/mlpol/ - My Little Politics

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wa5rTDkfkZQ

>>370578
>Despite visual flashes from the combined weaponry of Guillotine and Battered Shores focusing onto the Lunar and Solar Assault Tainted clustered around Basin Village's southern entrance, they were clearly not slowing down regardless of how deeply reality was punctured, separated, divided, or ruined, among worse possibilities.
*"Halt thee's enemies done I have nought thy grace, nae a single form departed under mine talon's furies!"*
The Lost Legions: -190,319 of 285,678 Morale

>Holding the stealth assault helo steady despite its performance rapidly degrading, while targeting the most compacted and visible Tainted, Twisted's presence is keenly felt through mixed refusal, grief, and scorching agony, distantly spoken from the Citadel.
>"Wipe the swamps with 'em Clem!"
>Aiming through the helmet's bitter machine-cold calculations, then softly correcting the control stick's increasing resistance with both hands, the chaingun's first rattling burst drives home into an ice-covered Solar Assault Tainted's barrel, the second skipping through heads into necks, barrels, and beyond.
>Rapid-firing rockets and lurching missile launches slam into halting Tainted, unable to move as the Rime cluster's spreading fragmarents near-instantly flash freeze them in place.
>Shrapnel rebounds off or streaks through frozen Tainted, spalling ever deeper into the clusterfuck of direct strikes, near-misses into hooves or legs, and partial hits, the damage toll heavily weighted in favor of technology and raw, primal Elemarental Rime, yet still was not causing disintegration.
The Lost Legions: -191,920 of 285,678 Morale

>Between balancing the Overherd's immediate need to accept deaths of their comrades and relaying tactical advice, the new leader struggles to respond with calm.
('Master Clemency, I feel neither Constructs in range nor the taste of their corruption. What did you see or experience?')

>Dropping the Kiowa virtually straight down, Razorback and the variety of military ponies tightly packed across Basin Village's interior ignore the helo's wash and whine, entirely focused on the three Tainted attempting to breach the southern entrance.
>Twisting right to land facing east atop the large translocation matrice, both skids ring hard on stone while you slap the emergency shutdown and leap out.
>Blackhorn tightly gripped in both hands, a subtle backflow of raw Psionic imprint states 'open spot->here', pointing you to the center of Razorback's barricade, rushing through new ranks of Lancer and Charger Guardponies streaming out from the other open portals to fill in southern gaps.
>Slamming into the indicated position and kneeling down, the Construct weapon emits a loudly grinding noise, forcefully pulling its barrel upwards at the lead Lunar Assault Tainted's snout being savaged by Broken Hoof.

>Snaprolling upwards and spinning around in a shrieking 480-maneuver, axe-bladed prow facing directly above Basin Village, cascading flashes behind Guillotine are sent deep into the Central Moors, pulse-skipping forwards in stuttering, blinding silver streaks towards the Lunar Airstrike Division.
*"UNTIL MINE FINAL PLATE SHATTERS I AM DENIED THE TASTE OF DEATH! TO THINE "*
[1d6+33 = (3+33) = 36] <Primary Pulsar Array OVERLOAD
[1d6+34 = (6+34) = 40] <Twin Molecular-Disruption Lances OVERLOADS
[1d6+27 = (4+27) = 31] <Mass-Plasma Driver Array OVERLOAD
[1d6+30 = (3+30) = 33] <Secondary Tech-Arcane Weaponry OVERLOADS
[1d6+30 = (3+30) = 33] <Tech-Arcane Point Defense Systems OVERLOADS
[1d6+69 <Point-Blank Accuracy Calculations
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14] <Point-Blank Range Lock
[1d6+9 = (2+9) = 11] <Otherworld Harpy Anti-Air Tactics
[1d6+15 = (2+15) = 17] <Ionic Realspace Thrusters: Ramming Speed
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21]
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21]
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20]

("WE HAVEN'T COME THIS FAR TO FAIL NOW! MAGES, TRANSLOCATE EVERYPONY WOUNDED BACK TO PORT! HELMSMARE, SHUNT US DIRECTLY ABOVE BASIN VILLAGE, USE THESE REALSPACE COORDINATES! BY SPRING, SUMMER, FALL, AND WINTER LET'S SHOW THESE TAINTED EVERY LAST DROP OF GERMANEIGH'S MIGHT! ALL WEAPONS TO MAXIMUM SUICIDE CHARGES, YOU'LL GET THAT AIR SUPPORT-")
[1d6+23 = (3+23) = 26] <Germaneighan Mage Guild First Cluster: Mass-Translocate
[1d6+68 = (2+68) = 70] <Germaneighian Mage Guild Second Cluster: Mass-Translocate
[1d6+80 = (1+80) = 81] <Germaneighan Mage Guild Third Cluster: Mass-Translocate
>A brilliantly glittering platinum, iron, and ruby portal in reality tears open directly above Basin Village's fountain as the last East Ocean Moors Militia batpony falls, the Lunar Airstrike Tainted Division starting to celebrate their triumph-
>Right as the violated, ruined, scarred, and thoroughly battered hull of a triple-decked heavy naval cruiser emerges, its Starside bow ablaze in thoroughly uncontained Elemarental violations, a massive, severely damaged cylinder on the Moonside rippling in unstable fervoer as the young stallion Captain's voice rings across Basin Village's air.
"SHATTER THEIR SKULLS ON OUR HULL, WE SEEK FALLHAILAh THIS NIGHT!"
[1d6+8 = (3+8) = 11] <ENRAGED: Point-Blank Accuracy
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10] <Point-Blank Weapon Calculations
[1d6+43 = (1+43) = 44] <Main Arcane Armamarent #2: SUICIDE OVERLOAD
[1d6+41 = (1+41) = 42] <Secondary Arcane Armamarents: SUICIDE OVERLOADS
[1d6+31 = (2+31) = 33] <Tertiary Arcane Armamarents: SUICIDE OVERLOADS
[1d6+43 = (5+43) = 48] <Arcane Point Defense Systems: SUICIDE OVERLOADS
[1d6+19 = (3+19) = 22] <Realspace Fold Calculations
[1d6+19 = (2+19) = 21]
[1d6+19 = (6+19) = 25]
[1d6+19 = (5+19) = 24]
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17] <Arcane Ionic Thrust-Plates: SUICIDE RAMMING SPEED
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15]
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15]
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15]

>>370657
[1d6+9 = (2+9) = 11] <Point-Blank Accuracy Calculations

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ViDerktV2l8

>>370611
('Six minutes thirty-seconds remain, we must finish here or else all efforts will have gained nothing! Find something, ANYTHING to distract the Airstrike and Air Commarend Divisions!’)

>Flipping the laptop's lid open and checking the Reaper's geographic status, it had completed a long, sweeping curve and settled back into a solid targeting run aimed directly over Basin Village.
>Returning the drone's targeting optics back onto the densely clustered and now unmoving Solar Guardian Support Division holding south of newly Rime-frozen Assault forms, setting the last four Hellfires to dumb-impact fuze and tapping the release button for each, the Reaper jolts high upwards as further weight is shed.
>Spinning the high fidelity camera around into view, all four missiles land slightly high or side impact on the unaware Tainted, intense detonations compounded by shrapnel ripping into the tightly packed Support ranks.
The Lost Legions: -193,425 of 285,678 Morale

>Sparing thoughts towards rapidly tiring unicorns, the new lead mare's face slackens in recall before swapping her focus to the Lunar Guard Combat Support companeigh.
('Their bodies are fully tangible, I can sense their thoughts.. they STILL feel! Do not try to hobble or restrict Tainted, instead use any remaining binds as garrotes! Strangle the closest ones as a predator would!')
[1d6+6 = (6+6) = 12] <Lunar Guard Combat Support Unicorns x 400 total
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] <

"YOU THINK WE HAVE TIME FOR TH-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MAKE THOSE DISCS PAY FOR THEMSELVES!"
>Halting from their firing line, nearly all of Razorback Operators toss, set down, stash, or drop their firearms, grabbing into each others' packs, sacks, and bags for silver discs, stealing pens, pencils, and more than a few crayons or markers to write with.
[1d6 = 4] <Third Gestalt, Silver Wish Disc Type: Mass Desire Grant
[1d6 = 4]

>Whether due to fatigue or Void contamination blunting their preferred spells across the Basin, two-thirds of the unicorns' Elemarents crash into each other, causing a great deal of catastrophic energy loss with little harm done to the Airstrike Division above.
The Lost Legions: -255,390 of 285,678 Morale

('Force your spells through until they work! You CANNOT allow that Division to descend!')
>All combined in thought, the tiring unicorn companeighs, battalions, and battle lines intake a single shared breath, staring upwards at the arriving silver War Destroyer and multi-colored Heavy Cruiser trailing inexhaustible flame..
>Then collectively grin as they hold that same breath, thousands of horns sparking at once, shearing oxygen, hydrogen, and methane into a staggeringly massive half-transparent cone, detonating the upward facing into the Lunar Airstrike Division-
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15] <Day Guard Ranged Support Unicorns x 1,500 total
[1d6+12 = (4+12) = 16] <Germaneigh Mage Guild Bombardmarent Cluster x 50 total
[1d6+11 = (3+11) = 14] <Lunar Guard Combat Unicorns x 1,200 total
[1d6+10 = (6+10) = 16] <Day Guard Combat Unicorns x 500 total
[1d6+7 = (3+7) = 10] <Night Guard Compat Unicorns x 400 total
[1d6+7 = (2+7) = 9] <Night Guard Combat Support Unicorns x 400 total

>Quickly tapping through and scanning the Reaper's diagnostic readouts, severe electromagnetic wavelength disturbances emanating from the exact angle of the archaic Basin Arena were degrading its capabilities, and through the interferences the unmistakable, untranslatable triangular symbols Construct made little sense.
>Lines that might be transmissions or text appear, scatter, converge, reform, separate, and blink out; individual words matching to numerous languages you knew, but among the extreme bands were two sharply outlined orders.. in Common Equestrian:
DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE-DENY-REFUSE
PREVENT-GUARD-PROTECT-DEFEND THE WALKER-OF-SPIRITS, SHE MUST NOT ENGAGE YOUR-PAIR TARGETED SEEKER-OF-RIFTS

>Punching back through the Reaper's previous routes, then the minimal subroutines it had, the eight most likely landing zones were directly north and south of Basin Village in roughly quarter-mile stretches, the sections of long, recently restored wide pathways to the north occupied by batponies.
>And, curiously, hundreds of white-robed Strikers.

>Releasing the iron sphere into the air, it shatters as a fairly normal white door sets down on stone, Anonymous in a crumpled dinner jacket pushing it open and taking a hurried half-step through, only to stop, grabbing at his face as the green mask produces waves of barely fathomable agony.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! I CA-"
>Wrenched apart in hot green streaks, the Third Gestalt's door splits, crumbling into a pile of ash as his presence flatlines to nothing, the lead mare snarling wordlessly.
('Your Gestalt has been damaged by a presence, ritual, rite, or factor I do not recognize! Whatever it exists as has weakened his very existence! Do not summon him until his safety is assured or else he may be destroyed!')

>Smashing the Killknight backwards from sheer force alone, nearly losing his legs from her disgorging a cone of near-solid Rime wind, the Air Commarend Captain snarls aloud in his own, long forgotten voice, both wings flickering backwards, all four hooves stomping downwards in a ground-shattering, head-down tackle.
"A lovely song-poem Crystal mare, but only ONE of us is allowed win an honorable duel of this magnitude!"
>The mare snorts in bitter false-breath, ducking into a crouched half-spin, right hooves aiming towards his lower throat while hissing a discordant melody specifically tuned to rend solid matter.
"A new one I must admit, now cease holding back YOUR might and I will gladly accept that challenge!"
"SHOW ME YOURS THEN!"
"AS YOU DESIRE!"
[1d6+24 = (6+24) = 30] <Grandmaster Assault
[1d6+24 = (6+24) = 30]
[1d6+24 = (1+24) = 25]
[1d6+24 = (2+24) = 26]
[1d6+16 = (3+16) = 19] <Grandmaster Block
[1d6+16 = (4+16) = 20]
[1d6+16 = (6+16) = 22]
[1d6+16 = (5+16) = 21]
[1d6+23 = (3+23) = 26] <Archaic Crystal Runes: Rimefrost Shatter
[1d6+23 = (6+23) = 29]
[1d6+23 = (3+23) = 26]
[1d6+23 = (4+23) = 27]
>vs:
[1d6+41 = (1+41) = 42] <Sweeping Blows
[1d6+41 = (6+41) = 47]
[1d6+41 = (3+41) = 44]
[1d6+41 = (5+41) = 46]
[1d6+19 = (6+19) = 25] <Harsh Parries
[1d6+19 = (3+19) = 22]
[1d6+19 = (1+19) = 20]
[1d6+19 = (4+19) = 23]

>>370616
>Drawing hard on the traces of material breaching knowledge inherent to your memory, all it took was a minute flick of gravity, spectrum-disruption, and matter-delivery to send the three and a half meter tall Golem hurtling towards, into, and through the leftmost Mass form at Basin Village's entrance.
>Muffled as it was, the Minor Champion's grinding shout makes its way through the several dozen megatons of Tainted it was now STUCK IN.
"THIS UNIT GREATLY APPROVES OF THE UNKNOWN ASSISTANCE, HOWEVER THIS UNIT PREFERS TO INTERDICT LONG RANGE COMBATANTS WHEN POSSIBLE-"
>A shrieking inhale-exhale occurs, one that gently rustles every iota of your being, the Golem thundering a single cacophonous exclamation in a positively ecstatic, probably joyful tone, at least compared to Belregard's dry, taciturn nature.
"PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRGGGGGGE!"
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Ethereal Eye
[1d6+20 = (3+20) = 23] <Grand Ethereal Purge
[1d6+19 = (4+19) = 23] <Protocol: Close Combat Destruction
[1d6+19 = (1+19) = 20]
[1d6+19 = (5+19) = 24]
[1d6+19 = (1+19) = 20]
[1d6+13 = (3+13) = 16] <Protocol: Rush THROUGH Them
[1d6+13 = (1+13) = 14]
[1d6+13 = (2+13) = 15]
[1d6+13 = (4+13) = 17]

>A profound variety of snorts, chuckles, snickers, and a few threatening giggles resound from Operators up and down the Razorback barricade, most of the Elites merely shaking their head while wishing the Minor Champion could've heard you.
>...it takes a second to recall that Ethereals had precisely zero affinity with Psions, Overherds, or much of anything except for Crystal Runes, and even that was sketchy at times.

>Bowled the absolute fuck aside by Lancers and Chargers racing to take even the smallest open spaces next to, atop, or above the first wave of Lancers, Vestal Gardenia and the Watch Guard General's anti-Spectral Psionics pass harmlessly through walls, rippling through the left and right Lunar Assault Tainted in disturbing waves, then into the leader.
>The giant pair's outstretched hooves slam down into the mixture of faction Lancers and Chargers, well over a hundred of the first, second, and third wave's heavily armored earth ponies crashing down, dead before they could form a single cohesive insult.
The Lost Legions: -265,946 of 285,678 Morale

>The fourth, fifth, and sixth ranks of Lancers were already pushing through from behind to halt the colossal pair, now straining against multiple sets of ropes and cables flying at, then melding into the Basin's southern entrance.
[1d6+32 = (4+32) = 36] <GM.Primal Psion: Spectral Stormcrash
[1d6+32 = (2+32) = 34]
[1d6+32 = (6+32) = 38]
[1d6+32 = (1+32) = 33]
[1d6+29 = (3+29) = 32] <GM.Primal Psion: Spectral Stormcrash
[1d6+11 = (4+11) = 15] <First Lancer Charge x 20 total
[1d6+8 = (6+8) = 14] <Second Lancer Charge x 40 total
[1d6+13 = (6+13) = 19] <Third Lancer Charge x 100 total
[1d6+13 = (6+13) = 19] <Fourth Lancer Charge x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (5+15) = 20] <Fifth Lancer Charge x 100 total
[1d6+12 = (4+12) = 16] <Sixth Lancer Charge x 100 total
>A large number of Chargers drop away from the three trapped Lunar Assault Tainted, the muted vapors spat out chillingly familiar from a little over two years ago, a follow on wave of one thousand Chargers split, two hundred taking the direct assault route, the remainder rushing up the Basin's southeast, south, and southwest building stairwells to leap onto the closest Mass forms.
[1d6+18 = (2+18) = 20] <First Charger Wave x 50 total
[1d6+18 = (4+18) = 22] <Second Charger Wave x 60 total
[1d6+15 = (2+15) = 17] <Third Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (3+15) = 18] <Fourth Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (4+15) = 19] <Fifth Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (3+15) = 18] <Sixth Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (4+15) = 19] <Seventh Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (2+15) = 17] <Eighth Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (6+15) = 21] <Ninth Charger Wave x 100 total
[1d6+15 = (1+15) = 16] <Tenth Charger Wave x 100 total
>vs:
[1d6+50 = (6+50) = 56] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (1+50) = 51] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (6+50) = 56] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (2+50) = 52] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (5+50) = 55] <Soulburn
[1d6+50 = (3+50) = 53] <Soulburn
[1d6+20 = (6+20) = 26] <Soulburn
[1d6+20 = (5+20) = 25] <Soulburn

>Still barely clinging to the Assault Tainted's snout, Broken Hoof gives in to the Overherd's beckoning call, accepting the formerly despised communion between earth ponies as she lunging up, towards widening, now terrified eyes-
('NEVER STOP BEING PROUD, SHARONEL'S WILL LIVES ON THROUGH YOU! TRUE GLORY MUST BURN ETERNAL!')
[1d6+18 = (4+18) = 22] <M.Assault
[1d6+18 = (4+18) = 22]
[1d6+18 = (1+18) = 19]
[1d6+18 = (3+18) = 21]
[1d6+8 = (5+8) = 13] <E.Reaction Speed
[1d6+8 = (1+8) = 9]
[1d6+8 = (2+8) = 10]
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7] <Anti
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <Bane
>vs:
[1d20+20 = (17+20) = 37] <Soulburn
The Lost Legions: 266,019 of 285,678 Morale

>In the distance, a series of unfamiliar, loudly ringing thumps confuses the Overherd, equine and human both.
>Chargers on rooftops or leaping out to tear into the necks, shoulders, saddles, barrels, flanks, and legs of Assault Masses focus for a split-second, a few squinting at plumes of raw Solar Plasma conflagrating the entire Rime-frozen cluster of Tainted in a gargantuan tornado, reaching upwards far beyond what they could estimate.
>Returning to their grisly work, a few notice flecks of archaic blue, red, and purple diamondine ejecting outwards in a profuse spray of starry projectiles, the shards half-molten as they burn into surrounding Tainted, some even marenaging to reach the Solar Support Division.
The Lost Legions: -331,959 of 285,678 Morale

<"BY SUN AND MOON NO! NOT LIKE THIS AGAIN! WE WERE TO DIE RIGHTFULLY, OUR NAMES AND WEAPONS CAST ASIDE TO BE FORGOTTEN!">
>Screaming at the insane might of Lunar-Solar War relics unleashed once again, the older mare's eyes remain wide open, left hoof trembling as it reaches for a thin, ancient paladine blade on the viewing portal's ledge.
<"All Creation, of this I beg you: stamp out the Solar-corruption before it spreads!">
[1d6 = 6]

>>370578
>>370611
>>370616
>>370657
>>370660
>>370661
>Shrieking into view above Basin Village, Guillotine's tech-arcane weapons finally able to rend Tainted apart one by one, the ancient Otherworld Harpy loses herself in the target-launch-retarget-loose-microburn-deliver of battle, barely noticing the burning hulk of Battered Shores exiting realspace in the Airstrike Division's center-
[1d6 = 5]

>Bow crashing into the Lunar Airstrike Captain's surprised face, the young Germaneighan Captain's eyes close, sighing as he and his crew attempt to brace against the unimaginably catastrophic overloads of primary Elemarental-energy driver #2 and the rows of turrets on both upper decks.
>Allowing a brief nod at his nearly ruined heavy cruisers long, honored service, the stallion inhales sharply, head snapping about and jaw gaping at the COMPLETELY INTACT Otherworld Harpy War Destroyer passing by at maximum speed-
[1d6 = 3]

>Combining ounces, pounds, tons, kilotons, megatons, and finally uncounted gigatons into a single unstable ring of barely contained molecules that rivaled, and likely outmatched, the Lunar-Solar War's greatest military convocations, 4,050 unicorns ignite the cone's central most atomic nucleus, turning Night into Day across the entire Central Moors-
[1d6 = 2]

>Clipping the Air Commarend Captain's throat with both right hooves on his charge and fracturing the entirety of his rear legs into Rime-encrusted shards as he passes, the Killnight struggles to frown as her chest, shoulder, saddle, and flank armor plates begin to buckle, proceed to fracture, then shatter outright for the first time she could recall-
[1d6 = 2]
[1d6 = 1]

>Barely stalling out the trio of Lunar Assault Tainted holding Basin Village's, Lancers of every background among the Day, Night, Lunar, and Watch Guards heave sighs of relief even as the enveloping vapor from Tainted mouths and hooves crash through them-
[1d6 = 1]

>Hundreds of Chargers in mid-leap or ravaging atop, across, or functionally inside Tainted alike in front of the Mass forms' soul-destroying breaths fall, lashing at their honored killers with hoofclaws and hoofblade one last time before crashing down on ponies or ground-
[1d6 = 5]

>Tearing into the lead Lunar Assault Tainted's eyes, absorbing the collected mares' cognizance in nanoseconds, then wishing she had the ability to cry for them, Broken Hoof permits herself the first real smile in eighteen years as her physical body begins to rip itself apart from the opposing conceptual energies of Anti and Bane-
[1d6 = 3]

>Just as quickly as it appeared, the spiraling column of Plasma fades out as a long distant mare, leaving nothing more than a tiny, fractional shift from Tallus Itself.
>Tilting it's approval towards a certain Season-
[1d4 = 2] <Balance

>Rolling onto her hooves and pushing away the berserk slaughter-frenzy she'd succumbed to, Councilierge Vestal Gardenia numbly stares up at nearly six hundred individual Lunar Guardian Airstrike pegasi saluting downwards.
>Taking a single step forwards, her left hoof raises and reaches forwards before she breaks, falling onto her chest.
>Bitterly screaming for the second time in her life at the knowledge she would never know the dead ponies around her, Councilierge Mistress and Starborn Councilmare Vestal Gardenia once again loses everything.
[1d6 = 1]

>Mostly opposite the Councilierge, the unnamed Watch General tiredly stands, turning to face south among the corpses of friend and foe Guards alike.
>Eyebrows under her helmet narrowing in sincere confusion at the thousands of individual, slowly fading Lunar and Solar Guardians saluting.
>Right forehoof rigidly lifting to return the same, the mare's eyes close, tears flowing at Vestal's raw, revisited agony flowing once more.

>Releasing his heavy MG-135 and letting it fall from numb hands of the barricade, Iron, one of the Razorback One Hundred drops to his knees.
>Hands clasping together, the older Russian man's voice cracks as he beseeches the Four Equine Goddesses for mercy.
[1d6 = 3]

***************************************************************************************************************************************
>Elsewhere:
"Do you want my diagnosis?"
<"Of course.">
"She will not recover."
<"And you know that.. how exactly?"
"I'm not blind for one. I'm also not stupid, for two."
<"And the third?">
"You ready to eat your earlier words, General? Good. This much is clear:
I know whom she is. Throughout much of recorded history she was known as Empress Silver. Third.
What she is: entirely catatonic, unrecoverable, and functionally dead to every form of magic, science, and alchemy available to us. No, I'm not willing to ask ANY faction for certain objects they may still possess and haven't destroyed, sealed away, or thrown into some dead Plane of existence yet. Fourth.
Why she is.... ...all of her descendants are royally fucking enraged. Not one, not ten, ALL of them, ma'am, and we had better learn to understand what that means for the future. There isn't a single allusion, entendre, pun, or allegory in that one. They want her put back on that fucking throne, and it's not going to happen now!
...that's the fifth."
<"Is there a sixth?"
"If that isn't a serious question, ma'am, you will Rime-kill me right here, right now, then list my death as a failure of your ExoFrame's integrity systems, because if you don't I'll ma-"
<"IS THERE A SIXTH?!">
"..if for some reason I happen to say, 'there could be', will that change any part of this shitty situation?"
<"No, not unless we convince former Prince Shi-">
"I don't care! I've been awake for over ninety hours now, and I'm going straight back to my shitty bunk in the Military District to sleep, but if somepony wakes me up before Dusk I'm going to tear my own head off so you can mount it on your wall as another trophy! And for everypony's sake make sure her sisters never learn a single fragmarent of ANY of this!"
<"............idiots. All of us are idiots!">
[1d1000 = 847]

>>370656
>Standing atop the repair unit, Sunny eyed the two destroyers, she would need to get on top of one of those to use the sigil sequence, yet there were precious few spots to stand that weren't bristling with weapons, and she had no idea how they would react if she jumped on top of one of them.
>Would they consider that a hostile act? Even if she barely registered as a credible threat? She didn't know.
>They wanted to negotiate, perhaps she could use that. Sunny didn't believe for a single moment that they truly wanted to negotiate, or even understood the concepts they were speaking of. What could such things be to a machine but noises? Sequences of soundwaves calculated to aid their objectives by taking advantage of what they understood of the psychology of living beings?

>She kept her peace as Mercy distracted them with her own line of questioning.
>Sunny knew of Riftseekers, only a little, but enough that they were incredibly dangerous, not just to the constructs themselves, but anything and everything they came across.
>Despite their strange way of speaking, Sunny heard the clear conditional. They weren't allowed to take damage 'until' they had completed their present directive. What about after? Would they ignore the Harpy vessel being brought down? She couldn't imagine so.
>Gazing directly at the weapon barrels tracking her for lack of any kind of eye, Sunny replied to Mercy in the same way. She couldn't know for sure they wouldn't be able to interpret it, however.
<Pegasi> "A Riftseeker is a threat we can't ignore, or tolerate. Make your investigations, then go, fly as fast and as far from here as you can, beyond the overherd jamming, warn the others. I will remain and see that they keep their word."
>Hopefully Mercy would understand, and hopefully they wouldn't try to shoot her down if she left.
<Pegasi> "And redirect the Melari to Basin Village if you spot them on the way, if you can. A Riftseeker is too much for them, or any of the forces present."
>Much would depend on how the Constructs responded. She turned back to address them.
"Query. What proof of your directive can you offer? What word or gesture can we accept that your sole objective here is your target, designated 'Seeker-Of-Rifts'?"
>Sunny pointed a wing up towards the moon without looking at it.
"Fact one. Your collective has engaged in military operations against this world and its inhabitants with no known negotiation or reason offered by your collective. Fact two. You were engaged in a near future simulation of combat against this world's inhabitants, not your targeted Seeker-Of-Rifts. Therefore, your request to be allowed to engage in further operations without interference is suspect."
>Allowing that statement to sink in for a moment, Sunny continued.
"Conclusion. The burden is on your collective to convince us that we have anything to gain by non-interference. Repeat query. What tangible, physical proof, evidence or assurance can you offer that your operations here will have no negative effect on this world or its inhabitants?"
>There was nothing she could think of that they could offer that would convince her. Noticing the repair model still at work, Sunny didn't recognise the modifications it was making to the gateway. Possibly armor plating to resist Mercy's particle weaponry? If that were the case, they were stalling.
>The simulated constructs had to have come from somewhere, and by now she was certain they hadn't come from the gateway, they had to be inbound from elsewhere.

>>370657
>>370658
>>370660
>>370661
>>370663

>>370634
>Pareidolia acknowledges Shiibo's addendum as he moves towards the lockers.
"Agreed. Will approach later."

>He shrugs at Katyal's comment choosing to continue with the process of removing his equipment, various weapons, and in particular Lacsidrae from his person into safe storage with his pack.

...

>Thoroughly spent, he slumps forward as he lowers himself onto a bench off the midline of the troop compartment.
>He tries to steady his breathing as a pink bottle clinks and rolls its way towards his boots.
>Catching it with his heels before it can roll away he sighs as he picks up the bottle with a twinge of irritation as Katyal's assertion follows.
(Predictable. Flawed assumptions about acclimation being a positive.)
>Deigning not to answer immediately, he opens the bottle and lifts the neck to his lips taking a healthy sip before lowering it.
>Narrowing his eyes, he responds.
"I cannot acclimate because I choose not to. Outsider explanations are unecessary. Not every human should attempt to, and every human that does whether successful or not is without exception a vector for harm to all alien species they encounter."
>He pauses to take another sip.
"Integration is not necessary for my position and will cause more harm that is impossible to mitigate. I won't make any judgments on your awareness of the dangers of unmanaged cultural integration, but I won't have you doubting my reasoning either."

>Sweeping the compartment, he looks over to Dul as it occurs to him she hasn't spoken or moved in some time.
(Didn't consider potential energy expenditure. Will she need 'food'?)

>>370664
>A loud, albeit soft thump occurs under your hooves, six additional sets of spindly arms spreading out from the Repair model's sides, then four much larger ones in what was presumably the front.
>It bends forward perhaps half a degree, emitting a dull crackling from the hull as a set of nanolathes poke at one of the particle whip damaged gateway sections, moving on to examine the rest.
>Both Argus Behemoth-Destroyers return a series of higher pitched responses, all of the Repair model's arms retract to its sides, ceasing its efforts entirely.

>Studying the barrels focused on you, the moving patterns they made, and still were making, could be a focus-of-attention emulation, especially if the Argus pair didn't have head units and their externals were all capable of sensory input.
>In theory, you think.

>Ears swiveling back, then turning halfway to eye the giant Repair's bizarre halt, Mercy's head tilts in a slight warning motion.
<Pegasi> "It will take an hour's flight to reach Basin Village. Do not try ANY action, Sunny, they're calling on pegasi honor and they know I adhere to the Minotaur creeds. ..I don't think they understand subterfuge."
>Sniffing the air briefly, Mercy's wings fan out in tiny loops, obviously trying to detail a particular imprint.
<Pegasi> "You know their name too? There have been no Melari here for a month at least, otherwise their scents would be all over."

>Halting once both Argus models hang right over the Arena's edge, the north Construct's quartet of weapons twist on their mount slightly.
"First-primary word-phrase-meaning-context unknown-undescribed-unlearned. Individual-singular pegasi desires-requires-necessitates-demarends trade? We-our-pair accept-signify-grant-respect individual-singular demarend. We-our-all recovered these sapients-singulars-individuals from lost-damaged-failed-preserved crippled-delayed-failed host-study-repair-restore units. Tallus model-type-form designation: Assault Lander, paired."
>One of the smaller eight-barreled turrets in the north's central mass rotates to face west, a 100M tall and 160M wide, bright orange screen phasing into existence west of the Arena.
>Starting from the top left, clear, sharply detailing images of stasis pods contain Lunar-Solar War era: earth ponies, pegasi, including a small number of the archaic Ferron, unicorns, well over forty Minotaurs, three Tallus Basilisks, thirty or so Gryphons, then large numbers of marecenaries from nearly every region on Tallus.
>A significant number were clearly recovering from injuries, either asleep or closing their eyes, the rest awake or visibly sedated sometime during literal physical repairs by quarters of smaller, oval silverine Constructs, the variety of marenipulators featuring organic curves similar to medical tools used before Old Canterlot.
"We have these unclaimed, recovered, located, and-or lost items-objects-properties-belongings-relics-weapons-armors-unknowns-unknowns-unknowns-unknowns in we-our-ALL armory-storage-possession-museum-care."
>To the left and right of you, equally sized screens appear, displaying thousands of Lunar-Solar War era weapons, armor, Minotaur tools that were barely familiar, Gryphon tools that were familiar, large numbers of hammers, anvils, tongs, miscellaneous smithing items, more types of metal than you knew, wood in every form and some of numerous species now extinct..
>Then came alchemical bottles, entire plates of prepared food, packaged meals, drinks, pots, pans, portable stoves, individual plates of metal, crystal, wood, and more exotic materials, older styled gem bottles, a few actual glass bottles, cups, bowls, platters heatstones, coldstones..
>Clothing, dresses, full cloth bolts, partially used cloth bolts, cloth sheets in pieces, strips, bed sheets, pillows, blankets, whole beds, disassembled beds, mattresses, a variety of stuffing materials and down, sleeping bags, sewing kits, needles, full spools, partially used spools, empty spools, rope, wire....
>Then examples of forgotten, destroyed, banned, or otherwise lost relics, artifacts, sacred weapons or armors, from all sides, Solar, Lunar, and independent alike; you note well over a thousand original complete sets of kanpri Solar Guardian Heavy Charger armor among them.
"We-our-ALL recovered-repaired-restored-reactivated individual-singular pegasi during failure-loss-contamination-archaeology examination of lost-damaged-failed-preserved host-study-repair-restore Assault Lander, paired units, undertaking-exploring-charting-recording region-locale-area claimed by pegasi. Archaic-recorded-unknown Titan-class units located-assaulted Rift pairs-ALL."
>Appearing in front of you is a smaller screen, that of a vaguely familiar, young jet black pegasus, streaks of matte black and varying gray across his coat in common League stealth applications.
>The side image shows the older colt, or possibly young stallion, suspended above a bright diamondine circle, at least ten small oval silverine Constructs underneath him, and the same number of larger variants surrounding.
>A quarter of the left wing and all the right were missing, as were both forehooves to below the knee, while most of the chest, left shoulder, barrel, withers, and part of the forward spine, and half the rear leg were little more than shredded and burnt tissue or muscle, visible bone, mostly in shards, and large, unfamiliar burn patches elsewhere.
>The image proceeds, each of the silverine Constructs scanning in sync while slowly shearing away damaged biological mass, in stasis no less, the Argus Behemoth-Destroyer pair emitting a short, moderate pitched beeping sound.
"Estimated-calculated-presumed survival-life-continuation expectancy of individual-singular pegasi after recover-repair-restoration-reactivation: standard-high-optimal-APPROVED-ACCEPTED."

>Leaving the screens where they were, the southern Construct rotates in your direction, the pair speaking in... exasperation?
>Or an equally grating emulation.
"We-our-two-of-two-not-yet-as-one have not harmed-attacked-assaulted-engaged-injured-damaged-incapacitated-killed equines. We-our-ALL prioritize protect-defend-repair-recover we-OUR-ALL.
Individual-solo-respected-honored unit, describe-show-detail-display-provide-offer of prior exercise-variation, untouched-unaltered-raw recording-existence-memory."
>The screens turn transparent as the Repair model raises upwards, without sound or sense of motion, until reaching around 50M above the Arena.
>Rolling sideways, you nearly panic before realizing you were still stuck to it, protected by a tightly controlled artificial gravity system, or some Planar variation of the same.

>Now facing fully 90 degrees forwards and looking down now, the unit emits a rumbling pitch as Basin Arena below ripples, an overlay of it's previously far more dilapidated state appears:
>Most of the roof caved in and laying far below in piles, severely damaged external false-walls, stairwells crumbled or too destroyed to attempt traversing, the slides were missing, and a number of holes present everywhere else.
>Internally, the rows of stone seating blocks and stairwells were in similarly rough shape; the entire Arena had been blasted apart by dozens of large explosions to the point earth ponies and unicorns would find themselves quickly stuck, and pegasi or batponies would be hard pressed to even find a place to stand.

>Directing your attention back up with four small, thin beams of green light to where the relay was, the image of an earth pony height, dark red winged and blue coated Moor cat was stretched out in front of the box, front paws lazily batting it.
>Rotating around and directing you to face the western side, a pair of large Assault Landers was stationary above the Arena, two Constructs pairs, one of the smaller Scout variants, another a standard pegasi height Repair duo, were deliberately surveying the roof starting from the western most edge.
>The Scouts delicately pick up small chunks of stone with thin triangular wire-like marenipulators, rotating and showing them to the Repair models for a quick orange scan, rotating back adn replacing each in the precise location the piece came from.
>Two pairs of the same Constructs drop out from the Landers, then another set, ten of each in all, the last pair of Scout and Repair slightly larger models, each taking a specific quadrant.
>Upon reaching the damaged half-roof hole, all twenty cease and jerk upwards at a loud, surprised and angry feline shriek, the recording stopped as ranged weapons enter preheat and charging cycles.
>Repair model rotating to face the relay once more, the scene skips backwards to when the Melari sits, then is sped up slightly until it lies down, returning to normal speed.
>Several minutes of the feline becoming increasingly frustrated at the unmoving box pass, until it stands up and makes a quick, heavy claw swipe into the relay.
>Three of its five claws piercing through the top, the large Melari makes a pained face, then its body wrenches sideways, shrieking in shock and rage at lightning coursing up its leg, the recording pausing once more.

>Sinking upwards to around 100M above the Arena, the Repair Construct's topmost arms reach downwards, left quadruple nanolathe spindles pointing at the Melari, right at the ten smaller Scout and Repair models.
>The recording plays, Melari leaping back with three legs to land, whipping its injured paw around, spitting and snarling while the twenty Constructs freeze for two seconds, then the larger Scout pair hover forwards.
>Distance weapons definitely charged, but not firing or launching, their shields and polearms were quickly nanolathing into place atop the marenipulators previously used.
>The remainder slowly egress, Scouts in front of Repairs, towards the Assault Landers, both of them silently drifting down to nearly touch the Arena's west roof edge, large twin spherical holes appearing in the presumed front.
>They weren't hatches or doors you notice, the Planar material itself 'folds' backwards in a smooth organic motion, albeit that was at least eight hooves thick worth of armor doing so.
>Head whipping around towards the Constructs, the large Melari's ears flatten, hissing at the intruders before its jaw opens, releasing one of the most piercing shriek-howls you'd ever heard.
>Pausing the recording, the left spindles point away from the lone Moor cat, down into the Arena itself, the target, or range, finding lasers marking distinct outlines of singles, duos, trios, quads, clusters, and small hordes of Melari occupying the interior.
>Everything from the average Moor cat to the near-equine giants were settled in, a few beginning to look upwards, then the Repair model imposes standard pony doors across the overlay where rubble had created shelter.

>>370664
>Emitting a faint crackle and lifting its arms out of view, the recording plays on.. though in an entirely opposite way than the simulation:
>Spherical entrance/exits across every surface of the Assault Landers open, disgorging hundreds of paired Scouts and Repair models, larger variants slower with heavier weapons.
>The hundreds of Melari begin separating into actual units comprised of fifty of the smallest, forty of the next size up, thirty of the mediums, five of the large, and one giant.

>Long distracted from her task, Mercy and you spend.. neither of you can tell how long watching both sides savage each other due to the Arena's badly damaged interior, exterior, and rubble everywhere providing excellent cover to take, or create.
>Constructs are surprised by giant Melari hurling stones at them or pushing chunks forwards to create cover, only to be pinned down by particle whips, hot green flashes from lasers, small missiles, or orange plasma bolts, each side tactically pressing the other regardless of numbers lost.
>At some point, the Repair model pauses, pointing out Melari streaming in from around the ruined Arena's, particularly from outer buildings and vast trees, then continues.
>The Construct forces were steadily losing in both numbers, weapons, and ability to absorb losses, except for one tiny variable:
>A small feline that definitely looked like Nibbles, except couldn't have been, a closeup showing small, long healed scars while darting back and forth among the Melari's lines, tail, wing, and body motions making clear, if undefined, orders during combat.
>Unable to directly take on Assault Landers, the feline leader repositions her kin constantly, directing them to avoid the massive aerial weapons, not types you recognized, trying to acquire firing positions.
>While subtly relaying orders for two units of the giant Melari, one hundred in all, she mimics climbing the nearest trees out of range, then to drop down and shred the Assault Landers from the inside.
>One of the larger Repair models above detonates, replayed as a trio of lesser Moor cats dropping down from above in a deliberate suicide attack, each carrying a small Void-imbued bomb in their mouths.
>A hail of orange shrapnel spreads across the Arena, an errant shard focused on that ricochets twice, spinning off a long ruined Construct hulk into a black granite slab, only to stop in the left side of the lead feline's chest, taking cover behind a larger one.
>The Melari gasps, blinking once and looking up, making a tiny nod, then slowly crumples forwards, eyes closing.
>View cutting away, the few Constructs still functional inside the Arena cease firing at the same time the remaining feline horde stills, then are immediately rushed down, flashing kanpri teeth and claws ripping the Planars apart in frenzied slaughter.
>The recording ends.

>Repair model reaching out and forwards with both upper arms, it lathes a plate into view of an estimated tally: approximately 10,000 various Melari deceased, versus 2,000 Constructs deployed and destroyed, the entire contents of both Assault Landers.
>The Argus Behemoth-Destroyer pair speak in lower, quiet tones, the quartet of turrets smoothly rotating once.
"First-primary-necessary correction: we-our-pair has studied-examined-considered-expressed prior recording. We have LEARNED. Individual-singular pegasus is LEARNED. Walker-of-Spirits is LEARNED. We-OUR-ALL two-of-two-not-yet-as-one are unable-unpotential-incapable-weak-faulty-flawed. We-OUR-ALL are UNLEARNED."
>Silent for ten seconds, the pair's central weapons tilt towards the Arena's open roof section, now sounding almost.. tired.
"Second-primary-necessary correction: battlefield emulation of possible-probable-likely-potential future action-event simulation to index-list-archive-memory. Prior recording, known-factual. Emulation considers accounts variables for storage-container-building-vessel-chamber repaired-whole-completed.
Battlefield emulation aggregate-comprehension-simulated results of repaired-whole-completed storage-container-building-vessel-chamber: native-local-home winged species now represent-is-are high-extreme-NECESSARY threat to we-OUR-all. We-our-ALL will-need-must avoid native-local-home winged species."

>The greater Argus pair both turn, the central turrets facing you as the overlay disappears, each rotating clockwise, aim towards Mercy, then back on to you.
"We-our-pair offer-trade-show-explain-describe FEAR targeted Seekers-of-OUR-Rift. WE-OUR-all do not, can not, have not explained-considered-questioned-comprehended-studied-examined Seekers-of-Rift."
>Letting out a grating sigh, the blind pegasus facehoofs.
"Let me try.. why are you afraid of an Abomination from your Rift? Is it a Construct, like you two are, or NOT a Construct?"
"We-our-all do not understand-know-comprehend-consider-evaluate conditions-variables-unknowns. Repeat-refine statemarent, Walker-of-Spirits."
"Okay. Why are you afraid of THAT Seeker-of-Rifts?"
"We-our-two-of-two-not-yet-as-one accept-acknowledge-RESPECT the Walker-of-Spirits understands-accepts-TRUSTS one-of-one-that-has-become-two. Seeker-of-Rifts are not two-of-two. Seeker-of-Rifts are not one-of-one. Seeker-of-Rifts are Seeker-of-Rifts."
>Head cocking in thought, Mercy stares between the two gateway posts, flexing her wings out and fanning the pinksteel blades one by one.
"I don't get it. This.. trying to look at it feels like as if I ate a really bad mango. Not rotten or poisoned, like it w- ..Sunny, I think Riftseekers spread Planar infection when they are on Tallus."
>Freezing solid for a time, the Argus pair's inactive turrets rotate counterclockwise, her wingblades sparking in odd, disparate patterns as she speaks, wavering between cautious and curious.
"I have dealt with Infected before, they are mutated, dangerous. Not like this. Long, with wings, a reptile I think. Scales, plates, claws, big teeth. Winged wyrm, maybe a drake. It has four eyes. And big. Very, very, very big."

>>370671
>>370672
>>370673
>That was odd.
>The repair model really seemed to want to complete its work, is non-communicative unlike the destroyer pair, and takes its orders from them.
>Hierarchy? Based on higher evolved intelligence perhaps. Evidence that Constructs were not a gestalt entity as she had previously thought. Perhaps more a collective of collectives, emulating some form of individuality per unit, at least amongst the more advanced ones.

[1d6 = 6] < Apprentice Researcher
[1d6 = 4]

>Acknowledging Mercy with a slight incline of the head, Sunny put aside her urge to eliminate the Constructs. If Mercy wasn't going to leave, she couldn't go through with her plan anyway.
>If she wanted to destroy them, she would have to wait for them to break convention first, not that she were bound in any particular way by those the Constructs had invoked, she did not want to infringe on Mercy's honour. Again at any rate.

>Talking to Constructs was difficult, she needed to adjust her way of speaking to vernacular they had displayed use of.
>In silence for the moment, Sunny observed the various screens they projected and explained in their strange synonym-laden speech.
>People, weaponry, armour, tools, and all manner of objects both sundry and significant. What in the world could they be doing with all of this?
>The use of museum as a synonym implied they had collected all of these for study, display or preservation.
>Their showing of a particular pegasus caught her attention, why this one separate from the others? Was it the degree of damage he'd sustained? It couldn't be that. There must be some other significance, but she couldn't put her hoof on what it was.

>Exasperation? A denial that these two units had not attacked anypony, that they weren't responsible for the actions of other Construct units. This lent more weight to the constructs not existing as a gestalt, and possibly even displaying signs of individuality, compartmentalisation of goals and motives amongst themselves.
>She'd been thinking about that when she startled and flapped her wings once in fear that she'd lose her balance, and yet gravity's pull remained constant, keeping standing on the repair model, removed from the gravity of Tallus.
>They wanted her to see something it seemed.

>Intently observing the display, Sunny watched the moor cat batting at the relay that she had turned off, as cats are wont to do, all while Constructs... Examined rocks.
>As events unfolded, Sunny came to the inescapable and deeply distressing conclusion that this entire conflict and possibly the existence of this Riftseeker came about because ONE (1) Moor cat spooked itself.
>The comedic premise of what had happened here, she realised she had mistaken for what might happen, struck her dumb for several moments, nearly missing what the destroyers were saying.
>Waiting for Mercy's exchange with the Constructs to conclude, Sunny spoke up, shaking her head.
"No. I'm done. This isn't worth dealing with."
>She turned to the destroyer pair, with a deeply haunted expression and tired voice.
"Information accepted as proof of directive. Trade proposal accepted. Request agreement, proposed trade must not impede completion of directives. Proposal, non-interference with your operation to neutralise the Seeker-Of-Rifts in exchange for the safe release of restored sapients?"
>Sunny was going to have to explain all of this, and nobody would believe she and Mercy had been talking to constructs, considering they'd never spoken to anybody before.
>Finally, she jumped off of the repair model, opened up her wings and let herself glide to the ground as Tallus' gravity took its hold again.
"Secondary request, are you willing to clarify - to provide information - on why you have been willing to communicate when others of your kind have not? Reason, to explain this negotiation to nearby Tallus forces and convince them to uphold our agreement of non-interference."

>>370661
>>370663

>It was over.

>The hulking giants of misery were gone. Turned to mist or in the process of doing so. Lont watched from his vantage point as the innumerable restless spirits left Tallus for the afterlife.
>It was a serene sight and would of brought him to tears if it were not for the growing anguish within the Overherd beginning to beat at his cranium.

>He took deep breaths and long exhales as he focused on his heartbeat, a simple technique he learned back on Ferrundus as a means to block out the mental pressure of Psions. It helped. Especially now with the swelling emotions of thousands of ponies across the Basin Village.
>The burning on his chest was dying away now, and so he shot out a final thought to Broken Hoof. Perhaps she'll hear it in the afterlife.
('Be like Sharonel, Broken Hoof. With Honour and at peace.')

>Lifting his visor he looked around, at first at his fellow Operators then further and further afield to the masses of ponies. All in the hope to ascertain if anyone needed assistance. Surely there would be some wounded. Some survivors who danced with death.
>Surely.
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] >M.Medical
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]

>>370660
>Jeff tries to keep up with diagnostics and countermeasures as interference takes over the module's screen. Text in multiple languages native to Tallus and known only to humans form and unform themselves but he catches a pattern.
>Deny. Refuse. Prevent. Guard. Protect. Spirit of Walkers. Seeker of Rifts.
>He puts a mental pin in that for now while he pans the camera away from the Arena.
>Oddly enough his signal cleared right up once he started searching for landing strips. North and South looked good, although the North seemed occupied. The South it is, but he doesn't know if a quarter mile stretch is enough. Looking at the drone's specs, it was definitely larger than it would normally be.
>He'll have to wait for Clem to aid him, if he can.

>The iron ball breaks unusually, Anon's door opening up quickly to reveal his literally blowing apart. Leaving a quick as he arrived. The sudden scene shocked him for a split second.
("Shit, sorry! I didn't know! Fuck, I hope it didn't kill him.")

>>370663
>Every force they have puts out their last final drives of attacks, some beginning to falter, something breaks in the Tainted's ranks.
>As if some threshold had been passed, the forms begin to dissolve. Ground and air forces, alike.
>The forms, as if the souls of those ponies were trapped within, phase into a pass out of existence with proud salutes as they fizzle out into the air.
>No longer paying mind to the Reaper's module, he leans back onto the fountain's base and takes in the relieving scene of ponies and humans observing their bittersweet victory.
>Vestals agony wails over the Overherd at their losses. He feels her pain from the extreme loss. The sacrifices and losses really didn't make this feel like a win.
>Jeff shifts his ballistic helmet down and bites his lip as the all to familiar feeling of losing comrades overwhelms him enough to well up and shed a silent tear among the commotion.
>With the Tainted... old comrades put to rest, Jeff recomposes himself and accesses their situation.
>The battlefield was a mess. And with a lull in the fighting could very well be the eye for yet another storm to be coming down on them.
("General... I don't mean to cut our victory breather short, but we still have Contructs at the Arena and some big vessel coming still? We need to consolidate what forces we have that can fight them and anyone who can't to start mass casualty triage.")
>He pushes his thoughts more toward Razorback personnel.
("Razorback. Re-arm and reorganize. Clear areas around the matrices and medical officers from all friendly forces begin setting up triage procedures. Patch up where we can, but prioritize getting them sorted for exfil.")
>He stands up to overlook the horde of friendlies still crammed around him.
("Whoever's been relaying for the Lunarites, have them regroup at the matrices and wait for me there when possible.")

>The Contructs at the Arena were a priority, despite not having heard anything from them yet. He recollects the phenomenon from the drone's computer.
("General. I picked up a transmission from the Constructs at the Arena when I panned over it. They were forcing written texted language to me. It was jumbled and simple...")
>It's like they were trying to pick out the best words to use. Contructs have NEVER tried to communicate with them like this, yet. Between Skykeep and the Citadel and that small Rift model that was bouncing around the Fortress for a while. They were definitely trying to communicate, either directly to him or a general broadcast.
>Spirit of Walkers, that's got to be Mercy. With that Construct merging with her, she must be of some significance to them. She must not engage seeker of- Rift Seekers.
(".. they don't want my herd second to engage the Rift Seekers there. It sounds... desperate. I've never even known them to attempt communication like this. I'm getting a weird vibe, but we definitely need to get over there and access the situation.")
>He knows enough that those ones are always bad news, and they open rifts at specific places and times. Them being here could be mere coincidence? If one party of Constructs are after the other, and Sunny and Mercy are still alive after all this time.
[1d6 = 2] <Intuition

>>370686
>As always, José found himself almost mesmerized by all the intricate details during his walk to the shower.
>It was hard to believe such a post would be dotted with such pretty decorations.
>That or they were disguised security systems.
>Not too farfetched.
>A part of him wondered as he stepped into the shower if ponykind had the same laws regarding cameras on restrooms.

>Now fresh and ready for a productive day, he'd soon walk over to the north in the Mess Hall where the hard working mare made her rounds.
"Morning, miss."
>He'd soon brandish an amicable smile, first seeking if she was too busy for silly small talk.
"What's on the menu today?"
>If she humored his question, he'd patiently listen to the selection before springing up the old gentle boop on the snoot to spice up her day.

>>370670
>The taste was a cross between an unfamiliar though savory berry light shallot, sweet purple cabbage, and hints of sea salt.
>Definitely a pony favorite..

>Stretching both arms out, then her legs, Katyal uncaps her bottle to take several deep swallows, settling back with a concerned visage.
"Tallus is a series of highly interconnected ecosystems and cosms across a gigaplanet. Ponies call her All Creation, lot of the Sequ`nari do too. This world knows what belongs, what is trying to, what could, what'ss accepted and left alone, what doesn't, what shouldn't, what won't be, and what will never be.
I'm not talking about the air filters, it's the entire concept of that helmet's purpose. You are deliberately telling 'her' that you don't want to be here so right now you're being treated as a hostile. An invader.
There's a third catch: longer you keep that up the greater chances are that one spectrum, dimarension, Plane, or 'other' is going to start getting a hold on you. or taking an interest. By the time that happens you'll be just another Malformed or Abomination to be disposed of.
If you somehow get lucky, you won't even be cognizant at that point."
>Frowning briefly, her eyes twitch left and high in recall, then shakes her head, free index finger stabbing into the seat.
"Could've sworn.. look, those humans that nuked New Canterlot Palace fucked the rest of us over for sure and I'm never going to accept that, but when Solarhorse got spun out, the Era Lock went ratshit crazy. Started dragging in one human at a time. Random, no rhyme, no reason, just snagging those it could from omniverses weakest on their folds.
'Objects' started showing up about a month after I landed. Cups, pencils, chairs, tools, random stuff most anyone would have. Then firearm parts, cloth pieces, piles of smokeless powder, empty cans, kit, plaques, armor plates. You name it, I've seen, collected, destroyed, or recycled with Greenie's help.
Last week I got sent a report from a patrol outside a city in Eyeraq, part of a six-by-six armored cargo truck landed on a hillside. Only reason they found it was the fuel tanks were still on fire. It was bit it in half by a creature not native to Tallus, even left a few teeth. Time I got there it was all turning to powder; two hours later all of it was gone. Starting to understand now?"
>Watching the Siren beginning to stretch out from her lying down position, Katyal's jaw sets, eyes shutting as she breathes out heavily.
"You know Tallus has four hundred and twenty days per year, right? How about eight days each week? Thirty hours per cycle, fifteen day, fifteen night? Sixty seconds is still one minute, can always count on that.
Not only that, the Era Lock controls temporal fuckery. Rather, it did control. Was halting the exitway rotation of each human's home omniverse from flowing. One second here is either fractional or up to twenty seconds faster than one second where you originate from. In other words: time is passing 'normally' in relative outside this universe for some.
Problem now is Razorback, you included, is skipping six hours to SOME where, when, place, or how. That will eventually cause every last one of you to become a temporal threat, IF you aren't currently."
>Leaning forwards and turning to halfway face you, Katyal's head shakes solemnly, left hand tapping the seat in subdued agitation.
"I don't want to, but since you're this out of the loop.. there's already been five breaches into human Otherworlds. Three succeeded, one failed. Long range, full power bombardmarents. No Tallus casualties. One is still going on and won't end for a while.
Mine's safe because I've been inside the Era Lock, where I was shunted through is stable. Even got a good luck at the fucking THING that ran me down."
>Sitting back and exhaling heavily, the woman's gaze drifts up at the roof, giving a short, defenseless shrug.
"Your reasoning's yours, but is this situation one you should, or can, ignore for long? The chance your world gets targeted as hostile is only going to keep rising. All I'm asking you to do is reconsider."

>Jolting off her wrist, the topaz bracelet expands into a flat one-sided portal facing the driver's side, Hodch walking through and spinning to face the front, glancing side to side as the relic shrinks back down.
"What have I missed out on?"
"Other than absolutely fuckhuge trees bigger than the ones around Razorback, giant prints from a critter the size of most mountains, some phys-training, and me bitching? No, but ma-"
"STOP. Huge trees. Giant prints. Be right back-"
>Deep purple streaks leap forwards into the driver compartment, phasing through in a hurry while she snorts quietly.

>Making a short, huffy neigh, Dul slowly rolls up to sit, stretching out her legs, her pseudo-physicality looking curiously like stretched out putty.
"Dul not want get hit."
"I wasn't trying to actively harm you."
"Dul not mean you-"
>Left foreleg lifting to point above Katyal's head, the Siren takes a hard, bitter look that distinctly wasn't equine.
"Dul know you wing things, you not like Dul Vortex."
"That so? An`Meliu, talk to me."
>A thinly tittering laugh rings above the woman's head, the imprint of large, crystalline rainbow butterfly's wings raising, chimes echoing distantly as she reaches up to trace fingers on one.
"Good? Fine, go back to sleep, I need you fully refreshed but I don't know when."
>Giving the quickly fading presence an affectionate pat, Katyal turns an appeasing smile to Dul, then glances in your direction with mild humor.
"She was curious, says she's never dealt with your Vortex before. Won't bother you either. Mystic beings can be really sweet, polite, helpful, apathetic, cold, nasty, sinister, or destructive. Pick two, chase one down with those traits to make a contract, then pray the next one isn't three or more.
So, a break, or you want to learn something special?"

[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <ExoTech Optronic Particle Scanner
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7] <E.Electronic Warfare Operator
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4]

[1d6 = 2] <Travel Time

>>370689
>Wearing a curious pair of bright white front hoofboots and well oversized steel blades atop the first six primary feathers of each wing, the mare's loose pink mane swishes as she turns to face you, speaking in a light, though subdued, brittle tone.
"Welcome ba-"
>Silent as her head tilts slightly left, then right, she blinks, face creasing for a handful of seconds before speaking in flat puzzlemarent.
"Sorry, I don't.. recognize you? Are you new like most of them are?"
>Pointing a blade towards the two tables in front of the south split counter, the baffling weapons, armor, camouflage, packs, rigging, harnesses, kit, myriad accents, and disparate ethnicities made precisely zero sense:

>The most striking Operator is a strict, mid-60's EurAsian man in winter-forest camo sitting at the end, the haunted, sharp blue eyes of a confirmed mankiller instantly snapping from speaker to speaker, an older bolt-action rifle slung tightly over his left shoulder.
>Next to him is a hard faced, mid-20's European man in partial disconnect from reality, the worn look of a recently-kicked-it amphetamine addict clashing against high mountain forest camo, though a well maintained, almost new submachine gun similar to an MP-40 was haphazardly strung low on his back.
>Opposite the pair, a younger woman in a damaged, high tech helmet, internal displays behind the cracked visor constantly changing, her armor featuring thin, recently damaged angular plates, a thoroughly battered titanium basebat bat, at least a foot longer than regulation, gripped tightly in the left hand, a boxy Mac submachine gun in a crosschest sling.
>Next to her is a bewildered younger man, probably not even at legal drinking age, the facial features vaguely Islander, yet the strange red-yellow-green-blue streaked jungle camo and a well made, lightly damaged semi-auto H&K like rifle made no sense.
>Two men in their late 30's could have been twins if they weren't from opposite sides of the world, the first a light red skinned Northern Native, the second a slightly yellow tone, both lithe, wiry, armed with an assortment of knives suspended across thin armor vests and across even lighter leg armor, also carrying a quartet of utterly different size pistols.

>Surveying the groups for a few seconds longer, the pegasus scowls briefly, then points a forehoof at the front skillets and pans on her south counter, heaps of freshly steaming squid, clams, mussels, shrimp, fish strips either breaded, seared, baked, or glazed, atop large, bright red-orange glowing, flat topped oval crystal slabs.
"Everything on the front ones is ready-"
>The stacks of 'plates' she directs you to are four, one thin sparkling crystal, the rest solid.. silver, gold, and platinum.
>Motioning at her north counter, half filled platters and bowls of neatly sliced fruits, berries, and vegetables, nearly everything you knew, a bunch you'd heard of, and more that were either tropical, volcanic, or grew right out of snow were present on equally large, bright blue glowing crystal slabs.
>Leaning over to spear a seared shrimp and carefully raise it for a sniff, the mare pops it into her mouth for a quick chew, shrugging afterwards.
"Take what you want, there's basically nopony and no one here tonight. Tried cooking for sixty humans but less than half that have come in."

>>370637
>>370636
>Standing to full height, the pair's ears swivel towards Malyne as she flops onto the trade table, snickering giddily.
>The left one's eyes, however, were nothing less than hate-filled, and the voice far beyond contempt.
"No Light from the Vigils will ever grace that 'temple', nor the tainted, desecrated souls descended from an Otherworlder 'Empress'."
>Turning around and stomping into the Remnant's eye, the other waits for two seconds, muscles rigidly flexing across his body, snarling under breath.
"An 'honorable ancient one' Her Majesty's royal ass, I'll sever that fu-"
>Realizing he was speaking out loud, the Undead's front left hoof reaches forwards, tapping lightly outside the translocation matrice, hissing in a low, directed tone.
"You've all been fooled new-Prince, not only by Lucky, her family, or the Crystal Inner Wards. You and the Second Dynasty must not travel to Stalliongrad, New Canterlot, or the Crystal Empire, but especially stay OFF the Citadel! Until those ponies that AREN'T Razorback's enemies can show themselves in the open, that'll make-"
>Reaching up to make a quick neck-slitting motion, the Vigilite nods grimly.
"Much easier, understood?"
>Turning around to face the open Vortex, he emits a rolling, high pitched snicker-kek towards the batfilly, striding forwards proudly as she stares on at the eye sinking down into stone.
"What. What? What! WHAT. WHAT? WHAT! I-"
>Squeakily stuttering aloud, Malyne's wings flap, scattering letters and papers everywhere while she violently wiggles side to side in utter glee.
"That was my FIRST BATCALL! I AM THEREFORE BATPONY, NOT HORSEBAT!"

>Hurrying a bit faster north from the imminent crime scene, you barely notice the Bren's prototype armored towers now placed two per building, the central Fortress much quieter than normal.
>Entering to the scents of finishing cookies, sourdough bread, and something else definitely pastry related, neither pegasi cook or chef were at their cooking stations.
>Checking the northwest green couch, Allys was lying on her left side, head hanging partially over and sound asleep.

>Towards the back, boxes and piles of rations, tins, and MRE's on either side of the giant walk in freezer were new, and hadn't even been organized yet, though you don't spot Pella near either section.

>>370694
>They weren't lying, she really -was- moving a shit ton of stuff around.
>Though, I suppose it is more of a manner of convenience.
>After all, if all the food was concentrated it one point, it'd be easier to feed people.
>But they used those in the field often.
>Hell, -I- did.
>Not that I'll be doing that for much longer.
>Who knew all it took for me to settle down was accidentally an entire faction.
>Ah, well.
>Instead of wasting my time by only looking around, I decided to call out -and- look around as well.
"Hey, Pella? You there?"
>I lifted up the sheaf of letters in my hand.
"Mail's in for you."
>At the very least, it might wake up Allys as well, and she can help me.
>But hopefully not.

>>370674
>Studying backwards, forwards, rolling around variables, pushing those into words, phrases, and contextual meanings until they link together, a selection of coherent ideas form:
>Rank was inapplicable as each Construct pair's model type, weaponry selections, armor protection, and ability to adapt in field were expressly that of designed and deployed complete units, expected to be self-sustaining if correctly matched against a specific known target, or targets.
>Based solely on their recorded willingness to open hostilities, Constructs either had zero awareness that situations and circumstances on Tallus could not be directly controlled, or were expected to be attacked without warning.
>The Rift Constructs were a functional collective of collectives, each pair operating on per-task basis of hierarchical orders, explicit dedications of long, medium, or short range combat, close combat, interdiction, repair, recovery, restoration, study, research, and.. archaeology, both of Tallus and their own, yet each model had some eminent flexibility.
>Both Argus Behemoth-Destroyers were, far as you could rationalize, 'interested' in numerous fields, their weaponry selections capable of combat but also an equal amount of less destructive or barely damaging usefulness as basic tools; outside the anti-matter systems they possessed, that is.
>Where ponies adhere to laws, orders, rules, stipulations, and expectations from their herd, Overherd, or both, higher Constructs collectives felt more like those that give an order and allow the risk-taker to operate with minimal conditions, while functionally equal collectives combine or support their forces for a given task, and take direct authority over lower collectives.
>If pairs were in fact granted and allowed extreme autonomy outside of hierarchical orders, several creeping, nagging thoughts arise: were they expected to take on additional self-chosen duties, how often did their 'interests' change, and what prevented them from disobeying a higher collective?

>Taking on a minorly insulted face, the white pegasi's head turns towards the relay, snout creasing.
"This is well worth my time, even if I am tired."

>Unmoving from their positions, the greater Argus pair tip towards each other slightly.
"We-our-two-of-two-not-yet-as-one describe-stipulate-outline-explain-grant the following: equal-equivalent-same value-weight of recovered-restored-initialized-finished-completed sapients to Seeker-of-Rifts accepted-granted-CONFIRMED by WE-our-ALL. Refine-repeat second-primary statemarent-demarend."
>Ears wiggling back and forth at the request, Mercy's wingblades snap together as she smiles.
"Sunny, I understand now, spoken language is a concept far below, above, useless, or impossible for most Planars. They do not need or use it because it is not fast enough to share information! But if that is why they usually attack.. let me try this:
You-two-of-two, we desire-need-require the sapients to exit-release from your-all container-storage-museum to the place-region-local near us. Do not attack-harm-injure region-local equines."
"Request-demarend accepted-granted-confirmed-respected-honored. Unit, exit-remove-release all-all-all-all-ALL sapients from we-OUR-ALL retrieve-study-research-repair-restore-recover-initialize storage-vessel-chamber."
>The giant Repair unit rotates around 180-degrees, arms spreading apart and pointing down below the Arena, rotating nanolathe spindles glowing, though Mercy calls aloud, the systems spooling down quickly.
"Wait wait wait stop, not that locale-region! Can you exit-remove-release all sapients.. erm, close-near my region-locale-home?"
>Grumbling out a hard tinged phrase in Minotaur, the quartets of turrets face each other, rotating clockwise for a hooful of seconds, the pair speaking aloud, minute notes of confusion clear.
"....request-demarend accepted-granted-confirmed-respected-honored. Unit, commarence-proceed-activate-produce-DELIVER task-program-function-operation gateway-rift-TRANSPORT."
>Tilting from side to side as you hop off, drifting down onto black granite once more on the Repair model's north side, it turns partway, lightly stabbing the nanolathes into its own hull.
>Odd.
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6] <Minor Rift Gateway

>The pair's cannons swivel towards you once more, jerkily rotating counterclockwise twice.
"We-our-all do not understand-know-comprehend-consider-evaluate-study asked-requested-demarended condition-variable-question-request. Repeat-refine request-statemarent-demarend."
>Folding her wings down, then subsequently blinking at the near-entirely forgotten pair of bright orange batpony-like wings atop hers, Mercy bends forwards to rub her chin on the left white-faced barrel once.
"This one answered that question, they want to be united. Or.. no, that is not close enough. Hm, the feelings are 'together-we-are', but it is similar."
<Pegasi> "Sunny, I think they cannot experience what being a pair truly is, like a stallion and mare, close, near, almost together, but unable able to touch, always sharing thoughts, feelings, images from a distance. They cannot share a deep connection, but they can if they had a choice."
>Ending her last word on a specific note, Mercy cranes her head between the two, the symbiote on her saddle emits a sourly pitched noise as she asks softly.
"You-two-of-two, do you need-intend to combat-harm-injure-kill equines?"
"Statemarent refused-unaccepted-denied. We-our-pair must show-upload-link-share-describe-display-TEACH recording for we-OUR-ALL to LEARN."
"Will you ever be ordered-commarened to combat-harm-injure-kill equines?"
"WE-our-pair avoid-deny-refuse-UNACCEPTED statemarent. WE-our-pair must offer-display-show-TEACH we-OUR-ALL UNLEARNED."
"Then we will leave. Thank you."
>Unable to think of more to say, the Spirit Walker nods towards the pair, calling as she walks towards the Arena's east side roof.
"Sunny, I can help you glide for quite a ways, we should find the Overherd's outer bubbles before needing to walk far."

>>370692
>His face twitches slightly at the bracing flavor of the juice.
(Clearly intended for ponies. Herbal.)

>He remains quiet as Katyal responds, elucidating some of the finer points of the all around untennable situation regarding humans on Tallus.
(Likely Class 1 entities identified. Mechanisms of action... the planes themselves. Only apparent recourse is to affiliate with one or another. As if the human element wasn't enough...)
>As she continues, he signs in quite irritation and pinches his brow and eyes.
(And an increasing temporal mismatch too. Fucking superb. With breaches into other human worlds.)

"I don't understand what you mean by seeing the 'thing' that ran you down, if you mean what killed you before you arrived on this planet. But my goal, my mission is to preserve as much of the determined socially compatible native lifeforms from cross-cultural contamination by humans as possible, myself included. Apparently human risk vector introduction is even worse than I was aware of, but my intent was always to only interact and integrate as much as necessary to fulfill my tasks."
>Finally removing his hand, he picks up the bottle for another sip.
>At least the plant-like taste would help brace against the stress of these new revelations.
"Apparently Tallus itself is going to force me to choose while I'm here, so if I want to carry out my duty I'll have no choice but to integrate as much as she demands. If she decides to target my world as hostile, then she isn't paying as much attention as she should. As far as I've seen, my home dimension was one of the few with protocols in place to try and manage shitshows like this to preserve worlds and their natives in the event of unmanaged human contact. But I arrived years too late, so damage control is what I'm left with. "

>He remains seated, returning rubbing his furrowed brow in consternation and paying little heed to Hodch's sudden arrival and disappearance beyond confirming his departure to the driver's compartment.

"This policy of wholesale integration Tallus seems to have will only bring ruin now that humans are involved. New Canterlot was not an anomaly. And I have precious few leads on addressing the temporal mismatches or the Era Lock."
>He glowers and a brief sardonic expression crosses his face as he looks towards where Hodch phased through the door.
"But I'm left with no choice by the will of 'god'."

>Deciding to watch Dul to focus on something more immediate, he follows her pointing foreleg to see a strange crystal imprint of butterfly wings embody themselves over Katyal's head.
(Bonded with a... Mystic being apparently. Standard fare for Assassins? Likely for empowering their abilities and options.)
>Eyeing the space above Katyal's head with slight wariness, he replies.
"I'm going to need all the training I can get given the clear disparity between me and you."

>>370695
>No answer, at least not from humans as there were barely three full squads, most of the guys you knew wiped out on floor, sprawled out on the best couches, or face down on tables, nor were there any Night or Lunar Guards.
>An Arcane Bladesmare at the bar swivels partway around, pointing at the front doors and quietly calling to you, the accent a somewhat familiar, wispy Stalliongradian pegasi.
"Buncha them been movin' stuff last coupla hours, she'll be back inna bit. Or two."
>Swinging around and yawning, the mare slumps forwards, head setting down.

>Just then, one of the south piles twitches.
>Or, at least you think it might have.

>>370697
>Katyal lifts the bottle to drain, cap, and toss it into the seat-locker, slouching back with a killing grin.
"Got done with a late shift at the bio-med center. Went to my favorite bar on the corner, knocked back three Dead Rippers, went out and started back to my shitty little foot thick steel apartment. Ten blocks in I hear big tires, look back, an armored fast-attack Genetic Security rig. Brand new, dual chain-plasma guns all over it.
Figured they were going to follow me home just in case. Kept walking... more like staggering until getting about a block and a half out. Those big eighteen cylinder diesels got a lot of power and noise, can feel them from quite a ways. Then the tires screech, couldn't turn fast enough to drop a grenade or my satchel, but I could feel that monster staring at me through screens.
Imagine a hyper-intelligent extraterrestrial 'being' made of nothing more than long striated pseudo-cells that only need a few drops of blood or tiny scrap of flesh to near-perfectly replicate a creature, all the way down to tiny micro-scars.
Now imagine it can read neural processes from living or dying beings. Sinks these super tiny ciliated proto-organic needles into the nervous system, or straight to the brain. Carefully though, takes a few minutes and close or direct contact. Or break 'em off and create a new monster after a few weeks to months. Requires a serious scanner to find said needles, and that's only IF they leave the body where it can be found.
Add the two together, what does that make?"
>Lips thinning briefly, she turns a hard stare at the opposite wall panels.
"Now that I respect. Contamination's a real danger to ponies, just not the way you've probably been thinking. Objects themselves aren't the danger, it's the concepts behind them.
Remove everything associated with unnecessary war, natural resource exploitation, subversion, industry, religion, sabotage, political profiteering.. ..lawyers.. the shit ponies hate most, they'll pick up on that. Might work out well.
Also, you don't feel, look, sound, or act even a quarter as fucked up the six notches on my belt were made for. If most of your world isn't a bunch of greedy backstabbing assclowns and morons, that lessens the chance.
Still, there's plenty of choices on why or what one can acclimate to. Who do you think taught me?"
>Left index finger pointing towards the driver compartment, she flashes a barely appropriate grin.
"No deities where I'm from but here you can actually meet a few of those.. except for Greenie, he's us but not exactly reliable.. just like us, really! There's an Empress gone missing though, Spring, Fall, and Winter are approachable, and-"
>Physically relaxing for a second, her empty hand swings up in a blur, backfisting a certain Draconequis snout straight through the hull, leaving only his lips behind.
"THIS one's not worth getting angry at, trust me."
"I WAS ONLY GOING T-"
"Cocoratulate me, right?"
"I am deeply wounded but mostly insulted! After all, I've used THAT one before!"
"Best way to ignore him is to ask yourself why it takes three mares on fire and a dead squid exactly one hour to peel a boat."
"It WAS going to be congospatulate but you were already thinking it!"
"What is wrong with.. can't you make a living jelly tree and set it loose in Folu's garden?"
"No?"
>Waiting precisely one second to continue, her eyebrows raise in mildly exasperated amusement.
"Could be neutral for quite a while, that'll require a constant force of will and might burn you out. Could do what the Malurians do, find a piece of Nature you enjoy and become so in tune that it accepts you as an equal. Unicorns, raw magic, symbolism of a million types, Elemarentals. Pegasi, clouds, wind, air. Minotaurs, Arkadians, earth ponies..."
>Left eye twitching and losing her focus briefly, Katyal releases a slow, measured exhale.
"You don't strike me as a from-the-earth type. Sea's Bounty, some of the Ferron, batponies, they all like the sea and Void spectrums. Some a BIT too much. But if you're thinking about... why are you back?"
>Squishing through the roof hatch in front of her, Discord sniggers quietly, whispering in all caps.
"WHY A TREE WHEN I CAN FILL HER ENTIRE TRIBUTARY WITH GUMMY FISH?"
"Did you seriously do that?"
"No. quite frankly, why would I?"
"Because it'd be hilarious to watch her get irked, she's already trying to lose weight.. what DID you do?"
"Cucumber crocodiles. With googly coconuts for eyes."
".....do they make funny-"
"Loud clopping noises like horses do when they waddle about? YES!"
"You're a genius. Now, please leave?"
>Grimacing as Discord worms his way out, one finger gun points at you.
"My choice then. Well, you already got a bunch of Rift stench, that's never good from what I've been told. Tiny touch of Vortex.. nothing dangerous. Gonna need to either balance those or purify the first."
"Like that?"
"What?"
"That. It pure."
>Following Dul's gaze and pointed hoof at your locker, Katyal's eyes close briefly, snapping open in shock.
"...THAT'S pinksteel? Holy giant Lovehorse's teats on a window frame, that stuff is BEYOND impossible to get ahold of.. you have any idea what that's worth to the right spiritist? She won't even let Roam's Volkanus Guard have a single tiny damned chunk.
All right, new plan, you grab that neat little dagger, and that shield of yours needs some tuning. It's entirely possible to refine an enchantmarent by communing with it, like I did with.. nnnnevermind.
Gonna need you to take those two out and prepare to summon that shield in every single possible configuration, see what the maximum size is, spread the shape, check speed of summoning, that sort.
Miss Dul, gonna need your help BIG time!"
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Overclocked Spiritist's Combat Training
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Vortex: Planar Purification
[1d6 = 6] <Awakening

[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <ExoTech Optronic Particle-Scanner
[1d6+9 = (6+9) = 15] <GM.Mysticism: Cascading-Sweep
[1d6+9 = (4+9) = 13]
[1d6+9 = (4+9) = 13]
[1d6+9 = (6+9) = 15]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] <E.Electronic Warfare
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]

[1d6 = 4] <Travel Time

>>370693
"That I am, miss."
>He promptly nodded a bunch of times before offering a hand to shake or bump.
"Name's José Gallo. Nice to meet you."

>He had to admit, those were some zany looking characters milling about on the tables.
>The technology and epoch disparity was specially of note.
>Heck, for some reason, the mid-20's European man seemed plucked out during World War 2.
>Even humans in Razorback were alien mysteries of their own, it seems.

>Snapping back to reality, his head soon turned back to the helpful mare with an understanding smile.
"Why thank you, miss. What would you reccomend I eat?"
>Okay, so pick a plate and place food on it.
>Simple stuff.

>>370701
>Quickly slipping the front left hoofboot off, she reaches out, lightly resting warm pad on your palm and giving a brief shake with a rueful smile.
"Right, sorry, really frazzled tonight, usually there's one hundred and fifty to two hundred and forty humans, and two hundred twenty to three hundred ponies. I'm Pella, aaaand I'm also taken."

>Glancing back to check the not yet finished ones, the mare's head whips around at your question, eyes widening.. and don't stop until you realize that was either a horrifying mistake, or a fantastic request.
"Take a lemon slice, drizzle the juice on top a mildly fatty white ocean fish chunk to give it a nice zesty flavor, add some wild parsley, wrap in a thin red maize tortilla, and done!
Cover a square piece of lightly fatty white ocean fish in savory ocean-dried spices and roll it tight into an efflo leaf, which are these, like spinach but better, so the juices stay put!
Take a thin slice of of sweet white pineapple on a heatstone, let it bake for ten seconds at MAXIMUM! .....then use that to roll up a piece of freshly caught and grilled fatty salmon!
This is a spotted island kiwi, defuzzed of course, cut it in quarters like so, dunk it in ice cold water real quick to bring out the sweetness and a little bit of tang, then sprinkle just a TINY bit of salty and hot spices on the sides!
Take a sheet of fried jellyfish skin this size or bigger, dash some blue salt onto it, slice a bunch of small scallops in half, put them in like that, add some fresh lime juice, fold three edges to make an envelope, and you have a crispy, delicious little... I can't remember the name but it's really good!
Here's a blue pomegranate, the seeds are huge compared to most, take those out, put on a pan, squish the juice out but be careful not to damage the seeds because they taste horrible, then drizzle it over half a small roasted flatfish!
Spiny paper-fruit, not easy to clean but once the paper and shell are off, slice into thick sheets like these, heat them up nice and hot for five seconds.. complete!
Blue tanparin, looks like a banana crossed with a green bean but it's actually a berry! Cut in four pieces, peel off the skin, poke the seeds out, and that's it! Some humans say it's a little sour but I've never actually seen anyone not eat one.
I know it looks like a biscuit, these are made from Central Moors swamp rice mixed with some kind of kelp to keep it moist, but it's a lot softer and used just like bread. Slice in half, add some hard butter, a slice of cheese, toss them on the heatstones, let both melt a bit, turn over, heap fried clam strips on both, squish them together, and done!"
>Looking at the more than mildly stacked gold plate pushed towards you by what can only be an intensely proud pony, it could, theoretically count as some form of war crime against a starving, seafood hating individual.
>What TYPE of court would rule against amusingly named and good smelling food was questionable, though you were pretty sure this was rather common faire judging by the giant, utterly clear walk in freezer on the Mess Hall's western side was completely stacked with ingredients.

"There's some human foods over there to take with, but I can't hoofle any of it. Nearly all the canned seafood, fruit, vegetables, tubers, squash, nuts, beans, and pretty much everything else is awful, bland, or both. Dehydrated stuff can be okay, but nothing will ever beat fresh."
>Pointing behind her at the northwest section, it was was little more than varying height shelves, none of which matched, loaded down by several hundred different styles of canned foods, boxes, bags, ration bars, ration packs, assault packs, candy, 2.5, 5, 10, and even a few 20 pound cans, and individual, double, boxed, packaged MRE's.
>A fraction of which you recognized. Possibly.
"Drinks are on the other side. They're usually good but half of those 'juice' ones have WATER added TO them! If I WANTED water I'd DRINK water but NO, stupid idiots have to dilute good fruit, berry, and vegetable juices! Most of the powder ones are bland, too."
>The southwest was the same, although you DO finally spot two partially matching shelves; drinks of every type, kind, shape, size, from numerous tiny 100mL bottles.. you're fairly sure those are childen's drinks, up to a staggering 20 liter clear glass jar, possibly even diamond, of apple cider.
>There weren't any alcoholic beverages, though.
"Just reorganized last night, took us.. I don't know how long."

>>370702
>Jose blinked in clear stupefaction, eyes staring wide at the plate's various contents ready to be assembled in what seemed to be either one big recipe or various small ones.
>Noting the wings more intently, he quickly realized this should've been expected.
>Specially from someone in the food industry.
>Is that even a thing here?

>That aside, Gallo quickly found himself rather excited to try out this elaborate dish courtesy of Pella.
>She was putting all of her love for cooking straight into this meal and he couldn't help but admire it.
>Who knows how many years has she honed in her craft?
"Wow~"
>Utterly fascinating

>Blinking out of his stupor, he quickly focused up and carefully acquired the mostly prepared dish to place at a table.
"Thank you so much for your input, missus Pella. Your significant other is stuffed with luck to have such a talented chef."
>Now to find a place to properly enjoy the meal according to the food artisan's instructions.

(...oh wait, I prolly shouldn't have offered my hand as a greeting. Pucha, gotta keep practicing my manners.)

>>370696
>Sunny cast a look at the somewhat offended Spirit Walker.
>She made a series of a movements, a single light flap of the wings, a backwards and forwards wiggle of her ears and a small toss of the neck and head, lifting and lightly stamping one hoof after another in random sequence.
"I'm sure we could spend the rest of the night requesting information from these two, however, I'm certain that they would prefer to finish their task. They have asked us to leave, after all."

>Mercy's conclusion made sense, but the larger question is why it had taken the Constructs so long to learn and attempt this form of communication, when they had displayed a much greater acumen for evolution in other areas. Particularly when it came to mimicking the tactics and weaponry of organics.
>What had prompted this development?
>She left her questions unvoiced.

>Giving the symbiote a suspicious look, Sunny opted not to respond to Mercy's explanation. She had no choice but to respect Mercy's choice on this, but she could not shake her feelings on the matter. To be invaded in body or mind by an alien intelligence was not something to be taken lightly.
>A pair could only be a pair because of a degree of separation.
>Sunny made a rather irate, repetitive digging at the ground with a hoof.
>Looking back to Mercy again, she shook her head.
"Thank you, but it will take you long enough to return even without me. You should report this as soon as possible, I'll make my way back on hoof. Either way, the conflict at the Basin will be long over before we can get there."
>With that, she reared slightly, and turned on the spot towards the exit. Setting off at a trot.
>She kept an ear turned back towards the Constructs however. A part of her knew it would be far more prudent to destroy them than risk the potential consequences this untested trust, but against her better judgement, she would let this play out.
>She only hoped she and Mercy hadn't just taught the Constructs that they could use hostages as leverage.

>>370657
>Hearing Twisted's words and feeling her presence, especially after not working with each other for what feels like an eternity, Clemency's focus is sharpened
>"You got it."
>He strafes the frozen cluster of Tainted with as much fire before he rolls off to land

>Swiftly moving through the crowds, Clemency moves to fill into the ranks with his comrades
>Hitting the barricade, he obliges Blackhorn and raises the weapon up to the Assault Tainted and adds his fire with the Company
>After a few salvoes, he hears Jeff on the overherd about his Reaper
(Jeff, I'm coming over. Hang tight.)
>Looking one last time at the approaching Tainted, he moves back from the barricade to the fountain

>>370663
>>370611
>However, as soon as he steps away from the barricade, he feels a shift in the fighting
>At first, it seems like it's all coming to a head
>All forces are practically burning themselves out to even slow down the Tainted
>But then the noise lessens and stops
>Clemency turns and looks around to see what's happening
>He's greeted by the sight of the Tainted all fading away and saluting at them all
>Seeing and hearing everyone's relief that the fightings over, Clemency takes a deep breath and lets the exhaustion hit him a little
>And he can't help but feel Vestal's anguish and think to himself
>"What a mess we made."
>Taking another deep breath to get himself together, Clemency holsters Blackhorn and walks towards the fountain to where Jeff is
>He slides the visor on his helmet up and nods at him
"Hey man, holding together?"
>Spotting the command terminal nearby, Clemency goes over and takes stock of its UI and controls
>"Shouldn't be too hard to find a landing spot for it."
>Using the camera on the drone, tries to spot a landing zone, preferably one that's closest to the translocation stone
>Once finding a spot, he tries to see if there was a landing subroutine. If not, he'll land it himself
[1d6+1 = (1+1) = 2] <Pupil Single Engine Propeller Aviator
[1d6+1 = (5+1) = 6]
>After his attempt, he closes the terminal and walks over to Jeff
"You know, that what's weird about this. They're now talking with us. After all the grief they did. But I do think this is something worth looking at."

>>370710
>Collecting himself as Clem approaches from behind, Jeff does his best to make room for his friend despite the commotion around them.
>The pilot's short wellness check is appreciated, so he nods back in return with a light scoff.
"I'll take unscathed and emotionally exhausted eight days a week, after this."
>The carnage is enough to make his head spin, but doesn't show it. It's all always a terrible sight, whether it's one body or hundreds.
>As Clem gets comfy on the module and gets a feel of the controls, he looks over his shoulder for any more interference.
"The controls are basic but everything's there. Drone got scaled up from the wish disc so more horsepower, but the wing span's probably closer to a hundred feet instead of seventy. I spotted some quarter mile strips North and South of the village. Go South. The FLIR is showing the North occupied by batponies and Strikers doing their best sheet ghost impressions. Don't know what that's about. Evacuees?"
>So he also thought it strange as well, the Construct's behavior.
"They evolve from stimuli in their environment, right? Our tech must be a fresh medium for them to communicate through. Look at the BFG you got on your back, and poor Mercy looks like a frazzled white and pink megazord. This isn't the first time they've been hellbent on going after a Rift Seeker, and ignoring other stuff around them. A fight... hmm could be avoidable if we leave them alone? Eh, I'm spitballing. To be perfectly honest, they'd be pretty cool if they're weren't so fuckin' aggressive and intimidating."
>As he watches Clem make n attempted landing, he rests his chin on a balled palm and keeps his ears open for any updates and troop movements going on.
"We're gonna have our hands full for a while. This-"
>He blows a waft of air out and stashes the Milkor back into the duffel.
"-is going to get investigated. And I think there's worse on the horizon. If you make it back to the Fortress before me, start gathering up senior members and... I don't know. Get ready for something. Marshmallow, too, wherever she's at."
>Taking a long thoughtful pause, he pans over to Clem with an outstretched gauntlet.
"Still got my scope on ya?"

>>370699
>Hearing Katyal launch into a clearly rehearsed story, Pareidolia takes the time to finish the bottle of sweet bulb juice.
(Clear derived enjoyment from sharing such stories. Unclear if due to lack of opportunities with ponies, prior experience with human squads, or personal traits. Origin world likely megacorporation dominated, with such vehicles in domestic environments.)

>His expression changes from relative neutral to a confused, somewhat offended scoff as Katyal explains what he already knew was obvious.
>Reining his annoyance in, he gives Katyal a look of incredulity.
"I was under the impression it was obvious my concern was about the concepts behind the items. There are inextricable links between the cultures humans come from and the items they produce. It's this link that makes items the second danger below humans themselves and their social impact. I would have thought that one of your position would recognize when others already understand the same. Unless you have not encountered any before now..."
>He shrugs and sighs dismissively.
"As for acclimation options, there are already too many deities here. More than I ever want to deal wi-"
(Gods for seasons too? Christ-)

>Seeing a trademark slapstick gag that could only be the result of Discord, Pareidolia suppresses a groan and runs a hand over his face muttering:
"Of course he'd be here."
>Unamused at their antics, he disappassionately observes while considering why Discord is continuing to involve himself.
(Despite everything, Discord may have a vested interest in Spiral's return. Though he likely does not know of Spiral's status beyond missing. If he knew, likely would not have cooperated in directing me into a fruitless mission. That would not be "funny" or "chaotic" enough.)

>Nodding as she points to him, he remarks:
"Rift exposure due to combat against a Construct. I was told it was cleansed, but apparently not completely."

>He turns his head, following Dul's to his sheathed pinksteel dagger.
(Right. Nominal that she would sense it.)
>Shifting back as Katyal exclaims its value, he stands and moves to retrieve it.
"I was unaware it was that valuable. The biteblade is poorly forged, and I haven't found myself in optimal combat positions to utilize it beyond its sensory capacity."

>Holding it in his right hand, he takes up an even stance and experimentally attemps to draw forth the dragon spirit's enchantment, comparing its speed and composition across different scenarios.

[1d6+6 = (3+6) = 9]< Basic Block
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]
[1d6+11 = (5+11) = 16]< Dragon-Scale Sphere: Tate

...

>>370680
>Despite their combined efforts at ignoring the last soul-destroying faux-vapors and blows from Tainted, not one of the Lancers jamming Basin Village's southern entrance live through, too weakened and exhausted to resist.
>Hundreds of still, armored Guard, a specific number announced mutedly by the lead mare, remain where they were or slump down, lances upraised and crossing each other in a nearly impenetrable barrier.
>One of the youngest Councilierge Assault Vanguards raises her lance, the rest of their bitter, quiet number following suit.
"A sacrificial gate of lances, unbreached against foes worthier than all but one we have faced! To perform duties beyond the callings Equinity would demarend of us, such debts must be repaid in full! Honor their greatest and honor their foes! May the Grand Lancer's descendant honor their names, deeds, lineages, and kin alongside us! VICTORY FOR THEM, HONOR TO THE WITNESSES!"
>The same voice hisses into your ear, subverting the Overherd entirely as thousands of Guard shouting aloud.
'Cease your shaming, human. Not once have we suffered the indignity of threatening your misled, weak-spined Company of fools, nor would we have accepted such a task. Cast aside your primitive fear and degenerate notions of what a Psion is or is not. We are nothing alike the greedy, cowardly fools your species produces.'
>Cutting the link, those ponies viewing the Assault Vanguards watch them form into a tight, strict battline, ten ranks deep, one hundred wide.
"We still have Constructs to make amarends to, and I will not allow any of you a single momarent's rest until that League Arena is SECURED!"

>Willing to accept their losses in midair, a sixth of the Chargers succumb to Tainted, the survivors crashing down on swampy ground, into stone buildings, and each other, resulting in piles of the Guard's most hot-tempered spread across the entrance and outside Basin Village's southern buildings.
>Their leadmare, a Lunar Guard in her late 50's, whips about snarling to throw an accusing sneer at the majority standing, hoofclaws and hoofblades scraping in frustration as she shouts derisively, an immediate response from them raising above the Assault Vanguard.
"How marely of you colt-chasers are tired?!"
"NOT A ONE, MA'AM!"
"How marely of you filly-flankers are tiredE?!"
"NOT A ONE, MA'AM!"
"So tell me why we're STILL RIGHT HERE AND NOT BURIED IN SOME THIN-ARMORED CONSTRUCTS OUT THERE THREATENING THIS CITY'S ARENA?!"
"WE DON'T KNOW, MA'AM!"
"RIGHT ANSWER! Collect yourselves and make sure your weapons are ready since we might need to drown a big one in our blood!"
"YES MA'AM!"

>Tearing apart as it lands heavily, shards of the opposing false-Elemarentals lash at each other in savage motions, Broken Hoof's disintegrating body, mind, and soul protectively seize inwards.
>No longer threatening reality around her, the mare unable to form thoughts as she jolts in blurred short distances from the entrance towards the fountain, only a few Operators watch her trek.
>Utterly shut out by most equines, save a few willing to risk their sanity, or those that were unperturbed, the crackling form launches itself into one of the small translocation matrices.
[1d6 = 3]

>Catching the mixed Guards vocally checking each other, then physically testing themselves, the Overherd's dimly aware Psions reveal a few moderate and large numbers of minor Charger injuries.
>Aside from shattered bones, a few with organ bleeding, large hide tears, and ringing ears, barely a platune was at risk of dying, and that would take hours.
>Reaching outwards from her location, the lead mare's voice solemnly commarends those unicorns capable of restoration or recovery to begin their duties.
>Without so much as a complaint, Charger after Charger is hoisted aloft on either solar or lunar-tinged clouds, drifting them towards the Basin's northern buildings, Combat Support Division ranks laying out spreads of alchemicals.
('Leave them for the Imperial and Kingdom forces to deal with. The.. unknown pegasi's report is difficult to understand.')
>Taking over the Assault Vanguard's herd, the older stallion's voice returns, this time acidic and eager.
('That Spirit Walker and pegasi marecenary's task to shut down a relay is complete, and don't even THINK about asking, human technology isn't a topic we're ALLOWED to discuss, thank the Stone. Moor cats are involved somehow, and I'm not sure whether that's the best news or worst knowing how Winter equipped them with kanpri.
As for last portion of her report, that one's odd. The first pair of Argus Behemoth-Destroyers on Tallus was a pair sighted during the Kenfield Pass Incident, which I'm also not allowed to discuss, but almost all of this Assault Vangaurd was involved there.
Their role is that of a Planetary Invasion asset, and there haven't been any variant or similar models located since then. In fact... that might be the exact same pair. I'd have to study them a bit closer to know for sure.')

>Arms loose at sides in the southern entrance's deepest crater, the Minor Ethereal Champion remains bowed towards the last traces of Tainted fading amongst the living Chargers leaving the damage, collecting in similarly sized groups south of Basin Village.
>Armored head lifting, Vokreed stands, then stomps southwards and up the craters until reaching mostly flat stone, lifting gaze upwards as it grinds out words in Common Equestrian.
"Glory and honor to the redeemed, fallen, and living. This.. ...unit.... no. I am. I have seen. I have recorded. I am aware. I am cognizant of fear and death. I now understand."
>Lifting the Ethereal crystalline axe and shield upwards, the voice shifts into a quickly rumbling, triumphant tone.
"Equines of Tallus, I am Vokree! I pledge, as Grand Champion Belregard has, to serve until my destruction! Find your foes, lead me to them, and I shall refuse your deaths until my last fragmarent is shattered to nothing!"

>>370682
>>370711
>Lunar and Solar unicorns alike watch the primary, secondary, tertiary, and further detonations clearing off above Basin Village, slowly rejoining their focus.
>Tens of them blink, then fifty, a hundred, several hundred, and finally a thousand or so of unicorns reaching peak, sincere rage, well over a third of their number irrevocably blinded.
>Fury rising and threatening to split from the Overherd, the eldest viciously demarend order while the most sincere respond in calm, soothing appeasemarents, Lunars and Solars already teaching their aligned kin how to function in the same mareners they previously could without physical sight.

>Releasing a firm, calming exhale through the human-side of the Overherd, you feel rather than see the lead mare's mane bristling.
('Stop! Do not blame yourself! You and I did not and could not have known! None here besides Vestal Gardenia or-')
>Casting a threatening stare towards the Councilierge Assault Vanguard, both the lead stallion and lead mare instinctively, and hostilely, respond in reflex: their moods, images, and raw emotions confirm they didn't know damaging a Gestalt was possible, and were loathe to do so against even an enemy they were oathsworn to remove.
('As they so judge, you are not allowed to take that fault as your own. There are no answers available to us now, but you must make Razorback ready for what may, or will, come next.')

>A newer Mercenary Operator, at least a decade younger than you with a thick Islander accent snorts hotly, paused from angrily reloading a heavy pump-action shotgun, points an armored left index finger at the Basin's southern entrance, where not a single one of the Lancers had moved.
"What you think we doin'!? We heard mare, Constructs bigger than Mama Fortress runnin' down hot! Ain't none dead 'cept ponies an' not a fucken' scratch o-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! RELOAD EVERY BELT, MAGAZINE, CLIP, TUBE, AND GET YOUR ASSES READY!"
>Definitely an original Razorback One Hundred taking over, but at this point it was hard to tell which from the sheer hatred they were sharing.

>Hearing your mental voice, acknowledging the words, meanings, intentions, then quickly dismissing everything them, the Watch Guard General's concern shifts solely to Vestal Gardenia, the Lunar-borne mare succumbing to an empathic comatose state.

('Yes, a pair of Heavy Battleship Landers, which means at least ten Combat Destroyers and twenty Assault Landers each. That is a total of... eighty-six thousand Constructs.')
>The lead mare's voice sighs across the Overherd, briskly rubbing her irritated snout in slight Psionic forcefulness.. she was already having severe allergic reactions to Central Moors air contaminants, but trying to stall them.
>And failing miserably.
('Those Lunarites, or whatever they are, were ordered to reach the Citadel by the Watch General. They left two minutes ago.
....Starborn, I'm a low ranking Moderatis Shieldmare-Lieutenant, my only specialties are the study, emplacemarent, and directed actions of defensive units. I will never attempt to become a General, nor could I hoofle that amount of mass communication as Primal Psions are best suited to such a task.
As you should have heard, the marecenary pegasus reported their task successful, whatever that is, though Moor cats were involved in some form of possible combat exercise. I do not know what redirecting from the League Arena means, but I do have a great deal of information on what Argus Behemoth-Destroyers are.
This much I know: Constructs have ever spoken nor tried to communicate in known and recorded history. My dam is a Solar tactician of the previous generaton Silver Court, my sire a Stalliongradian from the Cold Mountain lineage. While I did not see through your eyes or experience what you may have, your words strike me as impossible. I cannot deny what you experienced, but likewise I cannot confirm your words without inescapable proof of such. Riftseekers are Abominations and Constructs both. What little information we have is inconclusive at best, and marginal at worst.
Regardless, the unicorns will need some time to find a safe locale outside the Construct's.. interference zone, and create a cohesive portal closest to Basin Arena.
....the Strikers are expended and can barely move, I will not ask them to aid us further. This is not a timeframe to ignore, especially not against the pressing number of Void spectrums now thinned to the point of spillover.')

>Expanding your thoughts outside the majority equine interconnected consciousnesses, bitterly focused Psionic imprints hanging back from the prior, a sharp, sweet-sour-protective anger of an aggressively helpful Construct pseudo-sentience nearby, reaching out towards the intensely familiar Arena:
>Four burning yellow hate and pain enraged eyes seeking beloved tiny allies-
>Poison-encased claws ripping, tearing, and joykilling hundreds of soft, furry, winged creatures that never felt its presence-
>Blood surging and ears ringing, trying to shriek through a choking reptilian throat at loud explosions shattering bone-

('Nightblade, it will take from ten to sixty seconds until the Lunar unicorns can find the closest safe landmark near Basin Arena. The Solar unicorns are willingly to follow their lead, but they do not know that region at all.')
[1d6 = 4] <Time Quotient

>>370710
>Sensing the Burning Pegasus making a neck-height bow, a focused image sinks across the Overherd towards you:
>The entire left side of her head, same side of her face, upper neck, and across her withers was entirely covered in thin, tightly clenched, demarending Tallus-bound chains, flesh around the injury contracting as she grins.
>"Damned amazing. What's left of the Council's been watching, they've starting t-"
>Head cocking and right eye rotating away for five seconds, Twisted's expression contracts in disbelief.
>"The fuck you mean she's not responding? ....SAY THAT AGAIN! .......THAT'S MORE BULLSHIT THAN A GOZKAN RANGER'S SECOND LINE MARCH! MAKE her listen or I'll shred her core and swallow the pieces!"
>Opening wide, then squinting directly at you, the Starborn General's chain-covered lips peel back in a snarl.
>"UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE! Flowing Spark's went insane after Luna was downed, she's trying to turn everything under the Citadel into magma!
Clem, the second you aren't involved in a major or critical mission get to the closest translocation matrice, there's an Enkee code that you don't need to know batpony to use! Say the words: 'nine moonberry flowers under blood red snow' and it'll bring you straight to the Lunar Council Underchamber, I've gotta get to that fucking Crystal Kingdom bitchmare before she slags the entire Citadel underworks and makes the Moon uninhabitable again-"

>Losing the Heart's Touch linkage as the Enchained pegasus snaps the contact in a rush, a thoroughly sorrowful whine emits from Blackhorn's heavy frame.
>It felt a logical, rational sensation akin to loss at the Tainted no longer in existence as hostiles; refusing to target ponies or Operators throughout Basin Village, the Construct barrel raises upwards to prevent any possibility of firing on friendlies, neutrals, and even technical hostiles.
>Producing thoughtforms entirely unlike your connection to Twisted Wing, the symbiote lacked recognizable demands and suggestions, yet was insisting on implications of warning, protection, and threats that weren't applicable to anything you knew.

>Temporarily ignoring Blackhorn's bizarre proto-sapient behavior, you close to Jeff's location at Basin Village's southern fountain edge, and similarly push aside knowledge of the Bloodhosts surrounding it.
>Taking the somewhat familiar hard cased laptop in both hands, inspecting the screen, listed controls, visible subroutines through a few button presses, then small control sticks... the available landing run was going to be awful.
>Redirecting the drone's path to swing low down low, hard southwest into a tight 180-degree loop, downwards even further, face north, then into a descent pattern aimed at four straight, quarter-mile sections of newly placed stone athways, the aptly named 'Reaper' wasn't impeded by what little remained from of cleared out trees at all.
>Instead, what hampered the wide-winged bastard was moderate combat damage leading to sincerely dogshit fly-by-interface-wire airframe controls, a lack of weight and overly wide wings that wouldn't slow it down in time, and a set of retardedly small sticks that even the best ISAF merc would have thrown out if asked to review.
>Maneuvering the Reaper's controls to touch down onto the third quarter-mile strip after well overshooting the fourth, you grimace at the drone's damage causing it to skip off the pathway, losing the left rear landing wheel.
>Marginally more successful at landing the Reaper down onto the second quarter-mile pathway, it was taxiing too fast for a complete stop.
>Controlling it into a barely ground-following run and approaching the last quarter-mile path, you force the Reaper into sharp, small banking maneuvers to bleed off speed, forcing it into a landing pattern with minimal speed remaining.
>Nearly flipping forwards, you control the Reaper's sway enough to halt it, barely 80M before it could run into the first rank of mixed Guard Charges.
>The laptop emits a short, prophetically satisfied electronic beep signifying a successful touch down.... ...which you barely manage to resist shooting a dozen holes into on account of it not being yours.

>Heavy clops from the right slow in pace, then halt several paces, a mid-50's stallion grunting with effort, the sound of a readied Impact Seal emitting a subtle whine.
>Local Overherd focusing on the Assault Vanguard's leader, though were unable to view through the silverine helmet, the Councilierge Master Lancer's words were hollow and distant as brick red eyes narrow behind clear diamondine eyeslits, focusing from you to Jeff.
"Not one record exists of Constructs talking, trying to, attempting to make peace, or neighgotiate, Master Clemency. Believe me, most of my unit was there at Kenfield Pass. Have the scars and medals to prove that much. We tore apart over nearly two hundred thousand Constructs and well over five million Otherworld Golems on their Eternal March.
And.. there's never been another pair of Argus Behemoth-Destroyers since then. I'll say this for the-"
>Pausing to survey the closest ranks of Lunars, Solars, and Stalliongradians, the middle aged stallion's attitude changes to one of sincere loathing, looking back up at you with coldly calculating eyes.
"Your mare brought a gigantic Riftseeker down in 29,976. Barely two thousand Ferron with wingblades, hoofclaws, hoofblades, short twin-beam lances, a few bombs, mines, and enchanted weapons between them all."
>Turning thoughful eyes at Jeff for a momarent, then offering him a brief nod, the silverine helmet swivels, bitter eyes staring at you rigidly.
"My Vanguard was responsible for destroying nine pairs of Argus Dominator-Reavers, which is nothign in comparison. None here have ever dealt with a Riftseeker, but we're more than fucking ready to die for the honor of killing one. Get us close enough to rip into it's biometallic guts, and not one pony will ever speak negatively about this night."

>>370716
>"You got it. I'll be there when I can."
>Alongside the crazy talking Constructs and Rift Seeker, now the Citadel is going to sink into the Moon
>Focusing again, Clem looks toward the image
>"In the meantime, slap some sense into her. A lot of sense."

>>370711
>Clemency winces at the state the Reaper was in and the landing he was going to make it do
>He watches the camera feed bounce hard then shift
>His mind races as he tries to salvage the landing run and prevent the thing from completely falling apart
>Hell, they barely had to do this back home
>Everything was AI controlled by then anyway
>Practically making the thing skid to a halt like some cartoon vehicle, Clem's grip tightens on the control sticks as the laptop mocking beeps at him
>He closes the laptop and sets it aside
"You know this thing is almost sentient. Blackhorn it's called. Anyways, you're on to something with the Constructs. IF we can talk back, maybe a dialogue can be made."
>Clemency shakes his head at the statement
"Fucking sounds crazy."
>Getting up, seeing Jeff's outstretched hand jostles his memory
>Unslinging his backpack, he rummages for the scope
>Finding it, he inspects it for damage before handing it over to Jeff
"At least this things unscathed."
>Sling his backpack, he rests his hands holding onto the straps
"If I go back, sure. But I think a good chunk of the Fortress is here. Oh, and the Citadel is under threat of sinking into the Moon. Twisted talked to me about that. She said Flowing Spark is slagging the Citadel underground and went insane. Told me a passphrase to the underchamber to help out whenever I get the time."

>Hearing the heavy hoofsteps, Clemency turns his attention to the Councilierge stallion
>He must've overheard their conversation
>Clemency crosses his arms before responding
"I don't doubt that no records exist of Constructs speaking, especially to one with experience. But me and Jeff saw what we saw. Maybe our tech is their first medium for them to communicate through."
>Following his gaze to the ranks of ponies, he looks back at the stallion before shaking his head
>He looks over to Jeff
"Yeah, whatever is going on at the Arena needs to be investigated. I'd prefer one giant enemy over that and an army of murderbots. Thoughts?"

>>370703
"Everything we serve is liked by humans, except for dietary needs or specialties. We're pretty limited on storage space so it's a lot easier to get seasonal foods in. Also means we aren't wasting anything!"
>Food service was either an honored profession here or sincerely enjoyed, but probably both.
>Setting down a stainless steel wire rack filled with twenty different small shaker jars, each labeled, Pella's left wing raises at a high angle, the left fanned in front of her while delivering a short, cheerful bow.
"You're welcome! It's not often I get to show the best Ferron and batpony foods, and as for him..."
>Taking two steps back and removing the hoofboots, her eyes shift right, a razor thin, possibly irritated smile creases her lips.
"I'll just say he's getting pickled right now, not quite ready to serve just yet. Oh, if you want alcoholic drinks we've got almost everything over there, even have a couple specials: mango liqueurs and vodka are real popular now."
>The first large right wingblade points towards the Mess Hall's north side, a slightly short, well made minibar, wall shelves covered in bottles of every color you knew and some that definitely violated normal laws of physics.
>Ten large swiveling bar stools, designed for humans and ponies alike, were intended to make one relax forwards onto the bar counter, or so the bartender could keep a close eye on how inebriated patrons were.
>You also note a rather amusing, shiny plaque with a set of rules in the center, although where a name, or names, had been were missing.
"It's.... serve serve only now."
>The last two words end on subtly angered tones, the pink winged mare dumping her boots into a central sink and cleaning them with a flat expression.

>Checking the other humans seated around, none of them looked particularly welcoming, though that was due to large amounts of stress, agitation, and moderate shock or fear from a few.
>The three least likely to cause trouble was a group of 30's to 50's mercenaries and veterans in swamp land camo, the mixed bunch with the winter sniper, and a half full table of mostly East European rookies, an older commissar-type in a possibly antique, fur-trimmed gray uniform.

>>370709
>Picking up the hints, Mercy's body language eases as she returns a slight mane ruffle, her gaze turning to towards the giant north screen, then the south.
"They have ceased construction on the gateway, but we have not even begun to-"
>Ears perking and trailing off, a visible amount of historical knowledge creeps forwards into her consciousness, then figuratively backflips straight into a chasm as she speaks in a clear, yet dazed tone.
"....did they steal entire cities? Dig them up? Make copies from examples or damaged ones? I recognize some of the weapons and armors, there are maybe three of left now, but.. why do they have a thousand baking pans, cups, bowls, blankets, bed frames? Pillows. Pillows? Why?
...that is an actual floatplate-rigged Sunsail outrider boat.. without any damage. Why does it have Old Canterlot nobility markings? I recognize the leaf symbol.. eighty or so mid-28,800's premade houses still together. Sealed. In their original boxes. Unopened too, tamper seals are intact. Those would be worth tens of thousands each for just the wood.. parts from numerous siege rams.. a whole siege ram? Yes, disassembled.. a complete Lunar Guardian field forge.. no, not complete, the anvil, alchemical chambers, and three of the hammers are missing.."
>Losing the other mare to questioning herself at random, it takes a few seconds to realize she had a rather large amount of information on Lunar-Solar War specifics, albeit without any particular focus.
[1d6 = 4] <Apprentice Research
[1d6 = 5]
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7] <Pupil Armor & Weaponry Studies
[1d6+2 = (5+2) = 7]
[1d6+3 = (6+3) = 9] <Adept Lunar-Solar War
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6]
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5] <Proficient Late Lunar Armor & Weaponry
[1d6+4 = (1+4) = 5]
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] <Graduate Archaic Pegasi
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8]
[1d6+5 = (5+5) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7] <Graduate Minotaur Hegemony
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7] <Teacher Cloudsdale
[1d6+6 = (5+6) = 11]
[1d6+6 = (4+6) = 10]
[1d6+6 = (2+6) = 8]
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]

>An odd twitch from the left faux-batpony wingclaws orient in your direction, two slight thrumming sounds emitting from the amorphous mass on Mercy's saddle follows as the pearlescent white-faced barrels tilt downwards one degree.
>...was it taunting you?
>Were they?

>Breaking herself out of scattered external questions, Mercy blinks at hoofboot contacting stone.
"That is a horrible idea. The Void spectrums here are far too thin to risk separating from you and I have no idea what threats are close by."
>Making an agitated snout twitch and glancing at the southern Argus, she calls towards it, wings half-outstretched.
"I will return here to complete our trade before the Riftseeker's gate is opened."
"Demarend-request of future-current item-object-possession trade confirmed-accepted-acknowledged-recognized."
>Receiving a muted static-laden noise from the pair, she turns to follow you, pinksteel wingblades glowing faintly.
"At least allow me to carry you for a distance-"
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <B.Auto-Ambush
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <B.Auto-Stealth
[1d6+4 = (2+4) = 6]
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <B.Perception
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9]
[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Reveal Unnatural

>Picking the closest way down as the Repair model, hopping off the Arena's east side roof would be the most efficient and at this height would allow at least a minute of gliding time.

[1d6+4 = (5+4) = 9] <Small Cross-Spectrum Rift Gateway Construction
Large Rift Gate: 39% Complete
[1d6+10 = (3+10) = 13] <Argus Behemoth-Destroyer Pair: Comprehend-Study-Research-Categorize-Define

>>370728
>Cheto silently nodded and listened intently, absentmindedly taking the tiniest of bites at his plate.
>A part of him felt a little hurt at hearing the various inconveniences and mishaps, causing his smile to falter just a little bit for a moment.
>However, he knew just the thing to cheer her up just a little bit!
(Gotta end things on a good note!)
"I'll pass on the alcohol. Thank you, though. Here's a little tip as a token of my gratitude for your assistance."
>With that grand announcement, his hand soon ventured forth to give Pella a quick little boop on the snout.
"Have a great day, missus Pella!"

>With that wrapped up, he soon opted to tentatively venture the mixed bag of operators with a mostly neutral expression so as to not look too chipper.
>He had a bad feeling that if he showed any overly positive emotion, he'd be looked down upon.
>After all, some random dude sitting on your table with a childishly excited smile when your work involves death-tempting stress would feel like an insult, right?
(Wait, no, you're overthinking this. Don't be scared, they're human like you. Relajate.)
>He tentatively licks the back of his teeth before striding with a little more energy and confidence towards an empty spot on that table, brandishing a more natural and amicable smile towards the table full of seemingly grizzled veterans.
"Excuse me. Is this spot taken?"

>>370712
"How far behind is Razorback? ..this is ridiculous."
>Staring ahead blankly for a bit, Katyal's hands clasp together on her stomach, speaking in careful explanatory tones.
"Wasn't talking about concepts themselves, least not directly. Our understanding of an object gets combined with an individual or group's bias. That creates a historical context of why an object exists. Ponies feel that dissonance or lack thereof, except for outcasts, outliers, special cases. Don't know about other species.
My rifle's a good example. Built for two tasks: hunting down monsters, or protecting people from the same. Ponies acknowledge and react to it like they would a weapon of their own. Merely seeing it shows a notion of positively reinforced predatory-defensive behaviors. Call that objective bias recognition.
But, when I start reaching for my subgun or pistol those same ponies get leery, touchy, or worried. Why? Those were designed to kill armored humans in partial to near-complete takeover stages. Ponies hate that idea instinctively so they apply the context of both to the individual's actions. Again, excluding outcasts and outliers.
That's the absolute basics. They feel the intentions of concepts even if they don't understand why. Or how."
>Right hand tapping her side lightly, the woman's expression eases, glancing to you with raised eyebrows.
"Cadenza represents Spring. The joy of a warm sleep during bitterly cold nights, waking up to frost covering everything, watching it all slowly melt. Getting to see flora reviving or growing new, seeing young grow up, finding themselves and each other. The early, most fun parts of life really. That's part of why she's called Rebirth.
Solarbitch is Summer, but she used to be Spring. Don't know why they switched, and I'm not not talking about her beyond that.
Queen Kissybug is Fall. Changelings are weird to most ponies, similar yet not. Chrysalis doesn't take a single action or speak one word more than necessary. Never reveals something unless that benefits everypony equally. Knows where every cache, failsafe, or route is. Figuratively.. maybe literally. Her children are always bonded together, and, just like her, prepared. She treats them all with equal, sincere joy.
Ancient joke some Bronze Guardians use to explain them: your third task is to understand that Fall is the season to prepare, says the training officer. For what, asks the rookie? The officer's face turns red, then he screams: EVERYTHING!
Luna is Winter. You see the Moon every night, and wonder what else is up there besides all those half-Elemarentals. Her stars are too far away to touch, but they don't hide. Each one has a name and memory to it, acting as guides with meanings that won't fade.
Herself? Clear sense of purpose, a touch chilly at first, and has a cold, calculating memory. Later comes sheer, unstoppable danger that doesn't end; you can only avoid Winter for so long since it'll always find a way in.
Then there's Princess Argenta. After the nuke went off in Canterlot, she banned humans from entering her city-state unless they swear a few oaths. Even then we can only be in her lands to trade or learn. Used to be a perfect balance of the Four Great Seasons, but leans more towards Fall and Winter. Mostly the second now."
>Tongue clicking once, her focus trails from the hatch from Dul to you, lips tightening pensively at the dagger's location.
"Yeah, the physical corruption was, but.. I don't have months to teach you all about ka. Best I can do is make sure there's no long term effects.
And whoever put that together was rushing. As it is right now it's got promise. In any case, we'll start low and slow."

>Spending the next four hours in increasingly complex engagements, Katyal displays zero pain or discomfort in using her entire body as a weapon, hammering the shield until forcing it to disengage from reality, pressing its limits and your reaction times to combine it with the pinksteel weapon.
>Switching off for Dul's equally capable, barely comprehensible system revolving around sabotaging obstacles, assaulting from hard to predict angles, and denying advantages by passing through spectrums without warning, the pair's efforts aid you in creating a functional, highly ersatz rapid paced combat methodology.
>Taking a ten minute break every half hour to unwind and present tactical demonstrations of maximizing the rather unorthodox enchantmarent and weapon combination, Katyal returns to her seat, pulling the bag out from underneath for a large, luxurious bright yellow beach towel to wipe off.
>While you didn't physically feel different, there was a trace sense of attachment forming.
>To what, you weren't sure yet.
"Giving that enchantmarent a solid nine of ten.
Upsides: not physical, no concerns over repairs, getting shocked by lightning, lit on fire, frozen to your hand, or worse. Can't be removed or forcibly dismissed, those are huge. Might resist banishmarent, but I'm not experienced enough to try that.
Downsides: lasts just long enough to take a bunch of small hits or a couple big ones. Near-instant to ten second range of function, obviously takes minimal effort for you to summon. Since it isn't physical, can't be enchanted, which is both good and bad."
>Eyeing the roughly made blade, Katyal's eyebrows narrow, studying it in speculative thought.
"Decent at deflecting small weapons. Sticky enchantmarent is great for in-your-face assaults, possibly target-from-the-rear eliminations. Good enough.
There is an imprint or stain though. Real old, not cohesive. Not something we have time to investigate."
>Glancing at Dul in the OL-3's center, seemingly asleep and stretched out comfortably, Katyal glances up at the roof with a slight twitch.
[1d6 = 3] <Planar Adapt: Tallus
"Hour before dawn or so. Hodch, Lonestar, anywhere to stop and stay in cover?"
*"This is a permafrost region, so options will be quite limited."*
*"Trying to find somewhere good, but I don't like those clouds."*

[1d150 = 9] <Location

>>370731
>Sunny cast a look back at the screens once again, examining them more closely. Perhaps she could glean something from them that she had missed earlier. Though her working theory was that archaeology and study were some part of how they evolved, there could be more to it than that.

[1d6 = 2] < Apprentice Research
[1d6 = 4]
[1d6 = 1] < Pupil Constructs
[1d6 = 6] < Pupil Equestria
[1d6 = 3] < Pupil Solar Military
[1d6 = 6] < Pupil Lunar Military
[1d6 = 2] < Pupil Tallus Mercenaries
[1d6 = 1] < Pupil Crystal Empire

>Heaving a sigh, knowing full well how dangerous the moors were, Sunny replied
"I know, but this is bigger than me. Constructs have never communicated before, never traded before. Think about it, the first thing you did when we got here was attack, if the conflict at the Basin Village ends in our favour, where do you think those forces are headed next? Do you think they'll hesitate any more than we did?"
>Sunny continued in a lower tone.
<Pegasi> "They have learned to communicate, and they have learned to trade. We can't afford for them to learn betrayal. Fly fast, Mercy, go. Seconds count."
>She didn't wait for a response, and didn't give her a chance to argue. Sunny, likewise, hid herself from sight and left at a gallop.

[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] < M. Stealth
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8]

[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9] < E.Sprint
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7]

>>370737
>Pareidolia watches Katyal as she explains in some detail the instinctual nature of ponies and their ability to detect intent.
>He sighs lightly in resignation, nodding.
(Waste of time. Likely too acclimated to understand the nuance of my concern. Can't expect most humans to.)
"That is new knowledge to me, though it doesn't address my concerns. But nevermind. Unimportant."

...

>Taking a moment to orient himself after the latest batch of unorthodox training exercises, he wills the Tate into existence once more in the shape of a stereotypical rectangular riot shield, willing it to remain past its usual limit while having it Stick to his left arm.
[1d6+6 = (1+6) = 7]< Dragon-Scale Sphere: Tate
[1d6+2 = (6+2) = 8]< Basic Iron Will
[1d6+2 = (4+2) = 6]

>Testing its weight and mass, he attempts to backstep, sidestep, and lunge with the shield on his arm. Familiarizing himself with its weight so as to not offset his balance.

"Extremely unorthodox training regimen."
>He pantomimes a few deflections with his dagger.
"My training preferred avoiding head-on assaults. Only reinforced with experience on Tallus. Disparities in physical strength and mass make direct melee confrontation a disadvantage. But I may need to incorporate more flexibility into my tactics. Unclear how successful it will be without consistent squad composition."

>Sheathing the dagger as his shield finally dissipates, he follows Katyal's gaze.
"What clouds are you seeing?"
>He moves to open the roof hatch slightly to see for himself.
"Is your vision enchanted?"

>>370738
>Halting and turning to study the vast amount of items, objects, weapons, armors, relics, artifacts, and far more, there were several distinct patterns to why they were being sorted out on the displays:
>The importances of improving life, preserving life, protection, then herd comfort, with the last being unknown to Construct studies and research.
>For Constructs themselves, it seemed their primary focus was entirely offensive and defensive, which the various Equestrian and Lunar Military designs were rated from marginally to proportionally more effective than Rushyan, Prench, Neighsian, Minotaur, or all other examples, most of which you didn't know.
>Studying the slowly scrolling by older, lost, forgotten, modified, improved, destroyed, and purposefilly banned enchantmarents, the Lunar-Solar War Era's vast examples had long since been rated in terms of effectiveness against specific targets, primarily heavy armor and probability of evading.
>Constructs were definitely averse to the more esoteric, reality destroying, physics-bending or twisting, and Elemarental violations that Lunar examples were long known for.
>Some even had specific threat indexes displayed below them, the least of which was rated quite favorably against Constructs themselves.
>On the other hoof, the more recognizable Solar designs were similarly classified on ability to destroy armor at range, blind, deafen, and damage.
>While you note the various forms of Plasma and visible spectrum or wavelength enchantmarents were profoundly well studied by Constructs, they had equal threat indexes.
>Among the dated Tallus marecenary preferred armors, weapons, enchantmarents, materials, tools, various other kit, and especially foods or drinks, when compared to Lunar and Solar versions the variety of Germaneighan and Neighsian assets were considerably more fear inducing.
>The hundred thousand plus examples from Crystal Conclave, Kingdom, and Empire assets were in their own strictly denoted sections, and with such little recorded data on them they were likely impossible for Constructs to study; it was unclear whether that was due to an inability to emulate or copy Crystal pony harmonics.
>Whether the Argus Behemoth-Destroyers had assembled the hundred million, but probably far more, museum-grade pieces to study and rate them, it was becoming clear that Rift Constructs themselves had been entirely unable to copy the majority of Tallus inventions.
>Part of their evolution seemed backwards to you: adapting technologically concepts for their own usage, armor or weapons primarily, but had been moving away from exotic and esoteric weapons in the past 6,000 years.
>While you knew the Rift was in perpetual war with the Ethereal, Vortex, and Dominion Planes, it was highly probable they would have conquered at least one by now if Constructs had the ability to produce even the most basic of enchantmarents.

>Lost in equally incomprehensible thoughts, as you leap off the Arena's east side roof into a rapid descending glide towards what you could see of the long, winding and restored pathway ahead, Mercy catches up after a few rapid wing flaps, settling in to skim air on your left.
"I know precisely what anypony except for you might do, but I wanted to destroy the gate. That was the most logical choice, not the pair as they were too large and well armed hoofle quickly. They were not even.. interested in us-"
>The Spirit Walker's mane stiffens in outright refusal, head shaking quickly as she turns an a troubled expression towards you, though her open mood had faint pangs of feeling betrayed.
<Pegasi> "Sunny, our own precepts of treachery or betrayal are not compatible with the Rift's strict logic, hierarchy, and intentions. The best I can describe it is like this: cutting an entire leg off when the edge of a hoof suffers a small chip. I cannot feel more than common swarmers and a few lurkers in the deeper swamps, but I will leave this one with you for now-"
>Glancing at the weapon barrels projected out in front of her wings, the blind mare speaks in a soft, gently reassuring voice.
"I need you to protect Sunny, stay with her until we unite once more-"
>As the pair of faux-batpony wings separate from her, streaking blurs of white, hot pink, and blood red descend from sight into the thinnest, MUCH more dangerous lower gravity Void spectrums.
[1d6+4 = (4+4) = 8] <Spectrum Shift: Hostile
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <B.Perception
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7]
[1d6+8 = (4+8) = 12] <E.Flight
[1d6+8 = (6+8) = 14]
[1d6+8 = (2+8) = 10]
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Reveal Unnatural: Void

>The unit's pseudo-skin ripples outwards in fluid motions, becoming a full-sized, subdued orange feral batpony stallion in flight above you, emitting a low pitched, irritated snarl.
>Particle Whips shunting onto the withers, now connected by thick, solid hexagonal cylinders, the head bends down smoothly, pearl white eyes peering at you for a half-second, then rigidly assumes a protective flight formation overhead.
>While the form would have been a shocking Uncanny Valley, the correctness of its aggressive, archaic features was, mostly, odd, and more than a few touches confusing.
[1d6 = 5] <Embraced Self-Adaptation
[1d6+2 = (4+2) = 6] <Pegasi-Derived Defensive Methodology: Ally-Defense Engrams
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] <Construct Realspace Scanning Protocols
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7]
[1d6+4 = (3+4) = 7] <Protective Flight-Formation
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <Expanded Physicality Engrams
[1d6+5 = (3+5) = 8] <E.Flight
[1d6+5 = (4+5) = 9]
[1d6+5 = (6+5) = 11]

>>370406
"I do not know what was going through their minds either, aside from 'we need to get something out or get executed'. Quite frankly, the entire concept of the T-28 and 35s were... ambitiously misplaced."
>While I wasn't that much of a scholar on how bad some of our tanks were, even I knew that at the time, landships were obsolete.
>Very obsolete.

"At least I recognize that symbol... Never really asked about it, figured it was some sort of chemical agent symbol."
>Tapping a finger against my knee, I absorbed the information hungrily.
>Anything to get a better chance of survival was important.
"I can expect that future earths have made ways to figure out if a place has radiation or not, like... I think the Yanks? They have this sort of paint to indicate certain chemical gases in the area... A few of our vehicles that were shipped over had that on it."

>I watch the process as she replaces her hand back where it belongs.
"That... would definitely fit into something out of a science fiction novel about an unstoppable creature, I'll be honest."
>Officially I have never read a science fiction book.

>>370533
"Shame you're not able to get everything that you need. I'd be glad to help if there's something I can do."
>Smiths in the Zone were much the same as he is now, overworked and under supplied.
>Especially the more isolated factions like his own.
"Several factions in the Zone are very similar to that, though it is still... very rough, and only promotes the good of the faction instead of every STALKER. The main problem is that it would only take a handful of inward focusing humans to gain power to completely reverse the ideology towards something that is communal in name only."
>Frowning, Ivan tapped his PDA.
"The only way that really succeeded would be in small, tribal communities. Too many people and it all crumbles down for us."

>Focusing on Helping's words, Ivan's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
>"A new Zone here..?"
"That... certainly sounds like the Zone's call. There wasn't a 'cure' back home for it either, a STALKER's fate was more often than not tied to her seductive voice. As well as.. some residents, who never left when it was first created. I know of one man who's been there for decades."
>He sighs and shifts in his seat.
"Alcohol helps quiet it down, for a time. Sobriety is when I feel the pull back the strongest. Some turn to drugs to quell it, but I'm not destroying my body that intensely."

>>370746
>That Constructs had trouble with esoteric mechanics was well known to her, that is, forces and phenomena that lay outside the mundane. Magic, harmonics. They were primarily, as near as she could tell, mechanical entities, not literally, but figuratively. They could observe, even identify magic and other esoteric phenomena, but could not seem to reproduce it, and as such were limited to a smaller dimensional range in the phenomena they could manipulate for their own purposes.
>Perhaps it could be related to their lack of a soul, spirit, or ka as it was referred to. Yet that was in the realm of pure speculation, she could not say for sure whether they had them or not, if they had their own equivalent, or whether a lack of soul even factored into their lack of evolution in the field of esoterics.

"Yes, and the destroyer pair have a vested interest in the gate being completed, and as you saw, they're willing to defend it. Whether that be through negotiation, which is a new trick for them, or via force, which I have no doubt they would have employed if we hadn't stopped."
>Sunny rubbed her temple with a wing.
"Not betrayal in the way that we would understand it, based on negative emotional traits, but betrayal in the rawest, most logical sense. To have one's cake and eat it. Resource maximisation. I fear that if the forces at the Basin Village attack the destroyers, they will view that as us attempting to extract maximum value from them, both materially and strategically. If they're not aware of that already, then they may conclude that this form of betrayal is the most optimal course to achieve their objectives, and that leads into them learning how to use deception strategically."
>Taking breaths as she galloped, Sunny continued.
"They don't discriminate between factions as far as I can tell, to them, I suspect they view this entire world as a singular cohesive organisation like themselves. A collective of collectives with open communication between collectives. It would explain why they see the humans using advanced weaponry, then employ equivalent weaponry against forces whom are then outmatched by them. If they evolve deceptive capabilities, they could inflict devastating losses before that knowledge got out and the strategy accounted for in further engagements with them. Simply because no one would expect them to, anymore than we expected them to talk."

>Sunny was prepared to protest Mercy leaving her with the Construct symbiote, but she was already gone.
>She did not, and probably never would trust the thing. As far as she were concerned, Constructs were allowing themselves to be modified and bound to organics to aid their own evolution.
>What faster means of study could there be than gaining intimate access to knowledge that was otherwise not immediately obvious to them? Entirely skipping the process of study.
>This one had even learned to take an equine shape, what implications did that have?
>Whatever, the cat was already out of the box on this one, she just had to keep galloping.
>Even then, it would take her much longer than Mercy to reach Basin Village, or at least get out of the destroyer pair's jamming range.
>Hopefully Mercy would intercept them first and at least prevent them from teleporting straight into the Arena, though they would be insane to do that.
>It wasn't as if they'd done that with herself and Mercy.
>Though if they wanted to stage their forces first before attacking, they would likely choose somewhere nearby. Clear space, readily recognisable from the air, easy access path to the Arena for a large, ground-based force.

[1d6 = 6] < Apprentice Tactician
[1d6 = 1]

>Hopefully Sunny wouldn't attract negative attention while she was closer to the void.
>Or from anything more physical. It should be fine if she stuck to the roads, or what was left them.

[1d6+7 = (3+7) = 10] < M.Stealth
[1d6+7 = (3+7) = 10]
[1d6+7 = (3+7) = 10]
[1d6+7 = (5+7) = 12]

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

>>370715
>Concluding conversations with mental nods, he blocks out the Overherd shouting of both humans and ponies to focus on the lead mare.
>So the General took care of the Lunarites for them? He wishes he could have seen them all the way to the Citadel, but his focus needs to be here now.
>He bids them a silent sigh of good luck before getting back on track.
('Only eighty-six thousand huh.? Lovely...')
>Jeff thinks back on Sunny and Mercy's original departure. The Constructs have been chasing their communication technology, so shutting down the relay would have been a priority.
('Razorback was allowed to install a relay at the Arena to boost our communication technology across the Moors and Basin Village area, so naturally the Constructs have been attracted to and interfering with them tonite. Shutting it off would be a priority to deter them, hopefully.')
>He soaks in the mare's concerns, then opens up his TacPad's screen and goes to the live feed playback.
>Scrolling only a minute or two backward shows his camera caught the module's screen showing the jumbled choppy and somewhat creepy text of the Construct's interference.
('Well if you want proof, I may have caught the interference from my drone's control module on my camera. Which I can show others... so if that's enough, you're more than welcome to come to me and review it.')

>His gut feeling showed him something unexpected. Quick glimpses. Broken, but enough to work on.
>A Constructs will and the Basin Arena.
>Four yellow eyes, desperate, pining for its friends. Is it the Construct, or another being.
>Poison claws, reptilian, possibly attacking... Moor cats? An ambush predator, if it can sneak up on those little rascals...
>Pain. Explosions. Not from humans or ponies. Only Sunny and Mercy should be over there.
>Perhaps the Constructs, or the Rift Seeker.
>A predatory reptilian creature, hunting Moor cats and protecting its young? Maybe living around... or under the Basin Arena?
>He stops his speculation, and sticks to the solid facts he has to cross reference what he knows about the Moors natural habitat as well as opening the TacPads Flora and Fauna Encyclopedia.
[1d6+3 = (4+3) = 7] <Apprentice Ecologist
[1d+3]
[1d6+7 = (2+7) = 9] <Proficient Lore: The Moors
[1d6+7 = (2+7) = 9]
[1d6+7 = (2+7) = 9]
('Understood. I'll get Razorback prepared.')

>>370725
>Clem gets a feeling for the controls, which puts him at ease. Not like its' too difficult to fly, at least.
>But it gets rough as he starts the landing process.
>Jeff physically winces as he watches the drone's camera bounce to and from multiple pathways before finally coming to a rough but safe stop.
>Letting out an amused sigh, he pats Clem on the back as the module is closed up.
"Phewhew! Nice landing! I definitely would've bungled that. I definitley out you a beer or a pack, later."
>He looks over at the Construct-combined Spas-12, something out of a sci-fi videogame. Impressive. Still a little jealous.
"Funny you mention sentient weapons. Those Lunarites offered me a weapon of my choice from their stores."
>Ge draws the diamondine biteblade from its sheath for his friend to look, before storing it back in.
"Diamondine, but light. I wouldn't call it sentient... but there's 'something' inside it. Would love to know its story and capabilities, before I put it to use."
>As Clem continues, Jeff pulls out his duct tape and one of his Tracking Gems and tapes it tightly around the module's carry handle and sets a marker for it on his TacPad's GPS.
>He takes his scope back from Clem with a "Thank You" and stores it in his pack.
>Murmuring over the Moon base's state, he squints his eyes trying to remember the name.
"Fuck. And here I was planning on going back up there, after this, unless you need help. Flowing Spark... that's that Flame Naghtmare. Why in Tartarus would she be doing tha- you know what? Yeah, lets stow it for now. Keep the passphrase to yourself. Not here."

>Jeff takes a knee and puts a hand over his eyes to block out as much external stimuli so he can focus on the human forces in the Village through the Overherd.
>He doesn't know it it was the Overherd, or the long night he's already had, but the mental exhaustion was setting in. His body wasn't too far off from catching up with him.
"I need a hot second and assess. How about you get the Rookie squads organized, Rookie Herder. Maybe a rear-guard, if we have to fight something big. I think there's something else in play over there too, not Construct. Not sure yet... heads starting to ache."
>Checking over every rank-oriented squad, he looks over any advantages they would have against Constructs. Or something Reptilian in nature. If they don't, they'd have to settle for a support capacity instead of direct action. Not like they weren't already handicapped to that...
[1d6+9 = (4+9) = 13] <Teacher: Razorback Company
[1d6+9 = (3+9) = 12]
[1d6+9 = (2+9) = 11]
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14]
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14]
[1d6+9 = (1+9) = 10]
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6] <Observer Tactician
[1d6+5 = (1+5) = 6]
('Razorback. Collapse onto my position or wherever there's room. Unicorns are prepping portals to the Basin Arena in less than a minute. I want Elite, Mercenary, Veteran, and Rookie squads ready to move through in that order.')

>>370680
>He didn't forget Lont, who had been bringing his own Crystal-aligned allies with him. Now, they could potentially get some action.
>Beside, it's hard to miss him now with those pink wings.
('Hey Lont. How're you holding up. Where are you at with any friends you brought with you? I'm getting our guys ready to mobilize for round two.')

>>370750
[1d6+3 = (3+3) = 6] <Apprentice Ecologist

>>370739
>Summon the flexible shield into view, this time you were able to, barely, sense it had a tenuous grasp in Tallus realspace, minimal effectiveness degraded considerably from random entropic conditions.
>At the ten second mark, it becomes steadily more difficult to retain the Tate's condition, though manage to hold it to eighteen seconds before the enchantmarent dissipates, feeling slightly drained, but not physically, from the attempt.

>Briskly scrubbing her neck, chest, then arms down, Katyal's face tightens in positive motions.
"For how small that blade is, had to be, but I'll never advise getting in close with most targets on this planet unless you're expressly prepared to stun and run, or have plenty of explosives to spare like I do. Either way, at worst you get one brutal ambush in, maybe even take a risk purifying something temporarily. Not a chance to take lightly, but you need every damned edge possible.
Believe me, I know how big a gap the strength differentials are. Me against an average combat pegasus without weapons or armor is automatically one-quarter in the pegasi's favor. I've got surprise, tactics, threats, especially against mares, and a big hammer to even the odds, but after the first strike they'll be awake and aware. And once a pony goes berserk? Not a chance.
Best option humans have is staying at LONG range in every situation, but those that specialize in range, like Minotaurs, unicorns, Mystics, Druids, Crystal ponies, Psions.. best to make friends with them. Surrendering works well too, especially if you're willing to trade information or simply leave."
>Eyeing your locker for three seconds, then back at the roof, the woman shrugs, drying her abdomen and sides.
"Minotaur blade used to be one of their blade-spear chopping designs back when the League existed, must've been destroyed during their Civil War and refit in a hurry for younger Initiates. I have precisely zero experience with swords especially since they're much harder to master than a pointy stick, axe, mace, or hammer. Best stick to using that unless there's no other choice."

>As you pull the latch open and lift it, the Overlander slows to a quiet, rolling pace, allowing you to see treetops now covered in eerily silent clouds, each one either a shimmering blood red, a violently lashing royal purple, or rippling dark blue.
>Recalling how tall the trees were before, now you couldn't calculate the width or height.
"Last time Lunar clouds anything like that were spotted.. started with Lunars being accused of crimes they didn't commit and ended with Plasmahooves executing an entire city-state's worth of ponies.
And no, nothing that simple. I see the same way Saddle Arabian Mystics do. I'm secondmare in Folu's herd, learned to sense meanings, ka, intentions, moods, concepts, herds, and connections through her. Specific thoughts, feelings, or images are rare, but they do happen. As for those-"
>Folding the towel in half and brushing her legs with deliberate firmness, Katyal's voice drops to a low, deeply respectful roll.
"The Nightmare is about to become the Reaper once more, and Tallus is getting ready to show what Winter truly is to those that either forgot or don't know."

*"We've been seeing them for a while now, nothing.. active from what we can tell. Passed a ton of destroyed and looted Dynasty ruins so far, nothing with an intact roof. Even the underground buildings were collapsed, or... removed, weird as that sounds to say."*
*"Hm. There is a deadfall of trees northeast of here three-point-six miles, that should work."*
*"Not an option, there's always some fucking creature making a home where there's even the slightest cover."*
*"I cannot possibly fit your vehicle inside the Storm King's Room and staying outside even with all possible wards and protections is a lethal risk. The Room has more than enough space for ten, but we will need to rotate a guard throughout the day."*
>Blinking from her position, Dul stands up, shaking each leg from its taffy appearance into their previously dimly shined state.
"Dul not need sleep. Sirens lots watch things, stuff, ponies. Dul not get bored, Dul have lots to think of."
>Tapping her knees and flexing out both legs, the First Responder's
"Hodch, you know more about these giant regions than all of us combined."
*"Well.. back when I was still a naive young stallion with the Underground, and Spiral, we were able to survey some of the ruin's surroundings when the various locals did not feel like destroying everything in sight, let alone the cursed flora.
There was much worse beyond the barriers; old experimarents, some Elemarentally imbued mutants from the same, no less than five Abominations, and no Undead or Infected. Then there were the new creatures from the so-called mythical 'Center' the older Crystal ponies are loathe to talk about. I do not want to think about those just yet.
We have not seen much out of or in place, and there have been no megafauna yet. The flora though.. clusters of parli-fenar, mirror-toxin vines, or chillsnap poison leaves are not as bad, those I can treat. I would rather risk the fauna than try to continue with all of us suffering from further sleep deprivation."*
*"Fine, we'll check it out but Ah ain't happy 'bout this."*
*"Your engrams are slipping in."*
*"....Ah know.."*
[1d6+9 = (5+9) = 14] <GM.Mysticism: Cascading-Sweep
[1d6+9 = (3+9) = 12]
[1d6+9 = (1+9) = 10]
[1d6+9 = (6+9) = 15]
[1d6+4 = (6+4) = 10] <ExoTech Optronic Particle Scanner
[1d6+3 = (1+3) = 4] <E.Electronic Warfare Operator
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5]
[1d6+3 = (2+3) = 5]

[1d6+5 = (2+5) = 7] <Siren's Gaze

>>370714
>Lont jittered when the voice of the young mare abruptly burst into his head and admonished him.
>He looked off to her general direction, and spotting her raised lance thought back an apology.
('I sincerely apologize.')

>Cutting the connection, he turned his attention to the unstable mess of elements that was now Broken Hoof. Silently he watched from his commanding vantage point (of half a metre) on top of the ramparts as she stepped onto a Matrice, and from there her destination was a mystery.

>The wounded were being tended to, he was not needed. Lont was fine with this.

>>370725
>>370750
>As he was surveying the wounded, the Reaper drone flew into view. He tracked it with a keen eye having never seeing it before. And then watched it land as graceful as a wooden duck on water.

>And there at the fountain was Jeff and Clem and a pony, a stallion by the looks of it.
('Hello there Jeff.')
>Lont went to wave at his fellow Operators but his wing fully outstretched instead while the arm he wished to use remained still at his side.
>"Mm, don't like that that."
>With effort he closed his wing and along with the other held them tight behind his back as he made his way for the trio at the fountain.
('The Ethereal Vokreed is here and from the sounds of it he is eager to continue the fight. As for the Crystal Ponies themselves they will be here in a few minutes. We can leave some here to help tend with the wounded and take the rest with us.')
>He thought-talked as he navigated his way to the fountain through a sea of ponies.

>Stopping before them he took his helmet off, and gave both Operators a handshake. With the stallion he gave a respectful bow.
"I could talk to Vokreed on what to do when we reach the Arena, since myself and High Grand Champion Belregarde are on good speaking terms he might heed my counsel."
>He glanced at Clemency with a small grin.
"What a night, I still taste that hayfry on my tongue."

>>370736
"Don't worry about it, I-"
>Soft, warm snout creasing heavily, the chefmare's eyes shut, then crack open as she gives a slight, challenging grin, pointing her hoof at your chest and wiggling it.
"It's after dusk and probably going to be a long night, but you take care!"

>Approaching the table, the first to look up is a mid-30's.. something or other, the pale skin and brown eyes not easily recognizable, wearing what looked like some form of modular, though quite new, rubber-coated armor plates waves at the over ten unoccupied spaces, a light, tired tone indicating either a lack of sleep or insomnia.
"Course not, take a seat wherever you like."
>Lifting a hand in greeting, at least that's what you think it was, the second was probably around the first speaker's age, his accent and gear making him out as northern Mediterranean.
"More company's always better."
"If there isn't a sign or ass in the road, spot's free for the taking."
>Spoken by a strictly mid-40's man in a rough, poorly patched uniform, consumed by cleaning an unusual, thin yellow-red grime off a newer large caliber PPSh variant that looked fairly new.
>Nodding in your direction without moving, the oldest man's eyes crinkle at the edges with a slight, absolutely menacing grin, speaking in a menacingly thick northern European accent.
"So long as you aren't the short little filly that came straight out of the sun, kick back, relax, and toss your boots off."
>The rest of the squad seize up in complete unison, the man looking up with hard, though welcoming dark blue eyes.
"Trakkel Gorbjeurnson at your service, leader of these mare-stomped bastards. Elite Squad Five, but just call us Too Shocked To Fuck Up.. ain't that right?"
>Motioning at the rest, barely recovering from his oddly worded previous jab, a near-total round of facepalms, haunted expressions, and deeply regretful stares take over their faces, excluding the third as Trakkel snorts merrily.
"Joking. We don't have a callsign yet, but we all need a reminder now and then.."
>Taking on a subdued cast as you seat yourself between the first pair in the table's center, his gaze flickers across the other tables, left hand's index finger flicking up and down rapidly.
"Huh. Last night, today, and tonight now make.. eight more humans on Tallus. Including you, that makes nine new Operators."
>Head tilting left, he makes a slight frown, glancing behind him to eye the other tables, then the obvious rookies, finally facing you, visibly mollified.
"We've never gotten this many before, and two were frazzled to all fuck last night. You saw the one with a baseball bat and battered helmet? Kept screaming she'd been poisoned or something, had to be sedated by Nova and.. well.. put in a room with a certain ice queen bitchmare that can't speak Common. Might be calm now but I don't trust her. Other one's still in shock."

>>370752
>Pareidolia nods at Katyal's assessment, only adding a brief comment.
"Have considered a halberd or spear. Found swords easier to handle in unknown situations compared to maces. Flexibility preferred to the committed momentum of a mace swing."

>Upon seeing the clouds, a similarly dark expression covers his face as he grimly resecures the hatch.
(Like a 'calm' dimensional breach...)
>He quickly moves to his locker to wipe off the modicum of sweat his suit didn't wick away from his face and extremities.
"Great. Just like the breaches from my world. Though... "
(Given the Nightmare's last known status, weren't they heavily injured? Why unleash wrath overall? May be a subconscious phenomenon? Shouldn't the target be Constructs?)
>He exhales and closes his eyes, redonning his helmet and equipment while quietly verbalizing his thoughts.
"Or Lucky's conspiracy runs even deeper than anticipated."
>Giving himself a moment to collate any reports that Shiibo may have had, he confirms all systems to be running nominally.

>As Hodch and Lonestar communicate over the radio, Pareidolia runs an equipment check out of force of habit before returning to the bench line to sit across from Dul.
"Will you need to eat here at some point?"