Tangled sheets and blankets formed unwanted lumps in all of the worst places. Blackbird lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling while listening to the sound of Dim breathing beside her. The sounds he made worried her, left her body tight with anxious energy. It felt good to be doing nothing after a long day of doing mostly nothing. Half-awake, half-asleep, she thought about the kisses—and there were many kisses to think about.

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The dragon was the single-most beautiful thing that Blackbird had ever seen. Gleaming silver-white, its beauty was otherworldly, profound, and after gazing intently upon it, her vision clouded over with tears. The mere sight of it left her feeling peaceful, contemplative, and she was filled with a curious calm that she had not known since she was quite small. Her mood was such that she began to weep; the sheer dreadfulness of this wretched trip leaked from her eyes and soaked her

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“Am I dreaming? It’s hard to tell sometimes. This feels off. Wrong somehow.”

A small blue alicorn filly seemed to swim through the air, held aloft by invisible eddies and swirling currents of magic. Somehow, she flew without flapping her wings, and revelled in the freedom offered by flight. Tiny, exuberant, she radiated foalish cheer and possessed a fine reckless grin.

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A phantom sauntered from shadow to shadow, unseen, unnoticed, undetected. While it moved from floor to floor, room to room, haunting the living. Upon its departure, it left behind sabotaged weapons, rendering guns useless and causing swords to become permanently stuck in their sheaths, the metal fused solid. No one noticed the phantom, no alarm was triggered, there was no sign that anything was amiss.

There was no common phantom, no, this was Le Trou Du Cul Fantôme.

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Vague, troubling dreams had plagued Dim’s sleep and he couldn’t quite remember them. What he did remember were lights; a brilliant blue light had shouted at him, had scolded him until a pink light intervened and the blue light was shouted down. Afterwards, when all was said and done, the blue light had become comforting, at least from what little that he could remember. The pink light was with him now while he stood upon the deck of the gunship, staring at the city in the distance.

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Of course, the dragons see Spike's position as Twilight Sparkle's Number One Assistant in a very different way.

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As the crystal projector fought to keep itself from being dashed upon the floor, the illusion around Dark Desire fell away, revealing her true form. A rotting skull, mostly bereft of flesh, with eyes like charnel pits. As for the flesh of her neck, there was very little, what remained had dessicated and shrank tight against the vertebrae. Dark Desire had become the antithesis of beauty, and her carrion charms would no longer inflame the wonton lusts of mortals—at least, most of

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I have a chapter ready to go, but it needs editing. This chapter got a major rewrite, turning most of the external dialogue into internal monologue. Sorry for the delay.

Also, it's hard to be still when you suffer from a cramped asshole.

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The bed of the wagon was strewn with the cold, remorseless instruments of death. While guns were a major power, a force to be reckoned with, a greater power existed, and that was brass. Industry birthed brass, and brass empowered guns. While there was something both effective and even charming with black powder firearms, brass made rapid reloads possible. Neatly prepackaged perfection, everything a shootist needed was housed in brass.

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The bed of the wagon was strewn with the cold, remorseless instruments of death. While guns were a major power, a force to be reckoned with, a greater power existed, and that was brass. Industry birthed brass, and brass empowered guns. While there was something both effective and even charming with black powder firearms, brass made rapid reloads possible. Neatly prepackaged perfection, everything a shootist needed was housed in brass.

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It was a handsome pipe, though Dim wondered if it was worth purchasing. The pipe was a frivolous expenditure to be sure, but it was a handsome pipe of unique design. Bombay called it creepy, but what did she know? A skeletal arm and hand clutching a bloodshot eyeball was the perfect accoutrement for a vizard. The bony arm and hand were carved from fine wood, while the eyeball was crafted from glass. Dim suspected that when lit, the eyeball would have a Tartarian glow.

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As Dim materialised into an unknown situation there was a blood chilling howl. One of the hovels—a mere shack—had been cracked open like a walnut and something large, hairy, and brutish could be partially seen. Dim approached, raising as many spell protections as possible, and rounded the corner of a building with somewhat crooked, leaning walls. Screams filled the night and as Dim cleared the corner, he got his first look at what the ponies of Fancy called loup-garou.

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An excerpt from the Fancy Campaign…

Today, as we prepared to depart during the early hours just after dawn, a young griffoness named Griselda, who had stars in her eyes asked, “You are good guys, yes? You have come to save Fancy, yes?”

Are we the good guys?

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When Dim entered the room, time seemed to stand still for Blackbird, who could not take her eyes off of him. He was showered and he had been groomed; his pelt was sleek, shiny, and perfect; but most of all, there was something about his commanding gaze that made the muscles along the insides of her thighs quiver. A bottle of wine floated just beside him, along with a platter of cheese. Flexing her talons, she almost couldn’t stand just how appealing Dim was at this moment.

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It's taken me awhile to finish it. Been hammering away at it for a time. Saw the new Star Wars movie yesterday, and that charged up my creative batteries a bit.

Emotionally, this chapter means a lot to me, because I've been dying to reach this point in the story. Exciting things are happening. The first of many milestones has been reached.

Feels good, Mang.

“Dim!” The big captain’s face split open with a wide smile as the door opened and there was a warm twinkle in his eye. “Getting settled in? Do you like Eerie? Are you comfortable? You look well. Do I need to apologise for my subterfuge? Where is Blackbird?”

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Wearing a heavy greatcoat, Manfrit approached with his hands folded behind his back. Dim thought the giant looked rather reserved, dignified, but was still a disgusting primitive. Like Captain Melvin, Manfrit smoked a pipe, and he puffed away on it now. Reaching out with one hand, his flesh and blood one, he pulled his pipe away from his lips and coughed.

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I am over 100,000 words in on the story and I am just now reaching the point where the team is going to be introduced. Like, everything so far is all about getting our two protags from point A to point B. I honestly estimated that this part of the story would be about 50,000 words at the most. Nope. Tortoise-Tuga to Istanbull has been about 100,000 words. And this is why I suck as a writer. The introduction to the story ends up being a novel unto itself.

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