It took a bit of searching through the heaps of every type of ranged weapon imaginable, crossbow or otherwise, but I eventually found the perfect weapon for me. Hidden between an ornately carved recurve bow and an ugly, yet powerful looking, wooden crossbow the size of a bear and carved as the same, I found it. It was so well hidden I almost missed it. It was a simple thing, made of some kind of shiny, bluish metal with faux-leather straps to attach it to one's foreleg and lightly adorned with several slightly glowing gems inlaid into its body. I wonder if it's magic?
Nah, that'd be too OP.
"I think this one'll do," I said, showing my selection to Bond.
"You seriously want that one?" Bond asked in disbelief. "I swear," he poured himself another drink, "you've given me more migraines than the rest of this base combined." He downed his drink in one gulp. "And you've only been here for five minutes!"
"Well I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "But what's wrong with me choosing this crossbow?" Seriously, is it cursed or something?
Bond did a spit take, narrowly avoiding my new crossbow but drenching me with his alcoholic beverage. "You mean you don't know?" he exclaimed.
"Nope. Not a clue." I offered my most sincere sheepish grin as apology for my ignorance.
"That," Bond pointed his bottle towards the weapon in my hooves, "is The Pawner. Honestly, it should be in a museum. How the foal mafia got a hold of it is beyond me." At my glaringly obvious look of complete incomprehension he clarified further. "The weapon used by Ner'Ghalad the Unimaginably Cruel and Evil?" Nope not ringing any bells. I really should have paid more attention during history class.
Wait... I can't remember ever going to school at all.
Ah well, no use worrying about the amnesia I just remembered I'm supposed to have. I should probably respond to Bond, he's been looking at me like I'm a moron for the past minute while I've been talking to myself in my head.
"No idea who that is, but they've got a cool title."
"You think being called 'the Unimaginably Cruel and Evil' is cool?" Bond deadpans.
"Yup," I confirm. "I wish I had a cool title like that." Seriously, how radical would it be to have extra words tacked onto your name? That's how you know you've made it big; when you're recognized by the meaningless words following the unique designation given to you at birth.
Bond sighs and facehoofs. "You don't care that your weapon was used by a psychotic, mass-murdering necromancer who tried to take over the world a thousand years ago only to vanish mysteriously without a trace, leaving behind only an ancient artifact of a weapon and a foreboding prophecy foretelling his return and a coming cataclysm in a thousand years, and instead focus on the meaningless title history slapped on him to scare little foals into line?"
"Hm? What was that? I wasn't really paying attention, I was too busy fantasizing about what sort of title I'd like. I was thinking of something along the lines of 'the Insane.' It's got a nice ring to it, don't you agree?" Why does Bond keep giving me the "you're a moron" look? I didn't say anything stupid... did I? "All I heard was 'blah, blah, blah, title, little children, blah.' I didn't miss any important plot development or foreshadowing, did I?"
Bond didn't deign to grace me with an answer. No, instead he just walked away and poured himself another drink. I wonder what he was drinking anyway, all I could make out of the label was the skull-and-crossbones usually related to either pirates or death superimposed over three large Xs arranged in a line. I wonder what that means.
He completely ignored my unasked questions about his drink. He didn't even give me an unspoken answer, he just completely ignored me! Fine be antisocial, see if I care!
I sat there and brooded with my new crossbow for a bit, unsure of what to do. Eventually I decided to ask, "Hey Bond, what should I do now?"
He studied me from behind his sixth drink. "Honestly," he eventually replied - there was absolutely no evidence of the amount he'd been drinking in his voice - "I think you should practice with that thing so you don't accidentally kill yourself, or worse, me."
"An excellent idea!" I chirped. "Now why didn't I think of that?"
I might have heard Bond mumble something about me missing most of my brain, but I probably imagined it. A nice buck like him insulting me? Preposterous!
I began to follow his advice when I realized one very important fact; I still don't know where anything is in this place. I could go looking for the cafeteria and end up in the middle of the world's largest broom closet!
Turning back to Bond, who was just finishing off his second bottle, I asked, "Hey bud, where would one find the best place to practice firing a crossbow around here?"
He indicated a door on the far side of the armory marked "firing range." Huh, how'd I miss that? A cough and a splutter from Bond brought my attention back to him. In his haste to speak he must have gotten some of his drink down the wrong pipe. After a couple seconds his airways had cleared enough for him to hack out the word, "thataway."