“Okay. Ammo, check. Holdouts, check. Meds and chems, check. Present for Veronica, check.” Thomas patted his pockets one last time before looking around. The area around the Crimson Caravan Trading Company’s compound was still very dusty, and people only frequented the area if they were part of a trade caravan or on their way to Usanagi’s clinic. He looked around, the green eyes of his mask scanning the horizon. His centuries-old green duster fluttered lazily in the slight breeze, and the new light of a dawning sun shone on the dull black words written on his helmet.
On his back were two weapons: one short weapon with a drum barrel and the other black and sleek with a curved magazine. Resting on one shoulder and being held up with one hand was a dangerous-looking piece of weaponry. The thing that stood out the most was the stripes and circle of stars on the barrel. On his right arm was something quite frightening and undeniably dangerous. A small circular sawblade, attached to a yellow-and-black metal gauntlet, rested above his fingers menacingly.
Thomas reached into his duster and pulled out his special Transportalponder. In a flash of emerald light, he was gone.
“Ow.” Thomas carefully picked himself up, being careful to not accidentally pull the Red Glare’s trigger. “Why does this keep happening?” he asked no-one in particular.
“I knew I saw something!”
“Okay, okay, you can shut up now.” Thomas looked around and smiled. Standing there were Dom and Veronica, though the latter was a dress he hadn’t seen her in before.
“Nice dress, Veronica,” he said, looking up and down at what she wearing.
“Thanks.”
“Is that...?” Dom cocked her head and stared quizzically at what Thomas was wearing.
“I don’t remember you having a set of Desert Ranger gear,” the Scribe commented.
“Found it in Zion.”
“It is.”
They both turned to the ghoul, who was staring at the set of armour in awe. “It is what?” Thomas asked.
“That,” the ghoul pointed a finger at his body armour, “is a set of pre-War United States Marine Corps armour. That would have seen action in China.” She walked around, gasping when she saw the words scratched on the back of the helmet. “It did. Nanjing and Shanghai. Both were taken by the U.S during the Yangtze Campaign, after they reclaimed Anchorage,” she explained.
“How do you know all this stuff?” Veronica asked loudly, wondering just where the ghoul’s knowledge of pre-War history came from. “Seriously, you know more about this stuff than half of the damn Republic Senate.”
“I grew up in a Vault and I stumbled across a few history books. Well, more like magazines, but still,” she admitted with a shrug, “I learnt enough. Education was mainly science and maths and stuff needed to keep the place from falling apart.”
“Again, sounds like living with the Brotherhood.”
“So, what did I miss?” Thomas asked, grabbing the Red Glare from where it lay.
“Well, Rarity made me a dress!” Veronica squealed happily, as though it was the greatest thing to ever happen to her.
“What are you, five?” the ghoul asked, eyeing the woman weirdly. “Seriously, why are you so happy about a damn dress?”
“Because it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me that didn’t involve anyone getting hurt,” she shot back. “Hell, it’s the nicest thing, period.”
“Anything else?” Thomas asked carefully.
“Your girlfriend spent yesterday afternoon beating five griffons into the dirt,” the ghoul added.
Thomas simply turned, the green eyes of his helmet staring blankly in her direction. “She is not my girlfriend,” he growled.
“Fine, your fuckbuddy then.” Dom chuckled when she heard Thomas mutter under his breath.
“And Dom’s been getting friendly with the ponies,” Veronica added, hoping to make Thomas’ bad mood disappear.
“And?” he asked, making his way towards the training field.
“It seemed important,” she shrugged, doing her best to keep up. “I really need some shoes,” she muttered, bending over and picking at a rock she had just stepped on.
“Is that the best you have!?”
“What was that?” Thomas asked, looking around, trying to locate the source of the voice.
“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” A hooded griffon in barding slammed into the ground barely five feet from where the three Wastelanders were standing, digging a thirty-foot trench with her beak as she slid through along the grass. They stared in shock as she pulled herself up before falling right back down again moments later.
“That... just happened.” Thomas turned to his companions, who were just as surprised as he was.
“Remember how I said Luna beat a few griffons up yesterday?” Dom asked. Without waiting for a response, she continued. “I’ll bet she’s doing it again.”
“Aren’t we at least ten minutes from there, though?” Veronica called out worriedly, poking at the unconscious griffon curiously. “I think she’s dead!” The griffon mumbled something unintelligible. “Oh, never mind.”
Dom rolled her eyes and picked up the injured griffon with ease, draping her over a shoulder. “I bet Reg is looking for this one,” she said, not even trying to hide a smirk, heading in the direction the unfortunate griffon had come from.
“Do you think she’s using that club again?” Veronica asked cautiously. “That thing was thicker than my leg.”
“Nothing seems broken, so I don’t think so,” the ghoul muttered, taking a moment to inspect the griffon for any injuries. “That was a pretty hard fall, though.”
“Ah, I see you found Razorbeak!” The three looked up at the sound of the voice and flapping wings to see Sergeant Grimfeather hovering above them. “How is she?”
“Out like a light,” Dom answered. “What the hell is going on?”
“Princess Luna decided to face them in magical combat. Stormfeather seems to be the only one having any luck,” he added. “Razorbeak there is much better at close-quarters magic, and she just wasn’t given a chance.”
“You guys can use magic?” Thomas asked loudly, making sure to point the Red Glare at something unimportant.
“Not personally, no. We’re much like those blasted Diamond Dogs,” the sergeant growled, very unhappy with comparing the mindless savagery of those subterranean fools with his own people. “Only a small number of us can actively use magic in any form. We’re all capable of manipulating clouds, though, just like the Dogs can move dirt and rock as though it’s not even there.”
Grimfeather led the group to where the princess was sparring in silence. As they got closer, the sounds of explosions and crackling electricity could be heard. “What the hell?”
“Sounds like a malfunctioning generator room,” Dom commented as the source came into view.
A griffon, wearing armour just like the one the ghoul was carrying, was rearing on its lion legs, flapping its wings to keep balance. One of his claws was thrust forwards, a stream of bright blue lightning shooting towards his target.
His target was standing calmly behind an opaque barrier, the electricity dancing across its surface. Clad in deep purple armour that was every bit functional as it was intimidating was Princess Luna. In place of her obsidian-black crown was a helmet, similar to the ones worn by the guard, except black as night, lacking a plume and significantly more pointy, almost as though it was also designed as a weapon.
On her barrel were numerous plates, the same colour and material as her helm, the central plate stamped with a pearl-white crescent moon. A lot of her body was similarly armoured, covered in sleek metal that hid the mare’s fragile-looking form. For some reason the plating was the most plentiful around her hooves, giving off the impression that they were several sizes too big for her body.
As they watched, Luna sent a buffet of force towards the griffon war-mage with a flap of her wings, knocking him off-balance. As his talons touched ground, the lightning stopped, giving her a chance to strike. She dispelled her shield and charged forwards, hoping to catch her opponent off-guard.
Her attack paid off, an armoured hoof striking the mage’s armoured barrel. The moment her hoof made contact, it was enveloped in an aura of emerald light and a blast of magical energy shot out, sending the unfortunate target rocketing backwards at an incredible speed.
The griffon bounced along the ground a few times, coming to a stop eighty feet from where he had started. He groaned as he tried to pick himself up, but his feet slipped and he fell heavily. This time, he stayed down.
“You fought well, war-mage,” Luna stated loudly, walking calmly over to him.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he croaked.
“Jesus, that was kinda terrifying.” Thomas just stared, his face-concealing helmet completely hiding his expression.
Luna turned at the sound of his voice and smiled. “Ah, Thomas, you have returned.” She changed course and headed towards him, leaving her opponent to be assisted by his own. “I trust your trip was fruitful?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Where’d that armour come from?”
“Ironshod crafted it for me,” she answered. “He has yet to complete the protection for my wings, though. He should be done soon.”
“An impressive display, your majesty!” Grimfeather commented loudly. “I trust you gave our mages a good work-out?”
“In truth, sergeant, I was the one that received the work-out.” Luna pulled off her helmet, revealing her sweat-matted coat. “It has been quite a while since I have exerted myself so thoroughly.” She smiled tiredly. “It feels good.”
Grimfeather chuckled. “As it should!”