An Extended Holiday

by Commander_Pensword

139 - Of Music, Magic, and Finances

Extended Holiday
Ch 139: Of Music, Magic, and Finances
Act 22

---

The next day dawned, much like any other, and all the Ponies of New Unity had passed through their morning oblations and exercises, leaving the main leaders and representatives of the castle to go about their work. Pensword sat looking at Hammer Strike from his beanbag seat, waiting for Grif to arrive. A couple of scrolls sat in his hooves, and a plate of half-chewed sugar cane stalks lay at his side. His face was set in an unpleasant grimace as he chewed his latest victim violently.

Grif arrived a few minutes later. “Sorry I’m late. I had a side project that needed to be looked after.”

“Not a problem,” Pensword replied. He looked at the Gryphon, and then to Hammer Strike. Then he sighed heavily. “I can’t teach,” he blurted as he handed one of the the scrolls to Grif. “I’ve literally just had my wings tied and my primary feathers clipped, at least for the moment. The Demon Slayers can teach and work with the armed forces, but thanks to our ‘noble’ friends in the Solar Court, I’ve essentially been cut off from any chance of military service, until I can file for a proper disputation. Needless to say, I am not amused.”

“Didn’t you put forth the age restricting regulations yourself?” Grif asked.

“I did not. That was the ruling of the military court. They did it to unseat one of the noble majors who was too senile to be of service and too stubborn to retire.”

Grif looked to Hammer Strike. “What do you think about all this?”

“With everything that’s been going on with you, Pensword, I doubt you had time to catch yourself up on everything military related, so perhaps this delay could be considered a positive,” Hammer Strike replied with a shrug.

“This also arrived this morning,” Pensword said, handing it to Hammer Strike. “Basically, it is to remind you that I cannot read anything that is Classified over a certain point, meaning that while I am allowed to review military records from a certain point in the past, I am unable to so much as watch the new training and tactics you, Grif, and Clover are coming up with. In other words, I’m going to have to interview with each of the primary leaders in the programs and receive an official vouch from each of them.” His face darkened as he sputtered angrily. “They seem to think they can have their cake and eat it too,” he muttered.

“I care not for what the nobles think and want.” Hammer Strike leaned against his elbow. “And I don’t care if you read or see any of these exercises, Pensword. Do whatever you want.”

“Then I humbly ask to be hired as a military advisor. That would grant me the clearance that the nobles seem so keen on. It keeps things status quo and shows that you care not for their words.”

“I’m sorry, Pensword, but I’ve already got that role filled,” Hammer Strike shrugged.

“Military historian on the committee?”

“I’ll have to check if there are some openings.”

Pensword furrowed his brow and tapped his chin as he pondered. “Very well. That leaves something else. Do I have authority to charge rent for any who store goods in the warehouses? I also need to locate an investor to discuss a few new ideas I’ve had, along with the fact that I need to talk about bits and an income.” he sighed. “Currently, I am living on savings, till they can ship taxes to me, and then I can pay the taxes on that to Luna.” He sighed again, more heavily this time. “To tell the truth, Hammer Strike, after our last adventure, I feel like the odd stallion out. Sorry for my bluntness.”

“Considering the concept of your current business is to hold cargo for merchants, I would suspect that you need to charge them. As for an investor, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask elsewhere.”

“Can I show you the ideas, at least? You know which nobles and businessponies might be trustworthy.”

Hammer Strike sighed as he rubbed his hoof between his eyes. “Show me later, then.”

Pensword beamed. “Thank you, Hammer Strike.” Then he frowned. “You know, I feel like I had something else on my mind, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember at this moment.” He paused. A worried look crossing his eyes and muzzle. “You will keep the Solar Courts from taking the Demon Slayers from me?”

“Currently, they are employed in my guard, so the Solar Court has no grasp over them.”

“Can we draft up a paper that they are on loan? Just those from the past and my Gryphon sons and daughters?”

“They can leave whenever they want, Pensword. There’s no need for paperwork,” Hammer Strike sighed.

“Sorry, I just …. This was a blind side to me yesterday. I’ll recover, but until you need me again or we can find a place I can help, I have little room to act, save working to modernize Thestral tactics and reading up on history and tactics.” He sighed morosely as he rose to his hooves. “Do I have you permission to leave, my friend?”

Hammer Strike nodded. “You’re free.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later today.”

Grif watched as the door closed behind Pensword. “You didn’t tell him you turned down the position?”

“He doesn’t need to know. After our decline, there is no need to bring it up more.”

“Fair enough,” Grif nodded. “You still have schematics for fittings for Gryphon bows?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I need a set, whenever you can get around to it. There’s no rush, but I’d prefer them coming from the best, making a new bow.”

Hammer Strike shrugged. “Sure. Come by at the end of the day.”

Grif nodded. “Thanks. I don’t have anything, really, to report. You know about everything I know when I know it. This EEA thing has me pissed off, but I figure it will be good to let Twilight try and flex her metaphorical muscles this time. If we need you to bring the hammer, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good,” Hammer Strike replied as he stood up.

“How's the new apprentice working out?” Grif asked as he followed suit.

“She’s learning quickly, though she’d love it, if I were to teach her more. I just don’t have all hours of the day free.” He chuckled. “Nor could she keep up with that kind of pace, if I did.”

“Who could?” Grif chuckled. “Still, it will be good for you to have someone to keep you company down there. Anyway, is there anything you need me to know? If not, I should probably head back. I wanted to spend some time with the kids, while I have it.”

“Not right now, I don’t, but I’ll keep you posted. Enjoy your day.”

“Later,” Grif nodded, before moving to the window, opening it, and taking flight.

---

Vital Spark sat calmly on his haunches as he sipped the sweet, spicy brew Zecora had concocted. As usual, the Zebra maintained her kind and wizened expression with that mysterious smile of hers as she kept a steady eye on the pot. Her staff lay against the wall next to her house’s door, and the dry, dusty scent of the savannah permeated the space. She carefully poured out a portion for herself, then took a seat a little ways around the fire from the Unicorn.

“Now then, Vital Spark. You came to my home and sought me out. Why don’t you tell me what this visit’s about?”

“To put it simply, research. I came here to ask about your homeland, about Zebrica.”

“The size of that subject is very great. Our discussion would end when it’s far too late.”

“I’m not asking to know everything in one sitting, Zecora, but I would like to know some basics, at least. You know, cultural customs, relationships between the tribes, assuming there are separate tribes, politics, that sort of thing.”

“And why the curiosity, if I may ask? Did someone appoint you to this task?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Vital took another sip of his tea. “First of all, there’s the matter of ambassadorial work. As the chosen representative for relations between Equestria and Earth, I need to be able to help the humans understand not only Pony culture, but all the other cultures in Equis as well. Then there’s the matter of a desire to understand the nature of the magic Zebras utilize and how it differs from that of the standard Pony magic. And as for any other reasons, well, those will probably have to stay with me.”

“There’s no need to hide the truth from me. The best path to choose is honesty,” she said archly as she took another sip from her cup.

“I’m being as honest as I can, but I’m bound by this. I was warned not to tell anyone about it, and I know better than to try going against that warning, considering its source.”

“I see your joviality has hardened into gravity. Whatever burden you now bear must weigh quite heavily. Have a care.”

Vital Spark smiled. “Thanks, Zecora. I promise, though. I’m all right. I just don’t want to worry anybody else is all.”

Zecora nodded, then tapped her chin softly. “Long has it been, since I did roam the grassy plains I once called home. My people are broken in many tribes who band together to each survive. The ancient power within our land is difficult to understand. Our people follow an different art, the shaman’s path at nature’s heart. The spirits of earth and sea and sky grant guidance, wisdom, and power from on high. We heed their call and follow their will to sharpen our survival skills. Warrior, shaman, diviner, farmer, crafters of goods and fighters’ armor. One village each was the place to train, to prepare for the task the spirits ordain.”

“So, there was a sort of hub where each Zebra was assigned to learn a craft that they didn’t choose for themselves?”

“The spirits touch, the spirits choose. Who are we to just refuse?” She pointed to the mark on her flank. “Your talents define your cutie marks. Ours come by a different spark.”

“So, you believe in predestination?”

“Foreordination,” she clarified.

“In other words, you’re shown the path, but you have to choose to take it.”

She nodded.

“And if you don’t want to?”

“No one has chosen not to be. The call makes them happy. Their choice makes them free.”

“So you’re saying it’s a utopia?”

Zecora’s visage darkened. “No country is perfect. We all have our flaws. We have our rule breakers. We have our outlaws.” She shook her head ruefully.

“Exiles?”

The Zebra nodded as she took another sip from her cup.

“What about the Minotaurs and the stampede grounds?”

“Our people now live in relative peace, though certain prejudices have yet to cease. Most barbs are said in goodly fun, but push it too far, and that peace is undone. Our wars now lie within the past. The dance is all done. The die has been cast. We now pass freely through the others’ lands. We live and trade with hoof in hand.”

“Big Guns tells me there are two main castes that exist in the culture. The first is the female half, who act as the religious leaders, a sort of matriarch to temper the more rambunxious nature of the warrior caste.”

“Yes. Hot is the blood that flows through their veins. It is the source of many old pains. Some learn control, and some let it rage. Whichever one leads defines the age.” She looked pensively at the reflection in her cup.

“You want to talk about it?”

Zecora simply smiled and shook her head. “Let the old ghosts lie where they may. We’ll save that discussion for another day.”

“Well, I know just the thing to cheer you up. Just give me a moment to refill my cup.” He smiled and winked at her. “Your wit is sharp, your cadence sublime.” His smile widened into a grin as he levitated a steaming cup between his hooves. “Now let us begin our battle of rhyme.”

Zecora chuckled as the light in the room began to darken, casting shadows over the two equines’ faces. “No room to back out now. It’s far too late. Prepare yourself, Vital. You have sealed your fate.”

---

“You know,” Grif said, staring out onto the sparring grounds as the new recruits were paired out to try different weapons, “it’s kinda funny how, despite spears being the Royal Guard standard equipment, very few of our troops actually use one.”

“Well, if you had a spear all your life and suddenly had a chance to try other weapons, what would you do as a young recruit?” Pensword asked as he landed next to his friend. A set of wing weights hung on either side of his joints. He quickly took them off to lay in his saddle bags and stretched the muscles, before retracting the wings to rest at his sides.

“Honestly? I come from a race with only one signature weapon.” He gestured to his bow. “Gryphons have never used a standardized weapon for anything other than parade.”

“And the downfall of Rome, which is something Hammer Strike, you, and I are trying to prevent from happening in Equestria.” He paused. “Which is funny, actually, now that I think about it. Weren’t M16 rifles seen like a standardized weapon back on Earth.”

“Maybe.” Grif shrugged. “Some of the Unicorns are surprisingly good with the one handed sword, though. Are we sure these are Canterlot types?”

“From the reports, yeah,” Hammer Strike commented as he continued his observations.

Grif pointed to one Unicorn mare. Her mane and tail were both long, straight, and shone a vibrant orange. Her coat was a solid white. Her cutie mark showed a rapier sprouting off a rose, like a thorn. Currently, she was using one of the stock rapiers against an opponent weilding a bastard sword and a shield. She had just dodged a shield bash deftly, before rushing forward. Suddenly, the sword became a blur in the air as she charged with so many rapid thrusts that even Grif was having trouble tracking them. Thankfully, the sword was blunted, but it still left a polka dot pattern of welts across the other Pony’s body.

“That's actually quite impressive,” Grif noted.

“I’m guessing she’s in your unit, Grif?” Pensword asked with a smirk, then chuckled. “And the guard tried to wash her out? They must be insane.”

“We haven’t sorted them yet, but I suspect she isn’t made for the physical program I do,” Grif shrugged. “As for her winding up here, it was something about her family not wanting her in the guard. They had enough money to bribe the right people to bench her.”

Pensword grinned. “I might have to try to bring her into the Demon Slayers, then.” He frowned. “Then again, while the name was an excellent amendment for the old unit, that probably isn’t the best name for the kind of feeling we want in the new military.” He tapped his chin curiously as he mused, while he watched the Unicorn bend over to offer a hoof to her defeated opponent. “Let’s go with the Phoenix Unit,” he decided. “It will be the rebirth for the fresh start we need here.”

“Agil there seems like he’d fit in my branch better,” Grif noted. “Don’t know why Canterlot let him go, but he completed the whole entire workout with us yesterday, and I don’t mean just barely. He was with us the whole time.” He gestured to where the massive Earth Pony waited for a partner. Out of his enchanted armor, he was entirely brown with a black mane shaved almost completely off and a short black tail. He hefted a savage looking double sided bearded battle axe as though it weighed very little.

“Reminds me of what a descendant of Rockhoof would look like,” Pensword muttered.

“I feel we may have to evaluate some of these recruits personally,” Hammer Strike hummed aloud as he studied a few noted individuals. “Their skillsets are beyond the standard guard, and I feel obligated to bring those forward.”

“Agreed. They should be cadet officers at the minimum,” Pensword said. “That reminds me. I heard a rumor that you took on an apprentice recently. Is it true?”

“Yep. Her name’s Dross Caster.”

Pensword smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. I’m guessing you all gave her a slight scare?” He chuckled mirthfully. “How’s her first work going?”

“She’s learning. I’ve still got to bring her up to speed for materials that are available.”

“She’s sticking to what she’s used to working with, then? Have you given her free rein?”

“She doesn’t have free reign, just the basic equipment and materials needed to get started. “

“So what is she making, then? Nails? Stakes? Anything more complicated?” He frowned slightly. “You know, my brother was into blacksmithing, once, before he became president of the railroad.”

Hammer Strike shrugged. “Basically.”

“Sounds good.” Pensword paused hesitantly. “Say, Hammer Strike, have you got a free hour next week? I was just thinking … smithing is a pretty important skill to know, and I was curious about how you would go about making a nail. You know, the materials needed, that sort of thing.”

“If you head to the forges currently, some of the recruits are learning to do that right now.”

Pensword smiled. “I’ll do so, then, right after this review. I can push back some of my paperwork till tomorrow.” He blushed. “Truth be told, I’m hoping to learn enough, so I can forge my own arrowheads.” Then he sighed. “Hammer Strike, I’d like to apologize, too. Whenever I’ve met you in your office, I just couldn’t help but be formal. Really, I’ve been feeling that way almost everywhere around you lately. It has to do with my failings, I think. After what happened with my stubbornness with the thaumaturgy, it’s been … difficult to feel so relaxed around you. Sorry, my friend.”

“It’s all right. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“No, it’s not.” Pensword shook his head. “You shouldn’t have gotten used to it. I need to change. I don’t know what my future will hold now, but I know I need to improve myself. I can’t allow myself to become complacent again. Otherwise, I’ll be nothing more than a poor friend, if I could even be called a friend at all.”

“When it comes to our livelihood, sometimes we end up with differences in our interactions with others. I don’t hold it against you, Pensword. We had that discussion already. It’s in the past, and you’re working to make the changes you have to make. As for the formality in my office, it’s natural for a Pony like you. The military, and technically the guard, it changes individuals. It changed you. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Pensword smiled softly. “Thank you, Hammer Strike.” His ears perked up then, and his smile widened. “So, what’s your next project? Or are you just going to play it by ear this time?”

“Just creating weapons, after I get an estimate.”

“An estimate on what?”

“Weapon types, the usual.”

“What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“An amount for each type of weapon that is ordered,” Hammer Strike clarified. “They have a rough estimate in numbers. Now they just need to mark a weapon preference.”

“Glad to see you guys working things out, but I think we should consider the task at hand. Are you starting to get a good idea who here will work for which group?” Grif asked.

“I’ve got an idea for a majority, but there are some cases I need to look into personally,” Hammer Strike replied, before giving his usual soft hum.

“Yeah, I’ve got a few names we should look into. And I’m willing to bet a few of ours match. Should we send them off to the showers, then?” Grif asked.

“I concur. Give them a reason to worry during chow,” Pensword smirked.

“Then let it be so,” Hammer Strike said as a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

“Captains,” Grif shouted to the Shield brothers, who stood not far away from them, “we’ve seen enough. Send them out!”

Blast and Tower immediately began barking orders to the recruits, who moved to follow them in a … mostly organized fashion. Several minutes later, the sparring field was filled with some of the more regular troops going about their normal training routines.

---

Pensword followed a Gryphon past another security checkpoint within Grif’s compound. He looked over the expert work on the stone walls and the place where the decorative carvings broke off into unmarked stone awaiting the touch of a stone mason’s talons. His feathers bristled slightly, but he was proud of how well he had managed to control his breathing as he passed by all the clan members. Unfortunately, that still didn’t keep his imagination from drifting towards suspicion as a sneaking feeling whispered they had taken him on a circular route, just to confuse him. Ridiculous, considering how he was deemed such a close ally and friend, but he experienced it, all the same.

Eventually, they reached a sturdy blackwood door, unadorned with any kind of carving or ornament, save for the clan symbol near the center of the top, where the Gryphon guide knocked three times.

“Yes? Who is it?” Grif’s voice asked through the door.

“You have a visitor. He insists on going through proper channels.”

“Well, send him in, then.”

The door opened and a rather tense Pensword slipped through. Only when the door had shut again, did the Pegasus finally relax. “I’m getting better,” he began sheepishly.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just request a meeting at my office in Unity.” Grif shook his head. “Is this private business?”

“Yes, because I don’t want any Ponies getting wind of this idea and reporting anything back to Canterlot. Basically, what I’d like to suggest is a sort of financial proposition.” He pulled a folder out from from under his wing and onto the table. “Here are the ideas, namely the invention of the paper clip, stapler, and staples. I’m also considering the possibility of carbon paper for the sake of making duplicates with typewriters, but the other three are the primary ones. They should all be forms of technology that would be able to fit seamlessly into Equestrian society without being too disruptive. It will revolutionize the paper and office supplies industries, but other than that, I don’t think it would do much more.”

“I would have thought you’d have taken this to Twilight first,” Grif noted as he took the folders and began shuffling through them.

“Yes, I will. It’s just, she will be wanting everything in order. She has enough on her plate at the moment with researching the EEA and the like. I’d rather not give more to handle and then see what an Alicorn running after a week without sleep is like.” He shuddered.

“Well, for starters, your numbers are a bit low,” Grif admitted. “For a loan this big, I’m looking at something closer to twenty percent.”

“Of the profit?” Pensword asked. “So, you’re saying everything else is about okay, then? This is good to also present to Twilight?”

“Honestly, you may have wanted to bring it to her first. She probably understands this better than I do. Still, you understand that means twenty percent on all profits. You make a hundred bits from this point on, twenty of them would be mine.”

Pensword frowned. “Well, I never talked to you about the core investment. I was putting this through you for if this was good to propose in the first place. It sounds good, from what you are saying. So I’ll ask you one more time. Can I present this to Twilight now, or am I missing anything? That eyebrow says I am missing something.”

“Pensword, what do you need the bits for? Just some extra plant or the business itself?” Grif asked. “Think on this, okay? If you don’t get the bits, can you make the business?”

“No.” Pensword furrowed his brow. “Wow. I ... I was always used to either being an employee or giving the orders, never building the actual structure. I know I wrote the rule book for the military, but the military is different from building a business.”

“So what you’re selling is potential profit, bits that your idea could make. For now, you need to focus on getting investments in your core, this means you need to convince people to take a risk on this. If you make money, then the investor makes money, and both are happy. But, likewise, if you lose money or the business tanks, neither side makes money. So the money you get could set you up for profit for as long as the business lasts. That means you’re selling chunks of that profit for just as long, savvy?”

“I think so. I’m just worried about folks using their portion to try to buy or freeze me out. I recall that happened to a good friend of my father’s, and the end result was they were homeless for a year. I want to avoid that.”

“Your risk, my risk,” Grif said simply.

“Yeah, but you get to fall back on your compound. Then again, I suppose I have my fellow Thestrals as well, so maybe that won’t be too bad, if it happens. Fires and a bad accident have forced some Thestral families to start over from nothing before, and the community rallies, so I guess something like that could happen again, if all else fails,” he mused.

“Pensword, my clan has a communal treasury,” Grif noted. “If I invest this money and your business fails, all of us suffer. Just like the battlefield, you need to trust. You need to risk. And sometimes, you need to be damned lucky.”

Pensword’s eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded. “Understood. I never realized you operated on that premise.”

“Well, you do now. Now, what are you planning to fashion the pens from? What materials are you planning to use? What's your environmental footprint?”

“Brass, with a metal casing. While a dip pen is good, I want to eventually get one of those gravity fed ink pens, made of metals, with more fancy ones being able to be custom ordered, provided that if they want precious metals, the cost goes up on a curve. But to start, we will have brass dip pens set into finely carved wooden bodies. The paperclips and staples will be sturdy metals.”

“I noticed you don’t have a viability survey. Did it get misplaced?”

“Viability plan is being conducted. Currently, the studies are being done in the Thestral lands. The first plan of action had a few line items that were … not very kind. Specifically a New Noble Tax and a Canterlot Business Office Tax equalling two thousand bits. That took off Sites A and B. The Thestral lands vitability plan was delivered last night. We found site F was the best course of action.”

“No.” Grif shook his head.

“No? What did I miss?”

Grif grabbed a quill and a piece of paper. Then he drew a circle on it and proceeded to slice it up like a pie, coloring in a single painfully thin slice. “That’s your profit demographic right now.” Grif tapped the colored-in area. “You’ve only confirmed the viability with one small fraction of the population. Right now, you’ve lost your investor’s interest and the bits you need. Manehattan, Whinnypeg, hell, Ponyville. These are places where you get your data from. That’s your customer margin. What is your potential customer base for this product? You need data from areas with mixed populations. That means no Canterlot, no Cloudsdale, and no Dream City.”

“Your not talking about land suitability and impact on the land? I thought that was a viability plan.” Pensword shook his head in utter beffudlement and plopped down on his rump. “Well, that’s one more round of surveys I’ll need to conduct, then. I just don’t have the money to run that kind of–.” He pulled himself up short. “You know what? Twilight would have fun running that kind of research.”

Grif shook his head again. “Twilight’s not the one hoping to start the business. Pensword is. You need to be on all levels of this. You can have help, yes, but you need to have firsthand knowledge of every facet of your proposal, so you can answer any question that pops up.”

“I’ll come back in a week, after I conduct this survey myself. I plan to have Ponyville, New Unity, and Manehattan.”

Grif leaned over and lightly tapped Pensword’s forehead “Now you’re thinking with what's between your ears. Right now, you are your image, as you are now. Not your reputation, not your career, and not your friends. You need to have confidence that you can answer any question presented to you and make it sound convincing. This is part of the reason Hammer Strike backed out, I’d imagine. I’ll help you, but I need a stable business model from you. Show me what the bits are worth to you, okay?”

Pensword nodded, his eyes afire with determination. “I will do so. It will take time. That is why I was trying to come to you two. You both are successful at business, while I am just starting. I need a mentor.”

“One more thing,” Grif said with a sigh as he pulled out a rather heavy sack of bits. “Go to Mayor Mare’s office first thing tomorrow morning, before you start the survey. Fill out all the paperwork and pay the fees to acquire the Equestrian patents. That’s Equestrian patents. You want international, you need to find the money yourself. But make sure you can say the patent is pending, before you start telling everybody about the product. It’s not cheap, but I’ll be damned, if I let this fall into Flim and Flam’s hooves, because you missed the important part.”

“I shall. I’ll even file for springs and, tentatively, the machines to make and form the staples. They should all be ready by this afternoon.”

Grif replaced the papers in their files, before he took another sheet and drew another circle. “When you come back, I want to see this turned into a color coded pie chart describing the potential profit percentage from each species you asked, understood?”

“I will.” Pensword nodded vigorously. “And ... thank you for helping mentor me, Grif.”

“You can thank me when the first check comes in,” Grif chuckled. “Now go on. I’ve got paperwork to finish.”

“You’ve got it, Grif.” Pensword picked up the bag of bits. “I need to get into Ponyville as soon as possible, anyways.”

---

Hammer Strike hummed to himself as he sifted through an assortment of documents on his desk. He was still adjusting to the idea of Silent Collector and Oracle going in and out of his office, though once he could fully match their walking patterns, he wouldn’t have much issue. As their job dictated, they came in and collected his outgoing papers, and would sort them out appropriately. While Oracle was obviously used to a different style of work, Silent Collector took the work in stride. Though the more Hammer Strike thought about it, the task of paperwork was probably a cakewalk for someone of Silent Collector’s nature.

“Sir?” Silent Collector spoke up as he entered the room with a small stack of papers.

“Yes?”

“I was sorting through these, and I was wondering if you could clarify something for me,” he said, placing the stack on Hammer Strike’s desk. It was about Stormwall Breaker, one of the recent additions.

After a moment of looking over the document, Hammer Strike looked up at Silent Collector. “And that would be...?”

“I was wanting to know what she looked like, just to make sure of something.”

“She had a brown mane, and her fur was a very light yellow,” Hammer Strike hummed. “Reddish brown eyes, quite serious looking. Now, why in particular did you want to know?”

Silent Collector gave a small smile. “She’s an old friend. We used to go to the same school in Canterlot.” He paused as he thought through his words, before letting out a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t cover it up. She was part of our team as well, and I was wondering if, perhaps, you could … arrange a meeting? I want to catch up, without the worry of others listening in.”

Hammer Strike looked to the document once again as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he reached into his coat, pulling out a small yellow crystal. “Vital, could you head to Barracks number four and have Stormwall Breaker report to my office? And if necessary, could you guide her? Afterwards, you are free to return to whatever you were working on.”

The crystal flickered briefly. Then Vital’s voice rang back from within its depths. “No problem, boss. I’ll have her up there in the next ten minutes.”

Hammer Strike placed the crystal back into his coat, before returning his attention to Silent Collector. “You’re free to wait here or wherever.”

Silent Collector nodded. “I’ll finish up and wait in here.”

True to Vital’s words, Stormwall arrived to Hammer Strike’s office on time. She was equipped in one of the heavier sets of armor, though her weapons were either misplaced or she was just unequipped. As soon as she stood in front of his desk, she saluted him. “Lord Hammer Strike, you requested my presence?”

Hammer Strike nodded. “I brought you here by the request of one of my aids.”

Stormwall lowered her hoof and, despite trying to keep a strict presence, her curiosity broke through. “Who would that be?”

“That would be me,” Silent Collector commented from one of the corners of the room. “Hello, Stormwall.”

---

Vital Spark sighed as he looked out over the hills at Sweet Apple Acres. The grass shone glossily in the afternoon sun and the scent of the buds on the trees left just a hint of a floral aroma hanging in the air. It was calm, peaceful, the perfect place to practice. He smiled apologetically as he levitated black case off his back and flicked open the catches to retrieve the violin. Its pale white wood glinted with its clear varnish as he resined the bow and briefly plucked the strings to check their tune. Then he braced himself, raised fiddle and bow together, took a deep breath, and began to play.

The tune was lilting and almost playful in a way, but it had a sense of stateliness and solemnity about it that gave it an air of refinement, not unlike a fine wine. That didn’t last for too long, however. After about a minute and a half, the song transitioned into a series of deep, biting chords that repeated over and over again, almost like a rallying call, heralding something more to come. The notes began to jump back and forth again from the double base note to a swift series of higher notes on the other strings, all while gradually raising the base note one letter at a time to increase the tension, until it finally broke into a vibrant jig that rang and laughed as the notes spun through the air. The runes on the fiddle flared as they tied in with his magic, and Vital smiled as he spun around on his back hooves in a horrible pantomime of a jig. Fortunately, there was nobody around to see his foolishness, so he felt no shame in the act.

The air rang with the last note, and Vital Spark allowed himself a brief flash of vanity as he bowed deeply to his silent audience. A light breeze rustling through the branches was his only applause, or so he thought.

“Boy howdy, that was some good fiddlework,” a familiar voice said.

Vital Spark nearly dropped his violin at the sudden arrival, and he let out a brief cry of shock as he whirled around to see a familiar Earth Pony with yellow fur and a blue mane. Her white stetson radiated a brief halo in the sun’s rays, and her orange scarf complimented the worn green shirt she currently wore. “You startled me,” he gasped.

“Well, I’m an Apple, and this here is Sweet Apple Acres. Did you really expect one of us wouldn’t hear you?”

Vital Spark blushed. “I’d kinda hoped not to disturb you guys. It’s why I came to this part of the orchard. You … really think it was that good?”

Fiddlesticks nodded. “Been practicing?”

“I guess you could say more … recreating. That kind of music has a close tie to my family back home, so when I think about the notes, my magic channels it into my violin, and they just sort of come on their own.”

“Maybe you should ask a mugician about that?”

“Is that a real branch of magic here?” Vital asked, surprised.

“Well, keep in mind, I’m no fancy magic scholar type,” Fiddlesticks laughed, “but there exists a type of Unicorn, a rare type born with the ability to manipulate the magic in music. They can use rhythm to make things happen that wow most other Unicorns.”

“You mean like Vinyl Scratch?”

“You ever wonder why no one’s heard her talk?”

“I just thought she was born mute.”

“In a sense, she is. From what I’ve heard from the few times Tavi’s deemed to speak to me over the years, it’s a side effect of her musical magic being so powerful. Tavi claims she’s heard her sing once, but I don’t believe it.”

“Huh. Wonder why she never tried asking me about it before, then,” Vital mused. “Then again, I don’t know if she’s ever seen me playing like that before either.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Thanks for the information, Fiddlesticks.” He smiled then. “I do have a bit of a question, though.” The violin whipped to his side, bow on the strings. “Care to join me for a spell?” And then he winked at her.

“I’d be happy to, but I’ll need to run back to get my fiddle.”

Vital smiled. “Mind if I join you? I don’t usually like being in the public so much, but playing for some fun with a friend is a bit different.”

“I’d be delighted.”

That evening, the song of two fiddles played passionately into the night, drifting through the barn and trees, and up to the moon and stars beyond.

---

Night Terror shuffled as the Thestral huntress looked her over. She felt like the mare’s eyes were riveted at the large welt on her neck. It seemed a rabbit had thrown a large rock at her, before taking off and returning to his hiding spot in the one place no Thestral was allowed to hunt: Fluttershy’s cottage and the surrounding land. She was never going to live this humiliation down. Beaten and foiled, her ears drooped the longer the silence went on, before her eyes drifted to the ground, a shameful blush rising to her checks.

The Thestral mare gave her a long hard stare, which lasted for roughly ten more seconds, before she broke into a chuckle, then a fit of giggles, and finally full blown laughter as she patted Night Terror’s back with a hoof. “It seems you had your first run in with the demon.”

“Yes a large demon,” she answered, hoping to cover her shame at least somewhat. The little monster certain glared like one.

“Dear, you have nothing to hide here. We’ve all run into the demon bunny before,” the mare chuckled.

Night Terror blinked her slitted eyes in surprise, finally taking enough courage to look her teacher in the eyes. “What is he?” she asked. “And how’d he become the pet to a fruit bat Thestral?” She muttered under her breath. “He seems more like a familiar than a pet.”

“Nature always finds a way. The mare is timid, so her pet acts as her protector.” The huntress smiled kindly. “This will teach you not to hunt so close to Ponyville next time.”

“I was in the border of the Everfree,” Night Terror said defensively. Then she frowned. “Unless I got turned around….”

“We’ll have to work on your sense of direction later, Night Terror. For now, it looks like vegetable stew for you tonight.”

“Sounds like a normal dinner back home.” She smiled, then sighed. “Still, I feel bad for failing you. I didn’t want to come back empty hooved.”

The huntress laid a consoling hoof on the mare’s shoulder. “Not every hunt is going to be successful. Some predators have to go for weeks without eating. In time, you’ll learn how to master your prey.”

“I’m a little conflicted on how to feel about that,” Night Terror answered. “I have fond memories of vegetable stew, but your tone indicates this is supposed to be a form of punishment.”

“Very observant, dear. While fruit is a treat, dishes that are solely composed of vegetables are considered to be a sign of a bad hunt. We let that alone be the lesson about why one must be persistent on their hunt.”

“I ... I’ll do better next time,” she stammered. “That is, … if you’ll have me. I don’t know whether you’ll have me learning something else tomorrow or not.”

The huntress simply smiled and shook her head. “We teach, until you get it right. Some skills just take longer than others to hone. We’ll make a competent huntress of you yet. You’ll see. Go on now. Off to your tent. We’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Night Terror sighed and shook her head as she approached her tent, only to jump into the air and bleat, before landing flat on her back with her legs extended. She was swift to recover, but she most definitely was not amused. “Moon River!” she snapped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

All she got back was a giggle and the playful exclamation of, “Boop!” before the small filly darted from Night Terror’s sleeping tent and back towards the castle grounds.

---

Hammer Strike tapped his hoof against his desk in thought. While most days left him fairly occupied, he found himself with an almost empty schedule today. His paperwork was complete, he was waiting for Me-Me to give him the number of weapons of each type she needed for her Changelings, and Dross was recovering from a lengthy forging session. Thankfully, the sound of talons was headed his way.

“Free to enter, Grif.”

Grif walked into the office. “At this point, I should expect that, huh?” he chuckled. “I have the reports on our current economic opportunities, merchants looking for a chance to move in to sell wares. You know, your basic stuff. I took the liberty of circling some that I think sound more promising than others.” He slid a few sheets across the desk to the Pony.

Hammer Strike took hold of the papers and began sorting through them. “Let’s see. General stores, an expansion to Quills and Sofas,” his eyebrows raised. “Huh, a café. Think that’s the only one of its kind on this list,” he finished as he cycled through the other pages.

“Also, Agil apparently has a wife back in Canterlot who is requesting permission to move their tavern to Unity.” Grif slid another sheet. “Would stop the men from clearing the cellars every time they need to celebrate.”

Hammer Strike hummed for a moment, before nodding. “That might be for the best. And a café might be nice for the atmosphere. And, you know, for those who’d like better brews.”

Grif nodded. “Most of them seem set up enough that all they need is land to work on. No need for additional capital, so we wouldn’t have to worry about people thinking you're investing your money in random businesses.”

“Yeah, that’ll be for the best.”

“The rest is mostly monthly reports on the wood intake, problems with the wildlife, stuff that’s pretty much already taken care of, and just here for filing.” Grif placed a few more sheets on the edge of Hammer Strike’s desk. “So–.”

A blazing purple flash suddenly blinded the two friends as Twilight teleported in hastily. She took a few moments to preen herself as Grif and Hammer Strike readjusted to the regular light again. “Grif, I came as soon as I could. I have–.” Her eyes furrowed in confusion. “Why are you two holding throwing knives?”

“Twilight, we have both been through the battlefield several times.” Grif had just a tinge of a growl to his tone as he sheathed the blade. “Since you’re new to this, consider this your warning. Don’t do that, unless you send some form of warning. Trust me, it’s rash action like that that’ll get yourself killed.”

Twilight gulped rather audibly as she looked between the two. “R-right,” she said nervously. “Um … as I was saying, I found that research you were looking for, Grif. Everything there is itemized with proper formatting for each of the original references.”

“You think this will be what we need to settle this?” Grif asked.

“We can only hope. I figure, if we put our heads together, after you review the material, we should be able to come up with a viable strategy. I have a few potential ones in mind, but I’d like to hear your take on the information, before we exchange ideas.”

“I’ll look this over and get back to you,” Grif said, taking the mare’s report, which seemed more like an encyclopedia, then stowing it in his pack.

“There is … another reason why I decided to come here directly, actually,” Twilight admitted sheepishly as he she looked Hammer Strike’s way.

“And that reason would be?” Hammer Strike raised a brow as he questioned, the dagger already returned to its hiding place.

“My research took me to the historical records at one point as I researching the founding of various bureaus and the like. One of them gave me a cross reference to a history book that I decided to skim over, after I found the pertinent information.” Her horn lit up and she levitated a perfectly rendered copy of an artist’s imprint portraying a stallion striking back a horde of enemies with a single punch. A familiar looking coat hung on a boulder nearby. “The resemblance is uncanny. And that got me thinking. Your coat stores all sorts of items in its pockets, right?”

“Correct….”

“So, that should give it a certain amount of weight, then. I was just wondering. If that is the case, then … have you ever tried fighting with it off before?”

“I tend to keep it on, but I do part with it sometimes.”

“When was the last time you tried?” she pressed.

“It’s … been awhile,” Hammer Strike hummed. “Why do you ask?”

She pointed to the picture. “I should think it’s pretty obvious. In every battle we’ve seen you in, we’ve never actually noticed you exhibit that much raw power before. If this really is a portrayal of you from a legitimate account of a witness, I’d like to see just how much of the data from his account is accurate.”

“If you’re wanting me to fight full out, we’d need something for me to fight.”

“Daww, our little Twilight’s growing up and starting to think like a real fighter,” Grif snarked, wiping away an invisible tear. “They grow up so fast.”

“We all know the only things right now that are durable enough to take a full force beating from you are probably Alicorns,” Twilight pointed out. “With your permission, I’d like to be your target.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Twilight, I’d potentially kill you. You aren’t built for this level of combat yet.”

“But, but … my research,” Twilight protested.

“You understand I’d potentially kill Luna as well, correct? I don’t fight all out for a reason.”

Twilight frowned as she puzzled through that statement for a moment. “Hmm. What about a simulacrum?”

Hammer Strike sighed as he knew the way this conversation was going. “How many can you make, and how active?”

“That depends on the quality of the materials and the number of copies you’re looking for.”

“Make a dozen. Two dozen, if you’re able. I can supply whatever materials.”

“Would you prefer if I made them copies of Luna for a better challenge?”

“It’s going to end the same either way, so it’s your choice.”

Twilight nodded. “All right. Give me about an hour, and I’ll have everything ready to go.”

---

Vital Spark knocked respectfully at his teacher’s door. “Clover, may I come in?”

“You may,” Clover answered.

The mare appeared to be taking one of the first breaks Vital had ever seen her on in quite some time. A large volume sat open in her lap as she sipped at her tea. A fire crackled in a hearth that hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited. “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

“Is it ever a good time?” she returned.

“That’s up to you to decide, I suppose,” Vital countered. “But since you’re offering philosophical questions, I’ll take that as a no. The really bad days, you’re usually ready to conjure a storm or threaten to castrate me,” he said as he strode over towards the fireplace to warm his hooves briefly in front of the logs. “I’ve come to ask if you have any reference volumes I might be able to examine about a unique brand of magic user called a mugician.”

“Oh. Taken an interest in music magic? I can’t guarantee you’ll get anywhere with it. It requires a certain amount of potential when you’re born,” Clover noted as she pulled several surprisingly small volumes from her books and floated them over to him.

“That little on the subject?” He raised a curious brow. “I thought scholars would’ve been all over it, considering it’s such a rare form of magic.”

“And the most powerful practitioners of it are either born mute or slowly grow mute as they get more powerful,” Clover sighed. “Older unicorns were so superstitious, they took it as a sign something was wrong with the practitioners, and they were usually shunned.”

“That bad?” Vital whistled, then paused as he tapped his chin. “Wait a minute, what about singers?”

“It’s been reported some of them could sing, despite the muteness, but it’s a phenomenon about as rare as a sonic rainboom.”

“So, does that mean that Sirens might fall under that category?” he mused. “Actually, are those even real creatures here? I mean, you’ve got manticores, Pegasi, Sphinxes, at least at one point, so why not Sirens, too?”

“Oh, Sirens were very real, but you won’t find them here anymore. They’re some other world’s problem now.”

“Eh?”

“Did you know Celestia picked up her ‘send the problem away and someone else can handle it’ approach from Star Swirl? He sent the sirens to another world, justifying the action in the fact that the problem was no longer Equis’.”

“So they were a real race, then.” Vital furrowed his brow. “Does that mean there’s such a thing as a dark mugician, just as there can be dark mages? I know darkness doesn’t necessarily mean evil, Clover, but you get what I mean when I use the term in this case, right?”

“There are dark mugicians, evil wizards, sorcerers of the darkness, liches, warlocks, renevents, and wraiths. If you think of a way magic can be abused, I guarantee there is at least one of them in history.”

“So, if that’s the case, then is that what the sirens were?”

“No.” Clover shook her head, summoning another volume and opening it to the illustration. “They weren’t even ponies, from a biological standpoint.”

“Then what were they?” he asked as he looked over the drawing portraying three colored Ponies with razor sharp teeth and purple, yellow, and blue scales.

“Well, I never got to finish my study. Kinda hard when the three subjects of said study are sent beyond the scope of this world. But from the notes I took, they were closer to Equinius Hippocampus in nature.”

“So, they were Sea Ponies?”

“No. Sea Ponies are, for the most part, a myth. Equinius Hippocampus was a species of Pony-like sea creatures who died out two thousand years ago. We have no proof they were intelligent.”

“Well, if they happen to be from the same era as Grogar, it’s possible they may have been,” Vital mused.

“Ah yes, Grogar, the infamous boogie man of history.” Clover actually chuckled. “Don’t forget to check under your bed.”

“As they said about Nightmare Moon, Discord, and just about every other evil sealed away to deal with about a thousand or so years later at the exact moment some chosen few need to face a challenge to ascend to a higher rank in power and responsibility.”

“I wasn’t around for Nightmare Moon or Discord,” Clover pointed out. “But for there to be a ram with powers of necromancy that powerful defies all the laws of magic.”

“Really?”

“In my travels, I’ve met a lich necromancer with powers I could not even begin to fathom. He taught me much of what I know about dark magic. Believe me. If Grogar existed, he is dead now.”

“Or bound in service?”

“Sometimes, it’s better to let beings die.”

“You won’t hear arguments from me on that one. I haven’t even begun to try researching that old goat, but I’m guessing he did a lot more than just enslave innocent Ponies.”

“He was a necromancer. He did what necromancers do. He was just a lot more craven in his methods.”

“... I really do have a tendency to lead us down darker paths in conversation, don’t I?”

Clover shrugged. “Necromancy is a dark art. The rules must be set by the one practicing it. And when one must make one's own rules, one quickly becomes corrupted. My teacher simply made his rules infallible in the only way he could.”

“How?”

“He found a being stronger than him and served him.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Clover nodded. “But you wanted to study mugicians, so I’ll leave you to your studying.”

Vital smiled as he turned towards the door. “Thanks, Clover. And just so you know, if you need anything, I’m always happy to try to help.”

As he left, Clover smirked to herself as she retrieved something from her robe. It was a small gold ring, modified to fit a horn, though it hadn’t been made for it. On one side, it contained a large oval-shaped blood-red gemstone with several black markings across its surface. She set it down gently beside her book, before returning to her reading.

---

“All right, Hammer Strike,” Twilight said as she stood on the far side of the training yard. Her horn lit up, and suddenly two dozen identical Twilights poofed into place in front of her, each bearing a combat focus of their own. “We’re good to go,” they chorused together.

“No, you’re not,” Hammer Strike muttered as he removed the buckle of his coat. The heavy material fluttered as he pulled it off, tossing it to fall to the side. Like all objects under Gravity’s influence, the coat fell at the same rate any normal item would. However, the moment that fabric made impact, the ground cracked, and then the stone broke apart into broad hoof-sized chunks that exploded into fragments, sending a towering dust cloud flying into the air. When the dust finally cleared, Twilight and her copies stood aghast at the display.

“How–? What–? What the–? How is that even possible?”

“Slowly adding more and more to his stockpile, he never realized the coat was getting heavier, because the weight always seemed negligible.” Grif shrugged. “Best theory I’ve got.”

“Come now, Twilight,” Hammer Strike called out. “Focus on me. If you want me to fight fully, then give me something worthwhile.”

The Twilights all gulped, then set themselves up determinedly. They nodded once, then flashed around the arena to different points to avoid getting caught in a cluster.

…

And then the carnage began.

Hammer Strike started the festivities by taking off with a boost of speed that took Twilight completely off guard. He ran up to the closest doppelganger and flipped over her, nimbly dodging her spell, before hitting her in the back of the neck, forcing the doppleganger to shatter. By then, he’d already turned his attention to the next copy. This one had slightly more time to prepare, and Hammer Strike dodged several spells, before reaching her and grabbing her horn. He yanked backwards, causing a sickening crack, before the clone fell to the ground, disintegrating into dust.

By now the remaining copies had grouped up and were attacking him en mass. A few spells even managed to hit him, but their effect, if any, was negligible as he moved in. He grabbed a pair by the back of their necks, turned them to face each other and slammed their heads forward, each skewering the other through the eye with their horns. A few of the copies managed to surround him, and were using what magic they had to teleport away as he ran in to strike. However, this was short lived as Hammer Strike adjusted to their plan. As one of the clones teleported away, he turned and stuck out his hoof just before the next clone materialized, his hoof now firmly within her chest. With an almost effortless twist of hoof, he smashed her heart, while simultaneously ripping said hoof out of her chest cavity, and moved on. This continued for another two minutes, the twenty four original copies being quickly cut down to seven.

Grif crunched a handful of popcorn as he watched. “Still sure Alicorn durability would be enough?” Grif asked.

Twilight was busy scrawling hastily on a notepad as fast as her hooves would allow. “Well, clearly I was wrong there, but would you just look at all this data? I’ve never seen him move so quickly before! It defies every norm Equestria has ever recorded before, well, barring that one entry I found, obviously.”

“This is why I’d never want to face him going all out,” Grif noted. “With the coat on, he isn’t as agile. That’s really what gives me any chance: agility, not speed. But like this, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I doubt anypony would,” Twilight said.

“Never think like that.” Grif tapped Twilight’s horn. “There is always a bigger fish out there somewhere. Always keep the possibility that someone can beat the best fighter you know in your mind. You won’t get surprised that way.”

“And if something actually does come along that can beat him?”

“Then you duck and cover for whatever plan he has to deal with it,” Grif chuckled.

Hammer Strike had one copy by her mane now, and was using her as a makeshift club. Sickening cracks and thuds could be heard as three more Twilights shattered before the one in his hooves did. The last three charged him en mass, attempting to impale him on one of their horns. Hammer Strike ducked beneath them and landed a single punch square in the chest of each clone, before ducking low enough for them to pass by. They stumbled several steps, then fell dead to the ground, leaving Hammer Strike alone in the arena.

“There,” Hammer Strike commented as brushed off his shoulder. His coat was somehow already equipped once again. “Satisfied?”

Twilight nodded her head slowly, accompanied by a rusty creaking sound.

“Good.”

---

“But if a one should free him, despite the vengeful odds, then with that one will truly come the twilight of the gods.”

Grif woke up panting, covered in a cold sweat as the echoes continued to play in his skull. The words of the prophecy rebounded in his mind again and again. Careful not to wake the others, he slid from his wives’ embraces and out of bed. He stopped only long enough to take the stone tablet from its chest. Then he left the room and out a window to the roof. Holding the tablet in his talons, he stared down at it.

“What does it mean?” he asked no one in particular.

“He always seeks to tempt the one to whom his brothers speak.”

This line was, by far, the most troubling. Grif knew full well it was talking to him specifically. He was the Avatar, the last link between the Winds and Gryphonkind, and he’d tasted of the power of the gale. Even here, in the calm of the night on the roof of his house, he could feel that dark thrumming on the edges of his soul. He’d made peace with the beast long ago, but the Gale was another matter. The Dark Gale had no body now. It had no child to embody its will, but unlike it’s siblings, it was not cut off from the world. It wanted a mantle. It wanted a being through whom it could work it’s will, and that's what scared Grif the most.

Still, the problem with prophecies was their clever use of tricky wordplay. This prophecy had said the Dark Gale had been locked up for actions foul and fair, implying a duality to the deity, a great possibility for good. And the final line stated that releasing the Dark Gale would bring a twilight of the gods. Twilight could be considered a bad term in many ways, but it could also be used to imply great beauty, a time of peace before a new day dawned. Grif growled and shook his head. He looked at the tablet again. “If you are so wise, prophetess, tell me what I should do. You left this for me to find, so what is your answer?” He dropped the tablet in front of him, and was surprised to hear a metallic clink. Curious, he picked the tablet up again. There, on the shingles of the roof beneath, lay a small silver key. A large, perfectly rounded onyx stone lay at its head, and ancient runes had been inscribed along either side of its body. The word choice stared up at him, glinting in the moonlight. When he flipped it over, destiny stared him square in the face.

Grif turned the tablet over and found no indent or mechanism that could have dropped it. He picked the key up with trepidation. “Well, that's fantastic,” he muttered as he clutched both tablet and key to his chest.

Comments

[Booster Spice]

Pensword is having some real problems with venture capatilists equivalent? Not suprised really, if its so cheap, so good, so simpl, why isnt it already being used everywhere. The problem of big numbers and triviality.

Clover has a personal lich she can call on, which being undead or the rig is its anchor cant cese to exist as such and so can last? But why would Clover decry the existance of Grogar, unless he is just that terrifyingly powerful in this existance?

Going to have to be careful with the recuits, as given the very best are less than 1 in ten, or hundred thousand means a hundred to selct overall out of millions, tens of millions globally? The better they get, the rarer they are? Or depends on how good the average is, given the average is destiny speciliasation assisted?

At least Hammerstrike is getting a bit of exercise with Twilight, though the prediction of porting patterns hopefully is going Twis notes on how to increase variability. Maybe Discord could help. Then again, Chaos it itself computable becaue otherwise its order,depending on your sample time?

Given Discovery Family clip from next couple episodes, half way hiatus etc, looks like theres going to be another major lore step in the offering.

I take this paperclip, twist it This way, place in a mana rifle tuned to Such a colour, and voila, recoiless rainboom projectile.

Mugicians lose the ability to speak, because of the music of there spheres, Harmony music population control, and shere memetic earworm infestations? Words and Song have Power?