-fortress built just for me. I realized something then: some humans are born stupid, others are taught to be that way. Some are just as ignorant as I was, but most simply don't catch on. And for the official records, don't ask me to lead.
Try this: stop thinking in terms of 'what's right for me', understand? Ponies consider everything as 'what's right for all of us?' Outside of extremely rare exceptions, it's impossible to think as an individual. I'll say it again: that is Impossible. Make a note. The herd shares everything, openly or not. Overherds are no exception.
Ponies reach a conclusion of how, why, and when. Humans most always think in terms of why or why not. So, if your Spiral's the type of unicorn that's a herd-of-oneself, then you've missed the most direct needs, desires, and wants he had.
Since he didn't say a single word before leaving then he was either terrified for all of you, or furious at something he couldn't reveal. He obviously needed you all whole, alive, and well. That means he trusted all of you enough not to say a word, to anyone, or anypony.
You've learned he's in deep shit, but he expected to be followed, otherwise he would never have left clues. It's an act that intelligent ponies make when they need perfect secrecy. Understand now?"*
>Pausing to give Nibbles, still staring at you, a fond head pat, the woman leans back to scowl at the passing trees.
*"And what I'm about to say is OFF the record. When Hodch gets concerned enough to pull out the 'I need favors done and you're the only one I can use right now' card, whoever screwed up that he doesn't have the time to correct.. I can."*

>Lonestar straightens in the driver's chair with a distinctly serious glance at you, reaching forwards to tap a key on his display.
"...we should both drop the agent act. For now. Full scans north, vector three-twenty to plus thirty horizontal, negative ten to positive ten vertical."
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5] <E.Electronic Warfare
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5]
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8]

[1d6+2 = (3+2) = 5] <Siren's Touch
>vs:
[1d6 = 3] <Reaction

>>370216
"Is it wrong to say I expected better?"
>Staring out from the left display, the revamped mini-Wild's antennae flatten, showing intense equine disgust.
"Probably not. That is beyond 'cheap', and barely effective for heavy calibers. I have well over six thousands designs for better protective methods than that. In fact, a full sixth of them are personal protection schematics, forty-nine would be useful if I have the chance to produce them-"
>Dozens of loud clicks occur in the chest cabin, two air conditioning units above turning on... which were halfway useless given the giant hole in front of you.
>The caricature's 'eye' narrows briefly, spinning around to trace a spike-ended trefoil hazard symbol above the map in bright green.
>You'd seen this one a few times before, though it hadn't been explained much other than 'don't touch, smell, or look at' certain barrels.
"Short version: it is extremely bad for all organic life. Radiation is caused by specific elements that emit invisible particles and wavelengths. The long explanation would take eighty minutes now that I have access to my critical and major data nodes. Since I have existed on Tallus, whether in my original form as a station wagon or my current configuration, there is no radiation except for the original plutonium core that Kraut brought with him. A third of those particles and fields are similar to magic, but are not directly damaging or intrinsically hostile. There are numerous forms of energetic particles constantly passing through you and I without harm. Ponies and other native species call them magic, though they are more mechanical than mysterious. For example, this-"
>Right arm lifting into view, a distinct line of red electricity forms across the destroyed wrist while the left holds her missing hand up, all eight tendrils slinking in and visibly pulling it's damaged components together, though you couldn't see any visible heat emanating from the process.
>Or smell anything.
[1d6+11 = (1+11) = 12] <Grade 1 Auto-Repair
[1d6+8 = (1+8) = 9]
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21]
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Grade 2 Auto-Repair
[1d6+13 = (5+13) = 18]
[1d6+20 = (1+20) = 21] <Tryptaran Autorestoration
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <Repair Tendril 1
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-2
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-3
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-4
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <RT-5
[1d6+1 = (3+1) = 4] <RT-6
[1d6+1 = (2+1) = 3] <RT-7
[1d6+1 = (4+1) = 5] <RT-8
"This method is less energy intensive than the catchall term 'magic'. I'm not welding, as you would think of it. Instead, I'm joining physical components together using a mixture of pressure, focused energy, Tryptaran wavelengths, my own thoughts, and.. two systems that I cannot accurately describe to you. That Which Cannot Be Named calls it 'melding', but it only works on non-organic material."
>Staring at the map for a few seconds, the Wild Ride miniature turns around to offer a sincere, if rather short, nod.
"For the most part it has, but I cannot attempt a complete system shut down and restart like that until dusk occurs. Primary repair system one is mostly restored, but I will need both hands operational as there is still a high chance of Constructs following us. And now that I DO have access to my data nodes, scanning for any unrecognized signatures behind us-"
>Turning right to face the coastline in three heavy stomps, the Eldritch-Android's frame tips left, then right, audibly testing herself.
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Arcanum Sensory Array
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <Sensory Node #2: Planar Construct Cross-Reference
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <Sensory Node #3: Internal Motivator Analysis

>>370205
>Whether he'd intended it, but probably not, Anon's preferred flavor of blueberry cigars was similar to the Crystal Empire ones that Spiral enjoyed sharing.
>Donning clothes first, then armor, and slinging the comfortably heavy pack on, the only items missing were your weapons, spare ammunition.. and the MP3 player.

>Stepping through the peculiarly solid gateway into Razorback Pagoda, distinct scribbling on paper behind and to the left meant Naliyna wasn't in.
"Hello Dante."
>Instead, the sixth worst concern is confirmed: that voice was definitely Malyne.
"Your weapons were delivered three hours ago by a strange earth mare that smelled like fire. She would not open her eyes. Second north couch."
>Indeed they were, neatly placed atop a set of fluffy pillows, and probably untouched, though you catch sight of Shanis in her black winter suit on the opposite side, a ring of mangoes surrounding her, forelegs possessively holding a.. small, bright white seal?
"I did not lick them."
>The faux-grin of her words says otherwise.

>>370409
>...where's the music player.
>Damnit, if somebody took it...

>I turned over to look at the small bat, grinning awkwardly.
>It was like I had been caught right in the middle of doing something wrong.
>Which, kind of was the case.
>Strange earth mare...smelled like fire?
>I feel like I should know them, but don't.
>Then again, things are slipping my mind at the moment that usually wouldn't.
>Must be the sheer blown panic damn near totally consuming me.
>Maybe.
>And Shanis is here!
>Holding a...small bright white seal.
>...curious.
>Turning to Malyne, I snorted.
"You know, rules are, if you lick something, you now own it. Have fun shooting it with no fingers."
>I still took it up, checking clear and putting it on safe, before slinging it around my body.
>Now, all that was left was to find Pella.
>Or Twisted.
>...on second thought, I like having my head attached, at least for a little while longer.
"So. Any messages come in for me?"
>I didn't expect any, but it was a way of delaying the inevitable.
>Even then, I found I did not want to.
>A soft sigh fell from me.
"And...uh...where's Pella?"

>>370420
>Writing a short sentence on a small letter before setting it aside, the fuzzy batfilly sits up to take on a look of theatrical disdain.
"That one is too long, clunky, weighs too much, and is far too loud to carry. It also smells horrible before, during, and after extensive cleaning. It is odd to me how quickly most ponies learn to tolerate the stink of firearms. I would rather have dual imbued Force Elemarent shaped tungsten spheres and cylinders. Much quieter, same effects at all ranges, and can be used to carpet bomb. Then again, bricks do work quite well."
>Snickering twice and setting a thin stack of small letters aside with her left set of wingclaws, Malyne peers across the short table, head tilting while scanning over stacks of colorful letters.
>There was no paperwork in view, which was surprising.
>A dubious snout wiggle is made, reaching under the table to carefully pick up, one by one... at least twenty white string tied bundles of silver trimmed, black envelopes with her left wingclaws, gingerly placing them on the opposite side towards you in a pyramid.
"All of these are addressed to you. They were delivered earlier, but I do not know when."
>Setting another out, the rainbow of colors and rainbow pinstripes were obviously intended for Pella, then turns to peer at the unopened letter stacks in mild amusemarent.
"She has been moving all the MRE's, canned, bagged, glass sealed, and dried food from the Armory to the Mess Hall. Also the drinks. She claims they are supposedly attracting pests, but I have not seen any yet.. and the tiny swarms of Northern Central Moors glowbugs do not count."

>>370404
>Eyes glancing between the data feed in his helmet and the display screen on the console, he mentally catalogs Shiibo's retrieved information to memory. His brow furrows slightly at the note of FTL travel potential.
(Everything Anonymous pulls strings to provide to us with via these wish discs really is a potential disaster... will need to check this species later.)

>His attention heightens as Shiibo provides a hijacked feed to Katyal. Muttering to himself as she makes it clear she believes the problem was handled in the immediate aftermath.
(...Clearly she does not comprehend what that event highlighted. Given her background, likely understandable.)
"Unaware of the inevitable risk. Not surprising for most humans... "

>He remains quiet as she elaborates on the social and cultural differences between the two species despite already being familiar.
>His eyes note and return Nibbles' gaze without wavering throughout the exchange.
>While he slightly nods his head in deference/acknowledgement, he speaks quietly inside his helmet.
"Nibbles is likely aware of your hack by magical means or that they're being observed. The additional information feed is appreciated, but let's avoid crossing these boundaries unless operationally necessary. Katyal is a minimal risk vector at present."

>Nodding his helmet at the display feed in answer to Katyal's question of understanding, he turns forward once more towards his side's instrument panels.
(Act?)
"I am not acting, but I agree there are more pressing concerns."

>>370441
>I considered what Malyne said about her preferred choice of weaponry.
>It would be effective, no doubt.
"Yes, but that is the intended effect. If you haven't been on the receiving side of something like this, then you don't know just how miserable it would be, downrange of this girl."
>I gave her a pat (the MG3 of course).
"But, you know, different strokes."
>I like when things go bang, what can I say?
>A large amount of letters were then taken out from under the table.
>The silver on them had my gut falling, out of my body and then through the floor, and maybe further beyond.
"Heh. Popular, aren't I?"
>That's uh...
>That's a lot of news.
>Swallowing, I gathered them from off the table and moved to sit down on a couch, taking Pella's mail as well.
>I was going to have to have a discussion with her after this, but this will give me some type of insight into how fucked things are.
>I was there, and even then, I believe they are even WORSE than I expect them to be.
>Well, worse than being crowned emperor of Silver's legacy.
>Or something like that.
>Hey, I'm panicking, leave me alone.
>I began to open the envelopes, taking out my knife and sliding it along the seam to look at all of them in order.
>Of course, Pella's mail was Pella's mail, so I'd leave that to the side for now.
>But what was she doing, moving everything from the Armory to the Mess?
>It seems...rather curious.
>I'll have to see.
>And then most likely be tossed out on my ass, then.

>>370442
>Cross-referencing a series of databases, which, judging by the timestamps, were recorded by most of Razorback, the avatar's face sours.
'That is incorrect. For the wrong reasons, sir. Between Katyal's highly contextual statements and willingness to cooperate in an extreme hazard operation related to an unrelated equine she may understand specific dangers that unsupervised humans pose to native beings of this world. Due to her isolation she is likely unaware of specific actions Razorback's individuals or groups have taken in the past two and one-quarter years. Strange.. and illogical.'
>One hand lifts in warning as small readouts display heightened threat indices of Razorback's relations to known Equestrian factions, likewise dated, the other hand lifting to lightly tap her lips.
'The original Razorback 100 arrived in late summer of 29,996, New Canterlot. It is currently early winter of 29.998. The prototype's data stores contain a number of entries from Razorback Fortress's systems that, when compared to individual non-encrypted records, do not definitively match.
There are a minimum of two-thousand five-hundred incidents where time logs are out of sync with individual records. Some present unusual characteristics outside of accepted timespan estimates... temporal anomalies detected sir. At present, they have not been defined, corrected, or analyzed.'

>Watching the Moor cat enter a predatory crouch on the display, both wings tighten against her sides, then leaps forwards and dissipates entirely-
>Only to arrive on a front armor projection, front paws snapping out to grab a small, broad six-legged insect, immediately denoted as an unknown species.
>Right before falling off, Nibbles reappears atop the Overlander 3, landing upside on the roof from several inches and struggling to hold it.
'...adorable. Your statement was both right and wrong, solely from technical and knowledge limitations.'
>Admiring the replay on screen and visibly amused at the feline's actions, Shiibo makes a short, dismissive hand motion.
'No interpretive models to predict Moor cat behaviors available. Anomalously tangential teleportation or matter-phasing, likely genetic or magical in origin. Probability of both: greater than 85%. State may be semi-Euclidean given the ability to matter-phase through native and Otherworld materials. Under-'
>Cut off by the feline making a loudly delighted mrowl, flailing the insect in both forepaws while snicker-hissing at the furiously wriggling catch, she continues unabated.
'Stood sir, adjusting interactions to compensate for potential anti-intrusion protocols. However, the majority of information provided by the OL-3's semi-energy state data storage is unencrypted and does not require translation outside of standard octodecimal.
The two confirmation requests I was able to log in to, as a guest no less, took less than one-fiftieth a second to resolve. The first was an ancient protocol, analogous to directing a computer user into selecting a specific onscreen option. It states: I am not a Nodal or Heuristic Android.
The second is a simple two-stage text dialogue. The first: I am a living being; the second is: The world around me is unreal. A classic determiner requiring non-linear graphing in order to electronically select a single digital button. Most computational systems, unless well trained or distinctly programmed, would automatically fail the second due to machine-bias analyses.
As there are no overt or covert threats, should I continue investigation or delay until you request the same?'

>Katyal sits up on the roof at the radio silence, then kneels before her opened hatch, snorting aloud.
*"Don't know how you all do it, but on my world lacking objections or being silent means consent. If that's the case then we head straight for where Spiral went. No breaks or stops allowed. That means taking care of bodily functions in transit."*

>Face creasing in recall, Lonestar's head tips back into the rest before speaking in a firm, controlled manner, though biting back obvious hot retorts.
*"I didn't have jack shit to do with whoever's nuke went off in the Palace, and still can't figure out who set it off. Most of us intel fucks stayed on the train. We got to chatting with those Honor Guards and those few Lunars stationed at the nearby depot, they were more surprised than we were. No objections from me, other than get in and close that hatch, don't want anyone falling off. Cat excluded."*
>Opens comms shut off with a button press, the Texan puts on a mildly approving expression before shaking his head.
"You're worse off than me, huh? Glad some of us aren't engrammed to fuck all and back. Fine, full speed ahead, but I'm not willing to make this a suicide run into the unknown."
>That was neither statement or accusation, Shiibo denotes as Lonestar eyes his forward display in subdued confusion.
"Miss, uhhh... Shiibo, was it? Got those scan readings yet or do I need to kick that core a few times? Ones on most ships were half-assed hybrids, sure hope these are better."
>Twitching in artificial space, the avatar facepalms, then points out the series of stick control presses that would enact ExoTech's Optronic system, quickly initiating it on her digital end.
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8] <ExoTech Optronic Particle Scanner
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] <E.Electronic Warfare
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]

>In the back, Dul can be heard rummaging through a cloth bag.. which had to be Katyal's given that no one else left theirs out of a locker.
"Dul know this taste! Gifts from big bronze ponies good. ...why so small?"

>>370446
>Replying to Shiibo, he acknowledges the discrepancies.
'Noted. And Katyal's background is likely unclear with information restricted to us due to Saddle Arabian assassin connections. A coherent risk rating can be established later.'

>He pauses before allowing some of the tension in his face to ease as Nibble's reaction was a false alarm.
(Good... one less concern.)
'Katyal is only one of many humans, and one we likely won't interact with in the future. Our access to her is limited and her connections to Lejura likely leave her beyond our means of influence. I'd rather focus on what is more immediately available, but I'll leave to your discretion what you devote your resources to.'

>Realizing in the flood of information that he neglected to reply to Katyal until her declaration, he finally replies after Lonestar.
"No objections."

>He gives Lonestar a look, turning his helmet at the suicide mission remark as Shiibo notes its non-directed nature but is unable to respond before Lonestar requests the scan once more.
>Looking towards the sticks that would activate the Optronic system, he states:
"Her processing capabilities and specifications are far more effective than the units you've described. Access to this craft's systems was achieved in less than one fiftieth of a second with octodecimal being considered one of the simpler standards. I would remind you not to take her sapience for granted if you want her cooperation. I-"
>Interrupted from hearing the sound of shifting items and exclamations about taste of all things from the rear compartment, he moves to open and stand in the doorway as he sees Dul.
"Dul, what are you doing with Katyal's gear?"

>>370195
>Bubba would lightly nod, tallying those numbers up in his head for later.
>That would lead to a lot of inspecting, even at something faster than batpony standards.

"As long as we don't break anything important. Or unimportant."
>Sprains on Lark should be fiiiiine.

>"That you can detect, of course. Something may be fucky that nobody can tell."
>The silent mutter was, thankfully, just in his head as Bubba slipped past her, nodding in response.

>>370047
>Ivan chews on his tongue lightly for a moment, processing in what Krinza said.
"Unlike my earth at least, there is a surplus of resources and what seems to be less bureaucracy enabling this, back home we would have to deal with a plethora of obstacles to work around or through. Corruption being very notable even today."
>Fucking Ukraine government.
"I won't pretend I know what happened with Spiral... And I thank you for reinforcing this. I'm sure I won't be able to accidentally break it by underestimating my strength."
>He gave the stallion a small smile as he ran a gloved hand over one of the barrels.

"My country has only been around for..."
>Ivan paused, looking off to the side, frowning as he struggled to remember.
"... That is distressing. I know Ukraine is free again... but I do not know for how long."
>He sighed and sat back, rubbing his face.
"Почему ты проклял меня, Монолит?"
>He nodded in reply to Helping's comment.
"Indeed it is. Plays on the radio often."

>>370443
>Poking a neat hole in her chosen envelope with the middle claw, then.. shreds it open with the other two, Malyne waves a probably stolen pen in her other set like a wand.
"Hum. Between cost, or acquisition, extensive training, high maintenance, ammunition supplies, ability to carry extras.. it would have been better to equip all humans with range-dependent Elemarental weapons. Rotationals especially. The Hegemony and Crete Minotaurs produce a large variety of large, to gigantic, auto-crossbows and auto-ballistae, often enchanted with older Elemarentals. The biggest one launches a ten ton projectile out to a range of ten kilometers."
>Muzzle quirking briefly as she peruses the letter, the batfilly shrugs with both wings.
"I think. The Crystal Kingdom has more advanced designs like a revolving Permafrost ballistae, improved from Roam examples, which is their favorite siege weapon, though I have heard of much stranger designs from Naliyna. When she cares to think of those times, that is."
>Ears twitching spastically for a second, all you receive is a calm, perfectly straight face.. which definitely wasn't hiding the biggest possible internal grin.
"The only ponies available in the Fortress that could act as a lawyer right now would either be Torven or Nova Flicker, but I do not think they would accept that marely cases. I would not."

>The thicker paper Stalliongradians preferred to use was unusual, but as you put one stack of starkly no-nonsense, real silver-trimmed pages together, the second stack was individual letters, sheer weight quite different.
>At a glance, the first one was an official request in blocky Common Equestrian from a Stalliongrad Watch Guard Master-General by the name of Steelcrest Peaks, demarending that Dante of Razorback Company cease and desist committing any and all internal or external disruptions, past, present, and future alike.
>While the language was stiff and partially hostile, there wasn't any legalese or difficult to translate terms. signed by around two hundred earth ponies of the Watch, mostly on the back.
>The second was similar, except from the Stallionguard Day Watch, a third from the Stallionguard Night Watch, except without names.
>Double checking the wording, they were indeed listed as 'Stallionguard', which wasn't familiar to you.
>From the fourth to the hundredth are similar messages from a great variety of former military splinter groups, mercenary holdings, civil militias, and one from the curiously named Free Trade Association in varying states of mildly annoyed, to threatening banishmarent, all the way to outright illegal acts.
>All of which, you note, were stamped by an older seal and signed with: Golden Break.
>The name wasn't one you knew off hand, though had a tinge of familiarity.

>Opposite from the second were direct listings of exactly twenty Second Dynasty sub-factions, military designations, prior experience, average readiness parameters; then came force strengths, combat capabilities, lastly general task and purpose explanations of each.
>Reading through the individual projections, you come across a number of recently made hard copy reports:
>Current and projected necessary supplies, food, beds, blankets, eight different seasons worth for clothing, weapons, armor, kits, spare components, needed replacemarents in timetables, raw ore estimates, barely refined metals, refined metals, packaged metals, a profoundly staggering list of wood species, raw materials, basic materials, special purpose materials, a variety of fluxes, Bits, currency reserves including those not in use by Rushya or Equestria, thirty grades of gems....
>All stated as either belonging to you or shared in communal pools and reserves, but required either orders with a verified signature and stamp, or an in-person arrival.
>The last were crisp charts detailing accepted inspection hours for each organization and unit, poninel rotations between units, previous commitmarents that are either no longer feasible or unlikely to succeed, except for the final one.
>Which turns out to be a quirky note from an obvious Striker named mare demarending the immediate purchase or hire of all the following: an official ambassador for each country or faction intended to be traded with, at least one lawyer and adjudant for each, sixty Civil Judges, ten Military Judges, two Militia Judges, and, finally, a minimum of twenty specifically noted Crystal Empire hololiths.

>Browsing through Razorback's mail with carefree aplomb, Malyne finally looks up after finishing two small stacks.
"Well?"

>>370448
'Minimal records and data on the Saddle Arabian Circle of Assassins suggest the same. She is hyper-aware of the current situations though will present extreme difficulty in question.. ing...'
>Trailing off at a new window, Shiibo's left index points up at a threat index, comically labeled: HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT TO DIE?
>Which was currently past the 'two elite operative squads will be lost during contact' mark and quickly running out of less subtle threats.. and now was entirely set on 'scorched earth tactics imminent; projected losses: total'.
'That one is.. not mine sir. Katyal does not know Lejura's status.. and must not be told without a complete debriefing to Reservist Hodch. Whom will not be injured, unlike yourself. The prototype's hard simulations display extensive knowledge of how well liked equine nobility are viciously defended to the death. Often, beyond death if they were honorable and respected.'
>Blinking slowly in great pain, the avatar bows at the waist in solemn defeat, then takes up a strict at attention pose.
'Switching all simulations to analyze known factions in search of long term benefits, sir.'
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <E.Electronic Warfare
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]

"Equal work, equal rights. And synthesizing particles in irreplaceable, irreparable pressurized vacuum chambers is an art, not a science. Made do with nothing and less than that most times. This slapped together shit-"
>Scanning his updating display in faint disdain, Lonestar makes a frustrated exhale, pointing at the central space where a quadruple set of bulged, heavily articulated titanium armor plates were present.
"Was the best we had outside of every single ship carrying a quarter the ammo reserves in nuclear shells."
>Shiibo relays the schematic of a rounded, 26-limbed android system connected to the OL-3's major interfaces which, according to her translations, this android was an exceptionally poor imitation of original versions, fairly standard bipedal and quadraped designs, though a number of six-legged ones were once considered common.
>The avatar then confirms Lonestar's faction had such minuscule access to metals, silicon, and other base materials, the production-issue variants were forced to operate ten to twenty times slower.
>At optimal capability, they would outpace an advanced model's raw processing speed yet had far less.. personality, instead relying on brute force logic.
"You saw our code. Nine ships arrived in half-assed messes, last one was filled with intact sleeper modules and saboteurs. They woke, broke contact, dropped pods, then sent everything they couldn't load onto a floating dock straight into the ocean. OmNet lost track at six hundred miles deep.
Never could recover it. We would've had half everything and everyone vital to from Tech Level One to Forty-Nine in five years, then to Fifty-Eight in another ten if we hadn't been royally fucked.
Not a comparison by the way. Who has what that's better and why doesn't matter. Most of us that arrive here get sent from the worst shitholes imaginable."

>Sitting down in front of Katyal's bag, Dul proudly holds up a large, bright green soft-spined shelled... something or other with her left forehoof, the right rummaging about to present a superbly deep blue, almost banana looking fruit.
"Dul is testing! Saddle Arabia food is great gifts for ponies. Want make sure not have bad tock-suns, poi-suns, other bad things if gifts."
>Emulation apparently wasn't anywhere near her best asset..
>Dropping down from the driver's side roof hatch in a crouch, Katyal stands up to pull down, close, and lock it, turning as her eyebrows raise at the sight.
>The First Responder gives a quick, bemused sigh, leaning forwards to pat the Siren's head, whom returns a bright smile.
"Good idea. Ain't about to share my MRE's, they're pretty nasty to ponies, and I'd be real screwed if any of that isn't fresh, only have a few dozen Detox on hand. But yeah, I snagged the best ones on my way out just in case we needed to trade with ponies. Haven't found a mare, stallion, or colt yet that doesn't go nuts for most of these. Fillies excluded, I don't trust them. Take one if you like."
"Dul not eat this Vortex food but Dul learn how taste them."
"Interesting. Does that mean you.. can eat?"
"Yes! Dul Vortex have big not-things like clouds. They make hard stuffs and soft stuffs. It food things, not look like food things here. Sirens not make them, lots busy."
"Different rules, right. I was kind of hoping the Vortex had something like arupai fruit or sauni-kef melons."
"No, Dul Vortex not have those. Dul sorry."
"Don't worry, I just don't want to deal with competition."
>Tossing a smug look at the now confused Siren, Katyal kneels down to push her bag slightly away from Hodch's eclectic collection of war crimes, artifacts, and worse.
>Pulling open the zipper fully, she halts to raise the topaz bracelet up to her left ear.
"....Hodch is awake, somewhat aware, and doesn't want out yet. Says he's coming down from a high sensory overload. Will be ready in a quarter hour at most."
>Taking a short breath and holding it, releasing, then blinking hard, Katyal's head tilts in a distinctly equine, quizzical marener.
"Then he's going to, quote, 'chase down a jie-had-ee and Void-bomb his entire universe'. Reeeaaaaally don't want to know what that means."

*"People, and pony, there's no buckles back there so I'm suggesting you brace. Going to punch straight up to full speed and hope nothing ELSE is missing. Gods I fucking wish ExoTech built these fuckers with anti-grav systems-"*
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21] <E.Driving: Maximum Speed
[1d6+15 = (1+15) = 16]
[1d6+15 = (1+15) = 16]

>>370452
>Reaching her left leg up to knock hoofboot into lance, then doing the same with the right to the siege ram, Naliyna's ears twitch inside the helmet.
*"There's always a few ways around that. Heck, I know two Conclaves that trade crystaltech replacemarents like skin, bones, and organs! ....if for some uncertain inexplicable and unexplainable reasons we might need to necessarily acquire them."*
>Truly, Thrill's mare desperately needed more training on how to subtly approach sensitive topics.
>Although, she does trust you instinctively on account of being one of Razorback's Original 100, and never trying to put more paper or crystalwork on her table, the soul-glyph chimes in.

>Stepping through an ice-scented layer of subreality that barely tingled, a rather homely scene greets you:
>A wide open rectangular room featured ten short, low crystalline tables, the same number of highly comfortable, albeit pony height couches behind each, a selection of fresh Crystal mares, the rather difficult to speak with Imperial variety at that, were seated in various stages of high readiness.
>Most were on standard implacable guard duty, a few relaxing while several pairs were humming to each other, though the barely heard pitched musical notes left the impression of maximum hair-trigger alertness.
>And a rather blatant succint we-don't-give-a-fuck-about-your-problems-unless-you-start-shit-here atmosphere.

>A massive, half-clear bright blue wooden dining table covered in large burls and whorled grain was the room's center piece; at a quick look this example was salvaged from the easternmost Equestrian coastal region of Floerida, known mostly for the abnormally temperamarental crystalline pegasi.
>Encased in a solid, though light, artificial diamond composite, the net value was more than enough to ransom several noble ponies, but was currently in use as little more than a gathering point.
>Amerose, in her archaic robe of course, was sitting in the middle on a single rather simple chair, while opposite her was a starting-to-go-matte jet black earth stallion, steel-green eyes slowly rotating to inspect you.
>There wasn't even a marginal hint of friendliness.
>A bit shorter than most and certainly lacking the typical toughness, stockiness, or absurd strength that Stalliongradians were eugenically improved to feature, Stream Lark was physically plain in your estimation.
>Even at his advanced age, he was worth any four of Razorback's Elites, excluding whichever enchantmarents or Psionic enhancemarents were currently operating in passive or subdued functionality.

>What set him apart, however, was an exceptional memory and potentially hyperactive, unicorn-like mindset, the soul-glyph quietly reveals.
>Coldly and precisely analyzing your weapons, bulges from explosives, the custom drakehide armor, then other visible possessions in spare moments, the elder stallion's head tilts up and lift in a razor thin semblance of greeting, his tone shallow, yet not grating.
"I believe your name, or codename, to be Bubba. You are among the surviving Razorback One Hundred, originally summoned to New Canterlot Palace by Princess Celestia."
>Jaw tightening briefly, Stream Lark's eyes narrow in sincerely dangerous motions while Amerose pours several cups of steaming tea from a crystalline pot.
"There are facets of human nature which are nearly impossible for ponies to rationalize at the best of times, and for that you have me at a severe disadvantage. So far as this situation has shown, there are three options I see.
One, you were deluded into being a mortal enemy to my home city-state of Stalliongrad, and myself in return, by that wretched, blackened pegasi whore's threats. Meaning, you are here to remove me as an existential threat to Razorback Company, but I do not need the protection of these-"
>Slowly turning respect filled eyes onto the Imperial Knights around the room, Lark bows his head as Amerose offers him a tea cup, placing it down in from of him with deliberate slowness.
>Then the Councilierge fixes you with a bittersweet expression, left forehoof lifting to press on his chest, a Seal of the Silverine Empress implanted under his hide produces a thin electromagnetic chime.
"Past and once again present allies, especially given their oaths to aid me in burning out the rot infesting Stalliongrad once and for all. I can defend myself quite well, with or without this."
>While the soul-glyph couldn't define more other than it was preventing him from dying unnaturally, it was a definite original from the Late Dynasty.
>And, one of the few produced ponifally made by Empress Silver.
"Two, you were deluded into being an enemy of Stalliongrad and are here to confirm whether or not I will allow Razorback to continue existing. Had I wanted any of you dead, for any logical reason, a single battleline of the Tower Guard's finest Stormriders and Ironkillers would have sufficed.
Three, none of the above. Again, the advantage is yours."
>Dipping his head in a marginal show of patience, Stream Lark motions the right front hoof at the chairs next to Amerose, the left cradled around his cup.
"I am tired of being screwed over each and every single dawn, day, dusk, and night. However, out of respect for you being a Razorback One Hundred, I will ask you to do as Princess Celestia once asked of me. With a slight change: speak as ponies do. Honestly, fairly, without bias, and swiftly. After all, When Needs Must, and Razorback's needs as of late seem to be great indeed."

>>370453
>Exhaling upwards at the intense coldstone above his furnace, Krinza's left forehoof raises, pressing into his snout.
"I cannot accept that, Ivan. In the brief time I have known the many humans of Razorback, the majority of sincere complaints about their home worlds have the exact same problem: bureaucracy.
Even at the worst of times there is not a single pony bureaucrat whom would dare suggest making 'cheaper' protective armors, 'lighter' lethal weaponry, or substandard kit. Stating such is considered a widely accepted form of suicide-via-stupidity.
By that I mean that when, not if, a pony or ponies succeeds in killing those whom dare make such suggestions are automatically represented by lawyers which defend their actions by stating they have done so to protect others.
Ponies are never charged with murder when found to be acting in the defensive interest of others, species does not matter. Numerous decrees of law state performing such is an honorable, if sometimes unenviable task. No matter how high ranked the bureaucrat, noble, or other may have been in life, there is no legal recourse of protection against the consequences of their actions."
>Giving a faintly sinister glance towards the Workshop's front door, Krinza turns back to study the M134's modifications once more with a politely dismissive tone.
"By no means am I a master in modifying and adapting human weapons, nor do I have my own comprehensive or foundational knowledge. If I did not have Spiral's initially eager and in-depth research combined with Inquisitor Flash's.. uniquely advanced knowledges, modifying one like this is still difficult. I am merely copying, not improving. Still, I thank you nonetheless.
Hm. Trying to recall a schematic that Miss Flash showed once. I believe it was a form of heavy six, possibly eight-barreled assault cannon..."
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <M.Research
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9]
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12]
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]

>Helping Hoof's eyebrows quirk in an earth pony expression of contemplation, speaking in an interested tone.
"Mainland Equestria has functionally existed for less than five thousand years although what is now called the Crystal Empire is eight to nine millennia old. Old Canterlot is not the actual name of the first true Solar faction City-State, yet it lasted one-thousand eight-hundred years or so, ending at the Lunar-Solar War. New Canterlot was built atop Canterlot Village which was slightly under, or over depending on whom you ask, a thousand years.
The majority of that time was spent by traveling herds of varying sizes that traded, shared, or competed for territory, resources, and mating rights.
Those are highly simplified explanations which likely could not apply to your world, and they are not necessarily 'good' in nature."
>As the big unicorn peers into Krinza's furnace, you have to wonder how smiths don't go blind here.
"I have a serious question a few have warned me against asking, but do not feel as if you must answer. Would you return to your homeworld with all the knowledge you know?
For myself.. I do not know. Humans are uniquely fragile in manners that I did conceive to be possible. It is painful to know the vast majority are forced to make best use of cheaply made weapons and may rarely if ever have the comforting protection of good armor."
>Glancing out to eye one of the unclaimed radios spread across the central tables, the awkward unicorn's muzzle quirks humorously.
"A large portion of human music is quite impressive, a fact that Luna's Villagers, Crystal, and batponies enjoy. That does exclude the raucously energetic electro-disco a certain green eyed human mare plays nonstop."
[1d6+8 = (2+8) = 10] <Eidetic Fundamentals
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11] <E.Research
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]

>>370473
"Unfortunately it seems that most human worlds stew in the same sort of money saving cowards who do not have actual experience fighting in the wars they promote. Though if it is cheaper but yields the same protection, lighter but is just as effective, that is not necessarily something to stamp out."
>He pressed his lips together.
"Zone mechanics do not cheapen out on resources to modify and lighten equipment, it is both not only foolish to do so, but also a quick one way trip into a Witches' Jelly. Foot first."
>Though... One never attempted to fuck over a brother before. We had a greater du-
>"Enough of that."
"If only the governments followed a similar morality of your own."

>After going through a few files, Ivan's face relaxed a bit as he grumbled incoherently.
"Ukraine had only been a proper country again for about twenty years, once the USSR dissolved."
>He stared at Helping Hoof intently, silently rolling that question over in his head.
"To my home country? No. I would stay here even if ordered to leave."
>He closed his eyes and hesitated for a moment, before sighing.
"But to the Zone? Yes. She... calls for me, every day. Some more loudly than others."
>He looked a bit.. haunted?
"All STALKERs experience the Siren's call of the Zone, and all eventually return. We cannot exactly forget our experiences... And it is somehow comforting to be back there, despite the dangers around every corner. Even knowing that death may come for you at a moment's notice from any source of danger."

>Ivan let out an amused chuckle.
"Yeah.. Humans are fragile, but at the same time any serious injury that would put one of the animals back home, we can 'walk off' those injuries and heal to something close to full health, even in a survival aspect. We have evidence that our closest ancestors cared for the wounded and the lame even as they would be considered a burden on the tribe."

>>370470
>He would just give her a look that said 'really?' as she rambled a little.
"If at all possible, there will be no need for such a thing."
>He'd mention to her about learning how to be tactful later, now is not the time for such a lecture.
>Taking a look around, he'd quirk an eyebrow at the room's appearance.
>For such a rage filled emotion, it certainly was cushy.

>Bubba would return the analyzing stare of Lark, showing that while he was armed well, nothing was currently in his hands, presenting as tensely neutral for the time being.

>He would listen to Lark's statements, eyes flicking to each of the Crystal ponies occupying the room with them.
>Briefly nodding at the start when his name was mentioned.
"I came here to begin undoing the damage that we had allowed that bitch to sow in Razorback, that may start by talking with you."
>He motioned to the table with a hand, quirking an eyebrow.
"If you'd allow us to do so."

>>370478
>Head dipping to rub his snout with a soot-covered hoof, the chunky unicorn allows a brief, compensatory nod.
"I am painfilly aware of how limited assets work. Despite the xenophobia and often hatred I endured, my time in Gryphon Vale taught a great deal of technical subtleties, especially in devising better armor and weaponry with less materials, but they do not compare.
As of the prior two weeks I have, with the proper materials and enough time to compensate for modifications, been able to barely fit five humans up to standard Lunar Guard armor and weapon ratings each night. I no longer have any free time, yet I am still well over two weeks behind schedule.
If I were to have at least four hours a night for studies and composite testing, as Spiral granted me, and an assistant, I could be far more useful."
>Ears flicking in what you took to be derogatory patterns, the Grandmaster smith takes on a strangely sharp expression, one more in common with hunters facing an unexpectedly difficult predator.
"Equine morality is founded on the basis of what is good for all, not what could be acceptable for the few. To be part of communalism means both to give, share, and receive in equal value. It is a concept that most Razorback have a great deal of empathy towards despite minor ideological grumbles, which I often find amusing. Still..."
>Turning his focus back to you, Krinza speaks above his normal tone for Helping Hoof to hear.
"Excuse me for a while. Helping, I will be out for twenty minutes, possible thirty. Several notices were posted tonight, particularly materials that I am now in desperate need of."
>Phasing apart in a streak of yellow, black and red tinges dissipate, showing he was indeed in a great hurry.

"That I understand, although-"
>Briefly nodding at the departing smith, Helping's eyebrows furrow together as he leans forwards.
"Sounds familiar.. hm. It is. Among nearly all other topics he enjoyed, Spiral had been actively researching batponies located across accessible Moors regions. Specifically near Scars, Tears, Pools, and other highly illogical anomalous fields of activity. Not all were Eldritch created or caused, some were Lunar-corrupted, Solar-tainted, or both.
He spoke of several team records during alchemy courses. Numerous individuals claimed it impossible to leave for longer than a night before a 'calling' occurred, one which spoke to their soul. Often it begs, pleads, or, rarely, demarends them to return.
It was claimed some, with varying amounts of proof, could not sleep, dream, or fully live their lives when visiting elsewhere. Several notable cases were those that became catatonic, or worse highly aggressive, after prolonged absence.
Exposure to food, scents, materials, and objects they knew helped to a certain extent, but did not provoke recovery. They could only recover after being physically taken to the Moors."
>Swiveling towards you, the freakishly big unicorn takes on a highly concerned, studious face for a few seconds.
"I suspect you are experiencing similar effects and pronounced difficulties. That is a bit too similar to be a mere difference.
Unfortunately I do not think I can aid you, my studies are focused on alchemy and elemarent transmutation."
>Reaching in to snag the white-hot titanium spool, the abnormally large unicorn begins fashioning two wide, flattened wire sections, melding the ends together in elongated ovals while testing for maximum flexibility, a vaguely bitter subtone edging into his voice.
"The same occurs in nearly all sapients across Tallus archaeological records. Even the native Gryphons did such.. to a small extent. "
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <E.Crafting
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11] <E.Enchanting
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7] <E.Smith
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
[1d6+8 = (6+8) = 14] <E.Eidetic Fundamarentals

PRIMAL LEADERSHIP: all Razorback (Initiating), Lunar/Second Dynasty/Solar (When Needs Must), Watch Guard (Desperate Allies), and Ruling Councilierge Vestal Gardenia (Near-Hostile) must now add +3 to all rolls.
ALL penalties from Operational Fatigue are negated for 6 turns.

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjDGv4FambQ

>>370133
>Thunking hard clad kittyboots down onto firm stone with ease and ducking left into a run, you race towards the unfamiliar relay, anticipating tangible resistance yet encountering none from bodies, hulls, and worse.
>Close to reaching maximum speed, instinct alone compels you to slam all four hooves down into a hard right-leaning skid, quartets of claws snapping out to catch firm, barely resisting stone.
>Sliding sideways into an acceptable ground racing drift, it took less than five seconds to reach the stainless steel box, and, leaning over it to quickly recall Mercy's instructions, delicately poke the hard metal buttons in the sequence she gave.
>Yellow, red, white, then finishing with the green, all the lights across the top cease, as does a background hum from inside the box.

>Having no other task to perform, your attention is drawn to the gigantic pair tilting upwards, towards the gateway, then at Mercy-
>The entire scene is wiped away.
>No Constructs or Moor cats.
>No more debris, blood, weapons, shards, gore, or flashing kanpri.
>All that remained was the colossal pair of Constructs, a single much larger Repair Model, a potentially square gateway, and Mercy raining Tartarus on the last.
>It was more a simulation undergoing an extreme stress-test.
>One that had JUST been disrupted.

>The Spirit Walker's tactics had switched, tearing into and out of Void spectrums in pseudo-predictable patterns: the less often the massive Repair model acted, the harder Mercy tore into nearby locations, striking when occupied.
>After each appearance in realtime, shards of pink-encrusted orange debris spreads across the roof underneath, cackling in midflight with more sincere joy than than was normal.. for any equine you knew.
>In Hegemonic Minotaur, which you recognized but had no understanding of.
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <B.Pegasi Heavy Weapons: Construct Particle Whips
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <B.Auto-Ambush
[1d6+4
[1d6+10 = (6+10) = 16] <E.Assault
[1d6+10 = (1+10) = 11]
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12]
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12] <B.Ambush: Assault
[1d6+10 = (3+10) = 13]
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10] <E.Flight
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9]
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]
[1d6 = 4] <Spectrum Dive: Polarity Shift
>While Mercy's blades continue shredding chunks off the gateway's upper sections in poorly timed patterns, she was causing enough havoc that the massive Repair model was forced to ignore her efforts.
>Leaving the whip-covered spheres to degenerate, it shifts to producing extensions across the barely quarter-finished gate that hadn't been damaged yet, tightly packed nanolathe systems solidifying orange pseudo-matter in smooth sheets rather than individual components.
[1d6 = 3] <Gateway Progress
Large Rift Gate: 28% Complete?

>Turning at the same time to target the gateway, the pair lift upwards from gravity-nullifying systems, slowly drifting backwards.
>A loud, shrill chime from the paired Constructs ring aloud while a thoroughly unexpected voice cuts in, muted and distant.
('SUNNY, MERCY, FUCK OFF OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW! THAT GATEWAY ISN'T ONE WE'VE D-')
>Vestal Gardenia's warning shriek is immediately scrambled by ALL of the paired Argus-Behemoth Destroyer weapons activating.
>Previously stationary, large turrets of two, three, six, and eight--barreled configurations snap upright, glowing red in preheat, at the same time large hatches across the hull slam open, exposing a staggering variety of missile types, the most common a sickly brown plasma while a stern, ancient male-female double-toned voice speaks aloud:
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12]
"Preparations of self-other-each-known."
>Multiple pods across the top and sides split open to reveal dozens of spherical, conical, and hexagon canisters, which you did not recognize, then rows of single-barrel turrets lit up by pulsing, shallow green internal power sources, a rather new Construct laser system.
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]
"To our destruction-failure-loss-death we expect these factors."
>Worse yet were high pitched whines from six equinedistant pairs of large triangular spikes on the upper hull, orange pseudo-lightning sparking from armored turrets to tips, followed by hexagonal units covered entirely by rippling hot blue cones; older, well understood gravity projectors.
[1d6+16 = (3+16) = 19]
"In warning-enlightening-provoking-stimulating-sharing sacrifices those not of home-sanctuary-production-falsehood from we-our-us Rift declare."
>Extruding from every single space that did not have a weapon, turret, or emplacement, well over a hundred batteries of tightly packed square barrels clamp onto hull, which you recognize as ancient, well recorded anti-air systems, one with poor effectiveness against aerial targets yet could inflict extensive spalling.
[1d6+20 = (6+20) = 26]
"This pair grants-allows-shares-describes the Common Equestrian words-junctions-phrases-epithets to the winged pair within target-location-current on Tallus/"
>Honeycomb lattices of orange ripple across weapons and hull alike, then, on the equator of each, a pair of 5M wide, needle-covered cylinders protrude outwards, stopping at 30M in length, then bend forwards at a 90-degree angle, becoming an anachronistic suite of pile-bunkers, reality distorting around the unusual systems.
[1d6+26 = (1+26) = 27]
"We-our-two-of-two-not-yet-wanted-as-one desire-need-demarend-seek MUST prevent-destroy-ravage-RUIN all Seekers of our Rift!"
>Fractal anti-matter disruption weapons, except vastly larger than those produced by most ponies, you recognize.
>In recent memory, the one time ponies were granted rights to deploy such abominable, banned weapons was to combat an extreme threat in Kenfield Pass.
>And had never been allowed use against Constructs.
"LEAVE THIS BATTLEFIELD, WHITE PEGASI OF TALLUS, THIS HONOR IS OURS. IMPEDE NOT THE GATE-OF-VENGEANCE IN DESTROYING OUR TARGETED SEEKER-OF-RIFTS!"
[1d6 = 6]

>>370143
>The previously silent Councilierge turns, a pair of hostile pseudo-hands slamming atop your shoulders and dragging your eyes down to meet hers, shrieking in sincere umbrage.
"PULL YOUR BRAIN TOGETHER HUMAN! SINCE WHERE YOU WERE A FUCKING ROOKIE SHITTING YOUR PANTS IN FEAR AT THE UNKNOWN?!"
>Throwing you back up to a loose standing position, Vestal Gardenia spins around to face south, left forehoof raising to point at the pair of Tainted struggling to pass their leader, Broken Hoof marenaging to hang onto it's snout, but only barely.
"LOOK AT THEM! I CAN'T EVEN TAKE ON ONE! THAT'S RIGHT, NOT EVEN ME, THE PRIMAL PSION FIVE TIMES MORE DESTRUCTIVE THAN THE MURDER-SUITS YOU WERE AFRAID OF ON YOUR OWN WORLD! NOW IF YOU DON'T POUR EVERY IOTA INTO TAKING OUT A FEW TAINTED THEN YOU OUGHTA PUT THAT SPIKER'S BARREL AGAINST YOUR HEAD AND PULL THE TRIGGER BECAUSE NEITHER OF US HAS TIME TO WASTE!"
>Shaking herself out of the fugue and cutting the overherd's connection, Vestal springs forwards into a dead-set run, howling at all the ponies before her.
"LANCERS, HOLD THOSE THREE TAINTED WHERE THEY ARE, DON'T LET THEM GAIN EVEN A HOOF'S WORTH OF GROUND! CHARGERS, TAKE THE STAIRS AND JUMP ONTO EVERY TAINTED CLOSE TO THE ROOFTOPS, DRAG THEM DOWN SCREAMING!"
>Shouting to her left at the Watch Guard Master-General dumbly watching, hostile flares of Spectral blue roll forwards from the Primal Psion, emitting a booming thundercrack of realspace being opened to raw electromagnetic enery.
"FOR THE SAKE OF EVERY FOAL, FILLY, AND COLT THAT HAS YET TO EXPERIENCE A LIFE WE NEVER COULD, WE DIE IN GLORY THIS BLOOD-DRENCHED NIGHT!"
[1d6+32 = (1+32) = 33] <GM.Primal Psion: Spectral Stormcrash
[1d6+32 = (4+32) = 36]
[1d6+32 = (5+32) = 37]
[1d6+32 = (1+32) = 33]
[1d6+23 = (5+23) = 28] <Lunge
[1d6+22 = (3+22) = 25] <GM.Charge
[1d6+22 = (6+22) = 28]
[1d6+22 = (5+22) = 27]
[1d6+22 = (1+22) = 23]
>Stilled for a half-second, the unnamed mare's silverine helmet snaps upright, hot green-blue blazing from diamondine eyeslits, then jerks forwards into a four-point run as she screams in fury, the ranks of Chargers and Lancers hastily tightening to create a path for her.
"MAKE A FUCKING PATH FOR ONE DAUGHTER OF HER GRAND MAJESTY, EMPRESS SILVER SWIRL FROM AN OTHERWORLD! ETHEREAL, DIE IN SHAME OR JUST DIE!"
[1d6+29 = (2+29) = 31] <GM.Primal Psoin: Spectral Stormcrash
[1d6+29 = (3+29) = 32]
[1d6+29 = (2+29) = 31]
[1d6+29 = (4+29) = 33]
[1d6+22 = (5+22) = 27] <Lunge
[1d6+21 = (4+21) = 25] <GM.Charge
[1d6+21 = (4+21) = 25]
[1d6+21 = (1+21) = 22]
[1d6+21 = (2+21) = 23]
>Storming ahead of the Lancer and Charger ranks filling in gaps, the Minor Golem bounds left in a high stance, then right, axe swinging in medium to large overhead circles, cleave apart those Spectral Lances it was able to reach in time, then near-hurling the shield overhead to protect those ponies it could, crystalline material shrieking in protest at the pseudo-weapons attempting to tear through it.
"THEN DELIVER THIS UNIT FORWARDS TO DELAY OR IMPEDE LONG RANGED COMBATANTS! THIS UNIT'S CAPABILITIES ARE BEST AT ATTACKING, NOT DEFENDING!"
[1d6+10 = (3+10) = 13] >Protocol: Destroy Airborne Weaponry
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12]
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12]
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12]
[1d6+10 = (5+10) = 15] <Protocol: Deflect Airborne Weaponry
[1d6+10 = (3+10) = 13]
[1d6+10 = (1+10) = 11]
[1d6+10 = (5+10) = 15]

>Somehow hanging onto the Lunar Assault Tainted's snout, Broken Hoof's jaw clamps onto the undefinable half-matter, rapidly shaking her head like a Warguard hound ripping apart an unarmored target while the leader exhales a raging swirl of hostile tainted energy.
[1d6+11 = (5+11) = 16] <M.Assault
[1d6+11 = (4+11) = 15]
[1d6+11 = (6+11) = 17]
[1d6+11 = (2+11) = 13]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <E.Reaction Speed
[1d6 = 5] <Anti
[1d6 = 1] <Bane
>vs:
[1d20+40 = (2+40) = 42] <Soulburn
The Lost Legions: 133,775 of 285,678 Morale

>Contained, yet nowhere near controlled, the pair of Tainted pinned against the Basin Village's southern buildings stomp outwards, left one with her right forehoof, right one with her left forehoof, against the disorganized Lancers halfway pinning them in place and towards the unexpected Chargers drowning them in sheer numbers, a bitter resemblance of anger creasing their massive faces.
[1d6+50 = (2+50) = 52] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (2+50) = 52] <Soulburn
>vs:
[1d6+11 = (1+11) = 12] <First Lancer Charge x 140 total
[1d6+8 = (1+8) = 9] <Second Lancer Charge x 100 total
>Scaling atop, around, across, and partially through the three Lunar Assault Tainted, Chargers from the Day, Night, Lunar, and Watch Guard rend deeply into their targets, silent fury guiding their actions.
[1d6+18 = (5+18) = 23] <First Charger Wave x 200 total
[1d6+18 = (5+18) = 23] <Second Charger Wave x 100 total
>Perfectly aware of their size and height, the stuck outer pair snap their heads forwards, rows upon rows of lance-like teeth shearing into the second line of Chargers leaping atop shoulders, saddles, and rears of Lancers being forced back.
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20] <Soulburn
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20] <Soulburn
The Lost Legions: 168.969 of 285,678 Morale

>Taking control of the overherd, a mid-50's Watch Guard Striker Captain speaks in a calm, albeit highly worried voice over the trio rushing forwards to exact their own retributions.
('Razorback, the Hail of Glory was nearly destroyed by the Solar Air Commarend Division's assaults and can no longer assist us. Losses are about to rise exponentially, likewise there will be no more fliers to keep the Airstrike Division distracted soon. Find some manner to keep both of them from crashing down atop everypony here, but most importantly yourselves-')
>The mare's eyes shut tightly, intoning a prayer to the Four True Goddesses while directing the Basin's equine forces into taking up more cohesive offensives.
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11] <Watch Guard Tactics: Anti-Tainted Counter Measures
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8]
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]

>Inexplicably aware battle flowing around, between hundreds of casings and shells smacking into everything, something valuable was lost among the familiar Razorback voices.
>And: it was you.
"Swap barrels if they're hot-"
"Toss all the mags out, fuck cares if we step on 'em!"
"Threes to fives, don't expend any more than in bursts!"
"AIM STEADY!"
"Hold left and right, let Broken take that mare!"
"Bring the rain, send the pain!"
"And they came to snuff the rooster-"
[1d6+17 = (1+17) = 18] <Razorback Rookie Squads, 7 total
[1d6+21 = (4+21) = 25] <Razorback Veteran Squads, 10 total
[1d6+25 = (5+25) = 30] <Razorback Mercenary Squads, 11 total
[1d6+29 = (4+29) = 33] <Razorback Elite Squads, 8 total

[1d6 = 1] <Sharonel's Will

>>370469
>Pareidolia looks and listens to Lonestar's complaints, glancing through the archival images for additional reference.
(Subpar equipment. Subpar intel. Likely riddled through by the worms of profit.)
>Nodding and offering a grim sigh hissed through his helmet, he speaks as he stands.
"I appreciate the context. God save the ground pounders."

>Coming to the doorway, he is greeted by the sight of Dul proffering various strange fruits whose colors are reminiscent of tropical flora.
(Dul can taste that? How... )
>As he pauses to process this development, Katyal amiably offers to share one, and Dul elaborates.
>Apparently the Vortex has some equivalent energy based sustenance suitable for beings of that plane.
>Speaking to himself he speculates.
"'Taste' likely the closest analog she has for determining the properties of an object... interesting."

>He shakes his helmet slightly in amusement at Dul's innocence and moves to take his opened backpack off the central bench line into a locker.
>A look is sent towards Katyal as she reports Hodch's awakening.
"An operator responsible for, among other things the corrupted state of that Mythril Staff. Hodch has every right to."

>While securing his pack in a locker, Lonestar's announcement of cruising speed is broadcasted.
>He quickly kneels down on one leg while pressing his left arm against the locker wall, willing his Sticky enchantment to secure his boots, knee, and arm to their respective surfaces for grip.

>>370191
>A cool, rather distinctly fidgety middle-aged mare speaks across the overherd while you reposition.
('Seven minutes remain until Shattering Skies re-enters atmosphere. I have lost both Vestal Gardenia and the Master-General, they can not respond when engaged in a kill-frenzy like this.')

>Crossing through the utterly packed and stacked ranks of military ponies more like hardened bunkers than individuals in armor, there was barely enough room to reach the fountain as even more Lancers and Chargers pour out from open translocation matrices to take up positions of, quickly, rising deceased.
>Squeezing in enough room to set down the drone's laptop, a quick glance at the sacrificial basin north of the fountain showed no change in the Cult of the Dark Horse cultist: slumped atop the altar, still unmoving, pinksteel and greensteel blades clung tightly in her outstretched wingclaws.
>Although the Berserker, Skullguard, Siegemare, and Mareauder Bloodhosts hadn't moved, nor the Night Guard lookalike trio, you could taste the herd-thoughts emanating from each: they were to protect the honored mare that freshly granted them mercy, which contrasted with a need to cause violence upon Tainted, but were not close enough to join in.

>Belatedly realizing down the M32's sights that the closest barricade was the one all of Razorback had taken up, the best you could do was kneel down and take a rock steady firing position-
>Which worked fairly well: the first airburst grenade thoomps in a scant arc into the lead Lunar Assault Tainted's faux-armored chest, a muffled detonation occurring in the barrel, second and third entering, then exiting at skewed angles and showering the pinned left Tainted with fragments, while the fourth effectively disappears.
The Lost Legions: -169.036 of 285,678 Morale

>Overhead, another 53 East Ocean Moors Militia crumple in flight, sent hundreds of meters from resounding blows delivered by the relatively intact Lunar Airstrike Division, quickly running out of targets.
[1d6+7 = (4+7) = 11] <East Ocean Moors Militia x 46 total
>vs:
[1d6+83 = (1+83) = 84] <Soulburn

('While they can hold out against unwinnable odds, make the Eastern Moors Militia proud to serve their kin! Unicorns of Two Goddesses, grant Evalesdraught's sacrifice ever greater meaning!')
>Switching to every other Elemarent excluding Plasma, Void, or Rime, the massed unicorns in Basin Village deliver their preferred arcane energies up and into less occupied Lunar Airstrike Tainted:
>Material boulders half-coalesced with magma, frozen shards containing highly compressed, barely contained oxy-hydrogen airbursts, and pseudo-coherent metallic lances charged with enough electrical through-put to EMP ruin an entire continent-
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14] <Day Guard Ranged Support Unicorns x 1,500 total
[1d6+12 = (1+12) = 13] <Germaneigh Mage Guild Bombardmarent Cluster x 50 total
[1d6+11 = (1+11) = 12] <Lunar Guard Combat Unicorns x 1,200 total
[1d6+10 = (2+10) = 12] <Day Guard Combat Unicorns x 500 total
[1d6+7 = (4+7) = 11] <Night Guard Combat Unicorns x 400 total
[1d6+7 = (6+7) = 13] Night Guard Combat Support Unicorns x 400 total

>Responding after a brief delay, one of the original Razorback 100, a man that had zero chill factor in a firefight, grins ahead of you while avoiding a hose-down on first ranks of Chargers making a mess of the three stuck Tainted.
('Fuck yeah! We've got every kind of tie down on us! New leader mare!')
('Yes?')
('Get that smallest unit to take all our lines and string up 'em like Jeff said, starting with the entrance!')
>Dividing a fraction of her concentration onto the various wires, lines, cables, and ropes, the leadmare directs all of the halfway exhausted Lunar Guard Combat Support unit into reaching for them.
>Swiftly collected and tied together in finely set double-hitch knots, twenty sets of 100M long binding streak forwards to latch into stone, creating heavy barriers while double that number snake out into the still unmoving Lunar and Solar Assault Tainted ranks behind the three, intending to physically tie them at the legs.
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10] <Lunar Guard Combat Support Unicorns x 400 total

('Jeff, she's in the Fortress pagoda, tilted sideways and.. on fire. Big gate's still open left and front of you but we're all busy on this line-')

>A faintly silverine-tasting earth stallion's voice speaks in your direction, the heatedly amused tone familiar, albeit not one you could distinctly recall.
('Because that, Nightblade, is a Minor Crystalline Golem by the name of Vokreed, the only known subordinate of High Grand Champion Belregarde and one of those five Ethereals allowed to enter Princess Cadenza's holy presence without invitation. If that had been any other Ethereal, this Vanguard would have shredded it to make mirrors barely worth pissing on.')

>In a corner of the overherd's virtually perfect view of Basin Village, the Rime-encased figure of that long dead, yet still functional Crystal Conclave Killknight sideslips at full speed against a single, entirely self-actualized Solar Guardian Air Commarend Captain.
>Unable to block or parry the other's shockingly destructive blows, the smiling mare's intent focuses on preventing the Captain from striking into the Councilierge Assault Vanguard Battalion's rear lines, instead trading for time against the increasingly threatening stallion's efforts.
"And dance we will with endless grace,
Upon this land of hard-fought space,
Slaughter-driven blows we in tune must make,
To purify these blood-bound lands in our wake-"
[1d6+23 = (3+23) = 26] <Grandmaster Assault
[1d6+23 = (5+23) = 28]
[1d6+23 = (5+23) = 28]
[1d6+23 = (3+23) = 26]
[1d6+15 = (3+15) = 18] <Grandmaster Block
[1d6+15 = (3+15) = 18]
[1d6+15 = (4+15) = 19]
[1d6+15 = (1+15) = 16]
[1d6+23 = (2+23) = 25] <Archaic Crystal Runes: Rimefrost Sunder
[1d6+23 = (1+23) = 24]
[1d6+23 = (1+23) = 24]
[1d6+23 = (5+23) = 28]
>vs;
[1d6+40 = (6+40) = 46] <Sweeping Blows
[1d6+40 = (4+40) = 44]
[1d6+40 = (1+40) = 41]
[1d6+40 = (3+40) = 43]
[1d6+18 = (2+18) = 20] <Harsh Parry
[1d6+18 = (2+18) = 20]
[1d6+18 = (6+18) = 24]
[1d6+18 = (4+18) = 22]

>>370196
>Tilting the control stick back and forth to bleed off excess rotation while stabilizing the Kiowa, as you glance at the electronics console, the helmet's machine-assisted learning interdicts the variety of signals, processing them into condensed versions:
>Exceptionally powerful sequences of electromagnetic bursts had just cut off, or destroyed, one of Spiral's relays, specifically one that had been placed atop the ancient, recently restored Pegasi-Batpony League Era Arena.
>The system wasn't able to analyze more, but you immediately recognize the variety of flashing triangular symbols as Construct in both origin and function.
>Dozens of new contacts, roughly 410 miles south, southwest, and southeast, were emitting low power signals on high bands, analogous to old long range wavelength radios.
>Rapidly scanning the bizarrely unencrypted tranmissions and reading through simplified, patterns read out as a large number of... trading vessels, the naming conventions featuring distinctly Neighsian names and meanings.
>The third warning was from the Kiowa's own systems, listing it's combat effectiveness at 88% due to extreme atmospheric moisture levels and slowly increasing malfunction chances due to the same.
>Fourth was an even greater variety of triangular Construct symbols, subtle definitions, more esoteric and less definable than the previous, orienting towards the Basin Arena.
>Before you can look away, a number of them converge, composing a single line in starkly contrasted Common Equestrian:
Refuse-deny-implore-PREVENT the Walker-Of-Spirits from unexistence-death-destruction-disruption-FAILURE, she accepts-grants-allows-desires-TRUSTS a Two-That-Have-Become-One.

>Paired screens fill the helmet's interior, a detailed report showing that launching two of the M-S.OL.G.'s largest rods at the same time caused extensive damage, which you couldn't help but wince at.
>While the thorium reactor had tripped and shut down before catastrophic damage could occur, it needed a clear order from you to reset, while the battery systems were badly degraded, only able to launch the smallest rods without issue.
>At least, after a recharge cycle.
>The TLS was undamaged according to diagnostics, but needed either direct solar feed to fire, at roughly half damage potential, or for the reactor and batteries to be completely restored.
>It was still 'complaining' about extensive outer orbit water conditions, however.

>Sighting in through the helmet's targeting systems, pressing on the control stick's firing selectors and holding the chaingun's trigger down rewards you with a fantastic though brief lightshow, complemented by the crashing roils of dissonant energy weapons focused southwards.
>Sweeping across the stuck Assault Tainted, individual tracers leave large, unmending punctures that weren't being stopped by faux-armor-
>Which was greatly overshadowed by Hydra and Hellfire detonations deep in the compacted ranks, casing shrapnel causing moderate to high shearing as the Tainted were clustered so tightly together.
('Don't bother avoiding us if you can't, whether one or twenty dies doesn't matter! Take the rooftops like she said, and avoid those cables!')
The Lost Legions: -180,674 of 285,678 Morale

*"Our weapons reapest tolls aplenty ye grace, but a lone minute mineself havest tae give-"*
>'Guillotine', Pristine War Destroyer/Assault Breacher: 2,517/3,000 Armor
[1d6+23 = (4+23) = 27] <Primary Pulsar Array
[1d6+24 = (5+24) = 29] <Twin Molecular-Disruption Lances
[1d6+17 = (5+17) = 22] <Mass-Plasma Driver Array
[1d6+16 = (4+16) = 20] <Secondary Tech-Arcane Weaponry
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Accuracy Calculations
[1d6+14 = (5+14) = 19] <Assault Vector Lock
[1d6+8 = (4+8) = 12] <Optimal Range Lock
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Otherworld Harpy Anti-Ground Tactics
[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9] <Stabilizing Realspace Thrusters
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20] <Pristine Tech-Arcane Repair Systems

('Battered Shores holding together for now! SET EVERYTHING INTO OVERCHARGE MODES, TEAR THAT CENTRAL UNIT APART!')
[1d6+2 = (2+2) = 4] <Degraded Accuracy Calculations
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <Degraded Optimal Range Calculations
[1d6+33 = (6+33) = 39] <Main Arcane Armamarent #2: OVERLOAD
[1d6+31 = (5+31) = 36] <Secondary Arcane Armamarents: OVERLOAD
[1d6+21 = (3+21) = 24] <Tertiary Arcane Armamarents: OVERLOAD
[1d6+27 = (4+27) = 31] <Arcane Point Defense Systems: OVERLOAD

>Peering into the rift displaying a two-story stone village, a pair of scantily clad mares study the scene being shown to them.
>The older speaks with a twinge of fear while the younger hurriedly fiddles with an archaic directional compass.
<"Where is this? And are those.. giant horses?">
<"No idea ma'am, these readings are beyond my evaluation abilities. ..they are not. Possible corrupted ponies, except much larger than any known variant. Not entirely physical either. Bad, in sum. Orders?">
<"We cannot ignore ponies in distress, and who knows which benefactor is showing us this. Deploy both suites of stabilized Plasma mines directly atop that group of frozen equines.">
<"We can't do that without formally signed orders or a direct visit from either Princess!">
<"QUIET! I'm sure they WON'T mine'd if all sixty of the Sun's favors wind up missing yet mysteriously arrive to aid a large number of ponies in need! ...are you refusing my order, or complying?">
<"By the Sun and Moon I hate puns! Releasing two suites at tandem charge onto the targeted frozen horses, ma'am-">
<"Go find out where that place is, and if you do learn why we're seeing it, don't hesitate if it was preventable, understood? Leave!">
<"Yes, ma'am.">

>Waiting until the barely matured mare leaves, the older sits down heavily, then clasps her front hooves together, whispering as she trembles in sincere terror at the racks of large diamondine-encased weapons rolling forwards.
<"Fall and destroy in the glory of Two Sisters ye Sun-sacred abominations made real. Suffer our enemies no marks of pain, hate, nor fear. Grant us the right to know our actions are honorable. Deliver those ponies the comforts they need at the beginnings and ends of their lives..">
[1d6+90 = (6+90) = 96] <Self-Setting Plasma Mines, Suite #1
[1d6+90 = (3+90) = 93] <Self-Setting Plasma Mines, Suite #2

>>370543
>>370545
>>370547
>In clear range of the Overherd's multitude of eyes, and close to a hundred Mind's Eyes, another sequential launch of Spectral Lances streak high upwards, then twist downwards into the mixed second to sixth ranks of Lancers and Chargers.
>Openly seething at two hundred and sixty falling forwards, dead onto stone without a world, those Chargers racing up the Basin Village's stairwells collectively snarl towards the Solar Tainted too far south for them to reach.
>The new leadmare's head shakes fitfully, barely holding back the urge to order one last volley of Void lances in their direction as they deploy another salvo.
('Not one single weapon or tactic has disrupted them, why?')

[1d6+20 = (1+20) = 21] <Solar Guard Support Division: Spectral Lances
Solar Guardian Support Division, holding @200M south of Basin Village

>>370542
>Turning to consider her next move, Sunny was shocked to find that what she thought had been a battle taking place in another spectrum had never occurred at all.
>A simulation, one imposed on reality, if imperfectly.
>She applied slight mental pressure against the overherd connection and beamed a single thought out to the Watch General, Vestal Gardenia and Razorback.
('Update. Objective accomplished, relay shutdown. Disregard prior report, Lunar feline unit part of Construct near future simulation. Redirect unit from arena if possible, Destroyers active.')
>She'd already disrupted their simulation by shutting off the relay, it couldn't hurt to further throw it off.
>It was impossible to say whether the simulated Constructs had entered through the gateway or come from elsewhere, so it was a coinflip's chance whether or not destroying the gateway would alter the probable near future so that the simulated battle would never happen, or if herself and Mercy were simulated to have failed before they'd even arrived.
>No simulation could be perfect, as accurate measurement of elementary particles on a cosmic scale was impossible via any other means than through an omni-dimensional, and universe sized field carried by massless particles to solve for the observer effect. Simply, like deducing the location, velocity and weight of a stone falling into a pond by reverse processing the resulting ripples and water displacement. She knew of no such field and, possibly, neither did the Constructs, or their simulations would be better and they would have blasted both herself and Mercy the moment they had teleported to the Arena.
>There was a chance then, but any action she, Mercy, or anybody could take would be immediately accounted for in further simulations. Whatever she ended up doing, she would only be able to do it once.
>Change the probable near future, now that she had seen it.

>Sunny put a hoof to her head and shook it when Gardenia's incredibly loud mental shriek came through, and was suddenly silenced.
>By the Constructs.
>Her blood went cold at the thought, they were getting too close. How long until they could intercept, decipher and even send psionic transmissions of their own?
>Sunny rushed to reach a higher vantage point, the highest she could get, she'd only be able to use the sigil sequence once, she had to be able to get onto one of them to do it.
>Then the Destroyers started revealing their armaments.
>Wow that was a lot of firepower.
>Mercy did not have more than a minute against that much firepower and with two destroyers flanking, if that.
>Much of it she only barely recognised, but the anti-matter weaponry caught her attention. A munitions failure could cause containment failure, and they didn't know she could cause one...

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

>>370543
>>370545
>>370547
>>370548

>>370547
>Clemency scans through the electronics console, analyzing the Construct positions and information
>The Constructs were still contained at the arena
>The new contacts were surprising, making Clemency wonder why there were trading vessels coming here and what the new Construct contacts are heading towards the arena
>Before he turns his attention, he sees the console merge all the esoteric Construct signatures into one with text above
>This reads more like a message than a designation
>One that startles Clemency

>Looking at the status of the M-S.O.L.G's condition, he couldn't help but cringe at the damage
>The entire thing is barely holding together, with the reactor shut off and the batteries thoroughly fucked
>The only consolation is the TLS being undamaged

>Clemency then realizes how close he is to the Construct signatures
>Close enough for them to hook into his systems and send him messages
>He realizes he needs to get the Kiowa out, fast
>"One more fight with the controls...one more volley...."
>He steadies again before letting one more volley out from the Kiowa

[1d6+7 = (6+7) = 13] <XM 296 HMG
[1d6+7 = (2+7) = 9]
[1d6+9 = (3+9) = 12] <Hydra Rocket Pods
[1d6+9 = (6+9) = 15]
[1d6+9 = (1+9) = 10]
[1d6+9 = (3+9) = 12]
[1d6+9 = (2+9) = 11]
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14]
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14]
[1d6+13 = (3+13) = 16] <AGM-114 Hellfire Missile
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14]

>He then sends a general message out to the overherd about him landing and returning
('This is Clemency. Landing the Kiowa back at the translocation stone and returning to the AO. Construct interference is messing with my electronics and I don't want this thing to be hijacked with me in it.)
>Clemency then swings the Kiowa around and prepares to land at the translocation stone
>Hearing the Guillotine's last report, he sends another message to the overherd
('The Guillotine, that Destroyer raking their lines, has only a minute left before it has to retreat to recharge reactors. Plan accordingly.')
>Once the stone was clear, Clemency lands and turns off the helicopter
>Once fully shut down, he hops out and send the helicopter back to Razorback Fortress
>Clemency looks back to the lines and watches the scene unfold
>Knowing that everything counts tonight, he unholsters his new weapon, feeling the connection between him and it
>He sets it for the finned darts before sprinting towards the Razorback lines

[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <Master Sprint
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10]
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11] <Expert Airstream
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]

>>370479
*"Give me a breeaaaaak already, trying to prepare for the worst that never could've hoped to cross my mind. Least I can do is make an awful joke or two. But I am serious, the Tylisvine Conclave trades nearly everything used like those bio.. metal things some humans talk about replacing their hands with."*
>Reassurance wasn't her best trait, or joking. But she tried.
>Easing away from the older earth stallion, Amerose glances from the pot to you, then back to Stream Lark, eyebrows raising briefly.
>Muzzle quirking, the jet black stallion's head lowers fractionally in a short, respectful motion, to which the Lorekeeper swivels around in a smooth motion, sliding off the chair and onto hooves with ringing clops.
>Whistling in a low, down-up peal at the Imperial Knights, they respond by performing the same, with varying levels of ability, all converging towards the northern wall, also a crystal-space illusion, though Amerose turns a hesitant face towards you.
"I am not sure how to state this, but the prisoner's name is not 'Pear Blossom'. Equestrian records are equally thorough to the Crystal Empire's, however those Equestrian lineages descended from the original mare's name of Pear are majority earth pony.
There are three known descendant families, the first one an earth mare named Rainspeckle Pear, stallion Brightleaf Pear, and their colt, Rainleaf Pear. Three more Pear-named herds are in Western or Southern Equestria and Neighvada.
Less than five unicorn lineages did exist with a forename, first-word, first-meaning, or other similar context, only two of which succeeds to this day. Shalefrost Pear and her filly Heartwind Pear life somewhere in the Lowland Empire regions close to Northern Equestria.
There is another family in Caneighdia but they are Dynasty Remnant descended. We have no information on them."
>Biting her lower lip in brief thought, Amerose's head shakes as she didn't have more to add, then gives, a short, respectful nod.. and switches to an instant loping canter straight south.
*"Ooooh, good, she's mad. I knew this was GOUF-"*
>Cut off by Amerose swiftly bending into a crouched position, then lunging out of sight and crashing into Naliyna's heavy armor, shrieking in a profound unmarely tone.
"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING MY DIPSHIT COUSIN'S HERD NAME YOU GIANT TEATED MONSTER OF A MARE IN NAME ONLY-"

>Squinting at the highly unexpected violence, Stream Lark's ears flick in mildly serious amusemarent.
"Different herd-names? ..Amethyst must be r-"
>Ending the statemarent with a rude snort, the Councilierge faces you, a rare expression of firmly setting tension apparent as he makes an accepting nod.
"I will state this much in the open. My position allowed hundreds of sworn Crystal Empire, Kingdom, and Imperials, with far more Lunars, Solars, and independents into the ranks of Watch and Tower Guard. I went against the warnings of five Primal Psions, a descendant of the Lunar and Solar Princess, and each Vigilite capable of speaking. Tonight was the last disaster that will be allowed to occur."
>Lark's upper body seizes for a split-second before his composure utterly stills, snout and muzzle contracting in barely held rage while jabbing his right front hoof at your chest.
"But, first, I am going to get THIS out of the way: two months before all human Operators were to arrive, Stalliongrad delivered over five thousand ponies, weapons and armor to match what New Canterlot could make, Late Dynasty relics they never could, and every oath to serve imaginable.
One hundred were for Equestria, thirty to Stalliongrad, ten to Prance, ten to Germaneigh, ten to Neighsia, ten to Saddle Arabia, ten to the Free Flock Rams, ten to the Minotaur Hegemony, and ten for Argenta.
One, two, or more of you bastards nuked New Canterlot Palace, killing over a hundred thousand. Ponies, Minotaurs, Gryphons, Eyes, Rams, one from the Elder Dragon Council, and several that would otherwise be enemies. Six weeks of searching and not a single life or scrap was found. Due to that, Stalliongrad changed.. as I am sure you are aware of."
>Leaving coalesced threats of much worse than execution unspoken, Stream Lark's eyes drift above you, then back down.
"If my daughter hadn't been stuck in Neighvada on an Honor Guard's orders, she'd be dead like them. Worse, Razorback has been hunting her down, as if she were one of those branded criminal whores of Lucky's family. Linara spent weeks on the Citadel begging and pleading for more time, support, and chances. And yet some of you Otherworld bastards kept hunting her, even when she was making constant amarends to Luna herself.
My daughter was granted rights and gifts by the entire Lunar Council that none of you may ever have the right to know of, nor be considered for now, or have you not noticed how coldly some Lunars treat Razorback?"
>Setting his front legs out wide in a gesture of complete openness, the older stallion's eyes narrow into a mix of desperation and hope, though with a searing iota of maliciousness.
"Most of the ponies in Razorback I can trust instinctively, yet you will show me reasons enough to trust you. Should those be sufficient I will do my upmost in keeping the rest of the Councilierge, Watch Guard, the Stallionguards, marecenaries, and all the rest from destroying Razorback, but out of respect alone know this:
I will never be able to sway so much as a single Primal Psion, Vigilite, or Tower Guardian now. That damage is forever done, and they do not forgive."

>>370544
>Digging into clearly old files, Shiibo presents images of bare minimum production lines aboard obvious cramped non-atmospheric vessels, all faces of water camo uniformed humans blacked out.
>Several show highly stripped down, questionably safe particle synthesizers designed to rotate common elements through electron and proton exchanges, then atmospheric density, heat, or both are applied, and finally slowed by precisely controlled particle fields.
>Much older, simpler weapons copied from Pre-Interskip First Earth take up minimal space in depressingly spartan shipboard armories; ammunition allotments for each operative listed at precisely three full magazines for primary weapons, but only a single for secondaries.
>Shiibo pauses to to note a strange spatial rift technology, functioning as either a short-lived physical 'skip' off gravity fields of physically solid solar objects, a dangerous process on its own, or as a long, slow cruise through known energy states, protected from mass-energy decay using a form of energy bleedthrough.
>Safe to a certain extent, more fascinating was the system was barely weaponized save an esoteric system deemed a 'skipjack'.
>An undated incident involving an orbital research facility in a stable asteroid belt had been attempting to produce an artificial gravitic shield, which the project leads poorly accounted for the station's own mass, and the ramping up of power load required to compensate were miscalculated.
>The results: half the station's solid-fuel plasma generators either slagged or ruptured into tiny suns, numerous asteroids flung across the solar system, the remains of an unfortunate button presser forever preserved as a carbon statue, and decades of public, far more careful, study to understand the absurd physics responsible.
>Considerably higher tech medium to heavy weapons were shown under tight guard, a squad of eight ExoTroopers and two Androids protecting much smaller armories and needing a Captain's direct orders for access.
>Virtually pristine, modular multirole MASER systems requiring servo-assisted combat frames, or mounted on vehicles, vessels, and ExoTroopers, an utterly insane subatomic bond-shearing weapon with a failure rate higher than should have ever been allowed, and a scattering of other familiar weapons were likewise present.
>One factor the avatar points out from each view was that all unnecessary and noncritical components had long since been stripped from everything; likewise there was no use of currency or credit systems, with such sparse raw materials only the most trusted and elite operatives were allowed access, and only when there was a distinct threat to eliminate.
>Opening top level records briefly, Shiibo displays a clear chain of purely human technological progression, fairly slower than projected norms due to never experiencing nuclear or global wars.

"All the Gods worth talking to tried, but luck ain't always on our side; let they in the depths take well earned rest, for our enemies fucked with the very best."
>Tossing a short handed salute at you, Lonestar reaches upwards to pull a full body shock frame down, locking it in place and eyeing his readout with a half-reverie smile.
"Got nothing except footprints bigger than Jeff's house still. Will call you when somethin' interesting pops up."

>Taking the food from Dul, not before patting her head again, and packing them into her oversized kit bag, Katyal makes a rapid check of her pouches, Shiibo pointing out multiple micro-expressions of killing joy and near-equine approval.
"That mean I should help him out or is it one of the 'a stallion's got to do what a stallion needs to' actions?"
>Collecting her submachine and rifle, stashing them in the rear passenger seat's under-locker, then eyes Hodch's collection with a blatant grimace.
>Tearing the topaz bracelet off her wrist, both arms flex, pulling it open to hoola-hoop size and slapping the relic down atop the objects, then sliding it over her bag.
"Heads up Hodch!"
>The bracelet pulses faintly as it contracts, and is replaced while she glances at the locker you'd chosen, then in surprise at Dul sinking her pseudo-body several inches into the compartment's floor.
"Uh, you CAN hold on like that, right?"
"Dul say yes? Sirens ride big boxes on boats, dra-gons like this lots times. Dul ask why?"
>Cracking a knowing grin, the First Responder leaps onto the rear passenger's seat chest first, legs bent at the knees, grabbing for a large attachment ring on the front and another on the side.
"Sounds way more fun than what we're about to put up with. Hang on tight until either the bumps stop or you do!"
"Dul confuse? What bu-"

>That familiar jolt of solid yet still annoyingly effective tracks digging into firmly packed dirt runs through the Overlander, partially offset by a decently shock-resistant compartment hard bolted to semi-rigid suspension frame.
>Slightly smoother than most older military vehicles, the jarring forwards, back, then forwards again ends with the resounding whines of powerplant transfer.
>Holding yourself solid to titanium alloy, and far less less effected than Katyal's iron-gripped smack into seat, the APC settles into a steady pace, griping aloud in a mocking, humorous tone.
"Could've warned us before pulling that stunt!"
*"Ah did!!"*
"You owe me a new set of pants!"
*"Don't make me come back there-"*
"Okay DAD!"
*"..the fuck did I do to deserve this?"
>Sliding herself up into a sitting position, Katyal theatrically wipes her knees off, snorts at the Siren sporting a frazzled stare, then rotates an unusually rigid expression onto you.
>Visibly sizing you up and down, precisely as an earth mare would, she makes a short chin lift, beginning to strip her armor off.
"A few deficiencies.. not much. You're going to learn everything I can teach, then Hodch when he's done rolling around swearing. Same for you as well Miss Dul. And that armor? Out. Time's wasting-"
[1d6 = 3] <Enhanced Synergy Cross-Training: Results

[1d6 = 1] <Travel Time

>>370591
>Letting out a rather unflattering, sharp snore, Gallo found himself slightly startled at how efficient his nap was.
>It was almost too good to be true compared to his crummy 30-year-old bed or the various bunks of shoddy quality.
>If it wasn't for the fact he had a sizable portion of the ruling Solar class breathing down his neck for his title alone, he might even think he was dreaming.

>After the subconscious rub of his face, José's eyebrow rose in curious surprise as his naked hand picked it up to inspect its contents.
>Meanwhile, his other hand would tap around for his neat pile of stuff in order to get a drink out of his water jug.
>So his assessment about another being in here was not so farfetched after all.
(Whatever it is, it knows how to leave a man drier than a desert. Boludo...)

>>370545
>As he starts to load four more High Explosive shells into the Milkor, he takes in a deep breathe and observes the battlefield around him.
>Vestal and the General were so far deep, they weren't available anymore.
>A hoard was still frozen in the Rime south of the Village.
>Right behind the group stuck at the Southern building were two divisions and six generals. Behind them at speed were two more divisions, not including the support in the rear.
>The Killnight North of the Village was holding off a Captain, and their air superiority was dwindling.
>That's not even putting the Constructs at the Arena into play.
>With the Milkor fully loaded and the spring fully wound, Jeff checks on the Reaper's afixing orbit...
>He can at least use the rest of his Hellfires now.
>Putting the launcher on safety, he looks over the battlefield for any quick targets he can possibly hit quick before they get even more fucked.
>He pans the targeting camera two-hundred meters south. He can put one missile on each Support Captains. Though at this point he doesn't know what it'll really do.
("Targeting the four Support Captains two-hundred mikes back, then I'm out of munitions for the Reaper. Will keep it in orbit, if a situation comes up.")
>Arming the last four AGM's, he picks his first target and sends one missile after another in succession.

>Solar Guardian Support Captain #1
[1d6+13 = (5+13) = 18] <AGM-114 Hellfire Missile
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14]

>Solar Guardian Support Captain #2
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14] <AGM-114 Hellfire Missile
[1d6+13 = (3+13) = 16]

>Solar Guardian Support Captain #3
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17] <AGM-114 Hellfire Missile
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]

>Solar Guardian Support Captain #4
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17] <AGM-114 Hellfire Missile
[1d6+13 = (3+13) = 16]

>The last missile landing, Jeff takes a look South to the traffic jam at the entrance buildings. Already ponies were mobilizing to tie the Tainted Forms up Hoth-style.
("If we have any more resources to spare, let's try setting up more cable teams at other bottle-neck entrances into the Village.")
>The Dagor was a no-go. They'll have to do without the fifty.
>And the addition of Crystalline Golem was destroying Spectral Lances. Well okay then... right on.

>>370578
>As he's about to fire off another salvo, he gets the call from Clem that he has to land the Kiowa due to Construct interference.
>Shit, he'll need to keep a eye on the Reaper now.
>Setting the Milkor aside he monitors the drone's systems for anything outside interference, and prepares countermeasures.
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6] <Electronic Warfare Platform
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Basic Electronic Warfare Operator
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
>It might be better for him to land the drone instead at this point. The Overherd is providing overwatch enough for them right now anyway.
>While checking for interference, he pans the camera out wide for any suitable landing locations for the Reaper: specifically, an area opposite from the Arena to keep it as far away from Contruct interference as possible.
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10] <UHD Aperture Camera: FLIR
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <M.Scouting
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10] <Observer Tactician
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
>Speaking of landing, he doesn't even know what would be suitable ground for it to land. Does it even have an automatic landing routine? He didn't initially mention it during the wish.
>Checking the Overherd he notices Clem returning back to the line to support everyone.
("Clem. Can you get to me at the fountain? I need help landing the drone.")
>That's going to leave them with almost no air support for a time, between the drone being empty and the Kiowa grounded.

>As he waits for Clem to regroup on him, he starts to perverbally empty his pockets of any more cards he can think of.
("If any Operators have ANY wish discs their holding out on, now's the time to use them! We're short on anti-air measures, I'll try comping anyone who does later. Anything you can come up with will help at this point!")
>He reaches into a hardcase pouch and pulls out one of Anon's steel balls, harshly whispering to it outside of the Overherd's connection and over the chaos around him.
"-If you can hear me through this, freeze frame when you come through and don't try to lose your shit.-"
>Jeff drops the steel ball, awaiting the gestalt's door to appear.

>>370543

>It wasn't the Psion manhandling him like a doll that broke Lont out of his rapidly spiralling mental state, it was the mares screams. Her shrill and real shouts thundered into his eardrums like the loudest revving engines back home.
>In an instant the heavy weight of fatigue was stripped away like meat off the bone. He stood up straight, wings instinctively moving by themselves to help balance him.
>She was right. He did not have the spare time to waste on despairing at his predicament. And before he could even respond, she was off. Gone on a suicide charge leading hundreds of ponies to valiantly die before the Tainted could take another step.

>Lont turned to face the Tainted again, specifically the trio Broken Hoof was rabidly attacking. The ones the Ethereal was attempting to meet in melee.
('I believe I can help with your issue. Just trust me.')
>He communicated. Concentrating inwards, he gradually felt an unnatural feeling well up inside him. It was certainly one of the more weirder experiences he has had and one he could not do justice in describing.
>Gazing at the small Tainted on the left of the Lunar Assault Tainted, an excitement of energy tingled across Lonts body as he willed the Ethereal to be at the legs of that one he stared at.
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] >Warp Translocate +Primal Leadership
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]
[1d6+3 = (5+3) = 8]
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9]

>The deed was done and it left the Operator gasping for air, his wings flittering. Did he hold his breath or did the act steal the air from his lungs? Was that why his chest burnt?
('Go break a leg out there.')
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] >U.Punmancy +P.L

>Using the Spiker as a crutch to hold himself up he breathed in much needed air. The tang of gunpowder gave it a reassuring aftertaste.
"You are all doing great-"
>Lont said, addressing the Operators around him.
"-Showing that we can do good, are doing good. Will do good. And no need to die trying either because we will survive this day."
>Standing up he placed a hand on his chest, he realized it wasn't pain that was causing the sensation of burning. And it made him smile behind his helm.
"I am proud of you all."

[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11] >M.Aligned Valor +Primal Leadership

>>370461
>I looked up to her with a look so dry that it could probably dry up every single mango that she had stashed, would stash, or would eat.
"-Thank you-, Malyne. I think we're good with what we have, else we would have done what you said. We don't have much shit that still makes us human, and we go 'native' in plenty of other ways."
>She really didn't deserve it, but she -was- being sort of a know it all.
>Even still, not really cool.
>In my defense, however; The present situation.
>And oh boy, no lawyers to help me.
>I guess guns and money will have to serve me for now.
>Still, that was a rather...large pile of letters.
>And no time like the present to read it.
>I sighed, flicking out my knife to begin reading the first one.

>Wow.
>I...
>Wow.
>That's...not as bad as I thought it was going to be.
>Not as good, either, but I don't think that it was possible for me to actually have a favorable outcome.
>A lot of interesting names in that first pile, though.
>I'll have to reference it with some knowledgeable person that won't rip my spine out of me and feed it to me after for what I've done.
>And then, the second one.
>Potentially -worse- than the previous, given that I essentially was handed an entire laundry list of supplies, supplies needed, bits stockpiles, training, troops, weapons, armor...
>It truly was way, way too much.
>I think that my hands were trembling as I set the last one down.
>Dully looking to Malyne, I swallowed heavily. "Well. I think I prefer the letters that were telling me to stop interfering under pain of banishment or sexual acts with dubious consensuality than -these-."
>Referring to the two different types of letters, of course.
>I then swallowed, looking up to Malyne, and saying with pure, one hundred percent unfiltered dread, a single statement.
"...I think I'm a prince, now."

>>370599
>Pareidolia ponders the question for a moment as he notes Shiibo's psychological pointers.
(Uncertain of Hodch's motivations on the subject... teaching background, Lunar, business relationship...)
"He may appreciate the offer, but you've clearly worked with him more. Filth is low on the list of priorities for him of issues to rectify currently. Likely will be for some time."

>He looks on in mild surprise as the bracelet expands seemingly with minimal resistance, whisking away the assemblage of items in a blink.
(Apparent folded pocket space for storage. Unclear how retrieval of goods is accomplished. Curious. A "Bag of Holding"?)

>Seeing Dul then simply sink into the floor, he shrugs and turns back to securing his gear.
(Nominal at this point. Like some kind of running gag anim.)

>Noting the sound of impact against metal, he looks up to check on Dul's first experience in a moving vehicle certain that Katyal was in fact fine despite her protestations.
>Un-stickying himself once the OL-3 was properly underway, he stands while recalling the familiar sensation of being in a moving transport vehicle before noticing Katyal's appraising stare.
(Lighter turbulence than orbital re-entry. How long has it been since pre-op transport deploy-)

"...Fine. An effective use of time."
(Need to consider an additional mask for wear beneath helmet.)

...

>>370616
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] >E.MoS +P.L

>>370623
>Flashing stubby fangs in an openly forgiving smile, the batfilly's tufted ears swish up and down several times as she keks aloud.
"Most humans I have met are positively batty in ways they did not think were shared with us natives!"
>And there it was: you managed to fall for yet another of Malyne's seemingly endless chains of pun traps.
>Diamond-slitted eyes narrowing while raucous silent laughter hitches in her chest, she turns back to potentially sabotaging more letters, barely holding back snorts and snickers.
>This was either going to be an excruciatingly short night, or a long, slow, gruesome pun-induced death knowing her.

>Looking up after a few seconds of scribbling that you hoped weren't writing jokes on important notices or marcenary requests, Malyne's expression was, for the first time, flat.
>And had trace elemarents of real, serious concern.
"That.. does.. nnnnnot... sound... good. Especially those last few words. Those are not normal unless somepony or someponies have had specific crimes committed against them."
>Head tilting left, then her eyes twitch, widen, squint, widen, squint again, widen one last time, and finally her pupils expand to the maximum articulate fear possible.
"What. WHAT. No, what. NO, what. No, WHAT. NO! WHAT?! I.. do not understand, what did you do? What WAS done? How is that possible? Why? When? Where? With wh-"

>Before you could argue with Malyne over correct verbiage, one of the Vortex Remnant's semi-infinite eyes raise up from the translocation matrice, this one a pale red giant, nearly reaching the Pagoda's roof in height.
>A pair of brutally solid, shockingly white earth pony stallions step forward from the rarely seen VIP treatmarent in tandem, almost twins except for subtle build differences.
>Their eyes, rolling black, green, and blue tones, rotate slowly from the Pagoda's northern entrance.. directly on to you.
>The pair turn sharply to face each other, snouts nearly touching, then crisply take four steps backwards to perform an actual, strict regal-addressing bow.
>Where the pair arrived from is a scroll large wide and thick enough to beat a small bear to death with, firmly tied with paladine wire, and covered in a variety of heat-immune stamps, seals, a few sigils on the surface sparkling in gold.
>Speaking in soft, deathly flat tones that couldn't be determined from ANY lineage, you instinctively knew them to be undead Vigilite Arch-Guardians, part of the archaic, highly religious order dating back to the Early Dynasty..
>And known among Necromarecers far or wide as eminently hostile to all non-natives.
"Dante of Razorback Company, you are seen and hereby confirmed as safe, alive, and whole. We offer to you, this contract being proof, as the Grand Solar Prince of the Second Dynasty, in absentia from the Silver and Gold Courts of New Canterlot. Your title was retrieved, inspected, granted, accepted by nobility and royalty alike, now recorded in the Endless Records. Affix this state of royalty when such pleases you, Your Principality."

>Taking a deep inhale, Malyne lets go of her stolen pens, right eyebrow raising, left eyebrow lowering as all of her collective sanity struggles to comprehend.
"Did I eat one of Peach Drop's special mangoes? Did I eat too much from Dancing's secret stash of candy? Did Mercy spike a drink for herself and I failed to recognize her favorite alchemical combat drugs?"
>Poking her snout experimarently with both forehooves, then each wingclaw in turn, the burnt orange batfilly twitches, mildly, continuing to ask herself philosophical questions.
"What is the meaning of horse? What IS a horse? Am I a horse in the shape of a pony, or a pony in the shape of a horse? Am I Marshmallow, or Noodle? A Noodle Marshmallow? A Marshmallow Noodle? A Noodlemallow? A Marshnoodle? What is a noodle, but a marshmallow in dreams? A marshmallow, wishing it were long and spindly like a noodle should be? Am I therefore a soft, sugar-covered noodle with sapience?"

>>370624
>Displaying indices on the two similar Druid proto-religions, located in Fortress archives, extensive punishmarents to those that commit atrocities against holy or sacred artifacts, relics, and concepts are described.
>Sapients were more protected in comparison while flora and fauna had variable importance depending on their natural balance, spiritual vagaries, or representation in rites and rituals.
>Less objectively moral and far more willing to strike without warning, records of Lunar Druids show a high propensity for delivering quick, painful, or gruesome executions in protecting nature from threats.
>A descending scale follows: Eldritch, Planar, Otherworld, Infected Species related to the previous three, Abominations, Spectrals, Undead, Corrupted, Tainted, then a number of lesser known threats.
>Shiibo deliberates for one-tenth a second before taking on a grim face, displaying numerous images of the jihadi, mostly in the process of committing highly unsavory actions, spiking food or drinks, a few more of blatant criminality, the rest... redacted for your sake given the avatar's combative tone.
'Ones such as that must be isolated from contact with all native species and humans, destroyed, and the remains returned to prevent ANY contamination. At best, they must never be allowed on this world.'
>Pausing to study a further set of images and archives, the avatar nods firmly.
'A prime opportunity sir. Katyal will offer to join Hodch in the future; he will accept. Insist that you must aid their efforts, doing so will prove you have no-'
>Giving you a brief, sharp expression.
'Or little animosity towards equines. That will prove a desire to prevent conflict and that you value honorable conduct. It would also directly appeal to his, and her, views of peaceful coexistence when possible, and solidify that you have a shared interest in maintaining herd-laws, the unspoken rules of Razorback, and creating productive cross-species interactions.'

>Removing her chest harness and armored jacket to show a rather thick, low cut and short bottomed heavy black silk shirt, carefully storing them in the underseat locker, Katyal stills with a vacant listening expression.
"Don't know how much he caused but I've never heard Hodch say Plasma-glassing half a planet is barely equivalent to paying back-"
>Biting her lower lip in focus, both hands slowly reach up to defensively rub the sides of her neck.
"Not repeating that word. Or that sentence. Nah. Nope. Definitely not them. Aaand he's officially off whatever the last rails were."
>Returning to the present with a solid blink, Katyal side eyes you in equine-like contentmarent.
"Hodch and me both hate agents except those that share necessary and vital information. Even then it's easy to earn hate if they aren't honest. ..I'm starting to like you the same way he does, and for similar reasons."
>Looking up at Dul returning to her previously seated state, wearing a faintly surprised and minorly confused expression, she elaborates with faux-nonchalance.
"Platonically, that is."
"Dul not know plate-on-thing. Is armor?"
"No, it's a way of stating I'm not interested in the OTHER kind of horsing around."
>Shiibo convulses.
"Dul know this think! You work good as war-rie-errz!"
"Yep! We're different forms but we shouldn't normally threaten each other. And, you're getting better at speaking. Say it smoother and faster like this: war-ri-ors."
[1d6 = 1] <Planar Adapt: Tallus

>Leaving the Siren to repeat the word, among others, Katyal sits down to remove her boots, belt, and armored pants, leaving only comfortable, albeit thick black silk shorts and socks.
>Standing up to stretch out in preparation, wired eyes survey the front hatch.
"You need any training?"
*"In either that attitude or ice cold punch-everything-to-death-attitude with you wearing the exact same slinky clothes a mare with nothing to hide shows in public to ensure she's the biggest boss around?"*
>Her eyes roll with a quiet derogatory snort, but Lonestar's grimace is keenly felt.
*"Sincerely joking there. Got put through all of Twisted Wing's various classes, and those her kin will teach."*
"That too big to hoofle and handle mare? Yeah, no, she's a legitimate monster in or out of combat. Ever seen her bladework?"
*"More times than I ever want to think about."*
"Nevermind then. You relax for a while."

>Waiting for you to store everything unnecessary, Katyal invites Dul into the troop compartment's center, carefully studying her bizarre Planar capabilities and combat aptitudes.
>Turning to you once satisfied, the woman begins walking you through a series of familiar, though more adaptive range-finding calculations to aid in rapidly gauging distances and projectile arcs.
>Shifting focus to mental alteration exercises intended to accept and overcome, not block or dismiss, psyche assaults to one's mood, then to teaching mnemonic fact-finding mindsets.
>Testing your recall using fill-in-the-blank questions, mathematic problems, and logic solution puzzles, you're given little warning from a sudden open palm strike to your chest, transitioning to a blinding fast sweeping kick at Dul-

>Over half an hour is spent attempting to defend against the First Responder's heavily enhanced physical abilities and unpredictable combat techniques, alternately focusing on you, Dul, but more often both at the same time.
>Unable to score solid or direct hits and with a resounding win out unlikely, Katyal slows her offensive pace until stopping cold, her breathing marginally increased compared to you, utterly drained now, Dul meanwhile barely moving.
>Stepping back to the rear passenger seat and retrieving a pair of bright pink bottles from her bag, one is tossed to your feet while she sits down, legs crossing.
"Sweet bulb juice, great after workouts. Still cold. I know why you can't acclimate like most humans."
>Pointing at her head, then yours, the woman's eyes gleam in suspicion.
"Helmet's fucking you over. Want the short or long version?"

>Well, there it is folks, pack it up.
>I'm royalty.
>One has to consider the utterly colossal set of circumstances that brought me here, and the totally complete insanity that has been these past twenty four hours.
>Inciting a revolution by a dynasty that, for all intents and purposes, had been almost forgotten, check.
>Having a battle rage on a rather large square in Stalliongrad, check.
>Be referred to, acknowledged, and bowed to by a pair of white brick houses as a 'Prinicipality', check.
>Yep.
>I'm a prince.
>And I couldn't be less happy about it.
>But, knowing from Esera, these guys didn't take well to outlanders.
>At all.
>So that means I have somehow blundered into deleting their racism component.
>No, wait, xenophobic.
>It strangely felt good.
>Not right, but good.
>But this must have been a sight, eh?
>A man dressed in blackened armor, being bowed to by some of the rarest and usually most hostile entities of the land, being addressed as royalty by them, and informed of the fact that I was now, in fact, de facto prince of the second dynasty.
>And Malyne's mind snapping like a bundle of twigs, the neurons sparking and dying almost visually in her actions.
>But, right, I have subjects now.
>God, that sounds weird...
>I cleared my throat.
"Rise."
>That's what princes said, right?
"I have a matter to attend to here at the base, but once it is handled I will be traveling to the..."
>Where was it...?
>Oh, right, that one place I went to one time.
"...Temple of Still Waters. Assuming that is where the seat of the Second Dynasty is."
>Hey, I'm not doing too bad, given the fact that I am almost wholly consumed by panic and the feeling of being overwhelmed!
"I will return soon. But if you wish to leave of your own accord, then please, do so."
>I turned my back to them, meeting Malyne's eyes with my own widened ones, sweeping it over to Shanis who was most likely in a similar state of shock.
>I showed myself away from the pagoda, striding proudly in a way that would give a good impression to the two I had just referred to.
>As soon as I was in the Mess Hall, however, there it was.
>The panic.
>I took a few moments and leaned up against the wall, just remembering how to breathe and dealing with the new present reality of telling Pella that I was now a prince.
>I feel like I'm forgetting something, though, that I have to tell her.
>What was it....
>Right.
>Her letters.
>That was it.
>So, first give her hers, then tell her the bad news.
>Or good news.
>Honestly, I could see her going either way.

PRIMAL LEADERSHIP: all Razorback (Initiating), Lunar/Second Dynasty/Solar (When Needs Must), Watch Guard (Desperate Allies), and Ruling Councilierge Vestal Gardenia (Near-Hostile) must now add +3 to all rolls.
ALL penalties from Operational Fatigue are negated for 5 turns.

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5m3Pc77egSg

>>370554
>Starting into a run, stopping after two hoofbeats, trying again into a low-canter while considering your opportunities on the Arena's nearly flat restored half-roof, of the five highest vantage points, the giant, unknown Repair model Construct was the obvious choice.
>Entering a hard four-point run from the relay to the biggest sphere in range and leaping onto the lowest of its rather spindly yet flat nanolathing arms, jumping to the next without falling off, as you reach the sphere's top surface, it definitely felt like the best vantage point available.
>While you ponder the implications of the unusually warm surface material against your hooves, the Argus Behemoth-Destroyer pair blast out a profoundly bizarre statemarent in Common Equestrian.
"Repeating prior-previous-before statemarent-offer-request: white pegasus of Tallus, we-our-all requires-necessitates-respects you to cease assaulting-damaging-PREVENTING the Gate-of-Vengeance from COMPLETION!"

>Partially through a sideways spectrum-crossing dive after savaging the north gateway post, Mercy's head snaps up in a split-second stare at the northern Argus Behemoth-Destroyer, smashing chest first into the south post's lower section.
>Crumpling around the post briefly, she rolls over and hops to her hooves in an awkward movemarent, neck and head swiveling while mouthing something you couldn't tell at the south Construct, then the North.
>Repeating the pattern twice more, she finally blinks, left wing pointing at the north Argus while speaking in flat fury.
"No Construct can speak! Surrender to me immediately or be destroyed!"
>A vibrating hum emits from the rear of each Argus Behemoth-Destroyer, the sound of weaponry forming unseen as they rotate in place while targeting the gateway, still, slowly, moving away from it.
"Request-offer-demarend REFUSED! Correction: we-our-two-of-two-not-yet-as-one have learned to speak-describe-explain."
>Wings lifting in offensive positions, she spits out a short, hammering question in Minotaur, recoiling at an oddly pitched reply from the pair in the same, transmitting in open Common again, marginally quieter this time.
"We-our-two-of-two-not-yet-as-one have studied-considered-calculated-evaluated-learned. We-our-pair describe-provide-request the offer-value-necessity of truce-ceasefire-CESSATION of hostile actions-combat-destruction-injuries. We-our-pair hereby request-respect-DEMAREND equal rights accorded-afforded-granted to pegasi honor standards-systems-traditions!"
>Artificial irritation apparent in the pair's terminology, they were clearly unused to Common Equestrian's vagaries... or previously incapable of processing them, a tiny, satisfied voice whispers.
>Bending reality around her in preparation of a strike, a split-second of killing intent crosses the Spirit Walker's face before showing a troubled scowl, pointing wingtips at each of the greater Argus-types.
"Surrender and explain why you can 'speak' this language or I will destroy both of you!"
"Demarend denied-accepted-refused. We-our-ALL repeat-refine our prior-before-earlier request: white pegasus of Tallus, cease assaulting-damaging-preventing the Gate-of-Vengeance from completion. Destroying our target Seeker-of-Rifts is we-our-ALL primary-only-complete-necessary-VITAL program-task-operation. No further conflict-damage-injury is allowed-accepted-granted by we-our-ALL Rift until stated-directed-ordered-necessary task is completed."
>The north Construct shifts in tandem with its opposite, a quartet of it's southern hemisphere large quadruple-barreled cannons tracking up and on to you, the south performing the same at Mercy's direction.
>Curiously, the internal power systems were deactivated, the barrels themselves rapidly cooling.
"Do pegasi individuals-singulars choose to GRANT or REFUSE our request of non-violent conduct in accordance-need of honor-retribution-revenge-vengeance-DESTRUCTION against a Seeker-of-Rifts?"

>Snout scrunching unreadably for a dozen heartbeats, Mercy tosses both wings backwards at the Repair model's arms below you, now adding square panels and sharply tinted components to both gate posts, whistling in the sharp, secretive subspeech that pegasi never used outside of uniquely extreme circumstances.
<Pegasi> "Sunny, this gateway is similar to the one we saw in Saddle Arabia! Twisted has stated all square ones are home to Riftseekers, an Abomination that targets everything, including other Constructs! I will inspect it to see if they are being honest, you-"
>Ears flicking in an awful mix of distrust and concern, she scowls once more, turning about slowly and lifting both wings, all primaries slowly splaying out, her wingblades covered in subdued pink scrawls.
<Pegasi> "Ask proof from them... and demarend why the Constructs we saw were slaughtering melari!"
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Reveal Unnatural: Rift Plane