> The Moaning Top Incident
>  by Visiden Visidane
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Legionnaire Reproductive Duty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Legionnaires who have proven themselves in battle should begin looking at starting a traditional Equestrian family as a duty. We live in dangerous times when the smoldering embers of our relations with our neighboring countries can easily ignite into the fires of war. As such, the task of raising a fit next generation must never be taken for granted. Who knows when an Ursan Extermination Campaign might suddenly come crashing down from the west? Who knows how many brave and strong legionnaires will fall to quell such a threat before they can pass on their good qualities to the next generation? 

Let me remind you that the Legion, as an institution, will not force you to marry and procreate. Nor will it arrange for potential partners on your behalf. The creation and maintenance of the traditional Equestrian families that form the building blocks of our society is a domestic issue; outside of the purview of the Legion, even if the components of a particular family are legionnaires. It falls to the individual legionnnaire to approach this duty in earnest. 

Arrange for yourselves marriages that are both sensible and ones that you can be content with. Be wary of strong feelings. A legionnaire who breaks ranks, and charges an unknown foe because they are enraged is sure to be met with calamity. A pony who chooses their mate recklessly because they are enamored and lustful will fare no better. Involve your families. They are more likely to be levelheaded thanks to their outside perspective, and will temper your feelings with wisdom. Think of your future offspring, the ones who will shoulder the duties of an Equestrian citizen in the future; consider the health they will inherit in body and in mind, consider the resources that can be used for their sake. Consider marrying outside the Legion, preferably a pony in a safer profession, so that, if war breaks out, both parents are not in mortal danger. Make choices based on these things. Remember that this is a duty first and foremost. Your feelings will shift and change thousands of times over the course of your long marriage, but your duty is constant.

Western Legion Commander Mountain Strong on Legionnaire Reproductive Duty





Coal Grey ran a hoof over his mane, brushing back what he knew were stray locks of unruly, white hair. He should have brought a comb after all. All his life he had never gotten his mane to lie still. It wasn't going to start now. He tugged lightly on the sleeves of his overcoat, straightening out any creases, even though he hadn't seen any since the last time he did this. He shot his cuffs, just to be sure. A sniff to his chest and front fetlocks determined that his choice of cologne was not overpowering.

He looked around the restaurant. It had been half an hour since he arrived here, and the mare he was supposed to meet was not in sight. 

To be fair, he had arrived an hour earlier than the appointed time.

The glass of wine on his table remained untouched. He never drank to begin with, considering any alteration of one's senses to be a breach of discipline. He didn't even like stimulants. The wine was complimentary, though. He had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps, it was common for these types of restaurants. The staff must be expecting him to spend a great deal. Or they expected an inebriated pony to be more free with his money. On any other day, he would have had no trouble disappointing them. Today, however, he was going flaunt his finances. That was to be expected too. He had to prove that he was a capable provider after all.

He let out a brief exhale of relief when a young unicorn mare crossed the oaken double doors of the restaurant's entrance. A light pink coat, a long, wavy mane of red, and hazel eyes that bordered on gold. This had to be Cinder Spark, his partner for the day...and quite possibly the rest of his life. She only need a quick, cursory look across the restaurant to spot him. He did a little wave of his foreleg, and put on a slight smile, just enough to show he was pleased that she had shown up without making it seem he was desperate. She replied with one of her own, then walked over.

"You must be Coal Grey," she said. She dipped her head briefly. "My name is Cinder Spark."

"A pleasure to meet you," Coal replied. He gestured to the waiter once she sat down. They were examining menus in short order. As soon as the waiter had departed with their orders, Coal cast about his mind for his mental list on what to do here. He had never attempted to woo any mare throughout his entire life, not counting an incident when he was a colt involving a bouquet of daffodils, a neighbor, and a nest of hornets. 'Compliment on outward appearance,' his own voice told him in his head. 'Add something specific!'

"You look very lovely," Coal said. He hoped that didn't sound perverted or too generic. He meant it too. Her colors radiated warmth, like a cozy fireplace during the thick of winter. She had a nice figure; slim, athletic, with a sinewy neck and firm muscle tones along her legs. To be expected, he supposed. Fort Commander Forge Spark would be concerned for his daughter's physical prowess. She smelled nice too; just a hint of Ylang Ylang. 

'Something specific!' Coal's mind yelled at him. He paused for a second. He obviously couldn't say all of those things he observed earlier without sounding like a pervert. Her outfit then; long flowing red dress, a bold color, but quite conservative with the skirt length and cut embellished with gold accents along the neckline and sleeves, and...oh, he found his entry point.

"That's a beautiful neck piece too," Coal said, letting his gaze focus on the gold-chained pendant she wore. The platinum gilded, heart-shaped ruby caught the firelight in the restaurant just right, letting it glitter like a miniature setting sun. 

She blushed at this and looked away briefly. "Thank you," she said. "You are quite handsome as well. My father has said a lot of good things about you, but I'm surprised now that he didn't mention looks."

One would think that having Forge Spark's approval and recommendations would make this easier, but they served more to weigh on Coal's shoulders than anything else. "The Fort Commander is too kind," he replied. He stopped himself from awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

Cinder Spark leaned forward slightly, her muzzle tilted low, but her eyes looking up with interest. Coal may have had little experience with mares, but he could tell when he was being sized up. "You must be very loyal to him if he wants you to be part of his family, and you did risk your life save him from the ursans. I know he must have thanked you repeatedly, but I want to thank you as well."

Coal cleared his throat. "Any legionnaire would have done the same for the Fort Commander," he said. "I was merely at the right place and time." Their food arrived, and the next few moments went to savoring their meals. Coal was happy to shift conversation away from fights by getting her to talk about herself.

Cinder ran a small clinic in the village of Moon Basin, near Mount Moaning Top itself. It was an isolated practice, still in her father's jurisdiction, as far as the Legion could involve itself with civilians, but in a place where her father's influence meant little. Coal could respect that, and it was clear that it was a challenge she deliberately sought. She had graduated with high honors from the Arcanis Atheneum with a major in Conjuration School. That sort of qualification could have landed her in far more prestigious professions.

Of course, Coal already knew most of these things. They were in the notes her father gave him. To hear it from her, however, still felt oddly satisfying.

"I prefer the quiet," Cinder replied when Coal mentioned her overqualification. "When I was still in the Atheneum, I had thought of joining the Legion, but the long hours of quiet study were too good to give up. I can't imagine fitting in a tight, Legion-dictated schedule."

"True, the unicorn magi do have it rough," Coal said in between bites. This wasn't so bad; both the meal and conversation.

"What about you, Coal?" Cinder asked. "Why the Legion? The Western Legion has earth ponies as skirmishers. It must be terrifying to be at ground level and close with the ursans."

Coal shrugged. He did remember his first ursan charge; the smell of fear, which was just as pungent as the smell of urine that had trickled down his hind legs. There was sudden movement, as if he had been struck by lightning, and the jolt moved his body for him. The spray of thick gobs of hot, stinking blood that half-blinded him when his spear found a gap between armor plates. "You get used to it," he said. "It's all isolated cases of trespassing or small bands. It's been a long time since Equestria's seen an extermination campaign."

"But was it something you wanted to do?" Cinder asked. She was getting a bit intense now. The mood made her already brilliant eyes seem more like embers. It was charming and discomfiting all at once, like a pretty fireball exploding just a little too close. "Something you dreamed of as a colt, and pursued the best you can?"

"Yes," Coal said. "My father is a renowned lancer. So was my grandfather. I may have been born an earth pony, but I grew up dreaming of joining them in the Legion's service."

Cinder pressed her lips tightly, picking at the last few morsels of her meal. "It must be nice..." she said, "to find such alignment between your duties and wants."

"It has been a blessing," Coal replied. He frowned out of concern, though. "Is something the matter? If something about the Legion offends you, I didn't mean to pick at wounds."

Cinder's eyes widened. "Oh, no!" she quickly said. "I didn't mean that! I admire the Legion and the work it does..." Her face dimmed again. "I'm sorry, Mister Grey, I should just come out and say it."

"Coal is fine," Coal replied with a brief raise of his hoof.

"I..." Cinder let out a sigh, and ran a hoof down her mane. "I cannot pursue this arrangement."

Coal stared on blankly. Did she just say that? Was that even possible? "Pardon?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," Cinder said, tapping her front hooves together nervously. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could have just informed you of this before we even met here, but my father...I can't..."

"Why can't you pursue this arrangement?" Coal asked. His mind naturally went through reasons he found typical: she was infertile, or had just found out that he was, which would be news to him, some kind of terrible, highly communicable disease...

"I love somepony else," Cinder Spark said.

Well, that certainly simplified things. Coal felt an obligation to be outraged, he didn't really feel any. "I see..." he said. "Does the Fort Commander know of this? He might be more reasonsble than you—"

"He will not approve of her," Cinder Spark said softly.

"Oh...." Coal kept his mouth open, expecting more words to follow that, but none did. He didn't know Forge Spark's stance on those matters. He best deferred to the daughter.

"I beg you, please understand," Cinder went on, clasping his hoof between hers. "We plan on moving away, but it's not right to string along a good legionnaire in the process. My father will ask questions..."

"And you wish for me to help you," Coal said.

"I...yes..."

This was likely a terrible idea. Coal had advanced quite well through the ranks. That was why he was even in this position. If he was caught complicit in this, he would make quite an enemy in Forge Spark. And what would he gain in return? The gratitude of a pair of mares that would spend a good number of years on the run? They'd probably forget about him as soon as they thought they escaped. He certainly didn't want a marriage steeped in resentment, though. It was a nice thought; aiding love.

"Alright," Coal said. "I'll play along. For how long?"

Cinder's face brightened, putting the fireplace in the restaurant to shame. "Only until the Moonlight Rondo's Moaning Top Festival. I promise we'll be long gone after that."

Coal nodded. That was doable enough. The festival was in a week.

"Thank you so much," Cinder Spark said. "You won't regret this."





"She was clam-masher?" Plowshare asked incredulously , his lips split into a wide grin that swiftly crumbled into a long series of guffaws. "Celestia's Fleas, Coal, that is some amazing turn of luck! That's going to be a strange marriage."

It was an unusually happy and relieved Plowshare that slurped down the last of his potato stew, bringing down the wooden bowl against the table with a loud bang. That should have earned a little reprimand about damaging eating utensils, or the new Skirmisher Captain’s table. 

Coal didn't bother. Plow was just excitable, that was all, and it was really his fault for inviting him to eat dinner in his quarters anyway, as opposed to the mess hall. He picked up the raisin bread next to him, and took a large bite. "You don't need to be so vulgar about it," he said. He was glad to be out of the suit. It was a little too tight and had started to itch once he got a sweat on. He was still getting used to the private quarters thing what with his promotion just a week ago. "And I'm not going to pursue the marriage," he added.

Plowshare raised an eyebrow. He still had half a grin on, but those light brown eyes were serious. Plow was the very picture of boisterous bruiser; a big, corn yellow earth pony from a small farming village eager to take a blade or a spear to some ursans. He had a dark brown mane, cut into boyish, short curls that hugged his hide closely. Past that image, however, he could be serious and intense as he pleased.  

"Why not?" Plow asked. "She's pretty, she's healthy, and she's well connected."

"She prefers mares," Coal replied. "A mare."

"So?" Plow asked with a shrug. "What does she want? Put you in a wig or something? She's had her fun, time to get serious." At the sight of Coal's stubborn look, he went on. "This is ridiculous. You'll destroy a contract, and mess with the Legionnaire Reproductive Directive over what? Preferences? That's ridiculous!"

Coal thought back to his talk with Cinder Spark. "Don't you think one's preferences count for anything?" he asked.

Oh, it's preferences, is it?" Plow went on. "I prefer not to die from an ursan mauling, but I still have to charge them when commanded. I prefer to be handsome and dashing," he pointed at his scarred cheeks and misshapen ears, "instead of being ugly. And I prefer a tasty cheesecake for dessert, but here I am with day-old raisin bread. But, I guess your Cinder Spark is just that special, isn't she?"

Coal sighed. "I told you because I know this will stay safe with you, Plow," he said.

"Of course it is," Plowshare groused. "We're comrades, and we support one another." His eyebrows furrowed. "Even though I feel that it's stupid that you'll pick supporting this nonsense over your duty, I'll do as a comrade does. Did you notice that? Doing despite feeling. Your clam-mashing friend should take notes."

"Thanks," Coal said.

"So the other mare must be with the Rondo, right?" Plow asked. "She has to be if they have to wait for the festival." He tapped his broad chin with a hoof. "Those Rondo ponies are crazy. They probably do worse things to each other than mash clams."

"I don't want to know," Coal replied. "Once the Rondo finishes up, I'll be glad to put this behind me."

"Did I hear somepony mention the Moonlight Rondo?" came a voice. The door opened, the knob glowing blue with telekinesis.

Both skirmishers froze, then watched warily. By the doorway was Director Chill Gaze, ice blue eyes in a piercing stare while his magecoat billowed behind him. He had the white coat and dark blue mane to go with his namesake. His visible cheekbones and deep eyesockets only made him even more unsettling.

"Just idle talk," Coal said with marked respect, but not deference. As Skirmisher Captain, he held equal rank with Chill Gaze. The lesser ranked Plowshare wisely stayed silent.

"The Rondo is a gathering of degenerates," Chill Gaze said. "Reprobates and perverts clinging on to Princess of the Moon after she long abandoned us. This coming festival of theirs is a poor use of Mount Moaning Top. I hope they give us an excuse to aim our arrays their way."

"Is there something you need, Director?" Coal asked. "We're eating here."

"Just here to offer my congratulations on your recent engagement, Skirmisher Captain," Chill Gaze replied. "Your star is on the rise. I thought it prudent to show respect. I'm also here with your unit's assignment. You are to be stationed by Mount Moaning Top during their orgy. There are rumors that there are ophidites in the area." With that, and a bow, Chill Gaze backed out of the room, and closed the door.

"Damn drill-head always creeps me out," Plowshare muttered. "He looks like he flew out of a ghost story."

"He does his job well, though," Coal said with a sigh. "We can't complain." He focused on the task just given. Just his luck to be involved with the Moonlight Rondo. Between this matter and dealing with possible Imperial agents, he was in for a rough night next week.
> The Moonlight Rondo
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of the three surviving cults of Princess Luna, I find the Moonlight Rondo the worst. We can rule out the Night Parade with their "Beauty and Dignity" motto. They march up and down the Barrier Lands during their selected "holy nights" to show off new costumes, songs, and such. They're predictable, nonviolent, and make it a point to obey Barrier Lands law. I have no problem with the Night Parade continuing in perpetuity, and this is hardly a controversial opinion.

That leaves us with the Blackmoon Blades and the Moonlight Rondo. You may think that the Blades are an easy choice for the worst among them. Surely, a group of shadowy assassins who insist on following their dogmatic rules have done worse than a group of party organizers. You would be wrong.

The Blackmoon Blades have been on a decline since news of Nightmare Moon came from the Heartland a few years back. Maybe, during their heyday, the Blades were a dangerous threat, but the scope and range of their murderous punishments, while horrific, has lost most of their impact on Equestrian society. It is precisely because they are so extreme and grim, that citizens have turned away from them. I can predict with certainty that, after a decade or two, the Blackmoon Blades will simply cease to exist without any prompting.

The Moonlight Rondo is different. The group hides behind a mask of benignity all the while tearing at the fabric of our society. They preach "the day is for action, the night for passion", as an excuse to hold wild parties all across the Barrier Lands, particularly here in the West. The thought of letting loose for a night or two is a tempting scenario for the average pony. Nopony would easily consider murdering in the name of Princess Luna, but it's hardly a conundrum to "have a bit of fun" for a night while the Rondo is around.

These "festivals" are a blight on Equestria. The mess and damage that they leave behind alone is a disgrace. I have visited a village that played host to the Rondo once, and, I swear to you, a passing storm or a horde of ursans would have been kinder to the place. The wine flows freely during these festivals, and that's the mildest drink they'll offer you there. The hazards from drunkeness have not only destroyed a great deal of property, but have caused a lot of injuries, and even ocassional deaths. More ponies have been killed by drunken accidents and brawls caused by the Rondo than by Blackmoon Blade assassination. It is an open secret that the Rondo also provides a variety of dangerous and addictive substances, many of ophidite origin. 

I would be nowhere near as vocal if injuries and property damage are all what the Rondo causes, but they're not. When these "festivals" take on a fevered pitch, they degenerate into orgies. Such reckless behavior has far worse consequences. I have no trouble betting money that a quarter of the children that live in our orphanages are the unfortunate results of a Rondo "festival", as are half of the sex-related diseases in any given Barrier Lands hospital. I say to you, what are a few horrific murders to the sheer damage the Rondo inflicts on the body and soul of our nation? It is apalling. Even more so as the Legion does not deal with the Rondo because they are a domestic issue, while local authorities don't deal with them because it will be an unpopular move for, I have to be frank, a large enough swathe of ignorant ponies eager to party. 

This will not go forever, fortunately. Mark my words, there will come a terrible incident, even worse than the Blades of Nightmare, because the rot in the Rondo was allowed to fester. These "festivals" have become steadily worse with each year. Clearly, they are constantly trying to beat their record. This terrible incident will break out within the Rondo and begin its much needed destruction. I hope it's soon, for Equestria's sake.

Muck Rake, Great Delve Times Writer





As the days leading to the Rondo's latest night festival wound down, the small village of Moon Basin found itself inexorably sinking into a morass of problems.

It had started out as a happy occasion. Representatives from the Moonlight Rondo had shown up to the village one day, speaking of a great festival they were holding on the slopes of Mount Moaning Top. The villagers were all invited. In return, the Rondo asked for some lodging for their caravans in preparation for the festival.

Life in Moon Basin was a serene monotony of tending to vegetable gardens and vineyards, the sort of dullness that often drove a good number of its young stallions and mares to depart for the Great Delve in search of excitement. The wondrous notion of taking part in a grand festival by the famed Moonlight Rondo proved a welcome and enticing prospect. They were happy to play host to some guests until the time came. Even the pretty and reclusive doctor from Arcanotropolis agreed to it.

That wonder and excitement intermixed with some trepidation as the Rondo moved in. The villagers easily recognized carts full of food: sacks of flour, fruits and vegetables from as far as Highstable to the south and SummerSteel to the north, and barrels upon barrels of wine. They also recognized other basic supplies like various colorful banners, tents, and cooking utensils. The sight of armed ponies arriving was disconcerting, but it did make sense. The Rondo had to protect itself. Then came the covered wagons, filled with supplies that the villagers didn't recognize and the guards wouldn't let them approach.

Village Constable Bronze Star suggested calling to the Legion, or, at least, to the other nearby villages for help in maintaining security. These were a lot of ponies, perhaps too much for him and his small posse. His fellows protested the idea. The Legion would quash this festival in a heartbeat. They never did have a favorable view of the Rondo. Meddling with increased security might simply agitate the Rondo, and make them leave. Already, the prospect of a wild party was too good to pass up for a good portion of the village.

That resolve found its test soon enough. While the Rondo may be building up to a great party, they were not averse to smaller ones along the way. They camped outside the village and closer to Mount Moaning Top, but their loud, jaunty music filled the air, always accompanied by laughter and whoops. Strange smells drifted down from their camp, and thick clouds of oddly colored vapors often seeped out of their tents. More than a few villagers complained of sleepless nights, and headaches they were sure were coming from the Rondo's camp. Even so, Moon Basin still eagerly awaited the big party.

For Cinder Spark, it couldn't come fast enough. Not for any love of revelry; she had left her partying days behind in the Atheneum. Gone were the nights of wild drinking after a successful presentation or another test passed. The last one was the night after her graduation. Conjuration School prided itself in producing things out of nothing, that apparently included barrels of beer, and an endless supply of honey-roasted, highland legumes. She didn't miss those times. She preferred quiet and relaxation. However, those times apparently missed her, and had come a knocking even after she had escaped to this sleepy getaway of a village. She looked forlornly at the big jar where she kept her willow bark. Empty again. Too many headaches going on at the moment. She was low on guava leaves too, and bandages. Those ponies from the Rondo loved getting into scraps with each other, and often came to her for disinfection and bandaging.

Her resources were straining, and it wasn't even time for the festival yet. Her garden was picked close to bare, and her suppliers wouldn't be back for a while. Cinder Spark sighed, then rolled her shoulders. She was going to have to rely on her magic to keep going. Creation conjurations were heavily taxing, and highly unstable. She would need time to produce even simple things like strips of clean cloth and plant leaves. That meant she had to start as soon as possible. 

A knock on the door to her clinic brought her up short. By the Prince, it had better not be another injury! She had warned the ponies from the Rondo that if they kept up their rowdy behavior, she was going to stop treating them. "It's open," she called out. "Come in."

A familiar white hoof pushed the doorknob in, followed by the grinning visage of a pink-maned pegasus mare.

"Cloud Breeze," Cinder said softly with a smile.

Cloud Breeze replied by flitting over Cinder, landing behind her to give a tight hug. Cinder replied with a smile and a nuzzle to the chin. "So, how was the marriage meeting?" Cloud asked.

"It went well," Cinder replied. "He agreed to help us even."

"Really?" Cloud turned Cinder around for a face-to-face. Her own was marred with worry. "Are you sure? He might be reporting to your father as we're talking. I told you it was a bad idea to talk about us to the Legion!"

"We can trust him," Cinder replied. "He's a good stallion, I can tell."

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "Really? How?" she hovered slightly and crossed her forelegs in front of her. "I find it hard to believe that he took it so easily that his newfound fiancee is not going to marry him."

"I don't think he was that particularly bothered," Cinder said with a smile. "He didn't seem that taken with me, and he has good prospects. He's handsome, he's rising in the ranks, he's well-mannered, obviously kind, and understanding. I've met plenty of legionnaires in my father's house, I know Legionnaire Coal Grey is different. He'll stay true to his word, so long as we don't force him to go against the Legion too much."

For a moment, it seemed as if a chill wind turned Cloud Breeze's smile into a cold, emotionless mask. "Is that right?" she asked flatly. "Maybe you really should marry him. He's got better prospects than me, obviously, and it'll be a lot less trouble."

"Cloud..." Cinder chided softly. She held out her forelegs for a hug. "That's nowhere near what I meant at all."

Cloud Breeze responded with a smile and dove in to accept the hug. They did a little spin before settling down, their forelegs still entwined. "You're done with him, right?" she asked.

It was Cinder's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Done with who?"

"That Legion boy," Cloud replied, "and your father, and the Legion in general. We'll lose ourselves in this big party, then disappear where we can be happy together, away from the Legion and its reproductive directives!"

"Yes," Cinder replied. She stared at Cloud Breeze for a while. Back in the Atheneum, she would have never imagined falling for this mare. Cloud had a wildness about her that let her fit perfectly with the Moonlight Rondo; loud, passionate, fun-loving, brash...almost an antithesis to Cinder, but her mere presence quickened the blood and got the heart pumping. It felt...good, in it's own way. And certainly, Cloud was beautiful; long, wispy pink mane, a soft, white-blue coat like the sunny side of a cloud, blue eyes like a summer sky, strong and wiry muscles accentuating a lithe, cuddly frame. Sure, she had a...temper of sorts, but nopony was without flaws.

Seeing the stare, Cloud Breeze grinned, and pulled her closer. "C'mere you," she said huskily.

Cinder leaned in to take the kiss, only to pull back when Cloud's breath hit her nostrils. "Cloud, you smell like those vapors the Rondo keeps smoking," she said. "I asked you not to smoke that with them!"

"It was only a few puffs!" Cloud protested. "And only because Spared Rod was there and he insisted!"

"I can smell some wine there too," Cinder added. "Honestly, how do you Rondo ponies get any work done for your festival when you're always drinking and smoking?"

Cloud grinned. "We manage. Come on, Cinder, it's a couple of puffs and a couple of swigs. Is that enough to make me repulsive?"

Cinder replied by closing the distance between their lips this time. Cloud still tasted of wine; a heady, sweet tinge mixed with her warm softness. When Cinder tried to pull back, Cloud wasn't quite ready. Another moment, and they were staring at each other again.

"I was meaning to talk to you about Spared Rod," Cinder said. She wiggled out of Cloud's grasp, and stood up.

Cloud shrugged. "What about him?" she asked. "He leads the Rondo, like I said."

"I've heard some stories..."

"Which ones? From the Legion?" Cloud waved a hoof dismissively. "Lies just to get to him."

"Is it true that he has an unhealthy fondness for colts and fillies?" Cinder asked. A resolute look from her cut through Cloud's flippant dismissal.

"That was from one incident," Cloud replied. "It was a misunderstanding. The local guard cleared him of wrongdoing."

"What about the ones that say he was seen with ophidites in previous festivals?" Cinder asked.

"If there was even some small proof that Spared Rod was working with the Empire, he would have lost his head." Cloud frowned, then snorted derisively. "Who have you been listening to to get these stories? Your father? He doesn't know anything. Not about you, and not about Spared Rod."

"But—"

"I don't want to talk about Spared Rod anymore, alright?" Cloud snapped. "Not if it sounds like some Legion investigation. He's a good pony. All of the Rondo are. We get a bad reputation from the Legion because we get to have fun, but they don't."

Cinder bit back her concerns. Perhaps, Cloud Breeze was right. In the end, maybe she was still in her father's shadow; sharing his concerns, and doing things his way. She wasn't Legion, she wasn't even Arcanis Atheneum. She was just herself, and she just wanted to settle down, away from those stifling organizations with Cloud Breeze. So all she replied with was a smile and a nod.

"Don't be such a worrier, Cinder," Cloud said. "I promise you, this will be a party you will remember for the rest of your life. We've got it all lined up: food, drinks, entertainment...other fun stuff. You'll love every second, and you'll be thanking Spared Rod for setting up the whole thing."

"If you say so, Cloud."

"Of course, I do." Cloud's harsh gaze softened and she placed a hoof on Cinder's shoulder. "Now, come here. I wasn't done from earlier..."
> The Empire of Ophidus
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I love dealing with the ponies of Equestria. Of all our neighbors, they are the most reasonable. Certainly, their Legion is a terrible and stubborn thorn in our Empire's side, but look past them for a moment. Look past their rangers skulking in the swamps and jungles, and their walls, and the nasty spells, and their monstrous prince. Past them, you'll find reasonability. True, they may be rather hideous with their hides and hair, but ponies understand the value of gold, and the value of their own lives. With sufficient patience and daring, you can find the right ponies to negotiate with. Look for the malcontents and opportunists: the resentful officers that were passed over for promotion, the greedy merchants that will sell us their own dams for a good price, the fence-sitters always looking to have a hoof on every boat. There's an ophidite inside such ponies just dying to get out. Discerning eyes will find the right ones.

I have a pony contact, if you must know, not even an indoctrinated slave. She scours their slums for the destitute and other garbage, then she sells them at a good price. She says she's helping her country by making use of the poor. That is proper Imperial thinking. I tell you, under that soft, fluffy hide must be the scales of a proper citizen. You won't get that forward thinking from the ursans and wolven. I told her that, here in the Empire, a poor pony or ophidite can always sell themselves as slaves, rather than be strewn about as living garbage. She seemed to like this idea. Even if she is sympathetic, however, she will not agree to become part of the Empire. This is because she knows she will start out as a slave with a good chance of gracing someone's menu. This is an issue to be addressed.

Where is she from? She's from the Western Barrier Land. The West has the largest cities, and therefore the greatest amount of poverty. I must say, long-range excursions do pay off. I sent troops and servants to their western and northern lands, where they are often foolish enough to think that we cannot threaten them from where we are. You can move smaller groups through there if you are careful.

And ponies are so much more useful and pliant. They require far less taming, especially if you get them young. They are suited to a far greater variety of tasks; from pulling carriages, to racing, and cooking. A lot of their recipes are quite agreeable and easily enhanced with meat. They smell nicer too, thanks to a superior sense of hygiene compared to our other neighbors.

The ponies appreciate a good deal. One day, long after my death I'm afraid, we will banish their prince, and break their Legion. Then, we can surely give them a good place in the Empire. Without a doubt, they will rank higher than wolven and ursan citizens. I am certain that, one day, the need to even indoctrinate them will fade, and we will see true loyal citizens. This is why I am for the abolishment of eating ponies, no matter how unpopular the stance may be. The ponies are much closer in progression to achieving a proper place in the Empire. As a race, they should be moved out of the gourmet lists and onto the lowest rung of our society, pending Imperial Citizenship as the base starting point for all slaves, this will greatly encourage ponies to abandon their meaningless need for an independent nation.

—Baron Saifsyth of Ervan Reis's party speech, shortly before being assassinated by pro-consumption coatls.





Nefszen gently poured the vial of oil on his ceremonial dagger, watching the glistening droplets catch the rays of setting sun as they slid down the gracefully slithering curves of the blade. He wiped the blade gently with a piece of cloth, ensuring an even spread. A cobrahn’s ceremonial dagger, once presented after his graduation ceremony, was his most valuable possession. To return to Ophidus without it was to return to certain execution by the Cobrahn Hooded Council. His dagger was hilted with unicorn horn and bound by pony hide, an enhancement only allowed after slaying a unicorn in single combat by spells. A pink and purple tassel hung from the pommel. He didn't particularly like the color combination, but that was the tail color of the unicorn mage he killed and de-horned.

With the dagger cleaned and oiled, Nefszen looked around the camp yet again only to find the same damned forest. He hated this. It had been two days now. Two days of squatting in this wretched mountain forest, waiting for the scouts to come up with a report. He hated the Western Barrier Land, with its high ground and dry air. Why that wretched tikhana fled here, of all places, was ridiculous. The smell of pine tickled his nostrils, the rough, gravelly ground scraped against his scaly feet, the cold dry air clawed at his lungs. He missed the swamps and jungles of the south already. When the Empire finally colonized Equestria, he pitied the poor fools that would be stationed here. Perhaps, in that distant future, the coatls would have come up with spells to make this jagged, freezing land more hospitable.

"Captain Nefszen..."

Nefszen looked up to his second. Tasimyssa had born the long journey with ease, keeping their ponies in line with little incident. Nefszen would have preferred more cobrahns and a battalion of constrictors, instead of three viprens and four ponies. Viprens were quick and cunning, good with bow, whip, and envenomed blade. Like any red-blooded cobrahn, however, Nefszen preferred a living wall of armored constrictor scales and shields to hide behind while he cast his spells. Still, he had to make do. Even a group this size was almost too big to sneak past the Legion. Even with this, they were forced to utilize an attack on a Legion camp as a distraction. "What is it?" he asked.

"Snake Eyes and Fork Tongue have returned from their scouting," Tasimyssa replied. "I have their reports."

Nefszen glanced at the two ponies; a unicorn and a pegasus. These were third generation slaves on a major mission. Success would grant them proper citizenship, and the eager, hopeful looks in their eyes reflected just that. They were deserving, as far as Nefszen could tell. They were eager to please, skillful, and motivated. The Empire could always use such citizens. "Let's hear it then," he said.

"The tikhana has been very careful in hiding her tracks," Tasimyssa said. "We could not find any direct incidents when she was seen. We had to rely on general reports of ophidite sightings in the West."

"I would expect as much," Nefszen hissed. "She is skilled with illusions. She would not be so confident in hiding in Equestria otherwise."

"We have done our best in sorting these stories from wild rumors, to witnesses of other agents in the region, and rogue ophidites," Tasimyssa went on.

That would have to do, Nefszen supposed. Rogue ophidites were exceedingly rare; usually small, patron-less groups of viprens selling drugs or hunting for slaves to auction without dealing with regulations. Even if it wasn't the tikhana, it would be a service to the Empire to bring these groups down. "Safaszan stole a number of colts from the Ervan Reis stable," he said. "Too many just to have a roadside snack. She will try to sell those here, I'm sure. Do we have reports on rogue ophidites selling child slaves to the ponies?"

"Not directly," Tasimyssa replied.

Nefszen smiled. Some good fortune has smirked on him, it seemed. "How so?" he asked.

"There are stories of a group called the Moonlight Rondo supposedly dealing with ophidites," Tasimyssa said.

"The Rondo," Nefszen muttered. "They could just be buying goods from official agents." 

This could be nothing. The Rondo was well known in the Empire. They were excellent customers after all, as far as wines and drugs were concerned. Some ophidites appreciated their art, usually paintings and songs. Nefszen wasn't one of them. He didn't particularly care for their moon-worship either. Why they persisted after their precious Princess of the Night abandoned them was mind-boggling. What few imperial tales of her did not impress. The wolven saw her as a beauty. All Nefszen saw in the few Rondo paintings in Ervan Reis was a messy clump of dark hair and feathers with too many appendages.

"Perhaps," Tasimyssa went on. "Here is the interesting part. Their leader is well known for dealing with colts. Safaszan may have unloaded her goods on him in the past. He was caught making propositions to non-slaves by the local authorities, but managed to wriggle free. He clearly needs a fix. The Moonlight Rondo is holding a great festival soon. I imagine he will want specific form of entertainment for himself, and Safaszan can provide it."

Nefszen sheathed his knife, then rubbed his hands together. Well, well...a worthwile lead after all.

"There is a catch." Tasimyssa's tone lowered, her habit when delivering bad news. "The Moonlight Rondo is holding their great festival on Mount Moaning Top. Safaszan is likely to deliver her goods during the festivities to mask the whole process."

Sefszen cursed under his breath. "The damn skink will be disguised, of course," he groused. "And she will disappear for good once she's loaded with money. We have to kill her there."

"There will be a lot of ponies there," Tasimyssa said. She bowed her head preemptively. "I mean no disrespect towards your illusion skills."

"I can disguise us easily enough," Nefszen replied. "They may be gathered in large numbers, but these ponies will be inebriated and befuddled. They'll be lucky to differentiate their mates from their children, let alone imperial agents."

"We will go to Mount Moaning Top then," Tasimyssa said. "I will inform the others."

Sefszen waved a hand dismissively, and concentrated on his repertoire of spells.

His map put Mount Moaning Top farther north, still a good distance away from the Great Delve, but quite definitely deep into the Western Barrier Land. He would have to prepare warming spells. The last thing he wanted was to get killed because the cold made him sluggish.

His opponent was a tikhana; the hybrid offspring of a lust dragon and a cobrahn. This parentage did nothing to bolster her magical prowess, as her dossier from Nazcatania said, but it did grant her significant physicality. She was larger and stronger than even the average constrictor, though her cobrahn physique prevented her from coiling around foes to crush them. She still had powerful claws for hands, however, as the crushed, punctured skulls of her victims in Ervan Reis revealed. She also possessed some degree of magic resistance, typical of dragonkind. She could also fly thanks to the massive, scaly wings she had. He doubted that she would use such a method to escape. The ponies of Equestria would quickly spot her, and tikhana, like their dragon parents, were clumsy fliers. Legion pegasi would quickly hunt her down and turn her into a pincushion. 

A pity that the only option was to kill her, though. Tikhanas occupied a strange position in the Empire. They were abominations for sure, and no proper cobrahn would even consider willingly mating with a lust dragon. They were quite strong, however, and there was always use for the strong in the Empire. Unfortunate that tikhanas inherited their dragon parent's solitary tendencies, and they were averse to experimentations. Most of the very rare lot had tried to flee the Empire. Most of those had been recaptured or simply executed. Safaszan had proven herself particularly wily, however. She plagued the Empire with her raids and sheltered among the ponies. This was the first time she had made a mistake. Her last raid ended in casualties and she was forced to hurry away to Equestria by herself.

In single combat, Nefszen doubted his ability to dispatch Safaszan. This wouldn't be single combat though. She should be alone. Her accomplices were successfully arrested in Ervan Reis even if she did manage to carry away some colts. He was confident in engaging her up until his band overwhelmed her.

The pony element was the question. Nefszen looked to the distance, where the jagged peak of Mount Moaning Top loomed. If his scouts found out about these stories, then the Legion likely would have as well. The Legion typically ignored the Moonlight Rondo's antics within Equestria, but a whiff of dealings with the Empire would have them buzzing about like furious hornets. 

Nefszen considered a last resort should Safaszan prove too strong. He could simply expose her to the Legion. It might be a good idea to plant some anonymous tip to nearby Legion outposts, just to raise their alertness. They were capable fighters and she would be overwhelmed for sure. Nefszen's unit would likely be captured and executed as well. It was a price to pay for serving the emperor. Like any long-range imperial agent, he had a will drawn up and ready to be implemented at any time he was killed in action. His son was still in school, it would be a shame not to see the boy graduate from Nazcatania Academy, but he had plenty of money stored up to pay for schooling, and the boy would know his father served well. He looked up, shaking away the morose thoughts. He was perfectly capable of surviving this with right calls. 

Nefszen looked around one more time. His troops had lined up; vipren up front, ponies behind them. These were good soldiers, all things considered. Tasimyssa had been his second for years; they had killed ponies together and saved each other's lives. Next to her, Kasamyssen and Sohomyssa were also loyal fighters with years of experience. He owed it to the Empire to see them home safely.

Seeing his troop ready, Nefszen gave the signal to move on.
> The Blackmoon Blades
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Did any of you see the body of that dead stallion they found hanging by the main square's central tree? I knew that lad; mischievous and addicted to shocking others, but a good stallion. We caught him crudely depicting Princess Celestia and Princess Luna fornicating in their Heartland palace by the main square. We fined him for vandalism, gave him five lashes, then jailed him until he finished restoring his mess. Somehow, in his magically warded cell, he disappeared anyway. Now, he's dead. For those of you who didn't see the body, death appears to have been by poisoning. His ears have been cut off, and a crescent moon was carved on his belly.

This is Blackmoon Blade work. Maybe it's an imitator, in that case it's a damn good one, and clearly just as happy to follow their dogma. The Blades have been fading since the Blades of Nightmare incident, true, but outright dismissing them is a lethal folly. What few, scattered members they have still burn with the same fanaticism that forged them to begin with. Do not underestimate them or the lengths they will go through to follow their code.

We are now charged with hunting down this blade. Fortunately, he won't have the backing of his cult. During the height of their power, ponies who tried investigating them disappeared swiftly. Focus on newcomers to Arcanotropolis. This blade must have just arrived in this city since this is his first murder. These fanatics can't help themselves when they perceive an insult to their moon princess. Have air purifying and wind gust spells at the ready at all times. Do not eat or drink anywhere besides our mess hall until this blade has been caught, each meal cooked will undergo testing from now on. Do not attempt to engage the blade with less than a full squad.

I warn all of you, this blade is most likely at the end of his tether. His cult is on the verge of collapse, and the Barrier Lands as a whole is losing fear of and respect for Princess Luna. He will be eager to put on a show, and he will not fear death.

Arcane Mirror Fog Haze's Last Talk with the Arcane Knights





At the center of the Moonlight Rondo's base camp was the tent of Spared Rod, current Revel Master of the Moonlight Rondo. A prestigious position, as marked by having the largest tent, and the most colorful. All the colors of the rainbow swirled around the rather worn canvas while a big, smiling moon shone by the entrance flap. Thick plumes of yellowish smoke billowed from the open entrance, while some candles gave the inside a ruddy orange glow.

It took a great deal of restraint for Moon Sail to not set the damn thing on fire and listen to the screams of agony within with satisfaction. The tent was an abomination. It was a clumsy, undignified display of whimsy and ignorance. The colors clashed, there was no silver to represent moonlight nor dark blues and blacks to represent the night. Whoever allowed the tears, and bad patch jobs, should have been executed. The Blackmoon Blades worked long and hard to present the Moon Princess as regal, dignified, and awe-inspiring; a Princess Luna worth songs of praise. The Rondo presented the Moon Princess as a clown, inspiring nothing but mocking laughter.

And that awful stink...the thick, overpowering stench of burning befuddling grass mixed with the heavy, sweaty stink of unwashed ponies, pungent perfume, soured wine, and overripe fruit. It was an outrage. The ophidites used Befuddling Grass to subdue ponies. It was an instrument of slavery and Spared Rod used it for recreation.

Moon Sail wrinkled her nose, then spat on the ground, releasing all her disgust before putting the necessary mask on. It was a pleasantly smiling Moon Sail, the Moonlight Rondo's most reliable task mistress, who ducked under the entrance flap to make her way to the Rondo's leader.

The inside of the tent was far worse than the outside: used dishes piled high by one corner, waiting for lower ranking Rondo members to take them away, puddles of wine muddying the hard ground, and large, colorful cushions scattered clumsily about. Several ponies, mares and stallions alike, lay on those cushions in various states of befuddlement, eyes open and glassy, staring at nothing, breathing slow and deep to take in more of those foul fumes. They splayed about without a care, their throats exposed and just begging for a blade.

By one corner of the tent was a young colt, an earth pony urchin from a village the Rondo passed by that asked for work. He busied himself sweeping discarded bottles, cups, and burnt out cigars.

At the center of this decadent display was Spared Rod himself, puffing away on a large, rolled up wad of befuddling grass. His yellow coat glistened with patches of syrup, his long, bright green mane and goatee were unkempt and tangled with flowers, ribbons, and half-eaten pieces of fruit. He looked up at her, clearly in the middle of a stupor, and smiled his typical, crooked smile that he no doubt thought was charming. Yellowed teeth peeked past cracked lips, and more yellowish vapor seeped out.

"Moonie!" Spared Rod said. He held out the befuddling grass. "Puff?"

Moon Sail shook her head. "Perhaps later," she said. "I'm here about preparations."

Spared Rod pouted, his wrinkles turning him into a grotesque mockery of a spoiled filly who didn't get her way. "You always say later, Moonie." He did sit up a little straighter at the mention of preparations. "Did Sweet Cheeks agree?" he asked.

"Yes," Moon Sail replied. "The letter just arrived earlier. Sweet Cheeks and her retinue will arrive within the week, in time for the festival."

"Excellent!" Spared Rod crowed. "Begin construction of the cages, Moonie. Make sure they're sturdy. We'll have plenty of ponies pawing through them."

"Construction is already ongoing," Moon Sail said.

Provocatively dressed dancing mares and stallions inside cages...what did that have to do with the majesty of Princess Luna? Moon Sail snorted. About as much as puffing befuddling grass, she supposed. Or gorging oneself on wines and cheeses. Or whatever filth Spared Rod planned for the colt trying his best to clean up the tent. During the planning part of the preparations, Moon Sail suggested a small, quiet, moon-viewing party within the festival. The suggestion was immediately rejected, and a couple of ponies snickered. Moon Sail remembered their faces. Many of the Rondo will die by the end of this, but some will suffer more than others.

Spared Rod rubbed his hooves together. "Anything else?" he asked.

"A mare named Sassy Saffron came by," Moon Sail said. "She asked me to pass on a message: your special goods are ready and will be delivered at the agreed upon location at the agreed upon time. She expects premium prices."

Spared Rod's eyes lit up. "Oh.." he breathed. "That's excellent news." He glanced briefly at he cleaning colt. "More the merrier, I suppose."

"I don't recognize this Sassy Saffron," Moon Sail said. "She's not part of the Rondo, is she? May I ask what special goods she sells?"

"Oh, nothing important," Spared Rod said with a giggle. "Sassy is not within the Rondo proper, but she has been a very helpful contact."

Moon Sail bowed slightly. "I see," she said. "I'll take my leave then."

"Thank you for all the hard work!" Spared Rod called out after Moon Sail ducked past the entrance flap. In her thirty years of killing for Princess Luna's honor, she had never looked forward to a slaying as much as Spared Rod's. 

She already knew who Sassy Saffron was. It was the ophidite tikhana known as Safaszan. The specialty goods were a group of young colts taken from some ophidite stable. This was a serious crime, worthy of execution by the Legion. Moon Sail didn't care. She wasn't Legion. She had no particular love for the Legion. The Blackmoon Blades cooperated with them in defeating the Blades of Nightmare. The Legion replied by executing every member of both groups they could catch, many of whom were longtime comrades. Moon Sail had no intention of working with them ever again. That they might later appreciate the death of Spared Rod was merely an unintended, secondary effect.

That was why Moon Sail held off just walking up to Spared Rod, slitting his throat, taking his ears, then escaping these stumbling buffoons. What was important was not just that death, but how it was going to happen. Spared Rod was not only going to die, but the wretched Moonlight Rondo was going to collapse all around him. This had to be a spectacle; a hideous affair worthy of the wrath of Princess Luna. 

She trotted past other ponies of the Rondo going about preparations and towards her own tent, slightly out of the way of the other Rondo tents. Hers was not only isolated, but marked by its plainness and neatness. Inside was a single sleeping mat, a low table for meals, and a small chest for her belongings. Nothing out of the ordinary for good old Moonie, the helpful mare who joined the Moonlight Rondo a few months ago, but had proven so reliable that Spared Rod trusted her with some important tasks. It helped that most of these Rondo fools were permanently addled anyway. Worming oneself into their ranks was hardly a feat of master espionage.

Inside that single, locked chest was a false bottom which contained a pair of foreleg devices armed with extending blades, needles, small pellets that exploded with toxic gas on hard impact, and even a short, steel wire for garroting. A belt containing more envenomed knives lay next to them. This was all the equipment Moon Sail retained. She lost access to her full suit when the Legion discovered the Great Delve sanctuary. Moon Princess willing, she should be able to carry out her task anyway.

This would be the last task she would be able to do as a Blackmoon Blade. As one of the last. She had killed a great many ponies in the past, all in the name of Princess Luna. This would be the first and only time she would assassinate an entire organization.

It wasn't fair, truly. The Blackmoon Blades were going to fade into the mists of history despite all their training, their dedication, and their sacrifice. Yet, here was the Moonlight Rondo, a mob of drunks, addicts, and sex fiends, still existing supposedly in the name of the Moon Princess. Moon Sail looked to the future and feared what would happen. She had come to accept that the Blades would be forgotten. What she couldn't accept was that it was up to the Moonlight Rondo to, henceforth, represent Princess Luna to the ponies of the Barrier Land. Ponies would no longer fear the night, they would laugh at it, be disgusted by it, then treat it as a nuisance. This was unacceptable. If the Blackmoon Blades must fade into nothing, then the Rondo must disappear as well. The memory of Princess Luna, no matter how faint, would be that of fear and respect.

Moon Sail reached her tent at last, all too glad to be off some distance from the foul stink, the annoying laughing and singing, and the sight of so much indiscipline. To make her gladder still, a lone, cloaked pony stood just outside the tent. "Ice Carver," she said. "I passed the word, but I doubted that you would show up.

Ice Carver, the other Blackmoon Blade still alive, was not much a better sight than the filth of the Rondo. His woolen, dark brown cloak was ragged, stained and torn around the edges. It may protect him from the cold of the Western Barrier Land, but it did little to protect the world from his disheveled state. Moon Sail was several feet away from him, but she caught the stink of pus and weeping sores. Long, dirty, bloodstained bandages peeked out of his hood and dangled past his sleeves and edges. A couple of years had passed since she heard of his terrible laboratory accident. His burns did not look like they were going to heal much further. She could imagine him living with the agony for the rest of his life. It may be a mercy if his nerves had been destroyed, so that he was numb to everything.

"It's nice to hear the old name from somepony," Ice Carver said, in a soft, rasping baritone. "As nice as meeting a fellow blade after so long."

"Do you prefer 'Charred the Insane Apothecary?" Moon Sail asked. 

Ice Carver shook his head. "How are, you, Moon Sail? Enjoying the Rondo?"

Moon Sail snorted, then glared. "I hope you have some tools for me. I cannot wait to get to work."

Ice Carver set down a large, leather sack. From the bulges, Moon Sail guessed it contained what she hoped for: heavy duty canisters of toxin. She had made her request, but what exactly was in there was up to whatever Ice Carver felt was worth mixing. She had specifics in mind, but she could work with anything lethal. Wing blades and a stinger device would be welcome as well.

"One of Red Sand's original recipes," Ice Carver said. "Refined by yours truly, of course: yellowish vapors, strong pungency, quick-acting, and silent. A single canister will produce a cloud around thirty feet in diameter, and four feet in height, perfectly simulating a cloudkill spell. The gas is heavy, so expect it to stay low on the ground and resist winds. Don't worry about pegasi flying out. They won't last that long. The gas is highly unstable, though, it will become inert a minute after full dispersal. Hopefully, your victims will be clumped together in large groups."

"Expected in orgies," Moon Sail said.

Ice Carver tossed the bag over to an easy catch by Moon Sail. The load was light enough in her mouth. "There are four canisters in there," he said. "The last big batch I'll ever make, I suspect. I wish your mission well, Moon Sail, it is a noble cause that even I didn't have the foresight to think of." With that, he turned away to leave.

"Is that what you told Snow Horn and the others when you recommended that they chase after that painting the wolven stole?" Moon Sail asked.

Ice Carver stopped, the wind picking his cloak up slightly. More of his body showed past the fluttering cloth. He was due for a re-bandaging. The ones he had on were loose and filthy, letting out the disgusting sight of burned, discolored hide. "I agreed with them that the mission was important, yes," he said.

"It was suicide," Moon Sail said. "As is this. As was working with the Legion. All by your recommendation. Don't think you've been that subtle, Ice Carver."

Ice Carver turned around, the wind having pushed his hood back enough to show his snout. He smiled, at least as much as those shriveled, blackened lips could smile, revealing yellowed, jagged teeth. "Does it matter?" he asked. "You will do this mission regardless of my push. Just as they did."

"I just want to know why," Moon Sail replied. "Before we part ways, before I die, share your thoughts, you who have served the Blackmoon Blades so loyally. All this time, you've edged your fellow blades into fatal missions. Why?"

"You've already answered your question," Ice Carver said. "You know I want the remaining blades dead. You know I'm helping you because you will die doing this. That you will stay the course further proves my conclusion. This version of the Blackmoon Blades must disappear, as Princess Luna has disappeared. All our skills and knowledge have been locked into a task that has proven pointless. Better that all of the old members die out, and a new generation with new, achievable goals can arise."

"Do the old members Include you?" Moon Sail asked, her forelegs crossed.

"Yes, especially me. Don't worry, Moon Sail. Look at me. I will rot away eventually. If that's all, I must be going. Your Rondo friends will not appreciate my presence. It kills the mood, I've found."

Though Ice Carver did fill her with disgust, Moon Sail allowed herself a small sigh. As shady as his motives were, he was still the last of her comrades. "Where will you go now?" she asked.

"Grain Basket," Ice Carver replied. "I just learned that my son got recently married. I think I'll pay my respects, then just disappear."

"What an ignominious end," Moon Sail said. "Goodbye, Ice Carver." She hefted the leather bag across her shoulder.

Ice Carver lifted a hoof in a slow wave as he walked away. 

"Goodbye, Moon Sail."
> Sharpstone Fortress
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Do not involve the Legion in your affairs. Every mayor and village constable knows this. The Legion's job is to deal with foreign invaders. If it's wolven, ursans, or ophidites showing up to raid your home, by all means, run to them for help. You won't find braver, stronger, and more dedicated ponies anywhere. But, if it's bandits, a local uprising, or a gang war, then you had better put the Grove Guard to good use, and hope that they're enough. If they're not, and you allow these things to overrun your the town, then you are in truly dire straits. You'll have no option but to beg a nearby fortress or garrison for help. Even if you don't, one of your citizens will. Even if they don't, it won't take long for the Legion to notice what's wrong, and send in somepony to investigate. Woe betide everypony involved when the Legion finds it necessary to interfere. You'll find how serious our Prince was when he said "don't involve me or the Legion in your day-to-day affairs, you won't like my solutions".

Pick any Legion, and you'll find a different brand of viciousness in dealing with criminals they normally shouldn't be dealing with. Here in the West, Legion weapons are sized for ursans. I once saw an earth pony legionnaire pin a bandit's hindquarters to a tree with a bolt. It took two earth ponies to pull the damn thing out to free the body, and the poor fool was indeed a body at that point. The one hit shattered his hips. Up north, they practice "forced glory" by sending groups of armed criminals into nearby wolven encampments. Down south, they'll force you at arrow-point to fetch some honey from a sunfly hive. That's essentially choosing between turning into an arrow pincushion or being roasted alive.

The Legion operates by its own rules, and simplicity, expediency, and straightforwardness are key virtues. Don't try to explain to a legionnaire the specifics of whatever local law you might have. You're going to taste the back of his hoof or the butt of a spear before you finish halfway. They're not interested in what you think banditry is punishable by. As far as they're concerned, if they had to interfere, then every criminal involved deserves execution.

If they find your situation particularly bad, such as when criminal elements actually overturn the local government and settle down, then you're going to have to deal with a Legion investigation. You'll have their inquisitors sticking their muzzles in every corner of your business. Then, when they're done, more executions will follow. The mayor usually loses their head, then the vice-mayor for failing to step up, then a good portion of the lower-ranking officials. The Legion will go as hard and as long as they have to. Afterwards, they'll oversee elections for new officials. There are reasons why the mayor has a high salary, this is one of them.

If there are collaborators within your settlement, then expect a vicious crackdown. The Legion will kill anypony that has had dealings with ophidite agents, and it's almost always ophidites. You've heard the story of Grapesong Village? That place the Legion supposedly burned down and killed every villager in because it had been infiltrated by so many spies that they couldn't be sure? That's a fabrication. Such a village never existed. But it's an enduring story because, once you've felt the weight of a Legion investigation, the story will feel quite plausible. 

Climbing Vine, former mayor of the Five Groves, to the newly-elected mayor





In a normal situation, being the mayor of Moon Basin was an easy enough task. It was a small settlement, at the fringes the Great Delve's territory, nestled cozily at the foot of Mount Moaning Top. It was too small to present any sort of tempting prize to bands of bandits. It held too little strategic value to be endangered by ursan extermination campaigns, or ophidite agents. It was a sleepy little place, barely a footnote to Barrier Lands tax collectors and Legion recruiters alike. To lead its population involved nothing more than making sure everypony had paid their share, heading a few holidays like the end of the harvest, and maybe consulting with the constable over the local lads and their shenanigans.

Staring at a cadre of legionnaires was a bit out of the ordinary, though, so Fort Commander Forge Spark could understand why the light green stallion that stood in front of him was fidgety and sweaty. He had arrived inside the Mayor’s home with minimal fanfare; a couple of earth pony skirmishers, lightly armed and armored, of course, and his unicorn mage assistant, Hazy Sky. Even this small show of arms and armor was enough to make a small village nervous. Flanking the elder was the pegasus village constable, and some other village official, an earth pony who was probably the treasurer. 

This would be the first time he was meeting Mayor Bitter Hops. The old stallion wore his years well for the most part. Muscles along his flanks and neck suggested that he remained active despite his position and age. His green and yellow mane and beard showed a little bit of white, while his hide wrinkled only a little bit around the eyes and lips. That was going to change quite soon. His hair was ragged from a lack of recent care, the bags under his eyes looked freshly acquired. Forge Spark knew a pony out of his depth on sight.

"Moon Basin Village salutes our noble protectors in the Legion," Bitter Hops said with a slight bow. "To what do we owe the honor of a personal visit from a Fortress Commander?"

A standard enough greeting. Every settlement Forge Spark has ever visited said something similar. They did not always mean it. "Be at ease, Bitter Hops," Forge Spark replied. "We're not here for trouble."

At the slight sigh of relief from the two flanking Bitter Hops, Forge Spark hardened his voice just a touch. "And we sincerely hope that it stays that way. You've undertaken a dangerous and difficult task by working with the Moonlight Rondo, especially with the limited local constabulary you have at your disposal."

A slight shift in the pegasus's eyes suggested a half-quashed impulse to bristle. An easy enough move to correct when the skirmishers had their gashing blades sheathed by their sides. Weapons made to wound ursans would make quick and savage work of ponies.

"We appreciate the concern Fort Commander Forge Spark," Bitter Hops said, “but we are confident in the Rondo behaving well."

"Perhaps," Forge Spark said. "Nevertheless, I am sending a unit of legionnaires here. Don't worry, they will not get in the way of your festival or interfere with your day-to-day affairs and law enforcement. They will simply make themselves available for sudden emergencies, and perform simple, Legion-related tasks.

Bitter Hops was prudent enough not to inquire what those tasks were nor object to the Legion's presence in general. "Of course, Fort Commander," he said. "But, surely, you could have informed us this with a simple messenger? This hardly seems like a grave enough matter to merit your personal visit."

Forge Spark allowed himself a small smile, which he quickly hid under his beard. "This is just a small stop," he replied. "How is my daughter, Bitter Hops? I trust she is well."

At this, Bitter Hops's eyes lit up. Even the others next to him seemed to lighten their moods. Forge Spark already felt better at this. It looked like all of them were in agreement that they had moved on to a much more pleasant subject.

"Cinder Spark is doing well, Fort Commander," Bitter Hops said. "She has been a blessing to our little village, especially now with so many ponies coming in temporarily."

"She has a healer's touch," Forge Spark said, his muzzle slightly rising. His voice lowered just a pitch. "I hope you are not overworking her, and that she is properly compensated."

Bitter Hops shook his head frantically. "Certainly not!" he said. "The village would never dream of abusing her kindness."

"Good." With that, Forge Spark looked to the door. "If you excuse me, I want to see her myself. Good day, Bitter Hops."

Outside the Mayor's home, Forge Spark looked to his escorts. "Wait by the village entrance," he said.

"Are you sure, Sir?" Legionnaire Rust Proof asked. He looked around and fidgeted with his gashing blade. "There are Rondo ponies around, and I don't trust them."

"The Rondo is going to declare war on the Legion by assaulting a fort commander, is it?" Forge Spark said with a chuckle. "Relax, legionnaire. I'll be fine. I don't need nor want an armed escort when talking to my daughter."

All three legionnaires saluted, then made their way to the entrance. Forge Spark turned around. He wasn't quite sure where Cinder Spark's house was, but it shouldn't be hard to spot in this small village.

That didn't turn out to be necessary. Forge Spark found himself already looking at Cinder standing before him. She looked at him worriedly, not quite meeting his gaze, her forelegs close together defensively. "Father..." she said softly.

"Cinder," Forge Spark replied. He closed the gap smiling, then extended a foreleg for a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. Cinder Spark was looking haggard. She was still the picture of her mother's beauty, with a presence like a warming flame. But there was a touch of fatigue and worry, like a few flickers in the blaze. The beginnings of dark circles were showing under her eyes. Nothing serious...yet.

Lips tight, Cinder took a step back, and moved her face slightly away. At this, Forge lost the smile, lowered his foreleg, then stepped back. The shift in him was instinctive, something he tried to stop. If she didn't want to see her father, then Fort Commander Forge Spark it was. He held it back for now, tried to keep some warmth in his tone despite the hurt.

"How have you been?" Forge asked. "Things are looking a bit hectic here, and you're looking rather tired."

"I'm fine, father," Cinder replied. She grasped her upper foreleg with the other. "I've endured worse in the Atheneum. I could have told you this with a letter."

"It's been a while since I last saw you," Forge said. "Surely, it would be fine for a father to see his daughter once in a while?"

"I'm sure there are many duties waiting for you in Sharpstone Fortress. Is that not the most important thing?"

Forge let out a sigh. "Very well," he said gruffly."Let us speak of duties. How did your first meeting with Legionnaire Coal Grey go?"

"It went well," Cinder said. She finally looked at Forge. "He's a good stallion, father, deserving of better than me."

Forge shook his head. "Nonsense," he said. "You are a good match." To hear her think of Coal as a good stallion was reassuring. It was a small compliment, but Forge was willing to take every small step forward. Perhaps it would take dozens of more marriage meetings, but he was willing to wait.

"Cinder!"

Forge looked up and to the distance. That worried cry came from a white pegasus mare winging towards them. He frowned briefly at the possible implications, but he held off his suspicions for now. A few seconds later, this young pegasus mare had landed between him and Cinder, chest puffed up, eyebrows furrowed, and wings raised. Her mane flowed down one side of her face in a pink cascade, disheveled in some places, suggesting either hard exertion or revelry, The smell of wine confirmed it.

"Is there something you need, citizen?" Forge asked.

"I need you to get out of this village," the pegasus snarled. She stepped aside and looked to Cinder. "We both do, can't you tell?"

"Cloud Breeze, stop!" Cinder said. She stepped to the pegasus's side and tugged at her foreleg, but Cloud Breeze refused to budge.

"You're being very rude," Forge Spark said. His voice was low and challenging as a warning. "I'm just speaking to my daughter. You should not be so provocative."

"I'm not afraid of you, Legion pig," Cloud Breeze spat.

"I admire your bravado," Forge Spark replied. "Even if it did come in a bottle."

Cloud Breeze's shoulders shifted. Forge recognized the dip that would shift into a wide right hook. He considered his options. He could just shove this drunk, and she would fall over. He could stop that blow, telekinetically dislocate the offending foreleg from its shoulder socket, break her snout, and remove some of her teeth. He could let her hit him, then have his escorts clap her in irons. The swing finally came, but Cinder grabbed the foreleg with her telekinesis.

"Let go, Cinder!" Cloud Breeze growled.

"Father, please," Cinder pleaded. She looked at him, her eyes liquid while she strained to hold Cloud Breeze back.

Forge Spark sighed, then turned around. "I will leave, then. Take care of yourself, Cinder."

Once his daughter had dragged away her friend, and she was out of sight, Forge was all too eager to leave this village. At the horizon, the towers of Sharpstone Fortress awaited his return. Cinder was right, he did have duties to take care of.





The great stone walls of Sharpstone Fortress loomed tall and proud, watching over Equestria from the northwest, glowering over the ursans from across the border while they slavered, fought each other for succession, and plotted their next extermination campaign. 

Fortifications were rare in the West, and where they did exist, they were massive. When faced with foes that could rip apart a house with ease, one had to take extreme measures. The Legion preferred to be mobile when dealing with the ursans, using speed and persistence to harass extermination campaigns as they oozed from Ursinium like a leisurely avalanche. Only when the ursan horde bogged down with infighting, lack of supplies, and other problems did the Legion deal out a finishing attack. 

It was that last part where a fortress came in. Indeed, there were many small, easily abandoned outposts farther west of Sharpstone that did the bulk of the work in dealing with an extermination campaign. The main attack, however, would come from here with its multiple flights of lancers, and its spell arrays.

Forge Spark stared at the fortifications from his office window. As Fort Commander, his office was at the highest room in the tallest building central to Sharpstone. From here, he had a good vantage point to observe any part of the fortress. It also served as a constant reminder of how serious his position was, and how grave his responsibilities were.

Responsibilities...what a heavy term. He fought long and hard to make it to this position, to take on these responsibilities. Now, they were weighing down him, and seemingly keeping him bound to one position. He looked back to his desk, where official reports had been taken to account, and neatly stacked. Next to them was a small portrait of his wife, Stream Lily, holding their foal, Cinder Spark: the two most important mares in his life. How fitting.

'I don't know what to do, Lily...' Forge thought, as if the words in his mind could be carried away to the blessed realm where Equestria's dead went. He was going to lose his daughter. He had been trying to reconcile himself with that for a while now, ever since she left for Moon Basin. That was hard enough. Now, he might be losing her to the Moonlight Rondo, a cult of drunks, addicts, deviants, and layabouts. His thoughts went to that pegasus who interrupted them.

Were they—? Forge hated the thought of it. He remembered the first mare Cinder was with. What was her name again? Golden Sand? "Roommates," she said. The rumors were abound in the Atheneum, by the time he found out. Eventually, they reached Sharpstone. For all their stoicism and discipline, there were enough gossips in the Legion, especially if it was the Fort Commander's daughter. That was when Forge Spark became acquainted with every term used for mares attracted to mares: clam-masher, mirror-rubber, filly-fooler, lick-minge, though the last one was just from that one legionnaire from Glacier Fall.

Even so, Forge still held out some hope. If his time in the Legion had taught him anything, it was that one's will always trumped feelings. If one's sense of duty could overcome the fear of pain and death, it could surely overcome incompatible feelings. Cinder was no legionnaire. She didn't have the temperament for it, but Forge believed that the inner strength that the Legion espoused could manifest in other ways, even for civilians. 

This...condition can be overcome. Forge remembered a battle with ophidites in his youth. A cobrahn had struck him with a spell; a rudimentary phantasm that turned the world into a hazy mire of shadows. He was surrounded by fighting ponies and ophidites, and he wanted to jump back into the fray. He hesitated when he noticed that the positions of his comrades and foes appeared to have reversed, a fact confirmed when a "legionnaire" tried to stab him. He regained his bearings, and even though the spell continued to trick his senses, he knew what to do. His perception had been altered, but the ophidites were still ophidites, and the ponies were still ponies.

Cinder's situation was similar. Her perceptions were altered, perhaps not by something sinister like ophidite magic, but altered nonetheless. Yet, mares were still mares, and stallions were still stallions. He arranged her marriage with Skirmisher Captain Coal Grey in hopes that she would soldier on, and start a traditional Equestrian family. Her continued stay in Moon Basin and the involvement of the Moonlight Rondo, in particular that pegasus mare, dimmed that hope.

Forge Spark sat back down in his desk, and opened one of its drawers. Inside was a translation of notes from a coatl named Hensath, which he leafed through. The Southern Legion acquired and translated it during a raid, and Forge requested a copy when he learned of the contents from a friend.

Hensath had compiled these notes after purchasing a pair of stallions from a slave dealer for studding. She discovered that both stallions found it difficult to perform their assigned tasks, and discovered why when she observed them later in the night. Fasamyssen sold me queer stallions! she helpfully wrote down. Her outrage later turned into curiosity, and she purchased more such ponies in order to perform some tests.

The rest of the notes described Hensath's tests in her attempts to "cure" these ponies: various surgeries, powerful enchantments, torture, venoms, drugs...none proved to her satisfaction. Ultimately, the notes ended with little useful results, unless one wanted broken down ponies.

I will need more subjects. Perhaps, we can breed this trait out if we can identify it at the root. Honestly, the ponies of Equestria should just submit. We are clearly more concerned with improving their race than they are.

Forge Spark set the notes down. Even the most ruthless, unbound methods resulted in nothing. What hope did his meager efforts have?

He eyed the reports involving Moon Basin. Now, here was when the personal and the official mixed in ways he didn’t want to. 

The Moonlight Rondo had been doing more than just influencing his wayward daughter. Too many outraged demands had come to the Legion’s doorstep. Too many incidents and too many embarrassments. The Western Legion Commander had finally decided to put an end to it. It was inevitable after the destruction of the Blackmoon Blades. Equestria had no more patience for the cults of Luna.

At least, that was the official cause. The Prince’s return from his visit to the Heartland and his soured look at Princess Luna certainly had something to do with it. Forge Spark still remembered the eager gleam in Legion Commander Sky Arc’s eyes when she passed this directive to him.

The Western Legion had set its eyes on the festival of Mount Moaning Top even before reports of ophidite involvement even reached Sharpstone. It was an opportunity not to be missed. The Rondo has taken to spreading itself out in the past decade or so, travelling in small groups and hosting impromptu parties to stay out of scrutiny. For this festival, nearly all members will converge on the mountain where their cult was born. The Legion intended to make it the mountain where their cult was destroyed as well.

The reports on ophidite involvement proved a blessing in two ways. It gave the Legion more of an excuse to move in as it was now no longer a domestic issue. It sat in with Barrier Lands public as well. For all their degeneracy, the Rondo’s parties still had admirers. Arrests were expected, but a slaughter might anger too many. Unless, it turned out that the Rondo collaborated with the enemy. The other reason was that it allowed Forge Spark to send in a group of legionnaires ahead. He picked Coal Grey specifically, and after the engagement, in hopes that he could assign his daughter a protector without making it official. It was his hope that Coal Grey would lead her to safety before any fighting broke out. He did not want her to witness the operation in full swing.

Forge Spark’s thoughts briefly turned towards that angry pegasus mare again. She would be a problem. She might even force Cinder to stay in the festival until the attack. She was a hothead though, easily provoked and with a massive chip on her shoulder about the Legion. Chill Gaze’s selection was no accident either. If she tried that stunt from earlier, the other legionnaires might hesitate, but Chill Gaze would take care of the problem. And once the signal was given, the main force under Forge Spark’s command could move in and finish things.

Forge Spark looked out the window again. A sound enough plan with a few unknowns. The best he could compromise between being a father and fort commander. It should be enough. It had to be.
> The Skirmishers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Western Legion, new recruits. It pleases me to see so many earth ponies willing to take up weapons to protect our beloved land. You may have noticed that you have been separated from the other group of earth ponies that came to this fortress with you. That group has been selected for the crossbow units, while this one will have the privilege of joining the Western Legion's skirmishers.

You should be honored. If you're in this group, it means you are the swiftest of runners, with the muscle to wield the largest melee weapons in the Legion's arsenal. You have the right mindset and mental strength, though some would say the right type of insanity, to engage towering, armored, bear-monsters in ground-based melee. 

You will join the ranks that produced the legendary Apple Slice, the Last Great Apple, the Great Bear Wrangler, and First among the Earth Pony Heroes. Perhaps, you may not reach the same heights he did, but, I promise you, through hard work and dedication, you will do him proud.

I will not sugarcoat your situation. The skirmishers have the highest death count in any engagement. During an extermination campaign, it is not surprising for the Western Legion to lose well over half its skirmishers. You may be reassuring yourselves right now that it has been decades since there was an extermination campaign, but that only means that we're due for one as a lot of ursan cubs have grown up during the preceding time, ready to run amok on our beloved Equestria. It will fall to us to drive them back again. Discard that flighty, save-yourself, line of thought. You are skirmishers now, and you must throw yourselves into the role if you wish to excel.

We skirmishers are the true backbone of any Western Legion strategy. True, the glory roles and highest kills will always go to our lancer flights, but without us, the ursans will simply plow through our encampments and slaughter our unicorn magi and crossbow ponies with impunity. Our lancers can kill ursans well, but cannot prevent them from going where they want. So hold your heads high when you speak to our brothers and sisters in the other units. Even they know how badly they need us.

As a skirmisher, you will embody very different but very important qualities. You must be aggressive, swift, and decisive, able to turn and strike the instant you see the enemy show a vulnerable moment. Ground warfare with the ursans leaves no room for hesitation. You are always running, either towards or from your enemy. If you slow down to think, make no mistake, you will be stepped on, or torn apart, or popped into an ursan mouth as if you were a bonbon.

Yet, you must also be patient. Patient enough to wait for that vulnerable moment to show itself. You must be patient with the results of your hard work. Our gashing blades are not designed to instantly kill an ursan. They are designed to lacerate flesh, and leave terrible, bleeding wounds. Our spears may have the length to penetrate deep, but without the massive momentum of a lancer dive-bombing strike, trying to stab deep will get you killed. You must strike and escape over and over, slowing them down with each strike, and trusting the sure death of bleeding out or infection to take them out if a lancer or bear-skewer doesn't take them down while they're slow and vulnerable. That takes patience.

So reflect upon these qualities that you will learn to manifest, recruits, while you report for group assignments and training. I wish you all the best of luck, and I hope to see many fine, proper legionnaires in the future.

Skirmisher High Captain Wicked Hack





Of the three legions that protected Equestria, it was the Western Legion that was the least suited to dealing with fellow ponies. Their brothers and sisters up north and down south fought against creatures that were relatively close to a pony's size, barring brachyurii and coatls. Their weapons and tactics were thus easier to adapt. The Southern Legion, in particular, was very good at dealing with ponies, given the Empire's use of indoctrinated slaves.

Coal Grey was wishing that he had some Southern Legion rangers with him at the moment as his unit approached Moon Basin. He was leading a team of skirmishers and unicorn magi to investigate the Moonlight Rondo's festival for ophidite infiltration. Well, escorting the Legion Inquisitor who was going to investigate, to be precise.

Already, his team was drawing frightened stares. His skirmishers were armed with spears nearly twice the length of a pony, with wickedly barbed heads designed to draw copious amounts of blood. By their sides were their gashing blades, long, curved weapons with saw edges. Closer inspection would reveal that each sword was actually two blades close and parallel to each other. A cut from these weapons would leave torn, parallel wounds that no surgeon in Equestria, or anywhere else, could hope to suture.

The trio of unicorn magi with them did not present an ominous sight, but their reputation preceded them. Western Legion unicorns were not known for magical finesse and elaborate techniques. Some unicorn magi, typically those from small villages, actually managed to do well in the Western Legion knowing nothing but telekinesis. They weren't the sort who could use telekinesis to string a needle from twenty feet away, however. What they had was power, the sort of power to telekinetically rip a pony's foreleg off and beat them to death with it. Since the evocation arrays used against the magic resistant ursans were greater than the sum of their parts, unicorns of the Western Legion concentrated on making really large sums. Even a foal could conclude that telekinetic blasts that could crush the skull of an ursan would do very terrible things to a pony.

And, of course, there was the fourth unicorn in the team: Director Chill Gaze, Inquisitor Chill Gaze in this capacity. Since investigating ponies was seldom the purview of the Legion, the position of inquisitor was not an exclusive role, often just a side role given to a legionnaire who had a keen eye when it came to matters involving ponies. Chill Gaze was far from the friendliest pony one could hope to meet anywhere, but he had a rather insidious way of finding out things about anypony. One had to wonder if his parents were prescient enough about him to give him his fitting name, or he had changed it along the way to mirror his nature. Regardless, he did have a chilling gaze; stern, ice blue eyes like stagnant, lifeless pools of frozen water. His dark gray coat, almost black, and white mane only made his presence even more bloodcurdling.

As the appointed Legion Inquisitor, this was technically Chill Gaze's investigation. Coal Grey, however, held command over the troops with them, even the unicorn magi, putting him in equal footing. That was all well and good. Already, Chill Gaze looked like he would rather have the assembly he directed just rain telekinetic death on Moon Basin for harboring Moonlight Rondo "degenerates".

It was an interesting dichotomy. The skirmishers were more feared because their weapons were ominous, while the unicorns less so because they presented themselves plainly. Yet, Coal knew the ponies in this group, even the legionnaire from Glacier Fall whose name kept escaping him. Skirmishers believed in taking things at an even pace, in relying on subtle, gradual ways to bring down the enemy, and the proper balance of fleeing and attacking. The Western Legion's unicorns believed in charging up all their magical might, pooling it together, then unleashing it in a single, incredibly violent blow. If the first strike wasn’t enough, charge up a second blast, add more power if necessary.

"Hey..." Plowshare whispered as he walked up next to Coal. "Think we'll meet your clam-mashing bride in there?"

Coal struck his friend's shoulder lightly; both a mild show of amusement and a lighthearted warning to keep things in perspective. "If all goes to plan, Plow, definitely not." He glanced behind him, where Chill Gaze and the other unicorns were walking together. Plowshare merely chuckled, and fell back.

Coal Grey was hoping to forget about the whole failed arranged marriage. He was already thinking up a script, and working on looking surprised when Fort Commander Forge Spark suddenly discovered that Cinder Spark had run off with a mare. He hadn't given up on the legionnaire reproductive duty, however. Maybe he could meet a mare in this sleepy little village. Hopefully one that preferred stallions. 

Running into Cinder Spark would be a bad development. He was with Chill Gaze, who despised "clam-mashers" as just another form of degenerate. If they interacted, Chill Gaze might discover the whole thing, including Cinder's plans and Coal's...well, not collaboration, just permissiveness. One report to Forge Spark would destroy his budding career in the Western Legion.

It was apparent that Moon Basin was crawling with activity when they got closer. It was the day before the start of the festival after all. The ponies of the Rondo were loading up their wagons and preparing for the long trek up Mount Moaning Top.

In the past, all Rondo festivals lasted for a week. This was reduced to three days once their feasting took a noticeable toll on the ponies around them. After the Blades of Nightmare incident, they were only allowed a single day of revelry every six months. This festival on Mount Moaning Top would be different, though. Since they had chosen a remote location, and had pushed hard for the local authorities to approve. The Moonlight Rondo was allowed to hold their traditional seven day festival. Mount Moaning Top was the birth place of the Moonlight Rondo. The cold and dry air by its tall peak made for a beautiful moon and it was the first ponies that came here for the moon viewing that came upon the idea of creating the Moonlight Rondo. This was, thus, a return to the Rondo's roots.

Chill Gaze took this opportunity to walk up to Coal Grey's side. He would not see it that way. Coal would agree, to a point. The original Moonlight Rondo was a troupe of musicians. Their parties were lively, with a focus on rustic music and spontaneous dance to differentiate them from the solemn pageantry of the Night Parade. The food and drink naturally followed as the gatherings increased in size and length. The...other things that the Rondo has become known for could hardly be considered as part of original Rondo's vision. This was no return to the Rondo's roots, more like a corruption of their origins.

"Disgusting..." Chill Gaze said as he looked upon the ponies loading up a large wagon with barrels. The wine stains on their covers, and on the lips of their porters made it clear what they were for. They were heavy for now, but Coal surmised that they would be significantly lighter by the time they made it up that slope. Chill Gaze had on a face that Coal imagined himself to have should he open his lunchbox and find maggots crawling all over it. 

"These are citizens of Equestria, Inquisitor," Coal said quietly and sternly.

"Should that give them immunity to my contempt?" Chill Gaze asked with a sidelong glance. "Criminals are citizens too; murderers, rapists, bandits...even turncoats that would sell our nation to the Empire."

"If we find such ponies among these citizens, then we will deal with them," Coal said. "Until such a time, we ought to treat them as the same citizens we swore to protect when we joined the Legion."

"How noble," Chill Gaze said. "I'm aware that your fiancee lives in Moon Basin, Skirmisher Captain, you're not just presenting a front to impress her, are you?"

For a moment, Coal's heart grew cold while he waited for Chill Gaze to add that Cinder's plans were already known. When no such admission came, he snorted. "None of your business, Inquisitor. Does the Fort Commander know that you're snooping about his daughter's business?"

"To call this snooping is like going to the pantry and calling it foraging," Chill Gaze replied. "Fort Commander Forge Spark picked you specifically for this investigation knowing that you will have some emotional ties with his daughter. It's reasonable to surmise that he expects you to protect her when the investigation gets under way." Chill Gaze went from a sidelong glance to a full on stare. "I will assure you, just as I did the Fort Commander. If I discover that she's involved with ophidites, Fort Commander's daughter or not, I will tie that noose around her neck myself."

"If she really is an ophidite collaborator, you wouldn't find a neck," Coal said. "I'll take her head myself." He patted his own gashing blade. How ironic it would be if the same weapon that saved Forge Spark's life would take his daughter's. It was easy to make that sound sincere. There was no way Cinder Spark would have anything to do with these supposed ophidites. She wanted to escape the Legion's shadow, not place herself in its sights. Some dark corner of his mind, however, lingered on the notion of such a thing being true regardless. Would he really execute her? A disturbingly large portion of himself felt fine with that proposition.

A small smile, more like a twitch of the lips as one would see on a corpse, crossed Chill Gaze's face. "Good to hear," he said. "I'll hold you to it."

Now, it was Coal's turn to be disgusted. The only approval more shameful would be Emperor Sesyth's.

"Skirmisher Captain," Plowshare said from behind them.

Chill Gaze snorted, and went back to consult with the other unicorns. Coal allowed himself a smile now that he was with better company again. "What is it, Plowshare?" he asked.

"I'm not liking the layout of this village," Plowshare said, his tone low to keep things between them. “It's one big street flanked by houses that leads to a small square surrounded by the largest buildings. We can easily be corralled to that spot and surrounded.”

"Expecting an ambush, Plow?" Coal replied. "Moon Basin isn't known for its rebels and bandits."

"The ophidites are, though," Plowshare said. "Let's plan for the worst case scenario that they're working with the Rondo and they've taken over the whole village. Me and a couple of others can sniff around the sidelines while you take this straightforward path."

Coal nodded. "Alright, take Shank Flank with you, and that legionnaire from Glacier Fall. Grab a unicorn too, preferably Chain Lace, she's got a few divinations in her."

"It's Brawl...something," Plowshare said. "Damn! He already told me twice!"

"You know who he is," Coal said. "Take care, Legionnaire."

Plowshare saluted, then trotted over to the other skirmishers. They were still in sight when Coal already found the move prudent. As he walked the main street, the sidelong glances from the Rondo ponies didn't look particularly welcoming. 'They're worried,' he thought. 'Makes sense. The Legion's cut down a lot of their partying. Our presence can easily be seen as the Legion cracking further down.'

The farther the group walked into the village, the louder the murmurs among the village folk and the Rondo ponies grew. It was almost like approaching a hive of hornets. The hairs around Coal's neck were starting to prickle, expecting a sting any time now...

An apple flew across the street, and straight towards the group.

Coal raised his foreleg instinctively. Defend one's head, particularly the eyes. Such a projectile wouldn't do anything anywhere else. He was already scanning the crowd for the culprit before the fruit even hit. A split second, and his mind registered that he wasn't the target at all. This one was flying towards the back of his group. A warning cry was half formed in his lips when the apple stopped.

A chorus of gasps quickly ensued, followed by even louder murmurs and hushed alarm. The apple remained suspended in mid air, an aura of light blue surrounding it. Coal knew that color of magic. Sure enough, Chill Gaze's horn was aglow, the light colors only emphasizing his dark expression. The apple crumpled under his magic, juices leaking out until it was a dripping ball of mash.

The culprit was evident enough; a white pegasus mare with a long, wavy, light pink mane. She half hovered in front of the crowd to Coal's right, probably because somepony was tugging at her tail to keep her grounded. She was holding another apple already.

"You're not welcome here, legion pig!" the pegasus snarled.

"Cloud Breeze!" the unicorn tugging at the pegasus yelled, or at least tried to with her mouth full of tail. Coal squinted. Damn, that was Cinder Spark! This other mare must be...he was already hurrying towards Chill Gaze.

"The Legion is not here to be welcomed," Chill Gaze said flatly. "Now that I have been assaulted, Legion protocol allows me to fight back."

The apple mash dropped to the ground as Chill Gaze intoned a more powerful spell. The already chilly air around him dropped to an ominous low. Coal had already reached him, however, and stood in front of him. "Stand down, Inquisitor," Coal said, his tone steely.

"We're under attack, Skirmisher Captain," Chill Gaze said. "Perhaps you should consider standing up instead."

"It was a piece of fruit," Coal replied. "A cone of cold is not the appropriate response." The second apple flew, but Coal simply swatted it away with a foreleg, his eyes still on Chill Gaze.

"Then a piece of fruit thrown back should be reasonable," Chill Gaze said. A nearby cart shook a bit with the driver letting out an alarmed cry. A single jackfruit rose from the pile of assorted fruits in the cart, aglow with Chill Gaze's magic.

"That's very cute, Inquisitor," Coal said. "You've shown how powerful you are. Now, let me deal with this mare."

Chill Gaze stared at Coal for a few seconds more. For a moment, he looked ready to throw the huge, spike-covered fruit at the mare, who was still hovering and trying to get another piece of fruit, when he did stand down. The jackfruit settled back in the cart, and the driver hurried away.

Cinder finally pulled the other mare, Cloud Breeze, down, then swiftly stepped in front of her.

"I beg for your forgiveness for this display, legionnaires," Cinder said, her head bowed low. "My friend..." she glared at Cloud Breeze briefly. "...is impulsive enough sober, and she has had a few drinks."

"Public drunkenness, in midday no less, disorderly conduct, assaulting a legionnaire," Chill Gaze said. "This mare should be hugging a whipping post right now. If your laws won't discipline her, citizen, the Legion will."

"I'll show you where you can put that whipping post, Legion pig," Cloud Breeze snapped.

Cinder looked worriedly to Coal. Oh, things were getting worse by the second, and he had barely gotten his hooves into this village.

"The Legion is not going to punish her," Coal told Cinder, his eyes briefly shifting to Chill Gaze.

"If we let this go, they will throw rocks next," Chill Gaze said. "Then, it will be arrows we will have to worry about."

"We are not starting this mission with a public flogging, Inquisitor," Coal growled. He looked around, prompting Chill Gaze to do the same. "These ponies are already afraid of what we might do after all their preparations. We will show them our magnanimity, and win their confidence for the sake of a smooth mission."

Chill Gaze kept his stare on Coal for a few more seconds, then walked away. "As you say, Skirmisher Captain," he said.

Cinder Spark let out a breath that she looked as if she had been holding for minutes. "Thank you, Skirmisher Captain," she said with a smile. "I hope you do find success in your mission." She turned towards Cloud Breeze, who only glared at Coal.

"Don't think I owe you any favors, pig," Cloud Breeze spat. She shook off Cinder's hoof, then flew off.

"Cloud!" Cinder called out. With one more apologetic look towards Coal, she ran off.

Coal kept his face grim as he turned towards his group. He had to with Chill Gaze watching him like a hawk. "Let's keep going," he said.
> The Legion Inquisitors
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You've all heard the fictional village of Grape Song, I'm sure. The embellishments tend to differ depending on teller and listener. What details have you heard? Perhaps, the one in which the Legion forced all the villagers into a large barn and set it on fire? How about the one in which half a dozen assemblies bombarded the village with telekinetic blasts until there was nothing but rubble and gore left? Or how about my favorite; the ground opened up, and the wrath of our Prince swallowed the village whole. Its a pastime found in all parts of the Barrier Lands, told whenever one discusses the dangers of confronting the Legion.

Now, I can simply say that such things are exaggerations and leave it at that, but that is hardly any sort of consolation given that I am part of the Legion. My overall message, after all, is not to suggest that you should not worry at all about the Legion, but to encourage a healthy respect for us. Let me instead give you actual incidents of the Legion interfering in domestic matters. Don't worry, it's a short list. Such events are very rare, and the Legion prefers it that way. We would much rather put our faith in the brave ponies of the local garrisons so we can concentrate on external matters.

First, and the earliest recorded was in the real village of Grape Vale far to the southeast of here, where there was indeed a cell of ophidite spies. The Legion Inquisitor involved rooted out their hiding place in a citizen's basement, then sent in the rangers she traveled with. After the ophidites were slain, some villagers were found guilty of collaborating with the Empire, and were summarily executed. All two of them.

The second one involved Whiteout's Army, a large group of bandits made up of both ponies and wolven under the Legion deserter, Whiteout. They terrorized the countryside to the north. They had gotten so bold that they attacked roads close to SummerSteel City. The inquisitor assigned to the task rooted out their agents within SummerSteel that allowed them to coordinate raids on caravans. Under interrogation, these bandits revealed their hideouts. The Legion surrounded them, and wiped them out. Now, several officials in Summersteel were executed, including the deputy mayor, but this was because they were actually spies, not because they were simply incompetent.

The third, and last for this list, was the riot within the Great Delve. You may have heard of this one as it was only a decade ago. The riot was initially considered a domestic issue. When the Legion representative to the Delve was murdered, however, a team of inquisitors was sent. I must admit that this case involved a mass execution with every pony directly tied to starting the riots publicly beheaded. You must understand that it was important that a clear message be sent to the ponies of the Great Delve and their complicated internal politics. The Legion does its best to remain uninvolved, but once it has, terrible consequences must follow. This springs from our Prince's words themselves.

Yes, there are more incidents beyond this three I mentioned. These are the major incidents, I will point out. A great many lesser ones crop up often. There was one a year ago, right here in the Arcanis Atheneum, when somepony was stealing from the shipments of mana batteries meant for the Legion. I will point out that nopony was executed that time, though several expulsions, and a de-horning, were given out.

The Legion is on your side, never forget that. Brave ponies give their all everyday to protect our beloved Equestria. I hope you see our inquisitors not only as ponies doing their jobs, but as important allies; the connecting links between civilians and the Legion. You may find your own local inquisitor here in the Arcanis Atheneum, within the Legion outpost along with my office. While our primary purpose here is recruitment, we will assist you as appropriate. I must warn you, though, that falsely reporting crimes to the Legion is punishable by flogging at a minimum of five lashes. Thank you for your time, I will be taking questions.

Legion Representative Silk Slash to a class of new students in the Arcanis Atheneum.





Moon Basin had very few points of interest. Usually, it was a brief stopping point for anypony making the rare trip to Mount Moaning Top for some reason. As such, Cinder Spark didn't really have to search far to find Cloud Breeze. There was a small pond by the village's outskirts, surrounded by reeds with a large tree leaning over it. It was a pleasant enough little spot, and Cloud Breeze had taken a liking to it since the Rondo came here. The tree's large branches were highly conducive to lying down, with thick, soft leaves and naturally nest-shaped clusters of small branches.

Sure enough, it was easy to spot the long, pink tail hanging down from one of the branches. That and the rather distinct smell of wine...

"Cloud," Cinder called out. The tail swished slightly, like a bored, slightly annoyed cat. If anything, Cinder always found that adorable. She did enjoy catching Cloud here. The pond's stillness had a calming effect. Cloud's head poked out of the branches, glum at first, but already brightening.

"Cinder..." Cloud said. Her face twisted in embarrassment and worry. "I messed up, didn't I?"

Cinder sighed. She couldn't help a smile, though. "Yes," she said. "Yes, you did. But, you're fine, and not being whipped, that's what matters."

Cloud's lower lip stuck out before she landed on the ground, close to the pond's edge. It seemed that the near brush with pain and trouble was an excellent sobering tonic at least. "I knew that old fart of a father of yours was going to send lackeys. I didn't expect Inquisitor Chill Gaze to be one of them."

"You know him?" Cinder said worriedly. "He did look quite dangerous."

"Yes," Cloud's tone lowered to a hiss. "He's always had it for the Rondo. Years ago, he caught one of us trying to pick his pocket in the Delve." Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. "He had Sticky Hoof lashed ten times! Ten lashes for the few lousy bits in his money pouch! Sticky couldn't even walk for weeks!"

"That is indeed very harsh," Cinder said. She looked back to some old memories. She had encountered Chill Gaze before, back in her university days. Her father had introduced her to some of Sharpstone Fortress's unicorn magi, perhaps to inspire her to sign up for the Legion as well. She remembered ice blue eyes and a vicious stare...was it the same pony? The image was fuzzy. Just that cold stare. Her father had achieved the opposite that day. She could not imagine herself bearing the scrutiny of such ponies, and not crumbling. The Legion was simply not for her.

"He's a monster," Cloud went on. "He's the worst kind of Legion pig. Legionnaires are supposed to be dedicated in service to us, not putting on airs and acting high and mighty!"

"That may be true," Cinder replied, "but he is the inquisitor assigned to this festival. If you antagonize him, he will bring the Legion down on us."

"I know..." Cloud picked up a stone, then skipping it across the pond. "I said I messed up, didn't I? Besides..." Her snout wrinkled, and her tone dripped with mockery. "I would hate to be rescued by your wonderful fiance."

Cinder stepped forward. "Skirmisher Captain Grey is a good stallion and clearly a friend," she said. "He did not have to do what he did for you, but he did. If we do not play this right, he will make an enemy of my father, and that would be the end of him."

"Just go through with the marriage then," Cloud replied. "He's a strong, dashing, handsome stallion with some rank already." Her lips twisted briefly into a cruelly mocking smile for a second. "He's a skirmisher, though, so you better hope an extermination campaign doesn't come during your lifetime. Either that or bear a foal with him before he goes off. Skirmishers get the short end of the stick during battles against ursans!"

"Stop this!" Cinder said sternly. "He's—!”

Cloud suddenly turned around, and grasped Cinder's shoulder firmly with both hooves. "I don't like sharing," she said, her tone husky, defensive, and intense all at once. Cinder could still smell wine in her breath. Cloud glanced sideways for a moment. "Well...except maybe booze, and smokes, snacks too..." Her eyes focused and her grip tightened. "But not my Cindy. I saw how he looked at you. He has to know he doesn't stand a chance."

"Of course he doesn't," Cinder replied. For a moment, she just stared. The sudden sharpness and focus in Cloud's smoky, light blue eyes made her heart throb, a little bit out of fright, true, but also a good deal of excitement. When Cloud cleared out the fog of drink and smoke, she could be so intense. Cinder was quite happy that the reason for such occasion often happened to be her. She tucked her muzzle under Cloud's chin. Now, if only she could stay like this more often. That would require something she had been going on about for a while.

"Cloud...maybe we should go. Right now. We should skip the this festival and just run off."

Cloud Breeze's shoulders tensed, then she pushed Cinder back to foreleg's length. "What?" she exclaimed. "I already told you that I can't do that! One last big party with the Rondo before we set off together, right?"

"I know," Cinder said. She glanced away after that accusatory question. "But things have changed now. There's a Legion Inquisitor..."

"I'm not afraid of him!" Cloud snapped. "He's not scaring me away from this party!"

"Cloud, you've been in so many parties with the Rondo. You've more than enough memories of them to treasure, and we can always come and see them after things have cooled down."

"That's—!" Cloud's lips twisted at the sight of Cinder's pleading face. She breathed heavily, looked away, struggling inwardly while Cinder waited and hoped. Finally, she let out an exhale. "No." Cinder's heart sank, but outwardly she just put on a resigned face. "I want this to be our celebration, in the Rondo's style. We won't be getting a wedding with your father probably hunting us down, but this is our big party before our new life. The Legion is not taking it away from me. Our love is stronger than their callousness."

"Cloud, I appreciate gesture, I really do," Cinder replied. "But I'd rather we make it out of this safely. If my father catches us, he'll never trust me to live here in Moon Basin. He might even have some legionnaires throw you in a dungeon or worse!"

Cloud crossed her forelegs in front of her. "No," she said. "That's the bottom line. I'll take your father on in a heartbeat."

It was Cinder's turn to grasp Cloud by the shoulders. "Cloud—!"

A rustling by the bushes from the opposite side of the pond brought them up short. A lone unicorn mare with a pale yellow coat and a long, golden mane came out. "Pardon me," she said. She spoke loud enough for them to hear her, but her voice was soft and wispy. "I was hoping to speak with Spared Rod. It's about his special delivery."

Cloud Breeze's eyes lit up. "Sassy Saffron!" She glanced back to Cinder, eyes determined and stern. "I'll see you later. No more talk of skipping this, alright?"

Cinder didn't leave right away, however. This Sassy Saffron mare looked a bit...unsettling. It wasn't just the slyness in her gaze or her smile. She had an aura around her that Cinder couldn't explain. Some traces of magic that she couldn't quite determine. Cloud was in danger. It just felt that way simply from how the two were talking.

Sassy Saffron caught her staring, and offered a polite smile and a short bow.

The look from those ruby eyes only worsened the sensation. Cinder tried to turn around, only to find herself rooted to the spot. She was trembling, and her legs refused to follow her commands. After a few more seconds, she managed to tear them from the ground, and put them in front of one another with great effort.

Though it was only supposed to be a leisurely walk, Cinder was panting and in a cold sweat when she finally reached her house.
> The Tikhana
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Imperial policy on interracial breeding is a rather complicated matter. It is perfectly allowable for for constrictors, viprens, and cobrahns to intermarry and interbreed. Coatls, of course, will only pair-bond with other coatls, this is both racial preference and imperial law. This is despite the fact that coatls will hatch from the eggs of any ophidite couple seemingly at random. The cobrahn scholar, Ifaszen, compared it to the transformation of wolven pups into brachyurii when certain conditions occur. It should be noted that I do not agree with this theory, and that Ifaszen was put to death by the orders of multiple coatls shortly after.

Sexual relations with non-ophidites, especially slaves, is illegal. Offenders are fined heavily, jailed, and required to report to the Imperial Registry for Deviants, where their crime is assessed and their degeneracy is given proper rating. Such instances often occur with ponies. For some reason, some ophidites find ponies "cute" and "beautiful" or even sexually attractive. This may be aided by the fact that ponies are not giant bears and are significantly more hygienic and refined than wolven. However, this is done despite absolutely no viability for offspring, and that ponies are completely alien in appearance with no similarities with ophidites whatsoever. One can only conclude that any ophidite attracted to ponies is a disgusting pervert to be rightly ostracized from the Empire at large.

The case involving dragons, specifically lust dragons, is a different matter. It has been observed that dragons can produce viable offspring with cobrahns which we call tikhanas. Deliberately mating with dragons is still highly frowned upon among the cobrahns, and is still considered illegal throughout the Empire. However, the offspring themselves are regarded with great curiosity rather than shunned and destroyed.

The likelihood of a tikhana being born and surviving to adulthood is extremely slim due to interference from both the Empire's and the dragons' sides. While other dragon types are properly disgusted by the behavior of lust dragons, they have accepted that such things are simply in the nature of lust dragons in general. The notion of offspring, however, is something they, in particular the pride dragons, will not stomach. It has been observed that since tikhanas are partially dragons, other dragons have an incredible gift for sniffing them out even miles away. Pride, envy, greed, and gluttony dragons will attempt to destroy a tikhana when they discover one. Wrath, sloth, and lust dragons are less inclined.

The Empire, on the other hand, has no desire to simply destroy tikhanas, but ophidite curiosity is often best satisfied by experimentation. Tikhanas often learn to never trust fellow cobrahns and especially not the coatls. Attempts have also been made to integrate tikhanas into the Imperial Armed Forces, but with very little result. Tikhanas have inherited a great deal of useful traits from their dragon parent in the form of tremendous size, wings, a resistance to fire, and unique abilities depending on the type of dragon their dragon blood eventually emulates. Unfortunately, tikhanas also inherit undesirable dragon traits such as intense isolationism, the desire to hoard wealth, and a strong resistance to authority. Every attempt to get them in line has only resulted in rebellion or escape.

The tikhanas that choose to fight the Empire have all been killed whenever a case happens. Those who escape must be hunted down. The Empire will not tolerate even a small possibility that our neighboring nations might benefit from their power. It has been a worry that tikhanas may start allying with kirins, which are the offspring of dragons and unicorns, but the single encounter observed between these two hybrids ended in violence, with both suffering fatal injuries. Many cobrahns have already theorized that tikhanas and kirins naturally despise each other for their similarities.

My personal recommendation regarding the issue of tikhanas is, first of all, to discourage their creation to begin with. It is not right that a citizen should subject themselves to such perversion or to force a particularly violent and lonely fate upon a creature that might have been a proper cobrahn if its parents had not deviated so badly. We, as the Empire, might eventually grow to accept tikhanas, but they will always be hunted down by dragons, and harboring them in Ophidus will only result in increased dragon attacks. As for already existing tikhanas, leaving them be is out of the question, so the available steps already being taken will have to suffice until these unfortunate creatures stop coming into being.

Excerpt from the notes of Nifiszen, Cobrahn Scholar for the Nazcatanian Library.





What was it about these ponies that made them stink so much?

It was the question that constantly flashed in Safaszan's mind. These...creatures looked so scruffy and disheveled. It was all that hair. Shovel upon shovel of dirt could be trapped in that hair with all of its grease and tangles. Their lips and eyes were so moist and their tongues so big and slimy. It was a wonder how they could walk upright rather than just flopping and sloshing everywhere. Taking on their form made her want to bathe in fire. Taking on a pony name, and forcing herself to interact with them as if they were equals mortified her to no end. This had to end at some point, and it should end with all these animals dead.

"I didn't expect a visit, Sassy," Spared Rod said. "I thought that the next time we meet would be during the festival with my special goods."

Safaszan indulged another fantasy as she looked at the head of the Moonlight Rondo. It was better than looking at this disgusting tent with its food scraps and heavy clouds of burned herbs. Worst of all was the sight of inebriated and befuddled ponies lying about. They looked like garbage in every sense of the word; just casually strewn about by their careless owners. 

Spared Rod's head looked so small and so soft. It would fit perfectly in her palm. She could grasp that head of his and squeeze...and squeeze...

"The situation has changed a bit, Spared Rod," Safaszan replied in Sassy Saffron's soft, irritatingly cheery voice. "I understand that it is quite late into the deal, but I think these developments require some renegotiation."

A frown creased Spared Rod's  face. Safaszan actually preferred that. That dazed, sleepy grin he usually wore gave him an air of arrogance. He was nothing before her, but the sight of such relaxation and carelessness was insulting. She was tikhana; all by herself, she could lay waste to this encampment of trash. It wouldn't be hard. He should fear her, and she could make him if she didn't need other things.

"I don't understand," Spared Rod said coyly. "Twenty-five thousand a head is already quite plenty. I understand that you may be proud of your goods, but this is easily reaching the heights of greed."

"The Legion has come to your festival," Safaszan said. "Their presence will make delivery more complicated than necessary."

"The Legion's presence was already taken into account during our previous meeting," Spared Rod replied. "This is why delivery will be during the festival. They should be nice and distracted. A few might even participate. It has happened quite a few times."

"There are more than what I am comfortable with," Safaszan replied. "There is an inquisitor as well and a number of unicorns that might expose me. I believe that such added danger deserves added compensation."

Spared Rod leaned forward, his snout wrinkling into an unpleasant smirk. "Is the mighty Safaszan that frightened of the Legion?" he asked.

Safaszan smiled, revealing a few of her pony form's upper teeth. It was hardly the most frightening sight, but the message should still be enough. "Are you suggesting that I go on and kill these Legion nuisances? I could, you know, but that might not be the best thing to happen to your precious festival. Such deaths will ensure that you go under even harsher investigations. It would be the end of your Rondo should that happen."

"The end of you as well," Spared Rod said. "Where would you go, Safaszan?" he asked softly. "Equestria is not teeming with customers for your "merchandise". Maybe you'll try Ursinium or Wolvengard to sell them as light snacks?"

"Why not?" Safaszan asked. Her chest was heating up with rising fire. Her muscles tensed, and her stomach rumbled. She had been surviving on small woodland creatures for a while now; some squirrels here, some sparrows there, and even rats.  A nice, succulent pony steak, inch-thick, sizzling with butter, generously sprinkled with salt and pepper, and a side of garlic-infused mashed potatoes sounded so good right about now. It was all she could do to maintain the illusion. "I'm selling them to you as light snacks anyway."

"Are you really going to make this so much harder, Sa—“

"Have a care with your little slips of the tongue," Safaszan hissed. "Prod the snake, and you'll get the fangs."

Spared Rod sighed. "With all these price increases, Sassy, you're going to make it more profitable just reporting you to the Legion."

"You will go down with me for certain," Safaszan said. "Enough idle threats, Spared Rod, you're not going to magically become a loyal Equestrian citizen any more than I will turn into a loyal Imperial citizen. I want thirty thousand a head or I'm leaving. I'm sure I'll find other perverts somewhere in Equestria that haven't made such a reputation for themselves."

"Not with my resources," Spared Rod said. "Twenty six thousand."

"Twenty eight," Safaszan countered. 

"Fine." Spared Rod took in a long hit from the rolled up herbs he was smoking. "Is that all you came here?" he asked with a puff of foul-smelling smoke accompanying every word. "How very formal for one with of your nature."

Safaszan smiled and stood up. "I enjoy a good bit of revelry myself, Spared Rod, just not with disgusting creatures such as yourself." She stepped over a drunk pony on her way out.
> Mount Moaning Top
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mountains of the Western Barrier Land are a grand and beautiful sight for certain, but before you lose yourself in the great vistas of the Crystalline Mountain Range, the All-Mountain, and Mount Dragonthroat, remember that a great many dangers lurk these lands.

The Western Barrier Land is often forgotten in conversations about hazardous terrain. Everypony is quick to speak of the bizarre and dangerous flora and fauna that inhabit the jungles to the south or the wide stretches of frigid wasteland that make up a good portion of the north. The West appears idyllic in comparison with its forested mountains and more temperate climate.

Don't be fooled by such picturesque visualizations. These mountains can be fraught with danger. The passes can be steep and treacherous. On a yearly basis, dozens of ponies are reported missing or dead after traveling along the roads and falling off, or being carried away in an avalanche or a rock slide. Don't think it's any safer for pegasi just because they can fly. We have no shortage of reports of pegasi trying to cross the mountains with flight only to be battered by powerful crosswinds, then hurled against the mountainside like one might hurl an egg against a stone wall.

The Western Barrier Lands is the homeland of the dragons; powerful, unpredictable creatures easily capable of destroying whole cities if left unchecked. The Southern Legion can talk all it wants of assassin vines and blood thorns, but they do not have to know the terror of watching a fully armed and armored lancer burst into flames just by flying too close and too long near an angered wrath dragon. And dragons are far from the only things lurking the cavern complexes within our mighty mountains; carrion crawlers, ropers, grells, and spider-leg horrors to name a few. You're also just as likely to run into a bandit hideout given that the Western Barrier Land has the highest incidences of banditry in Equestria. Being robbed and killed might even be the more merciful fate. Because it's so easy to disappear into the mountainous wilderness, you might run into even stranger and more dangerous ponies than what is mentioned here.

The cities aren't that much safer. There are crazed True Earth Ponies that will drag you into their burrows to torture if you happen to be a unicorn or a pegasus. There are also vicious cultists of Princess Luna as all of her cults call the West their home. You might be assassinated by a Blackmoon Blade for accidentally looking at the moon the wrong way, or be sucked into a whirlwind of debauchery with the Moonlight Rondo only to be left drunk, addled, and penniless in a back alley somewhere with a throbbing headache and a festering rash on your nethers.

So stay cautious, traveler. Keep close to the roads, travel during good weather, ensure you have supplies, do not flaunt your wealth, and listen to the local garrisons and the Legion. This land can still be a beautiful sight, but one must be alive to enjoy it.

-An excerpt from Star Net's Guide to the Western Barrier Land





Mount Moaning Top was not exactly in the front lines of conversation when discussing the many mountains of the West. At least, not the ones Coal Grey has had. It was unremarkable for the most part, just one of the many peaks to the west of the Great Delve. The name came from the unusual shape of its peak, or more accurately, its many peaks. The winds would blow through the rock formations, creating an eerie moan that would echo all across the mountain. Coal had never heard it before, and hasn't so far even though he now stood on the mountain itself. His fellow legionnaires claimed that it sounded as if the mountain itself was having a good rut, which was probably why the Moonlight Rondo was founded here.

"Not a bad spread, eh Skirmisher Captain?" Plowshare asked. He was munching on a slice of pumpkin pie, the crumbs tumbling down the links of his chain barding. Even though they were a scary and unwelcome wet blanket on the celebrations, even Coal's unit was offered meals by both the village folk and some of the Moonlight Rondo's members. Even Chill Gaze, who was examining the food tables, was offered hospitality.

These Moonlight Rondo ponies weren't so bad, it seemed. They had a nice spread laid out; fresh fruit, salads, stews, and pastries. A large group of ponies were playing instruments, livening the air up with a lilting tune that several ponies were already dancing to. In the background, a few games were going on, and at the center was a huge bonfire to warm the party goers for this cold night. Villagers and Rondo members alike were enjoying themselves; laughter and full bellies all around, chins dripping with sauces and wine, hooves giddy with movement.

Cinder Spark was nearby, tending to ponies that had overeaten or were inebriated already. It was mostly villagers unaccustomed to so much laid out before them. Cinder had a little station set up with mats laid out for her patients. This was hardly a proper setup for a medical station, but Coal admired her determination. He doubted that she was being compensated for this labor, but she was clearly a good enough neighbor to the other villagers to lend her skills. He was tempted to approach her for conversation, but he was wary of her marefriend. That pegasus clearly didn't like him, or any pony from the Legion for that matter.

All in all, it was simple, wholesome fun. It didn't seem to make sense that an inquisitor had to be sent here with an armed unit. Chill Gaze's call for a larger force from the fortress was a ridiculous overreaction. 

However, even Coal, who wanted to give these ponies a chance, knew better than to relax so easily. All of this looked too good and simple. The Rondo presence was also too small. They were out there somewhere, on the higher slopes of Mount Moaning Top. This was most likely a cover. Chill Gaze likely thought so too. He finished what Coal could only guess as inspecting the food for illicit substances, and made his way over.

"This is a front, Skirmisher Captain," Chill Gaze said. "Look at the pony they left in charge. This is ridiculously fake." 

One of the Rondo ponies, a pegasus mare obviously picked to be a representative given her clean look, bright eyes, and lack of participation in the festivities, approached them. 

"We hope you are enjoying yourselves, Sir Legionnaire," the mare said. She was smiling as she spoke. "My name is Moon Sail, and Spared Rod has asked me to take care of whatever it is you might require of us."

Moon Sail looked a bit out of place in the Rondo to Coal. The lines around her face and the few streaks of gray in her short, corn-yellow mane suggested age. She was probably the only middle-aged pony here, save for Spared Rod himself, who hadn't showed up to his own party. She looked more like a school teacher chaperoning for a party for the students than a member of the Moonlight Rondo. Coal didn't miss the long scar that ran down from her right ear to her jaw, nor the old burns along her neck. Those didn't look like cooking accidents. Most of her body was covered by a long, woolen coat for the cold, but he had a gut feeling that he would see more scars there.

"Thank you, Moon Sail," Coal replied. "May I ask where Spared Rod is? He wasn't around for most of yesterday's opening ceremonies either."

"As head of the Moonlight Rondo, Spared Rod dedicates himself to the success of the festival in the background," Moon Sail said. "Right now, he is currently dealing with caterers and other deliveries to ensure that the festival is well supplied."

"Yes," Chill Gaze said. "But where is he? I would like to speak with him."

"Spared Rod has asked that his dealings be private," Moon Sail said. "I hope you understand. The Legion has been known to put pressure on our suppliers when discovered."

Moon Sail should have known better than to say that. Sure enough, Chill Gaze's frown deepened. "Is that so?" he asked. "That only makes us want to see these deals even more. Take us to him, or it's you we'll take in for questioning."

The reaction was instantaneous, almost rehearsed. Moon Sail's eyes widened at the sudden threat. "I'll...I'll show you to him then," she said.

Coal was about to pull Chill Gaze aside, when he noticed the slightest twitch by the corners of Moon Sail's lips. It happened so quickly that he was already doubting if it was real. What was that? A suppressed smile? At the thought of being taken in for questioning? That didn't make sense...unless Moon Sail deliberately piqued their interest.

This could be a trap. An ambush by the Rondo? Perhaps Coal really had underestimated the situation and Chill Gaze was right to call in more troops from Sharpstone. That seemed highly implausible though. His mission was on record in Sharpstone. Even if he and the rest of his troops were slain, they would be reported missing very quickly, and the might of the Legion would descend on the Moonlight Rondo.

That may be where the ophidites would come in. Perhaps, the Moonlight Rondo had decided to abandon Equestria in favor of the Empire of Ophidus. Moon Sail had already mentioned that the Legion had been pressuring the Rondo. Indeed, the Legion had been ensuring that Equestria would be a more hostile place for the cults of Luna. They may have thrown their lot in with the Empire, and Coal's unit would be their offering.

"Plowshare!" Coal called out. His friend and subordinate was quick to get to him. One look at his face and upon hearing his tone, Plowshare already stood up straight, eyes alert and mouth grim. The crumbs from the pumpkin pie seemed to fall off him in response.

"Yes, Skirmisher Captain," Plowshare replied.

"Any sign of the troops Chill Gaze called for yesterday?"

Plowshare nodded, then kept his voice low. "We've got some lancers already incoming. Ground troops should be arriving in an hour or so."

So reinforcements had arrived. This was a chance to get to the heart of this mess. They could hold out for a time if they were attacked, and this would prove without a doubt that something was wrong with the Rondo. "Make sure our magi have their signal spells ready to go. Set up that little group like we did earlier and stay on the periphery while we follow this mare," Coal whispered.

Plowshare saluted and went off. With him gone, Coal looked back to Chill Gaze and Moon Sail. "Alright, let's go."
> The Ophidite Imperial Army
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ophidite Imperial Army may employ a variety of tactics during engagements, but its formations can be summarized into the roles each type of ophidite plays within the Empire.

In front of any ophidite charge, if they are available, are the indoctrinated slaves. These are typically ponies, but one can find wolven, and even an occasional ursan among them. As they are not proper citizens of the Empire, slaves are considered expendable, used to probe for enemy strengths and weaknesses. They are minimally armed and armored. As long as only slaves are in the melee, the ophidites will have no problem firing volleys of arrows and spells into the melee. Some coatls, however, do object to having particularly prized slaves treated in this manner and will hold them in reserve.

Do not expect every pony, wolven, or ursan you encounter in the Imperial Army to be an expendable, indoctrinated slave. The Empire does employ a promotion system that eventually allows loyal and skilled slaves to climb ranks and eventually make their way up to citizenship and to officer ranks. Beware these as they will often pose as easily cowed slaves when cornered only to betray their "rescuers" later on. The Imperial Army also employs mercenaries; groups of unscrupulous ponies, wolven, and ursans that will fight for any side for the right pay. While these groups are better provided for, the Imperial Army tends to hold them with contempt and will have no problem sending them out to the front.

Once the slaves are either killed or are in deep enough trouble, the Imperial Army will send out its regular troops. Spearheading any proper ophidite charge are the constrictors. While not as massive as ursans, they are powerfully built, often heavily armored, and armed with halberds. Constrictors can move swiftly despite their size and weight, but only for short bursts. One can tire them out rapidly through proper use of terrain. They will rush weak front lines and smash them apart to be exploited by the ophidites bringing up the rear. Hold fast to bring them to a halt. They can be bogged down once they lose momentum, and their size makes for easy targets for arrows and spells.

The vipren will attack at the same time as the constrictors. Most will hang back and rely on their archery. Expect vipren arrows to be coated with poison, often from the fangs of the archer using them. All southern legionnaires are expected to carry multiple vials of vipren antivenom. Vipren will also form squads to form flanking attacks in unison with constrictor charges or will conduct raids on supply units when the opportunity presents itself. They can be dangerous and skilled fighters in a melee, but they lack strength and endurance, and will be forced back by a concentrated attack.

A serious ophidite attack can be defined by the presence of cobrahn support. Cobrahns will form up at the rear lines of an ophidite charge, and will unleash a torrent of dangerous spells if they are not suppressed. They have a fondness for conjuring poisonous gasses, and will do so even with constrictors and vipren already in the melee. This will depend on the arrogance of the cobrahn commander and the seriousness of the battle's stakes.  A warning to any brave legionnaire that manages to break through the ophidite lines to engage the cobrahns. Do not expect pushovers. Cobrahns can stab and kill with their ceremonial knives as easily as they use them to cast their spells. A cobrahn bite is also highly venomous. They will be prepared with defensive spells and close-combat enhancements, and will have no problem abandoning the other ophidites to save themselves if necessary.

If a coatl is involved, then expect dire straits. A lone coatl will rain death on entire squads of legionnaires with little effort. Their telekinesis can rip a pony in half, and their shields have been known to deflect even catapult and ballista shots. Fortunately, coatls are very rare. There are usually no more than two hundred of them at a time in the Empire, and most won't even leave their manors in Nazcatania or their plantations in Teszcatanisz. Concentrate your efforts when dealing with a coatl. Use their extreme vanity and selfishness against them. They will hoard the best bodyguards to protect themselves even if it will deprive their front lines of strong warriors. They can be easily provoked by slights and insults. They will also go through absurd lengths to not just win an objective, but to appear to win it with ease. This will make it easy to disrupt their plans. Coatls also despise the slightest hint of insubordination, and are quick to assert their authority in brutal fashion. Drive a wedge between them and their cobrahn commanders.

Should there be any indication that Emperor Sesyth will involve himself in a battle, make plans for immediate withdrawal. Pray that our Prince is on his way.

Excerpt from Boglight's Guide to the Southern Barrier Land, First Edition





Finally, after what felt like an eternity of travelling this wretchedly dry land, Nefszen spotted the lights that had to be the festival on Mount Moaning Top. He was right on schedule. It was only the first night. Safaszan should still be around. He raised a hoof, stopping the others behind him, then gestured for Tasimyssa. It was a green-coated earth pony mare with a short, brown mane that approached him.

"Yes, Captain?" Tasimyssa asked.

"How is the group?" Nefszen asked. "Are they battle ready?"

"We've been going at a breakneck pace, Captain Nefszen," Tasimyssa said, almost apologetically. "We will go at your command, but to better our chances against a difficult foe, I would advise a period of rest."

Nefszen himself was exhausted. It was true, he had pushed the group hard. Safaszan could not be allowed to finish her deal or it would be too late. They had made good time, at least.

"If we do not strike now, Safaszan will escape," Nefszen said.

"Perhaps, there is no need to be so hasty," Tasimyssa said. "We've made it to the first night of the Moonlight Rondo's festival. Safaszan will not make her move so early. It is at the first night that the festival will be under the heaviest scrutiny. Their Legion has grown to be wary of them, and will make inspections. At the second or third night, when they have presented an image of being safe, the Rondo will indulge in their true behavior. That is the time for Safaszan to move in."

Reports on the Moonlight Rondo did confirm Tasimyssa's words. The Rondo had been mistreated by Equestria, though it could easily be seen as justified. This was why they could not just buy Safaszan's goods straightaway for fear of being caught with them beforehand. That also suggested that they would have to find a way to get rid of these goods after. Perhaps, that could mean that Safaszan planned to stay until the end of the festival so she could take her used goods back, then sell them for a lesser profit later if she didn’t just eat them.

"Very well," Nefszen said. "We will camp out here, and rest until the second night."

The ponies with them let out sighs of relief. They had been shaking and sweating. Even Kasamyssen and Sohomyssa were eager to get their rest. Nefszen checked his dagger, and recalled his spells. Illusion reinforcement would be in short order soon.





Spending the day this close to such a large group of ponies was no relaxing matter as it turned out. Nefszen's group stayed low and hidden, even with their pony illusions on. Some scouting showed multiple caravans taking the winding paths up the mountain's slopes. Normal all around. Nefszen didn't detect Safaszan among those arriving. Perhaps, she was already there, and just biding her time.

The climb up Mount Moaning Top wouldn't be too difficult. The base sloped up at a comfortable angle and the paths were well-cleared, even though this was clearly a mountain that wasn't a regular traveling spot. Food wasn't an issue. Indeed, it presented an opportunity to test Nefszen's spellwork. He approached a small caravan of ponies carrying food, and offered to buy some. This deep penetrating mission gave him plenty of access to the Imperial Army's Equestrian bit coffers after all. They obliged, all smiles and eagerness to offer a meal to what looked like a tired pony wayfarer. Nefszen couldn't help but find it a little quaint. He took the time to strike up conversation in the process.

As it turned out, this wasn't just a Moonlight Rondo festival, it was meant to be their biggest. Their smaller branches all gathered together on this mountain. Just Nefszen's luck, it seemed. Of the Legion presence, there was already a group in the festival monitoring things, and there were sightings of a larger one moving in. A larger Legion presence...on one hand, that would make Safaszan's task much harder. On the other, it would make Nefszen's task harder. What had provoked them in the first place? Did that skink, Safaszan, fail to mask her trail well enough? What a laugh it would be if Nefszen's group wasn't even needed in the first place.

And there was the odd thing that these ponies mentioned. There were rumors that a pony called "Charred the Insane Apothecary" had been spotted lurking around this area, and that his presence was a portent of impending disaster. The ponies he spoke to shrugged it off with a laugh, but Nefszen found it a little disconcerting. There were a lot of factors to consider now.





The second night at last. Nefszen led his troop on less obvious paths, approaching the mountain away from the main partying locations. The Legion's main presence would most likely be there. Safaszan should be hiding in the more remote locations of this mountain.

The detection spell Nefszen had up was starting to react. Good. He had commissioned the Imperial Army for this very specific spell to locate tikhanas once they were at a certain distance. The mental ping only he could hear not only alerted him as to how near the quarry was, but where the general location would be.

"This is an odd scent to catch here..." Tasimyssa whispered as they moved along.

"What do you mean?" Nefszen asked.

"Befuddling Grass fumes," Tasimyssa replied. "It smells like we're close to some stables, which makes no sense."

"It does considering the Rondo," Nefszen whispered. "We are approaching Safaszan. She must be close to the place where they would not want the Legion to see."

It was too dark to make out much, however. Nefszen trusted in his detection spells, and focused on where he placed his feet.

"Captain!" Tasimyssa whispered harshly.

Nefszen stopped without making a sound when Tasamyssa laid a hand on his shoulder, and urged him to get down.

"Where do you think this Moon Sail's leading us?" someone said quietly.

"This is way off the main party. Maybe, she's just trying to get rid of us."

Ponies! Of all the accursed luck! Nefszen went through his spells. He was in a compromising position away from the main celebrations. He hadn't expected to run into other ponies lurking the shadowy outskirts of the festival. Perhaps, he could dispatch these silently, and move on. He held off a killing spell, however. These ponies were also sneaking around. Legion investigators? Bandits hoping to rob the festival? The clink of light armor suggested fighters, at least.

"Keep your eye on the Skirmisher Captain..."

The Legion. 

Attacking may not be the best idea. They would raise the alarm. Nefszen considered a different approach. He altered his disguise to include some light armor. The slaves with him were armed and armored anyway. With his spells reinforced, he let out a sharp "hsst!" to catch the ponies's attention.

"What the—? Who goes there?" one of them asked, his voice still low. Though the moonlight did not provide much illumination, Nefszen was close enough to determine shadowy details and silhouettes. This was a small group of earth ponies and a unicorn. A splinter group likely doing reconnaissance. They must be tailing another group after that last remark. 

"Stay calm," Nefszen replied. "My name is Marsh Cut, I'm a ranger from the Southern Legion tracking a dangerous ophidite."

The ponies had their spears out in an instant. "We didn't receive any sort of message regarding Southern Legion involvement," one of them said in a low, challenging tone.

Tasamyssa was already with Nefszen. Naturally. "The ophidite cannot know that we are this close to her," she said. "All information about this hunt has been restricted."

"The ophidite..." one of the unicorn said. "There's only one? This is quite a huge hunt for one ophidite...by our Prince, is it a coatl? How could one get all the way here?"

"No, but close," Nefszen said. "This is no time for long discussions, the enemy is near."

"Damn...so is that Moon Sail really leading the Skirmisher Captain to a trap?"

Nefszen concentrated on his detection spell. Safaszan was close. He pushed past the legionnaires with authority, reinforcing his lie that he was a no-nonsense southern legionnaire. Better to immediately shift their focus on other pressing matters to limit their scrutiny. They were on an elevated slope of rock, looking down on a winding trail leading...somewhere. It was ridiculously dark for a supposed happy festival. Nefszen guessed that these Rondo ponies deliberately kept it dark to "celebrate the moonlight" or some such nonsense.

As to where they were going, it was difficult to tell. Nefszen was no expert on mountains. This was the rockier part of Mount Moaning Top, and the large, looming cliff-faces ahead suggested that it was going to be a cave. This must really be a secluded area given how dark the path to it was. The only light besides that of the moon, was from the light spells the unicorns on the trail were using. A closer looked revealed that this was a larger group of legionnaires following a lone pegasus.

It would be easy to guess that this lone pegasus might be Safaszan in disguise, about to lead some legionnaires into a deadly ambush. Nefszen's detection spells said otherwise. Yet, this pony did not "feel" right, anymore than this whole situation. One of Safaszan's newly acquired minions? That would not be so strange. The tikhana was an imposing sight, and it would not be beyond her power to attract a following even after the demise of her last group.

The two groups followed wordlessly, with Sefszen's group sandwiched between the legionnaires. It was a good precaution, he supposed. Useless, as he was not here to attack the Legion, but they were at least careful enough.

It was rough going trying to keep up. They stumbled through rough terrain. Walking on all fours was not a comfortable thing for Nefszen. For Tasimyssa and the other vipren, walking instead of slithering was a pain. For all its stink and danger, Nefszen did miss the cool mud and slime of swamp and jungle travel. At least, the ground was soothing to travel on. The climb was steep, and treacherous not only because they couldn't make any light, but due to a great deal of loose gravel and rocks. Nefszen held his breath when his foot crunched into the ground. The gravel rolled under his scales, threatening to slide loose once he lifted his foot. It took a few moments of gingerly tucking the gravel into stable positions before he could move on.

Eventually, the cliff-face was before them. This would not have been the destination of any traveler on this mountain. The trail, if there was one as the lone pegasus appeared to be moving along lightly trammeled ground, ended before a sheer cliff-face. It would take flight to get past this and make it to the peak, but there was nothing on the peak from the look of it. If the objective was to travel through the mountain, it would have been better to go through a less rugged slope. No doubt, there were better trails to follow than this barely visible one.

"This way," the pegasus leading the group said. The lights followed her into a small, shadowy entrance, more a hole in a wall than a proper cave entrance.

"This is bad," the legionnaire next to Nefszen said. If they go in there, we can't provide support. We'll have to join their group. 

"Bring up the rear," another one said behind them. "We'll make sure that they're not closed off."

'Not a bad move,' Nefszen thought. Of course, the Imperial Army would have snipers pick off this rear guard, and close off the main group anyway. He supposed that the ursans were not well known for their stealthy snipers or meticulously prepared ambushes anyway.  He was about to say something when the distinct, soft whine of a metal wire stretching stopped him short.  "Legionnaire..." he muttered. The earth pony that had been walking next to him had decided to walk ahead, then stopped. Nefszen didn't need to see the wires to know that this imbecile had walked into a tripwire. Now, it was only a matter of moments to see what that led to.
> The Barrier Lands Underbelly
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let me tell you something, recruits. The Equestrian Barrier Lands isn't all ardor, valor, and patriotism. This is a harsh existence we have to carve out of this harsh land and our harsh neighbors. Hard times harden hearts very quickly, and this doesn't always result in the stoic, unflinching warrior that you've read and fantasized about.

Sometimes, adversity doesn't merely harden ponies, it bends and twists them. Though it might pain any pony who loves our nation dearly, we must always acknowledge that we have more than our fair share of criminal elements here. Any guard, indeed most ponies, can tell you that the laws of the Barrier Lands may have differences from one settlement to the next, but they all share a few things in common: they are strict, they are exacting, and they are frequently enforced ruthlessly. Most ponies know how to survive under these laws, and appreciate the protection they provide. Some even thrive. Others don't. The reasons vary; poverty, greed, lack of discipline, insanity...the end results are the same: the Barrier Lands Underbelly, which is what we call crime in the Equestrian Barrier Lands in general. You may have heard localized versions of this such as the Great Delve Underbelly, a literal place in our city, much to our embarrassment.

Among the poorer ponies, one can expect a variety of criminals to come crawling out. There is no city in the north, west, or south that doesn't have its typical pickpockets, burglars, and the like. They will often form gangs to pool their resources. Outside the cities you will find bandits usually led by deserters from the Legion or some local guard. These ponies will have some sob story or another to tell you when they're caught. They were poor, they didn't know how to provide for themselves, the Legion made them do things they couldn't handle...most will probably be true. Yes, you can afford some sympathy for these types of criminals. You'll still have to turn them in or execute them if they resist. They knew the consequences of getting caught, but try to kill them quickly and cleanly.

There are other types, though. You will find slavers who capture citizens, usually the children, to be sold to the ophidites or some very twisted ponies. You will find those who peddle the wretched, destructive substances produced by the Empire to conquer the weak-minded. There are ponies who take advantage of desperate ponies who sell their own bodies in order to take a portion of the meager profits in exchange for dubious advantages. These are not criminals taking a twisted path to ensure their survival. They are degenerates, and must be destroyed. We will execute them wherever we may find them. You'll find that many of us in the Guard will not be too aghast if you make them suffer a bit if you catch them, nor are we particularly concerned if the hangpony in charge of their execution "fails" to estimate the necessary height to snap their necks. We must uphold our laws, but we take our vengeance when we can.

Delve Guard Captain Ring Mail's informal speech to some recruits





Even though she was already inside the Rondo's secret chambers, Moon Sail still heard the light pings of her alarms going off. She had precious few tools left as a Blackmoon Blade, but the resonant alarm bells attuned to her was one of them. The sound would be too faint for anything else to hear, but it reached her with clarity. It bounced off the living near the bells, alerting her of how many were near the alarm. It was a complicated, though temporary, enchantment used by Blades to set up perimeter alarms. These were made by Shrine Fire, before she sold her life dearly during the Legion raid on the Great Delve sanctuary. They were gone now, consumed by the magic coursing through them after that one-time use. With them, Moon Sail's only remembrance tokens of an old friend. It didn't matter, though, she was going to be meeting up with Shrine Fire soon enough.

Moon Sail expected a second, smaller group of legionnaires hiding in the background. That was a pretty standard move. There were too many, though. She may have underestimated the number of legionnaires in this investigative group. But that didn't make sense. She had scouted them out earlier. She knew how many they were. She also knew of the call for reinforcements went out yesterday. Additional legionnaires were just arriving now, so where did these come from?

Well...that won't matter too much. These legionnaires were going to die. A necessary sacrifice to pit the Legion against the wretched Rondo. Moon Sail was sure they wouldn't mind if some of their ponies died if it was for the safety of Equestria as a whole. They certainly didn't mind when the Blades were also massacred for the exact same cause.

Not the ones outside, though, despite the anomaly when it came to their numbers. Some of them have to escape to tell the rest of the Legion what happened.

"Moon Sail, where are you taking us?" their Skirmisher Captain, Coal Grey, asked.

Naive boy. Despite his age, he had the eyes of a blooded killer, true, but this was one who had killed an ursan or two. Maybe an ophidite as well. Moon Sail could tell from his stance and his tone that he had very little understanding of how insidious his own race was.

"You asked to see Spared Rod," Moon Sail replied. "I am taking you to him."

"This place looks like a bandit's fortress," Chill Gaze said. "Why does he hole up here with his party so far away? Is he that paranoid?"

This one would know. He looked at every pony from the village, to the party, to this place, as if they were all criminals that had to prove themselves innocent first.

"You will see soon enough," Moon Sail said. 

Seeing was one thing. They should be hearing it already, and smelling it. A different sort of music from the earlier festivities drifted along the tunnel; deep, slow, rhythmic drums, and slippery, high-pitched flute-tunes. The smell of burning incense and befuddling grass drifted along the tunnel's stale, warm air, also carrying the heavy musk of a lot of ponies sweating. Moon Sail wrinkled her nose, watching with some satisfaction when the legionnaires behind her did the same. They must already have plenty of idea what they were about to walk into, even the naive Skirmisher Captain.

The tunnel they were following twisted and turned a few more times before the passage began to widen. Moon Sail could barely contain a smile. The Blades had always known of the the Rondo's excesses. At first, they tolerated it, tried to view it as a different expression of one's devotion to the moon princess. Then, they tried to trim the excesses as one would clip an unruly hedge. Faced with extinction, the Blackmoon Blades only had one recourse; tear it out by the root.

The passage finally opened to the main chamber of the Rondo's secret lair. Behind her, even these hardened legionnaires that must have seen a death or two could not hold back their sharp inhalations and brief cries of surprise. It was unlikely that the occupants of the chamber heard them, though. The slow, deep pounding of drums pulsed through the air, like the heartbeat of some giant creature. Mixed with the music were tittering conversations, laughter, and moans in equal measure. 

The main chamber was a huge, open cavern; roughly circular with a high, vault-like ceiling. The floor had seen some work so the natural roughness was, at least, level. The Rondo was known for its artistic endeavors after all, not craftsponyship. The large, circular carpet at the center was of a beautiful black and silver pattern with a full moon at its center. Imposed on the moon's center was the slit eye of the Silver Sentinel; a common depiction of the Moon Princess back in the day. Moon Sail had taken note of it earlier. It must be a relic from the Rondo's better past, if such a time even existed. It could even be a Silver Star original.

The carpet was covered with stains, though: wine, blood, sweat, and other disgusting fluids. It might be better off burned. Just one more crime to exterminate the Rondo for. The torn, battered, and smeared art piece was far from the most enraging thing in the room, especially for legionnaires who didn't appreciate the Moon Princess to begin with. All along the sides of this cavern were cushions great and small, covered in velvet and silk of garish colors. Mares and stallions alike lay on those cushions, if they weren't just lying on each other. Large, silver trays were scattered among them, covered with bowls of food and large goblets of wine.

Also scattered within the chamber were tall, cylindrical cages with vertical iron bars that met into a single point on top. Inside each was either a mare or a stallion dressed in silks designed to accentuate the hips and tail. They gyrated and spun in their little spaces while some of the ponies outside watched.

The "audience" proved the most unnerving. These were mostly Rondo ponies, mares and stallions alike, enjoying the true contents of their festival. There were a few villagers as well, probably the most wretched ones in Moon Basin. This was a starter, after all. On the third day and onward, more and more will be welcomed here as these villagers went among their fellows to talk it up, and this “party” will spread out like a disease.

There were supposed to be a few guards from the Rondo itself, recognisable by their spears and light barding. They weren’t at the spot Moon Sail had assigned to them. A scan of the room revealed where they were with the other Rondo ponies, weapons scattered nearby while they participated in this insanity.

The revellers were only partially interested in the dancers. They divided their attention was between the cages, the platters, and each other. The wine poured freely from the goblets, running down pony chins and chests, pouring down their forelocks while they giggled. Occasionally, it would even find its way down a gullet or two. Fruits, grains, and vegetables tumbled down cushions and hides, peeking obscenely from open mouths while ponies chewed and spoke loudly. More than a few couples exchanged delicacies from one mouth to another, if they weren't just busy licking and kissing one another. In the shadowy corners of the chamber, silhouettes heaved, groaned, and moaned, hinting all too vividly what was going on back there.

At the far end of the chamber was Spared Rod himself, a colt by one side while he delicately fed another with a bunch of grapes. These were not colts from the Rondo, as Moon Sail had not seen them earlier. They had leather collars on and a timid, glazed looked in their eyes. Nearby, "Sassy Saffron" stood by attentively, an eager vendor attending to a customer's inspection.

Such abandon simmered Moon Sail's blood, and she was expecting this. Behind her, she expected, no demanded, that these legionnaires would fare worse. They were not Blades. They could not feel any sort of outrage over this spectacle of mockery towards the Moon Princess. Yet, all it had to take was for them to have some shred of decency to be enraged by this.

"This...this is degeneracy!" one of them, Chill Gaze, shouted. Music to Moon Sail's ears.

That sharp cry, especially with the mention of degeneracy, cut through the throbbing music and the foul fog of burning drugs. The ponies of the Rondo looked up and towards the entrance at last. The sight of shocked, then grim, legionnaires standing so close jolted them out of their drunken, drug-addled stupor, and their lewd entanglements. With cries of shock, they scrambled into what they must have thought were less incriminating positions, eyes glancing about for exits, and out of embarrassment. 

It was like...like kicking over a dead tree stump. Under the rotten roots, there were certain to be wretched worms, maggots, and roaches, immediately reduced to squirming in agony upon the slightest touch of sunlight. Look at them, as if there was any hiding what they were doing, yet they tried to pretend anyway; feigning guilt, feigning innocence. It was nearly enough to make Moon Sail vomit. 

"Moon Sail!" Spared Rod cried out. "What are they doing here?"

All Blades were trained to resist even the worst sort of torture, but Moon Sail could barely avoid smiling and laughing just looking at Spared Rod's panic. His disgusting, perpetually euphoric grin crumbling to genuine fear tasted better than any of the wine they were serving.

"They forced me, Spared Rod!" Moon Sail wailed. She stumbled forward, affecting a limp as easily as she affected a pained moan into her cries. "They're not here for an investigation, they want to exterminate us, just like what the Legion did with the Delve's Blackmoon Blades!"

Eyes widened all around. The faint senses of guilt and shame dissipated as easily as their propriety would when presented with privacy. The Rondo cared not one whit for the Blackmoon Blades, but they had enough sense in their rotten minds to know that what happened to one organization dedicated to the Moon Princess could easily happened to the other. Some turned to run, but there was a huge crowd here, and the passages behind them were narrow.

"Hold on!" Skirmisher Captain Coal Grey called out. "I've given no such order, nor was that ever our mission!"

"It sounds like a good suggestion, though, Skirmisher Captain," Chill Gaze said. "Look at those cages! Consider the secrecy! These are slavers! The punishment for slavery is death!"

"Wait!" one of the Rondo ponies cried out from the back. "They're not slaves! They're entertainers here on their own free will!"

One of the mares pushed her face against the bars, and nodded as she called out. "Yes!" she said. "That's right!"

"Indoctrinated slaves at that," Chill Gaze growled. "Are these even ponies we're dealing with? By all aspects, these are ophidites!"

"Be quiet, Inquisitor!" Coal Grey said. He stared at Spared Rod and the two colts. Now, that was an incriminating sight. Chill Gaze conjured conjectures from the sights around them, but this thing before them with Spared Rod...this was as damning as it looked.

"Explain yourself, Spared Rod," Coal Grey said. His gashing blade was slightly out of its sheath, ready to be brought forth with one expert pull with his mouth to cut down anything in front of him.

From his supine position, Spared Rod's legs curled up to his body, he pulled his head back and low, his lips pressing tight even as he spoke. Moon Sail let her upper lip curl just very slightly, making sure to keep it out of sight. It wasn't hard as all the attention in the chamber had descended on this confrontation. Spared Rod was the very picture of a cornered rat, Coal Grey, the tentative hunter, unsure of the next move.

"What is there to explain, Sir Legionnaire?" Spared Rod said. He put on a grin that could barely disguise his nervousness. With a foreleg, he gently nudged the colts with him just out of sight. "I understand that some of our revelry can be rather...uncomfortable to watch, but we are not doing anything that demands Legion interference."

"You have slaves dancing in cages, degenerate," Chill Gaze said.

"Sweet Cheeks and her troupe are here as professional entertainers," Spared Rod said. "I have their contract..." he patted himself down, only to realize that he was not wearing anything, then pointed over to some crates behind him. "...somewhere over there."

"And these colts?" Coal Grey eyed the colts that were about to sidle over to Sassy Saffron only to freeze at their mention.

Spared Rod draped his forelegs on the two and smiled. "Why, these are but my nephews, Sir Legionnaire, and I am just a doting uncle." He looked to Sassy Saffron. "Isn't that right, Sassy?" he asked. 

Sassy Saffron smiled that oily, venomous smile of hers. Safaszan may be an expert in taking on a pony's form, but pony expressions were clearly not part of that expertise. Or she probably just thought most ponies were too stupid to read into such obvious expressions. She wouldn't be that wrong. 

"Yes, it is, dear brother," Sassy Saffron said.

"You would bring your children to this pit of vice?" Chill Gaze asked. "A likely story. I have studied ophidite slavery, Spared Rod, I know the symptoms of indoctrinated children, and those two could not fit the description more, you couldn’t even be bothered to remove their collars. Skirmisher Captain, I recommend executing these lot," Chill Gaze said.

"Is this true, Spared Rod?” Coal Grey said. He faced no immediate reply, but the slowly crumbling facade on Spared Rod’s face spoke well enough.

An unusually reasonable response from the Skirmisher Captain. Moon Sail didn't quite expect that. It was usually the younger legionnaires who were eager to prove themselves with combat. If left to his own devices, he might just move on from this.

But exposing the Rondo's filth was only a portion of Moon Sail's plan. The group that tripped her alarms must be well into the tunnel now. A place that she had especially prepared. She tugged on a lone, long wire attached to a special knob on her foreleg device. She heard the very light ping of a canister's pin snapping off at a far distance. The silence of the chamber certainly allowed for it, and her trained hearing, un-dulled even by all the years, picked it up with ease.

She could see the first yellowish wisps all the way from her spot, and hear the hiss as more of the gas escaped. The tunnel filled quickly, and, while she was no illusionist, the trickery was spot on. Sure enough, a loud cry came from the tunnel. 

"Cloudkill! We're under attack!"
> The Cobrahns
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the magical power of the Empire of Ophidus is brought into a discussion, the focus is often placed on the coatls, while the cobrahns serve as a side note. For all their power at an individual level, the coatls account for a minuscule portion of the Empire's overall magical might. The bulk of it comes from their rank-and-file cobrahn shamans. A typical ranger within the Southern Barrier Land can spend his entire career out in the field, and have but a single encounter with a coatl, but he will undoubtedly encounter dozens of cobrahns, from their own ranger units or the back lines of their platoons.

The cobrahns occupy a strange position within the Empire. They gleefully lord over the constrictors and the vipren, but, in return, the coatls seem to have a particular fondness for pushing them around the most. A lot of coatls enjoy having a vipren fill in the role of their majordomo, knowing that the cobrahns in their service chafe at such a situation. Nevertheless, cobrahns may occupy smaller roles in name, but in terms of actual duties, they prove themselves invaluable. When it comes to governmental positions, the true pecking order shows. You will find a cobrahn in any middle to even high positions within the Imperial bureaucracy. If a coatl doesn't personally want the job, you can be assured that a cobrahn will fill it.

So, I should be clear by now, that cobrahns are a far more ubiquitous sight in dealing with the Empire. More time should be spent discussing tactics against them instead of constantly worrying that a coatl might show up to unleash a barrage of meteors at your outpost. It is important to also note that it is the cobrahns that lead the Empire's non-magical endeavors when it comes to the use of poisons and disease. When the Empire uses yet another plague on us, you can bet that its origins can be traced to some Imperial laboratory, and a team of cobrahns.

Curiously, while cobrahns are inherently magical creatures, they lack any sort of natural outlet for their magic in the way unicorns do. The closest comparison to a unicorn horn would be their fingers, but we have studied their corpses, and, while cobrahn fingers do contain traces of magic, it is not the same as with unicorn horns. This is as far as body parts are concerned, and where we pay attention to their ceremonial knives.

These knives are constructed partially using the iron within the blood of magical creatures, usually from the cobrahn owner itself. In effect, they effectively function as unicorn horns for cobrahns, allowing them to use their spells as reliably as any unicorn mage. This means that if you can separate a cobrahn from its ceremonial knife, you essentially cut them off from their spell casting. Do not assume you have neutralized them as a threat completely, though. Cobrahns are capable fighters as well, and their bites inject a virulent toxin.

The standard cobrahn spell is cloudkill. I maintain that unicorns have the advantage in this regard as telekinesis has a far greater range of uses as opposed to conjuring a cloud of deadly gas. It should be noted as well that cobrahns, or any ophidite for that matter, are not immune to the effects of their own cloudkill. Despite these limitations, cobrahns are highly formidable with this spell, and insidiously creative with its use. We have lost tens of thousands to cobrahn gas attacks over the course of the our history with the Empire. I guarantee you, every southern legionnaire that has witnessed a concerted cobrahn cloudkill attack has had that nightmare. The mind naturally speculates in dreams. You see that massive gas cloud cobrahns can create, and you imagine what it would be like if an Imperial assault manages to reach Highstable or any major city. The cobrahns lack versatility, but they are very good at extermination.

Cobrahns are also excellent with other schools of magic, with a preference for conjuration and evocation. Despite the nature of jungle fighting, they do have a preference for the flashy. This is probably to differentiate themselves from the vipren, whom they have more animosity towards compared to the constrictors, probably because constrictors form the walls of grunts they like to hide behind. This flashiness and their obvious racial tension can be exploited by a resourceful enough ranger.

-Ranger Instructor Swamp Muck to a class of recruits





As soon as Nefszen saw the first wisps of yellowish vapor, his reflex was to look behind him with a glare, only to realize that he was the only cobrahn in the group. He had worked in cobrahn units in the past, and had to deal with more than one incident when some overeager skink with a hood cast a cloudkill without orders and often too close to the group. This wasn't the case, clearly, but who would cast cloudkill on them? One of the Rondo ponies?

He had a dispersal spell ready. Any cobrahn with half a brain always had a dissipation spell for dealing with errant cloudkills. In his unicorn disguise, however, it would be tricky. He would have to raise his ceremonial knife to cast it. If he didn’t play this right, he would expose himself.

"Cloudkill!" one of the legionnaires yelled. "We're under attack!"

"By our Prince!" another legionnaire shouted. "They must really have ophidites working with them!"

Fortunately, the unicorn with the legionnaires was prepared for such a scenario. Unfortunately, it wasn't a proper dispersal spell, more a gust of wind to blow the gas away. It was strong enough to affect even the heavy vapors of a cloudkill. The problem was that it could only blow the gas in one direction; farther into the cave and potentially towards their fellows.

"Watch out!" the unicorn shouted down the tunnel. "Cloudkill gas blowing in!"

That had to be enough lest the ponies in the tunnel started breathing in the gas. Cloudkill was potent, even from the weakest cobrahn's repertoire. A short breath was enough to rend the lungs like a thousand tiny razors. Even just touching the vapors irritated hide and scales alike, causing blisters and lesions to erupt.

"They know we're coming, yeah?" one of the legionnaires said. "Let's just get in there, and help out the main group!"

"Brawl Bruvbruv has a point," another legionnaire said. "We're in a bad spot in a tunnel this narrow, let's move in!"

"It's just Brawl Bruv, bruv."

"That's what I said, didn't I? Get a better name then, nag!"

WIth the tunnel clear of vapors, the group rushed in. Nefszen did not miss the trail of yellowish gas coming from a shadowy spot in the tunnel. How odd...was it an enchantment that kept spawning clouds from that source? He recited a quick and simple detection spell.

Nothing.

Even odder. He looked to unicorn legionnaire with them, but the unicorn was too busy anticipating another hostile spell. The spell should, at least, mark the cloudkill itself as magical. Nefszen signaled to Tasimyssa and the others to just go along for now, and rushed in with the legionnaires. With luck, he'll engage Safaszan with a group of angered legionnaires.

"Cloudkill!" someone inside, a mare from the high-pitched shriek, screamed. "The Legion is going to kill us all!"

Nefszen paused briefly at that. What was going on in there? That must be one of the Rondo ponies. Why would they assume that first? One would think that a cloudkill attack would mean ophidites. He had to remember this. Perhaps, when the Empire launched more operations in the Western Barrier Land, they could use this distrust some of Equestria's citizens had for the Legion.

They pushed past into the main chamber, to the welcome of a dozen screams of panic from nearby ponies. For a moment, Nefszen felt as if he was back in Ophidus, raiding some den of slaves plotting a rebellion. Ponies scrambled out of the legionnaires' way, spilling food and drink as they tumbled over each other. His detection spell tugged at him mentally. Safaszan was here.

It didn't take much to pin her down. By the far end of the room, facing the other group of legionnaires was a mare with a golden coat and a mane to match. Such a vain disguise. Even without the detection spell, Nefszen would have been able to pick her out in this chamber. The puzzle now was how to execute his duty with all these ponies around.

"Calm yourselves!" one of the legionnaires that had gone ahead shouted in vain. "We're not here to kill all of you!" Nefszen could barely hear him, and they had already converged into a single group. The panicked cries drowned out his plea before it could even move past his legionnaires. The nearest Rondo ponies and Safaszan must have heard it, though.

Safaszan would not be interested in brokering peace between these hysterical ponies and the Legion. The one close to her should and...

Nefszen's gaze fell on the two colts next to this pony. He had spent plenty of time with slaves. He knew how to differentiate among defiant slaves, newly indoctrinated slaves, slaves pending citizenship, and Equestrians pretending to be slaves. These colts were still in the process of indoctrination; eyes empty, postures timid, minds stumbling for orders. They must have come with recently captured adults, separated from the parents, and started on the process before Safaszan showed up, and grabbed them.

One of them suddenly looked to Nefszen, as if sensing his stare. This one was pale, haggard, and thin-lipped, standing on shaky legs and immediately looking down once it noticed his hard gaze. Safaszan had not been providing maintenance. More likely, she was mishandling the proper drug dosage, if she was even doing that. If these colts were with this pony...

The muddled, desperate look on this pony was enough to suggest to Nefszen that he wasn't going to calm the situation either. He clutched the two colts close to him. "I knew it! The Legion wants to do to us like they did with the Blackmoon Blades! Steel yourselves, Rondo, fight to survive!"

Even as he said that, he was already moving farther back into the cave, towards a shadowy area barely in sight. Nefszen assumed that there must be some hidden exit through there. Rats like this one would not trap themselves in a hole with just one exit.

Unfortunately, his high-pitched shrieking rose better than the captain's shouts for calm. Probably because it was picked up by the closest Rondo ponies, echoed even louder, then followed.

These were not ponies to err on the side of reason. Their eyes were wild and bloodshot. Nefszen knew his substances; a lifetime of befuddling grass abuse, "shrooms", and copious amounts of alcohol mixed with the substances the mind and body produced during mating were not a good mix. They were as living frayed nerves, sensitive and eager to drown in pleasure, but subject to intense reactions when suddenly faced with intense fear. One of them hurled a goblet at a legionnaire and was already scrabbling for other things to throw before it hit. The legionnaire simply hunkered down, allowing the goblet to bounce of his barding.

"By the Prince, these Rondo ponies are crazy!" one of the unicorn magi said. "We should subdue them for now!"

That wasn't going to be an easy job. These legionnaires were armed with enormous blades and spears. Using them for subduing was like bringing a hatchet to a surgery.

"They're degenerates attacking the Legion," another unicorn, the one closest to the captain, said. He looked at the mob with his ice-blue eyes, glaring with disgust as if he had just discovered some rats in his kitchen. "They will pay with their blood!"

"Stand down, legionnaires," the captain said. "We are not attacking these citizens!"

Nefszen braced himself and signaled for his allies to group up. If these legionnaires actually attacked, it would solidify their threat to the Rondo. These panicked, fleeing ponies might turn into a vicious mob. It happened often, when overzealous slavers abused their slaves too freely. Even rats turned vicious when pushed into a corner. The same was just as true with ponies.

Even at the lead pony's admonishment, most of the Rondo backed away at the sight of such well-armed ponies. A few at the front, however, took the words to heart. The one who threw the goblet hurled a good-sized rock at the blue-eyed unicorn.

The response was immediate and vicious. The rock stopped mid-air, enveloped by blue light. It shifted, then flew back towards its original thrower at incredible speed, smacking into the poor pegasus's head with a sickening crack. The pony fell into a heap, his eyes wide and staring, blood pouring from his head.

"Chill Gaze!" the captain shouted. "I said stand down!"

"I was," Chill Gaze replied flatly. "I just defended myself."

"Wine Press!" a mare cried out from the back. A pink unicorn mare ran forward from the back of the crowd, her red and white mane disheveled, and tears streaming from her eyes. She cradled the fallen stallion, brushing his brown mane back tenderly. His head merely lolled, and his stare saw nothing. Blood poured from the massive gash across his skull, pouring down one side of his face, and dripping on the cavern's floor.

The mare let out a long, anguished wail so loud that it cut through the commotion. Several ponies looked to her direction, and saw the fallen stallion.

"Monsters!"

"The Legion has no place here, get out!"

More objects flew through the air, pelting the legionnaires. They had formed a ring to cover each other, deflecting rocks and cutlery with their forelegs.

"We're under attack now, Skirmisher Captain!" Chill Gaze shouted. "Fight back, or we'll be overwhelmed!" His horn flashed just in time and several rocks bounced off a translucent globe that had formed around him. Another flash, and large shards of ice formed above his head.

More screams erupted from one side of the chamber as another yellowish cloud billowed out. The Rondo yelled about Legion extermination. The legionnaires shouted on about ophidites in the Rondo. Several ponies dropped including a couple of legionnaires that strayed away from the main group.

This wasn't going well. Nefszen needed these legionnaires to focus on Safaszan, not this mob of drunks and addicts.  Sure enough, Safaszan was trying to sidle out of the cavern amidst the chaos. More cries of pain and panic as Chill Gaze sent his ice shards flying.

Nefszen cast his dispersal spell on the second cloud, dissipating it into harmless vapours. It was no actual Cloudkill, but similar enough for his counter to work. "Their leader is trying to escape!" he shouted, pointing at both the Rondo leader and Safaszan.

The Skirmisher Captain was still at a loss. Nefszen grunted. Why did they appoint someone so young anyway? The foolish pony was likely too scared to attack his fellow ponies.

Nefszen raised his "horn", in reality his ceremonial knife, and cast his second spell. A bolt of lightning flew from the knife, past Safaszan and towards the top portion of the passageway she was about to take. The energy struck with enough impact to shake loose a good bit of rubble, partially blocking the passageway. Safaszan looked behind her, a vicious glare marring her disguise's elegant face.

"Skirmisher Captain!" Nefszen shouted. "That one is the ophidite collaborator! Don't be fooled by her disguise!"

Fortunately, the Skirmisher Captain had noticed the flash of lightning, and heard him above the din. "How can you be so sure?"

"The Southern Legion has equipped us with specific detection spells for our quarry," Nefszen yelled without missing a beat. "My detection spells point to her!"

The Skirmisher Captain looked to one of the legionnaires who had been in the group Nefszen had come with, who nodded. "Legionnaires!" he shouted. "Focus on those two!"

Finally, the legionnaires drew their blades and advanced on the Rondo leader and Safaszan. All well and good. Nefszen went along with them, his "horn" crackling as he held the charge of his next lightning bolt.

The sight of armed legionnaires advancing on her only worsened Safaszan's scowl. Here was where her other weakness was about to betray her. Nefszen did not just know that she was a tikhana, but what sort of tikhana.

"I have had enough of these little games and dramas," Safaszan the pony said with a hiss. Though she wasn't shouting, her voice was loud and commanding. The dragons she was related to were well known for their roars.

"Sassy!" the Rondo leader cried out. "Do something! Save me!"

Safaszan didn't hear. She reared up and cast her spell. The image of a golden pony shimmered into a blurry, bright blob of golden light. The pony shape distorted, then grew, it reached twice the height of a good-sized stallion, already dwarfing any legionnaire around them, and kept going. The hind legs of a mare twisted into a cobrahn's bipedal limbs, the swishing pony tail turned into a long, reptilian one that touched the ground to provide balance. The front hooves separated into long, slender fingers with pointed nails, and the petite mare's head broadened to a large, hooded cobrahn's.

Safaszan spread her wings and let out a loud hiss. She was well over fourteen feet tall from her snout to her tail, with powerfully muscled arms and legs, and a barrel-like torso to match. More spectacularly, she was covered in blindingly bright golden scales, outshining the puny torches and braziers that lit the cave. On her right hand, she clasped a ceremonial knife, though hers was big enough to be considered a sword. The sight of her sent the Rondo ponies shrieking in terror.

"If this is the game you wish to play, vermin..." Safaszan hissed. "Then die!"
> Moon Basin
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s true that originally, our village of Moon Basin was essentially a small outpost for the Moonlight Rondo, but that was a long time ago.

Shortly after the first gathering of Luna-inspired musicians and dancers on Mount Moaning Top, and the founding of the Rondo, an inn was built where you now find Moon Basin. It was built by an enterprising pony named Moon Dipper. The inn is still around, as both a place for travellers to stay in and as our humble village’s only historical landmark. The purpose of the inn was to serve and profit from travelers coming to visit or join the wildly popular Moonlight Rondo. When the number of attendants grew, more inns were built, then farms, then a marketplace, then houses for all the staff. Moon Basin was thus born. Back then, it was a bustling place too, the place to go to see famous musicians and poets.

When the Rondo became mobile, Moon Basin lost its prominence. The other inns closed up, most of the residents went on to other places. The result is what you see now, a small, sleepy village in some forgotten corner of the Western Barrier Land.

Hearth Loaf, Moon Basin Mayor





The second day of the festival continued to be a simple, relatively calm, and fun, event for the villagers of Moon Basin. A few incidents of overindulgence in food and drink here and there, a few tumbles resulting in scratches and scrapes...nothing serious; the resident healer's dream.

Cinder Spark's apprehension only grew as the hours passed. This wasn't right. Things were going too swimmingly. She had tried to dismiss her worries as just being a pessimist, but she couldn't shake them at all. 

A short while ago, Skirmisher Captain Coal Grey and his group of legionnaires had stopped by, then they moved on with Moon Sail, the Rondo representative in this part of the mountain. Something was happening, enough to catch the Legion's attention. It just wasn't happening here.

Cloud Breeze was also nowhere to be found. She must be with the rest of the Rondo, smoking and drinking away. Cinder wondered if she did more than just that during these festivals. There were plenty of good-looking mares in the Rondo and bad decisions often lay scattered all around them during these occasions. Perhaps, it was time she checked out the so called "secret" that the Rondo kept. 

Cinder looked to the deeper parts of the mountain; to the winding trails up the peak where one could easily get lost. Cloud Breeze warned her away from the place, saying that it was dangerous on foot. True, and she was happy to think that the warning was out of genuine concern. Still, she had traversed those paths plenty of times, ever since she started staying in Moon Basin. Mount Moaning Top held a plethora of useful herbs; medicinal and spell components. A lot of natural hallucinogens also grew there, which explained why the Moonlight Rondo favored the mountain so much. Long before she even met Cloud Breeze, she had explored the place, relying on location spells, and a simple good sense of direction. Neither failed her.

"Cinder Spark!"

Cinder turned around. Some of the villagers, including Mayor Bitter Hops, had acquired a wine barrel all to themselves, and they were waving at her with their half-full goblets. "Come and join us!" they called. She merely smiled and waved before running off. The supplies apparently weren't even being watched over. Some host the Rondo was. There were even less Rondo ponies here than there were a few hours ago. This festival was definitely a front, and her fellow villagers were but shields. Well, she was going to get to the bottom of this.

Slipping out of the festival proved difficult, not just because there were so many of the villagers eager to have her join them, but also because it would mean leaving her patients unattended. Getting tipsy during festivities was hardly a life-threatening condition, but many of her neighbors were not used to this sort of “fun”, and Mount Moaning Top was no place to wander off. She hoped that the couple of stallions she had asked could indeed remain sober and watch in her stead.

The trails leading farther into the mountain seemed more...sinister than usual, perhaps because of the lights from the party highlighting the shadows. The silence from the wildlife because of the presence of so many ponies added more to that mien. The grass here was normally knee-high, but the ones along the trail had been trampled flat by well over a dozen armoured hooves.

Cinder followed the trail to the caves she knew were hidden in the mountain’s twisting paths. The Rondo must have hidden out there, thinking that they were the only ones who knew of their hiding places. Mount Moaning Top may not be as picturesque as other Western Barrier Land peaks, but it did have its caverns and strange rock formations. That the tracks of the Legion coincided with this trail was worrying. Moon Sail was leading the group to the Rondo’s secret places, but that was a terrible idea. Spared Rod must have told her to keep the Legion busy and distracted, so why was she doing this?

An odd, moaning sound greeted Cinder as she approached the cave entrance; the namesake of this whole mountain. Something was off, however. The pitch was higher than usual, and reverberated as if it had multiple sources. As the entrance loomed before her at last, the moaning was clearer, and now obviously came from the throats of actual wailing ponies, rather than the passing wind.

Alarmed, Cinder dashed into the cave as soon as she got a tinderbox going and hanging off her harness. The stink of burning herbs filled her nostrils as soon as she got even just a short distance in. More than that, there was the pungent smell of...something. Gut instinct warned her of danger, and she quickly pressed a kerchief to her nose. Poison...not even the Legion would do something so awful as to flush out the Rondo from their cave as if they were an infestation of termites...would they? She broke into a gallop. Cloud Breeze was probably in there. Thoughts of her choking on poison, or bleeding before the Legion’s blades came unbidden to Cinder’s thoughts. Cloud was instinctively reckless, and she hated the Legion. She would most certainly charge when she should be fleeing. Cinder has taken it upon herself to drag her out of the worst situations ever since they met.

The cave floor was rough and mildly damp. Cinder skidded slightly, but she righted herself before she could trip. A particularly pointy pebble jabbed into her hind hoof with a sharp stab of pain, but she winced, grit her teeth, and refused to slow down. More cries came at her from farther in; panic, anguish, terror...all mixed in with shouts of alarm and anger.

Then, the walls and floor shook as a great, bellowing hiss blasted past Cinder. She cried out in a reflex and dropped to her belly. A wave of unnatural, heart-crushing fear trailed the deafening sound, as thunder might roll in after a lightning strike. She lay there for what felt like days, clutching her chest, her hind legs withdrawn, and her eyes shut tightly, shivering as if she were soaking wet in a snowstorm. That bellow...it must be a dragon’s for sure. The cogs in her mind creaked and struggled to turn. She forced them. She had to, as a means of overcoming this paralyzing fear.

This paralyzing fear had to mean the frightful presence of a pride dragon. She had read all about the unique abilities from each type. That sonic roar, however, while quite loud, did not not explode like how she read it could. The cries of fear and rage still resounded within the cave. A pride dragon roar within such tight confines would have killed every pony nearby, even her. At the very least, her ears should have ruptured. A young dragon, perhaps? Did they develop their frightful presence first before their sonic roars?

Finally, Cinder got her knees working. She stood up, still shaky, but at least stable enough to gallop, and ran farther in. The narrow passage gave way to a huge chamber, and a scene of utter chaos. Several ponies ran past Cinder, one of them jostling her so hard she nearly fell over again. She pressed on, quickly sidestepping when another pony nearly ran into her. Ahead, huge blades glinted in the lurid torchlight, several spells flashed across the heavy, foul-smelling air while a few enormous bolts flew.

At the center, commanding all attention, was a gigantic, golden cobra with glimmering scaled wings. It stood on powerful legs, thick like oaken limbs, and wielded an enormous, wavy-bladed sword with equally muscular arms. Telekinetic and crossbow bolts from nearby ponies flew towards it, only to break against a transluscent, golden globe surrounding the creature.

The creature, Cinder would indentify it as a Cobrahn Ophidite if it wasn’t so big and its wings didn’t exist, raised its weapon. Golden arcs of magic crackled around the blade, showering its surroundings in brilliant sparks, before unleashing a huge bolt of lightning. Legionnaires dropped what they were doing and dove for cover, but the spell found its mark in one unfortunate skirmisher. If there was a cry, Cinder didn’t hear it. Maybe it was because of the chaos, but it could just as be from things happening so fast. One moment, there was an armored earth pony trying to run, a flash later and there was a scorch mark on the cave floor. Another boom followed by cutlery and rubble flying followed that blast.

Cinder’s eyes moved rapidly. She wrenched them away from that golden monster at the center of the cavern to all the ponies around. ‘Cloud Breeze,’ she thought. ‘Where’s Cloud Breeze?’ She looked to the upper portions of the cavern, where pegasi might be flying about. Though she noticed plenty of pegasi still in the crowd, nopony was up in the air. The legionnaires were sticking to each other in typical formation, surrounding the golden monster and alternating attacks.

Cinder rushed in. There was no spotting Cloud from far away. She was going to find that mare even if she had to sort through every pony in here. She focused on feathers, to separate fleeing pegasi from fleeing everything else. White feathers...pink mane...white feathers...

The cavern was a riot of screaming, colorful blurs, but that proved a benefit in the end. Cinder focused on a particular pony hiding behind a large rock, not out of fear, but to stay out of sight of the legionnaires. White feathers and a pink mane...Cinder’s heart lept and she galloped over, ignoring the chaos that continued to rage in the cavern. “Cloud!” she yelled.

Cinder’s voice must have cut through even all the screaming, clanging, and explosions. Cloud Breeze’s head jerked back from her intense watching, and focused on her. No overjoyed smile curved her lips and no long exhale of relief came out of her mouth. Instead, a horrified look crossed Cloud Breeze’s face.

Cloud made several frantic gestures, all to get Cinder over to her hiding spot as quickly as possible. “What are you doing here?” she whispered harshly.

“I came for you!” Cinder whispered just as harshly, her chest aching at the reaction. She followed Cloud’s gaze and found two very familiar legionnaires in thick of the fighting.

Skirmisher Captain Coal Grey dashed past a barrage of spells from the golden monster, then ducked under a swing from its enormous blade. He pressed on, getting right up to the monster. It was so large that, rearing up, he barely reached its hips. He swung his gashing blade deftly, seemingly unhindered by its size and weight.

Nearby, Chill Gaze cast a spell in time with that swing. Cinder recognized at dispelling. Something shimmered around the golden monster, then fizzled into crackling sparks. Cinder hoped that the blow would strike through. The blade found the monster’s thigh alright, and it did bite, but the monster’s scales sparked and hissed in resistance; a final layer of magical protection. Blood trickled from the wound, but it was nowhere near what one could expect from a gashing blade. Coal Grey ran back as the creature’s blade swung for him again.

Cinder’s heart was pounding the whole time. She hoped desperately that the strike would be true, and that Coal Grey would escape unharmed. Her heart sank when his blade struck an armor spell; a rudimentary protective spell, but effective with enough spell power and mana. The golden monster clearly had plenty of both. She looked back at Cloud Breeze, who was more focused on Chill Gaze. “What are you doing?” she asked. “We should go! The Legion will defeat that thing!”

“Oh, they will,” Cloud replied. “It’s over for Sassy now that they found her out. Her eyes narrowed. I’m going after Chill Gaze.”

It was only then that Cinder paid attention to Cloud’s right foreleg. It was by Cloud’s side. Tightly gripped in its hoof was a long knife.

Cinder gasped. “Cloud...you can’t be thinking—!”

“Not thinking,” Cloud Breeze snapped. “Doing!” The muscles along her back and shoulders tensed. Cinder knew what would happen next. She jumped on Cloud in time with the first wing flaps. Cloud has risen a few inches of the ground before they both crashed to the ground. “Cinder, what are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Cinder snapped. “You can’t attack a legionnaire, especially when they’re fighting a monster!”

“Chill Gaze is the monster here,” Cloud hissed as she pried Cinder off and struggled to her hooves. “You didn’t see what he did to Wine Press!” Cloud’s eyes softened. For a moment, grief won over blinding rage. “He and Berry Slice were going to marry on the fourth day of the festival—!” The anger was back as Cloud focused on Chill Gaze again, who was focused on peeling apart the monster’s defenses. “Even if this group fails, more Legion pigs will show up. They can deal with that monster, but this monster...this is my one chance while he’s busy.”

Cloud Breeze flapped her wings again. Cinder was still steadying herself and could only make a clumsy jump. When her grasp on Cloud’s back slipped, she used her telekinesis. But Cloud had redoubled her efforts, and her wings beat so strong that Cinder’s magic wavered.

“Cloud!” Cinder grunted, her voice trembling. “Don’t do this!”

Cloud Breeze replied by struggling even harder. More than ever, Cinder wished she had taken that minor in Evocation. Her telekinesis was beneath nothing special, primarily a tool for picking up herbs and wielding garden shears. With a final burst, Cloud broke free, quickly flying towards Chill Gaze, who was too engrossed in his spellcasting to notice. Cloud Breeze’s knife flashed in the torchlight and swiftly made its way to Chill Gaze’s neck.

“Inquisitor!”

Coal Grey, as he briefly fell back from the golden monster, saw the coming attack. Cinder could only stand there and watch breathlessly. She just wanted Cloud Breeze to come out of this safe. For that moment, she prayed that Cloud would simply miss by a mile, and just streak past them with no legionnaire all the wiser. She despised Chill Gaze too. He was the icy face of the brutal, uncaring side of the Legion. Not as much as Cloud, perhaps, but enough. But killing him offered little and asked a price far too steep. With Coal Grey’s eyes on her, Cloud’s success would lead to her and Cinder’s demise.

Coal Grey rushed towards Chill Gaze, much to Cinder’s dismay. Why protect that awful stallion? Were the bonds of camaraderie within the Legion truly that strong, or was it simply a desire to protect his main source of magical support?

The golden monster, though surrounded by furious legionnaires and pelted on all sides with spells and bolts, was not out of the equation. It pointed its blade towards Coal Grey’s direction. A torrent of greenish yellow fire erupted from the blade. Cinder has heard rumors of certain unique spells that the ophidites used such as a toxic version of fire spells that simultaneously envenomed the flesh they burned. The monster looked like an ophidite, perhaps, it really was.

The blaze passed close to Coal Grey’s side enough to singe his fur and heat his armor to painful levels. His face twisted briefly in pain and his galloping hooves mistimed their steps. He stumbled forward, threatening to crash into Chill Gaze, who was focused entirely on dodging the flames. Cloud had closed in. The three of them were sure to collide...

Coal Grey had pulled Chill Gaze down at the last moment, causing the knife the whistle past the unicorn’s ear. Both legionnaires, unbalanced by their collision and the toxic flames, crashed to the ground. Cloud, enraged at this, kept her swing going. The knife’s cruel edge disappeared...into Coal Grey’s neck.

“Oh no...” Cinder could only whisper at first. Cloud Breeze stood over the two fallen legionnaires, her chest heaving in panicked pants. The knife she just used clattered to the ground while blood pooled around her hooves.

“No!”

Cinder screamed that out, but her voice melded with an equally anguished cry from nearby. Another legionnaire had seen the whole thing. He galloped closer, gaze fixed solely on Coal Grey’s bleeding form.

Cloud was still breathing heavily, but the initial shock of the stabbing had run its course. Now, she realized that her target had come away unharmed. Her visage contorted, and she raised her knife for a second strike.

It was too late, however. Chill Gaze had recovered as well. His telekinesis wrapped pale blue light around the hoof that Cloud used to hold the knife and twisted cruelly. Cinder’s ears did not hear any snap, but her mind filled in that gap. The skin around Cloud’s fetlock bulged and twisted, then ruptured as a sliver of bone burst forth with a spray of blood. The knife clattered to the ground, the sound drowned by Cloud’s scream of pain.

“Coal!” The legionnaire that had cried out earlier cradled Coal Grey’s head. Coal’s lips moved, but no sound left them, only a steady trickle of blood. His gaze went only to the darkened, stone ceiling of this wretched cave.

“Legionnaire Plowshare, the murderer is still here!” Chill Gaze said harshly.

Plowshare looked up, his eyes wide with recognition when they settled on Cloud Breeze. His lips curled into a vicious snarl. His hoof went to the huge, serrated blades by his side. “You!” he growled. “After he spared your worthless life too! You drunken, drugged up scum!”

“Please wait!” Cinder cried out. She rushed out of her hiding place, placing herself between Cloud Breeze and Plowshare. She raised her forelegs in a vain attempt to keep Cloud safe from them. Behind her, Cloud was breathing rapidly, letting out small, pained grunts to keep herself from crying out any further. Around them, the other legionnaires picked up the slack. Explosions mixed with loud battle cries, hisses, and crossbows releasing.

“The Fort Commander’s daughter!” Chill Gaze said grimly. “I suspected this.”

“What? That’s his fiancée who...” Plowshare’s glare shifted back to Cloud Breeze. “So that’s what happened...even siding with the ophidites to do it.” He pointed his blade at Cinder. “Execution,” he growled. “For the ophidites, the Rondo, and all accomplices.”

“Finally, somepony with sense,” Chill Gaze said. “As second to the Skirmisher Captain, you must direct the troop, Legionnaire Plowshare.”

Plowshare looked to the golden monster, then to Cloud and the few non-Legion ponies still trying to flee the scene. His scowl only deepened, and his lips curled to a snarl when he gave his orders. “Fall back and regroup!” he shouted. “That thing’s not escaping now that it’s revealed itself. We’ve got reinforcements on the way.” Those pitiless, furious eyes settled on Cloud Breeze. 

“Execute the Moonlight Rondo as traitors.”

A small, cheerless smile crossed Chill Gaze’s lips, followed by a curt nod and a flash of magic from his horn. He turned those frigid, ice-blue eyes on Cloud Breeze, and intoned.

Cinder may have been terrible with evocations, but she knew enough to recognize the school as it was cast. The massive drop in temperature around Chill Gaze also made it perfectly clear. Cinder swallowed a lump in her throat. Every instinct told her to flee before the deadly spell could hit. Any other legionnaire might hesitate to kill an unarmed civilian. At the end of the day, that was all she was. 

Not so with Chill Gaze. One look at him and she knew he would have no compunctions about killing her. Cinder held her ground defiantly, keeping her forelegs outstretched as if she could catch his spells. Her legs trembled violently. It wasn’t just fear that caused it. She was already incredibly cold. The tips of her ears and her lips were starting to itch. Her face prickled as if she was getting jabbed by dozens of icy needles.

A shadow caught the corner of Cinder’s eye. In an instant, she realized that she had been so focused on Chill Gaze and Cloud Breeze that she had lost track of other ponies nearby. That mistake swiftly manifested by an explosion of pain across the side of her head followed by starbursts in her vision and temporary blackness. Her knees buckled, and the impact sent her flying to the side.

“Cinder!” came Cloud Breeze’s muffled cry.

The hum of magic from Chill Gaze’s direction loudened. Cinder struggled to get up, but armored hooves pressed against her. The haft of a spear planted itself close to her snout, making it clear that it was Plowshare that knocked her down and held her still. Her head throbbed and her vision wobbled. Even if she could get up, she was unlikely to stay up. Still, Cloud’s voice spurred her to try. She put a front hoof to the ground with a grunt and prepared to heave...

Cinder cried out as her side erupted with a horrific, piercing, wave of pain, like a mass of red hot metal suddenly pressing against her side. Just as quickly, the pain turned into a heavy, paralyzing numbness. Her left legs creaked when she tried to move them, refusing to do as she asked. She slipped at the sudden lack of coordination and crashed on her numbed side. Her fur crinkled and snapped on impact even as the cold seeped from her afflicted side towards the rest of her body.

Frost...it dawned on Cinder at last. She cried out again, more anguish than physical pain. Her body refused to move properly. Her right legs flailed while her left ones twitched and spasmed. She strained her neck to look up, desperately trying to see how Cloud fared.

Cinder looked up to a frozen statue of a beautiful pegasus mare, mouth open in a cry, likely to say her name, eyes wide with concern and fear, one hind leg ready to make the jump while one foreleg stretched out to touch her. She reached out breathlessly, as if touching Cloud could break the ice that entombed her marefriend. Her hoof touched a frozen corpse instead. That cry would never be finished, and that leap would never make it. Though Cinder touched Cloud’s hoof, the pegasus had flown far far away.

A bolt of ice blue telekinesis struck the statue with a nauseating, splattering shatter. Cinder cried out in pain and rage as several sharp shards struck her face and neck, forcing her to look away. When she looked again to where the frozen statue was, there was only the legs in place surrounded by a hideous mess of crystalline shards, pink with gore.

“Cloud...” Cinder murmured. She looked up to the monster who did this, not the golden thing that had faded to her background, but the ice-eyed killer who unleashed that cone of cold. Her forelegs twitched and her snout twisted. She had no spell to match such powerful, offensive spell casting. Good. She was going to tear him apart with her bare hooves. She opened her mouth to say some accusation, to castigate him for attacking ponies when a monster loomed nearby. All that came out was a savage scream.
> Executions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, I get plenty enough work, too much if I’m honest. It’s usually beheadings. The Guard’s quite traditional with treating criminals. Murder and rape will cost you your head, which are the usual crimes we get for executions. I actually went and got me an executioner’s sword after my axe chipped. It’s a lot more efficient in my opinion. I do hangings too. For treason charges. Usually when the Legion’s involved. They’re the ones that look for ponies who consort with our enemies. When one of their own turns bad, the crime is always upped to treason. I don’t get sent to work on legionnaires, though. They keep that to themselves.

For less serious crimes...well, my whip has to be replaced often. Lashing’s the most adjustable and repeatable form of punishment so nearly every crime gets lashes. Death by whip isn’t technically an execution. Sometimes, when I do lashings, the pony just ups and dies before the prescribed number. We always do one less than the sentence, and they never go past forty, but it happens. If you’re going to commit a crime, at least make sure you can take some lashes is what I say.

Branding’s not very popular among executioners, I’m told. Takes a while to get the iron to the proper heat. There’s a nasty stink when you do it. It’s more expensive too. The city has to pay for a unicorn to enchant the brand so the burn resists natural and magical healing. Still, there’s something satisfying when you see a swindler or a some other fraud with a fresh mark on their flank. That’s a pony who’s not convincing anypony of anything.

I don’t like docking. Feels...wrong. The wolven love cutting off tails. I’ve heard that they have a big, colorful tree in Wolvengard that’s carved out of ice. They stick pony tails on its branches to make fancy leaves. The ophidites also like to take the tails of killed unicorns. I just don’t like doing what our enemies do. Yes, I know, they probably behead their criminals too, but docking’s just not right.

De-horning? Yes, I have to do a few once in a while. It’s rare, though. I don’t even keep a hacksaw for myself. Whenever a de-horning is called for, I just borrow from Bent Nail. He’s the local carpenter in my street. My cousin works over at Arcanotropolis, they do a lot more de-hornings over there. I prefer wing clipping to be honest, not that because I prefer working on pegasi. It’s just a simpler and easier task. Takes a lot of effort to saw through a horn. With wing clipping, you just need a good knife and a feel for the right muscle. You have to cut deep, though, or they’ll be flying in a month. There’s no specific punishment for earth ponies. A while back, the previous mayor suggested gibbets hung off heights. It does tend to drive earth ponies crazy. It hasn’t picked up. We still have to feed them, which is why we don’t like imprisonments to begin with. And the mess they make while they hang out there...nasty.

Strange ones...well, I did a boiling back in my old village. Weird execution, I know. I can’t even remember the crime because the trial was crazy. Cauldron broke shortly after the pony died, gave me a good scalding on one foreleg. I’ve gelded a couple stallions too. Both for committing lewd acts in public. One was with fire. You don’t fool around with the mayor’s daughter it turned out.

Black Hood, SummerSteel City Executioner.





Moon Sail strode through the tunnel with unabashed purpose. Her eyes were hard and her blades were out. The mask of Moonie, the nice Rondo taskmistress, was gone the instant the panic started. She was now fully back to a vengeful Blackmoon Blade, out on her final hunt, and she revelled in the notion.

Spared Rod’s cramped escape tunnel twisted and turned, like the intestines she imagined ripping out of him if she got the chance. His flight from the chaos of the central chamber had been tentative at first, as she saw him peeking back several times, only to be hastened when Safaszan finally unleashed her prideful rage. She could run and probably catch that stumbling, half-drunk addict. He had dragged his colts along, a foolish move in his part, they’re likely to slow him down. She didn’t run, though, even with instinct telling her to.

Two figures crawled about just ahead, barely visible in the dim lighting this passage had. Two particularly small ponies, sluggish, awkward movements, a lack of any strong will in their posture and behavior...these must be those slaves Spared Rod tried to make off with. He risked taking them along knowing they would slow him down, and, as soon as they did, he tossed them away; strategy based entirely on impulse. The latest in Spared Rod’s litany of such things. Moon Sail strode past them mercilessly, eyes still forward when she flicked a dart into their necks.

Iron needles infused with powdered Heartsbane flowers at forging; a quick, painless death. It was the best mercy Moon Sail could afford. Unfortunately, that was the last of her Heartsbane, and she had considered saving one for herself for quite a while. She spared a passing glance, more the assure herself that her aim was true. They twitched only slightly before falling over, eyes shutting as if they were only falling asleep.

It didn’t take much longer after that for Moon Sail to pick up the ragged breathing of a desperate stallion trying to worm his way out of a mess. The rough, natural stone floor did not allow for much of a trail, but there were enough; a torn piece of faded cloth that had caught on a sharp-edged corner, an errant step into a silt-bottomed puddle, a discarded shoe. This was almost too easy. Disappointing for a final hunt. To dedicate this kill to the Moon Princess might be more blasphemy than honor.

And finally, she came upon him at last. Moon Sail’s nose wrinkled at once. She was just getting used to breathing nominally fresh air only to be hit once again by the persistent, stinking cloud of befuddling grass smoke, stale wine, and sweat that emanated from Spared Rod.

“Moony!” Spared Rod exclaimed. The relief in his voice would be laughable if Moon Sail wasn’t so disgusted by everything else. “Thank Princess Luna you got here, I—we have to escape the Legion, they’re out for blood!”

“They’re not the only ones,” Moon Sail said. She flicked a feather-shaped blade with perfect accuracy, piercing his hind leg, and finding a decently sized blood vessel, not enough to rapidly bleed him out, but good enough to quickly spread her venom. He winced at impact, though not enough as she had expected. Long term use of befuddling grass did dull the nerves after all.

“Moony, what are you doing?” Spared Rod asked.

“My name isn’t Moony, blasphemous mutt,” Moon Sail hissed. “You’ve lived too long as an embarrassment, Spared Rod.” She slowly unsheathed the blade she had chosen for this solemn task; long, serrated, and infused with a very painful venom. 

“In the name of the moon, I shall punish you.”

Spared Rod’s eyes showed that he still didn’t know they whys of the situation, but he did understand the whats of it. She was going to murder him. He tried to run, but his injured hind leg dragged behind him as dead weight, making him stumble snout first into the passage’s wall. Blood trickling from one nostril, he hobbled away screaming, fear of death giving his remaining legs wings.

‘Good,’ Moon Sail thought. ‘Run. Run as best you can. Make me chase you, Spared Rod. I have dedicated this final hunt to the Moon Princess. At least try make it a challenge worthy of the skills honed in her name.’

She waited until the hoofsteps faded into the distance a bit in this cramped, winding passageway that amplified every sound. This was inefficient, her training told her. It opened her plans to failure. Never underestimate the hunted’s will to live. Experience taught her often enough that even obviously easy prey can turn the hunt around on the hunter. But this was her last hunt, indeed the last hunt of the Blackmoon Blades. The instant it was over, she would forever lose something she held so dearly to her.

That instant wouldn’t last long. Retirement and death were one and the same for a Blade. Even so, she felt the need to postpone it just a little longer.

Moon Sail moved her legs. Her knees creaked a bit. She was already starting to breathe hard despite the night being relatively young. Just a few years ago, this would be nothing. How far did Spared Rod make it? Perhaps, he had already reached the outside. She hoped so. Then, they would be in moonlight. Under the moon princess’s watchful light, his blood would be black bathed in silver. For once in his miserable life, Spared Rod would be true to the Rondo’s original purpose; he would produce something that might be remotely close to art.

The passage did indeed give way to the outside. Most likely to the other side of Moaning Top. A fresh night breeze, cool and refreshing, ruffled Moon Sail’s mane. With the open air, she no longer had the advantage of a clear trail of sound or a singular path. The mountain breeze also dispelled the foul smell that clung to Spared Rod. The trampled long grass before her made up for it, however, and the chance to use her wings made this far too easy regardless of the extra advantage. Moon Sail flapped her wings, relishing the warm rush of blood into them fighting with the cold draft. She maintained a low altitude, not enough to break past the trees, but enough to gain a vantage point.

‘Wait...’

The thrill of the hunt and the melancholy of the final mission alike paused once Moon Sail gained a better view of her surroundings. More than Spared Rod’s bumbling escape disturbed Mount Moaning Top’s wilderness. Farther down the slope, multiple lights from dozens of torches slowly made their way upward. To move along even in the dark through steep woods meant serious purpose, and the pace of those torches meant an advancing troop of armored ponies. The Legion had surrounded Moaning Top, most likely to prevent escape from either Safaszan or the Rondo. Hardly a surprise to Moon Sail. Once again, the Legion was going to eliminate an obvious threat to Equestria and a bothersome group of ponies in one fell stroke.

This should be to her advantage. She too also wished for the destruction of the Rondo. Yet...those last moments in the sanctuary played themselves in her mind. Old comrades readying for a final charge, the heavy clangs of armored hoofsteps filling the halls, the shouts of battle, the cries of pain, the wet splatter of fatal blows...through it all, the inner sting of betrayal. They should have never helped the Legion against the Blades of Nightmare.

She had fled back then. Driven mad by fear, perhaps, or just losing to her own inner weakness by taking the offer of her comrades. Or it could have been a lunar providence after all. A faint wisp of influence from the Moon Princess to guide her to this final hunt to insure that the moon’s honor wouldn’t be dragged through the mud. In such a case, she should finish this last task. After that, surely, the Moon Princess would leave her life in her hooves. That the Legion was here and ready for battle was a convenience.

Spared Rod must have noticed the Legion presence as well. His trail tumbled down the slope in a mad dash towards the lights. Blood from his wound made for an easy marker for his stumbling passage. He must have taken a tumble at some point when the spatters went through steep inclines. One jagged rock held on to a piece of his garishly-colored shirt along with a large smear of his blood. He hit this one hard and kept going. He might bleed out at this rate, that wouldn’t be a proper end.

“Help!” he screamed from a distance. “Somepony help! I’m being chased by a killer!”

Moon Sail flapped her wings with purpose now. Playtime was over. It only took seconds before Spared Rod was in her sights again.

Spared Rod was dripping with sweat. At least, Moon Sail hoped that was all that was dripping from him. Especially along the hind legs. As she had expected, he was trying to make his way to the Legion troops. A foolish, desperate move. They were likely to execute him in the spot once they found out who he was. He would realize at the end that the Legion was never a friend to any of the Moon Princess’s loyalists. How terrible to lose such an ideal view. She should save him from such a cruel fate.

Moon Sail landed square on Spared Rod’s back, hind hooves first. He buckled under the sudden weight with a short gasp and a satisfying crack along the point of impact. She hoped that wasn’t his spine breaking. He had no fight left in him either way, assuming he ever had some to begin with. She stepped off, checked to see how alive he still was, then pulled out her choice of punishment.

She had plucked the vial from the sanctuary’s armory when they found out that the Legion was on its way, naively hoping to use it on the Legion Commander who ordered the assault. It was infused with a highly refined form of Ghost Needle venom; a promise of an excruciatingly painful death to fell even an ursan. The Delve sanctuary only ever held one. Ghost Needle scorpions were rare, extremely dangerous to catch, and incredibly difficult to keep alive in captivity. They were one of the reasons why the first Blackmoon Blade sanctuary was built in the desert far to the southeast. She ultimately failed, however. Even with such a virulent weapon, fear seized her in the end. Now, it seemed that she had salvaged it for this moment. This must also be lunar providence.

“Moony—Moon Sail,—!”

Moon Sail poured the vial along her knife and jabbed it into Spared Rod’s neck, into an artery that would spread the venom swiftly and fatally. Whatever he was proposing in his last moments was pointless chatter anyway. Crimson poured out of the wound, black against the moonlight. Moon Sail stepped back, and admired the sight with a smile. 

Mission accomplished. 

The question was now simply one of curiosity. What would Spared Rod die of first; the bleeding or the venom? That was a rather large artery she had punctured. It shouldn’t take a minute for him to bleed out, but her venom dealt unimaginable agony as it ravaged every nerve it encountered in its path. Spared Rod was a weak lover of luxury and perversions. His mind would surrender swiftly just to end the pain. He might be dead by that before he lost enough blood.

He lay at her hooves now, twitching, gurgling, vainly clutching at his punctured throat. The edges of his wound turned purple as the flesh died and blood vessels burst, the discoloration following a trail that spread out from his neck. No final words for this wretch. His eyes finally glazed over, his drowning breaths stopped, and his limbs lay still.

Moon Sail lifted her gaze to the moon. “My last dedication, Moon Princess,” she whispered. “For whatever good it does.”

As if to respond, the bushes and branches ahead rustled and snapped. They were quick, these Legionnaires. Reconnaissance and mobility were precious advantages against the Ursans after all. She had been stealthy, but they were likely drawn to Spared Rod’s bumbling racket. Like vultures to a fresh corpse.

Moon Sail couldn’t help a smile. Training sensibilities told her to withdraw. The mission was done, and it was time to flee back to the shadows, and let the handiwork of the Blades speak for itself. Her instincts told her to flee. The Legion wanted her dead, just as it wanted all of the Blades dead, just as it now wanted the Rondo dead. That she didn’t budge felt so good. Her heart was still racing; more fear than exertion at this point. Her legs were shaky, and her sweat felt cold as it ran down her neck.

Did the others feel this way too when the Legion shattered the sanctuary doors? Did they quiver and sweat? Were they overcome by regrets during that last clash? Or was she the only one like this? The last Blackmoon Blade, frightened to the end. Yet, she stayed anyway. She only had a few envenomed feather blades left, and a couple of doses from her foreleg devices. A couple of legionnaires to account for herself, she hoped.

“By the Prince, what’s going on here?”

“Stop right there, killer!”

“Wait, isn’t that one of the Rondo’s officers?”

The sliding of blades coming out of their sheathes only widened Moon Sail’s smile. Her legs steadied, her breathing even out. It was as if she had been bleeding fear, and the last finally dripped out.

“For the Night Silver,” she said softly, then raising her ragged voice one last time. “And the Blades of Nightmare!”

She relished the widening, terror-stricken eyes past the barding. They made the connection swiftly and easily. Even her last words should be in service to the mission. They faced a Blade of Nightmare harbored by the Rondo, the finishing touch to its damnation. That she had killed the Rondo’s leader didn’t quite fit, but that’s a question to be answered after the slaughter. After all, there might be more blades hiding in Moaning Top. Can’t be too sure. 

Her first blade found a gap in a stallion’s neck barding. His crossbow clattered to the ground as he choked. She landed next to another, easily sidestepping the slow swing of a gashing blade. Her foreleg blade found another neck. Two more crossbows aimed at her, though, too far to stop, yet too close to dodge. A single hit from those things could rip her frail body in half. 

Moon Sail closed her eyes, then waited for the snap of a crossbow releasing.
> Useful Ponies
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Imperial Principles of Slavery within Ophidus

First Principle: Loyalty. Your slaves must be obedient. This is the first principle as, without this, the rest is impossible. They cannot be your property if you cannot make use of them. Our Empire has developed multiple ways to obtain loyalty: manipulation, intimidation, substances, conditioning. Use all of them. Be consistent with both punishments and rewards. Always look for problematic slaves and execute them as examples. Do not be stingy with rewards. Make them eager to please you and frightened of angering you. Give them the hope that they can improve their lot under you and they will submit. Corner them with a grim fate and they will sell their lives dearly. Show mercy on occasion. If they have spent enough time as slaves, they will love you for the smallest gestures.

Second Principle: Maintenance. Feed your slaves. Shelter them, clothe them, and keep them free of disease and parasites. Provide for them the tools they need for their tasks. A dull blade cannot cut, a shattered shield cannot protect, and an unhealthy slave cannot fulfil tasks, nor be delicious and nutritious. This is not done out of love or compassion, but out of prudence. Do not indulge your slaves lest they become indolent and rebellious, but do not abuse them without cause only to express surprise if they fail their tasks.

Third Principle: Responsibility. Your slaves are your property. Whatever they have stolen, you have stolen. Whomever they have attacked, you have attacked. For their crimes, you will pay the appropriate fine. If they have committed a grave enough crime, you will be executed along with them. Control your slaves at all times. The Empire holds the right to confiscate them if you are proven an incompetent master. Do not muddle this principle by involving yourself with a slave in an improper and unnatural manner, even if the slave is a fellow ophidite. Such relationships that blur the place of master and slave will be punished by heavy fines, the disallowance of owning or even being near slaves, and the offender must submit to assessment by the Imperial Registry as a deviant.

Fourth Principle: Expendability. No slave is worth a citizen’s life and a citizen is free to make use of their property as they see fit whether it is as protection against danger, a subject for experimentation, or a fine meal. Know that the Empire frowns upon needless wastefulness. Avoid redundant experiments, and do not wantonly kill your slaves. The enslavement of citizens of neighbouring nations draws their wrath, and it is our Imperial troops that deal with them. Do not make light of the price you and others have paid for your property.

Fifth Principle: Freedom and Citizenship. Third generation slaves and onwards have the right to petition for Imperial Citizenship after twenty years of service starting from birth and the completion of a major task for the Empire. All slave owners are required to register and maintain genealogy papers for their slaves. Failure to do so or attempting to prevent such a petition will result in heavy fines and confiscation of slaves. This includes the eating of slaves close to meeting the requirements. Slaves with successful petitions are henceforth free as Imperial Citizens. Freeing slaves without following this process will be punished with execution.





Nefszen hadn’t expected the Legion withdrawal. True, facing Safaszan as of the moment would be too dangerous, but they could overwhelm her if they threw themselves into the task. She was in the throes of a prideful rage. The risk may have increased, but so would the number of openings. Though, that might just be the Imperial tactician in him. Ponies, particularly low-ranking slaves, were expendable after all. He wouldn’t mind if they all died whittling down Safaszan’s power, but they likely thought otherwise.

The sight of the legionnaires falling back seemed to calm Safaszan a bit. That her foes fled before her might have mollified her pride somewhat. Her wild swings with her massive sword ceased, and her barrage of spells slowed. Her head swivelled, clearly assessing the situation. She was going to flee. It was clear that she was trapped like a rat here. A short range teleport was her only option. Once outside this cramped cave, she would have to escape. Each path would carry risks for her. Illusions would not be as effective now that the Legion was in full alert. She could transform, but changing into a less powerful form would make it easier to kill her. Flying away would be even more dangerous. The legionnaires with them, despite having never encountered a tikhana, should know this. Indeed, they seemed to be relying on it. That could only mean that there were more legionnaires outside.

“Shall we continue working with them, Captain?” Tasimyssa asked as she sidled next to Nefszen. He nodded, then subtly gestured for his slaves to keep moving. Some legionnaires were trying to direct pony civilians out, a difficult challenge when these ponies were just as terrified of them as the tikhana. More so when a few tossed rocks and spat.

Nefszen focused on finding the leader of this troop, or at least the one leading the separate group he went in with. Despite the chaos, he swiftly found what he was looking for. It helped that a flash of powerful magic erupted just out the corner of his eye, followed by a sudden draft of bitterly cold wind. A short distance from Safaszan was both the leader of this whole troop and the one Nefszen had followed.

‘By the Emperor,’ Nefszen thought, ‘must they start fighting each other at this time?’

The leader appeared dead, and the one they had followed, Plowshare, was focused on a berserk unicorn mare instead of leading the way out or fighting Safaszan. The mare charged, screaming something unintelligible at the other unicorn while Plowshare held her back. Her horn flashed and sputtered, but no spell burst forth. This one did not have a fighter’s instincts and reflexes. She had no attack spells at the forefront to cast as a reflex as all unicorn magi that Nefszen ever encountered did. Rage clouded her mind and scattered her thoughts. She cast in a fury, but without anything to truly focus on.

Foolish ponies...their civilians had the nerve to attack soldiers on official business. Even a coatl would not consider attacking the Imperial Army so lightly. These ponies had no business running a nation with this sort of citizenry.

The other unicorn in this scene, the one whose magic clearly caused the blast of cold, was concentrating on another spell. This wasn’t the time or place for this. Nefszen rushed towards them and shouted. “The ophidite is about to escape! Save this execution for later, and move on to intercept!”

The unicorn mage paused at least, and glanced at Nefszen’s way. “This is not your concern, ranger,” he said. “Unlike the South and its pony slavers, the West does not tolerate traitors.”

Foolish pony. As if imperial agents didn’t exist in Western Equestria, or that the Southern Legion was so easily infiltrated compared to them. Nefszen bit back his ophidite retorts. He was a ranger right now, though he might need a vipren’s skill in motivating ponies as well. When the unicorn continued to channel his spell, Nefszen grasped his horn.

“Control your bloodlust, legionnaire,” he hissed. “You can slaughter citizens any time you want, but you won’t cost us our prey!”

“Away from me!” the unicorn growled. To his credit, he did refocus on Safaszan, then gestured towards Plowshare. They had to move. Plowshare struggled with the berserk mare he held back. When it was clear that there was no reasoning with or moving her, he let go, only to smash the butt of his enormous spear into the back of her head. With the mare unconscious and splayed across his back, Plowshare led the way for the withdrawal.

The rest of the legionnaires swiftly picked up on this example, using more force to herd the remaining civilians out. Safaszan’s ceremonial weapon shifted from the angry crackle of offensive evocations to the softer, utilitarian glow of a teleportation spell.

Nefszen concentrated on a divination counter. Safaszan’s sheer mass should delay her teleport. That should provide him some extra time to determine her destination. To his surprise, the unicorn next to him was also concentrating. Perhaps, this one wasn’t so stupid after all.

Safaszan had picked the northwestern face of the mountain, the steepest out of all of them. Perhaps, she did bank on her flying after all. At least, to lose some of her pursuers.

“It’s going to the northwestern face,” the unicorn said with a slight smirk. “Good, our reinforcements are quite close. We just need to signal them.”

“Let’s move then, Westerner,” Nefszen replied. “If she escapes, the South will never forget your incompetence.”

“Speak for yourself, ranger,” the unicorn retorted. “It’s your Legion that will be under fire again for relying on the West to deal with Ophidus.”

Short range teleportation spells were in order. For the unicorn, at least. He must have plenty of strength to spare and a good enough knowledge of the mountain. Nefszen didn’t want to risk it. Teleportation errors were too dangerous, and would interfere with the spells already upon him. Once again, he found himself moving at a hurried pace with Plowshare and a group of legionnaires. His own troops followed silently behind them.

“What do you plan with that captive, Legionnaire Plowshare?”

“It’s Skirmisher Captain now, ranger,” Plowshare huffed. They moved at a canter, being careful to remain in formation to avoid bunching up in the narrow sections of the passageway, a difficult task given the remaining civilians sharing the passages. “She’s involved herself with the Rondo, including the murder of Skirmisher Captain Coal Grey.” Plowshare’s eyes were hard and pitiless, not quite icy and murderous like the unicorn from earlier, but they were still the eyes of a determined executioner. “They will pay for this, that’s for sure.”

More useful notes to bring back to the Empire. Getting killed out here, even with the target slain, may not be an acceptable result. They broke out of the stifling cave complex, back into the night air of Mount Moaning Top’s slopes. They were not in a good position still. The passage led back to the southeastern face of the mountain, requiring them to double back. The Western legionnaires herded the remaining civilians with them at spear and blade point. Nefszen approved. A citizen that throws rocks at the Imperial Army would face dire consequences. Plowshare could, at least, manage that.

Half the troop was to get back to where the rest of the festival was, then move on to Moon Basin, the rest were to go after Safaszan. They took the unconscious unicorn mare with them. Kasamyssen went along with the village-bound troops along with a couple of the slaves. There was important information to be gained from various angles of this situation, and Nefszen wasn’t going to miss any opportunity.

“Try to keep up, ranger!” Plowshare huffed. Nefszen pictured having this insolent stallion whipped. The thought was a small comfort for his aching scales and the bitter cold. They made good time nonetheless. With their prey on the move and their confidence in their reinforcements high, the legionnaires moved with invigorated spirits. It helped that the other group was the one to deal with the unruly civilians.

“Tell us more about this thing,” Plowshare said as they hustled. “What kind of ophidite is it? Is it common down south? What are its weaknesses?”

“It’s a pride tikhana,” Nefszen replied. “Her name is Safaszan, she’s a dangerous criminal that the Empire has made our problem.” That sounded good. It wasn’t far from the truth either. The closer it was to the truth, the better the lie. This Plowshare bought it with ease, likely because his mind was elsewhere, in several places even. He was obviously still reeling from his friend’s demise, and he was contemplating both the punishment for the ponies responsible as well as the strategy to accomplish his original mission. He was in no condition to detect an Imperial agent just beneath his nose.

So Nefszen continued to play the role of helpful Southern Legion ranger, discussing as much as he knew of tikhana, pride or otherwise, as they hustled across the mountainside. It helped keep his mind off the pain of traversing this wretched terrain at least.

Several flashes occurred just past the tree line. The lurid orange of a fireball, probably Safaszan’s as no spellcaster would be stupid enough to use fire on a dragon or dragon hybrid, followed by the bluish glow of a lightning bolt. The flashes spurred the ponies from a hustling trot to a full on gallop. Here was a problem. Nefszen may look like a pony, but he still moved as a cobrahn. His bipedal running, already hampered by hard, dry rocks, couldn’t possibly keep up with the naturally fast ponies. The slithering vipren with him were in the same predicament, though the slaves ran just fine. Outside of infiltration, this was the point when he would have started riding a pony slave.

“What’s the matter, ranger?” Plowshare called out from ahead. “The West not soft enough for you?”

Foolish pony. A more observant legionnaire would be suspicious of such slow movement from a fellow soldier. Nefszen’s luck still held. It was probably a good thing the Skirmisher Captain from earlier died.

They were much closer now, enough to hear the shouts and bellows from the legionnaires that has engaged Safaszan. The cold, mountain air stank of burnt flesh, ashes, and ozone. At this distance, Safaszan’s massive silhouette stood sharply against the moon. Her sword dripped blood, as did her powerful claws. She had been forced to engage with the ponies, but she was making them pay dearly.

Her shield, now even brighter than before, turned even powerful bolts with a stone wall’s impunity. She was gaining confidence, even in her difficult situation. Pride dragons grew stronger, faster, and more fiery the more arrogant they got in a fight. Pride tikhana most likely had a diluted, but still powerful, version of that trait in them.

Safaszan even looked bigger. Out in the open, she rose even above the tree line, her golden-scaled hood glittering defiantly. Her blade crackled with magic. Though she was grounded, her wings flapped furiously, sending gusts of air towards her attackers. Even from where he was, Nefszen had to shield his eyes from the flying dirt and buffeting winds. At a closer range, it must be difficult for unicorn magi to get their spells going.

The wind was only the the first and most tangible layer of Safaszan’s protections against spells. As Nefszen moved closer, the next, more insidious one rolled into him, like an invisible wave of water, nearly forcing him to his knees and slowing him down considerably. Around him, pony and disguised ophidite alike fought to move forward with grit teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, a panicked hare darted out of a nearby bush, only to fall to its side and convulse, dying of a stopped heart. Some birds dropped out nearby branches in a final flutter of feathers. His own heart pounded quickly and heavily, as if clutched by an ice-cold hand.

Nefszen was prepared, though. He already knew of what a pride tikhana was capable of. He wouldn’t have dared taken this mission otherwise. He was acclimated to fear spells as part of special training, and he was prepared with morale bolstering enchantments. With the legionnaires distracted by Safaszan, it was easy to cast it without unwanted attention over himself and his troop. He looked over to Plowshare and the others and briefly mulled over spending effort and energy into bolstering them as well. He loathed the thought of helping Equestrians too stupid to prepare themselves for a variety of foes, but he wanted them useful.

“Second Principle of Slavery,” Nefszen muttered. They were not his property, true, but for this occasion he should treat them as such. He cast his spell over them as well, letting them break through the frightful presence with greater ease.

Now, they were close enough to get into the fray. Safaszan towered over them, even taller than Nefszen remembered when she was in the cave. Perhaps, she had used some magic to transmute her size, or it was also connected to her pride dragon side.

“Tas,” Nefszen hissed. He made sure he was out of earshot. The name shortening was unnatural, but Tasimyssa would recognise it, and ponies who managed to overhear would not be too suspicious. “the envy venom.”

Tasimyssa produced the arrows tipped with the venom in questions. She had enough for three shots. Envy dragon venom was a rare, thus expensive, commodity. Even this small amount represented a sizeable expenditure on the Imperial Army’s part. It had to be collected from a living, adult envy dragon, no easy feat even for the Empire.

It was worth it, however. Dragons were highly resilient creatures, immune to most of the Empire’s standard arsenal of toxins. Tikhana shared in this resistance, as proven when Safaszan escaped Ervan Reis with several vipren-envenomed arrows sticking out of her back and hood with little effect. The venom from an envy dragon’s tail was virulent enough to overcome even dragon constitution. Not even the arrogant Safaszan would be able to ignore this. 

Tasimyssa nocked the first arrow while Nefszen weaved his transmutations. A hardening spell on the arrowhead to help penetrate tikhana scales, a brief boost to Tasimyssa’s arm strength, and the toughness of her bow to generate more force, lastly a spell to improve vision despite the night’s darkness.

Tasimyssa was using Southern Legion ranger’s bow, not her specialty, but she was proficient enough, and it reinforced their disguise. Nefszen held a “hoof” up to keep her from firing. They had only a few shots to accomplish this in a swift and efficient manner. If the envenomed arrows failed, they would be forced to grind Safaszan down. “Aim for center mass,” he said. “Wait for the crackle in her defensive spells.”

Tasimyssa nodded while Nefszen intoned even more spells. Now, it was a battle of abjurations; Safaszan’s prideful shields against his duty-bound dispelling. Thankfully, he had plenty of unicorn magi to back him up. It was much needed help as well. Safaszan was in the throes of arrogant prowess, and it was greatly boosting her spell power. Once her facade was nicked, however, Nefszen expected it to come crashing down. First, a divination to probe all her spell work. For a tikhana who was likely never educated in any cobrahn school, Safaszan displayed a remarkable grasp of spell casting. She was powerful, but she didn’t lack for technique. Her shield was sturdy and unflinching despite the banging it was receiving from Legion bolts and spells. Her sword dripped with thick gouts of blood, and the ground by her clawed feet was littered with sliced up pegasi that got too close, and crushed earth ponies.

The skirmishers were having a hard time of it. Greenish flames periodically erupted from Safaszan’s mouth, engulfing anything close to her feet. The sight of them intrigued Nefszen. They were quite reminiscent of the toxic fire bombs developed by the Hooded Council Laboratory back in Nazcatania. There were no reports that Tikhanas could replicate the effects naturally. He looked to some of the victims. One legionnaire limped away from the fray, his right foreleg blackened and already weeping with pus. There was no way that a natural infection could settle in that quickly.

Safaszan let out another ferocious bellow, one so loud that it shook the ground. The nearest legionnaires flinched and staggered back a few steps. The sound wave halted pegasi trying to swoop in. They fluttered frantically in a hover, desperate to recover before the strike everyone knew was coming. Sure enough, Safaszan’s blade sliced through the air in a wide arc, gouging a deep, fatal wound into one lancer’s neck, then swatting him to the ground in a horrific crunch. His wings spasmed once after that and then he never moved again.

More successful attacks to boost Safaszan’s ego as far as Nefszen was concerned. He focused on finding any weakness in her shield spell; spots that strained from taking too many physical attacks or repeated dispelling...anything at all to provide Tasimyssa a clear shot. The upper parts of the shield showed promise. The lancers dive-bombed it plenty of times. The unicorn magi had the same idea as him too, and had already set about dispelling it from there.

Nefszen had one more advantage. He was properly schooled in ophidite spell casting. Safaszan wasn’t, but she still followed familiar patterns in her spell work. More than that, he had observed this spell work before. Before he signed up with the Imperial Army, he served as a tutor for Lord Nesasyth’s family. Safaszan weaved her spells like a young coatl, favoring simplistic patterns and arrays out of impatience and simply relying on power. In this case, the power of arrogance. He knew where the loose threads were, so to speak. He had to, just to survive his tutoring days. To be proven inferior to your charge, even if your charge was a coatl, was a particularly...ruinous situation. Nefszen would have never lived it down, assuming if he even lived.

Safaszan’s shield crackled, starting from the top, then making its way down in a vertical drop, like a piece of paper being ripped up. It was a different sort of hiss that escaped Safaszan at this, a softer, surprised one, a crack to her ego as sure as the crack on her shield. Her head swivelled about, and magic coursed through her blade. Too late, Nefszen recognised a divination. Her eyes locked on to him, followed by long, vicious hiss.

“I should have known!” Safaszan bellowed. She pointed her blade at Nefszen.

“Tas, now!” Nefszen shouted.

Tasimyssa loosed her shot, while Nefszen instinctively held his breath. He trusted Tasimyssa’s archery. In all the years they’ve served together, she had never disappointed. He also trusted his own dispelling from years of tearing down the defenses of unicorn magi and rival cobrahns. Even a wolven shaman once.

The arrow flew true, it’s head glinting against the night sky. Several bolts accompanied it as the legionnaires quickly noticed the break in Safaszan’s shield.

Safaszan, for all her arrogance, had no trouble acknowledging that she was vulnerable. A pity she wasn’t more of a pride dragon in that regard as far as Nefszen was concerned. She noticed the volley heading her way and moved to evade. Her size would make that a tricky proposition. She raised her blade to both cast a spell and block. A couple of bolts did collide with her enormous weapon, but Tasimyssa’s arrow slipped through. Safaszan’s desperate dodge was not without benefit, however. She managed to save her torso from a direct hit, but the envenomed arrow found a home in her right wing, close to the second joint.

“Vipren!” Safaszan bellowed. She flapped her wings defiantly, knowing full well that some kind of venom meant for her had found its way into her blood. “Damn you, and your Empire!” Her blade continued to crackle, and her shield reformed around her. Nefszen expected it to be weaker. Now that she had been wounded, Safaszan’s confidence must be shaken. Her arrogant rampage would start to dissipate.

Tasimyssa had nocked the second arrow, but she cast an alarmed glance at Nefszen. He shook his head in response. Better to ignore Safaszan’s attempts to expose them. The legionnaires may have heard or they may not have heard. The danger of a massive, draconic ophidite loomed before them. If none of them reacted, then Safaszan would only appear to either be crazy or attempting to sow discord among the legionnaires. They wouldn’t be so foolish as to entertain the notion, not with such obvious danger.

Safaszan’s reformed shield was obviously weaker. Even without detection spells, Nefszen could tell. This wasn’t just a matter of her sudden fall in confidence. Faced with overwhelming odds, Safaszan had shifted her defenses into sheer attacking power.

The ground trembled and tree branches shook as Safaszan broke into a sudden sprint, making an obvious beeline towards Nefszen and Tasimyssa. Nearby skirmishers darted around her legs, a practiced maneuver when dealing with ursans, Nefszen surmised. Their gashing blades glowed blue, a match for the auras around the horns of nearby unicorns. Basic enhancement spells; the sort that fledgling cobrahns learned early in school, but these were boosted by almost comical amounts of spell power. The Western Legion certainly had interesting priorities, and they happened to align well against Safaszan’s crude, but powerful, defenses. The shield around Safaszan crackled and fizzed, barely able to hold against such an assault. One gashing blade cut through just enough to slice into her calf with a resounding bang. The legionnaire was, perhaps, not expecting the hardened scales of a tikhana. His blade held fast, trapped between to particularly stubborn scales, dragging him by his jaws as Safaszan kept running. With an annoyed hiss, she kicked him away, sending him flying well over a dozen feet down the mountain’s slope. If the impact of her foot didn’t kill him outright, the long tumble down the mountainside likely would.

Even with frightful charge of such a behemoth, Nefszen stood his ground with a tooth-clenched grin. “Tas, again!” he hissed.

Tasimyssa stood firm as well, and loosed the second envenomed arrow. Nefszen’s abjurations tore their way through the cracks already by Safaszan’s legs. With Safaszan being so dangerously close, however, and the increasing chaos of milling legionnaires nearby, her aim proved...disappointing. The second arrow struck Safaszan’s left knee, hardly a better target for spreading venom. Still, two wounds should deal with Safaszan swiftly. Tasimyssa let out a frustrated, far too ophidite-like hiss as she drew her last envenomed arrow. Fortunately, no legionnaire heard her.

Nefszen waved a hoof towards Tasimyssa, warning her off another shot.

“Tas—!” 

Safaszan’s blade crashed down so swiftly and violently, that the resulting tremor of its impact knocked Nefszen to the ground. He closed his eyes on instinct as hot liquid spattered across them, flooding his senses with a stinging pain. He reeled and immediately wiped at his face with a free arm to clear his vision.

“Watch out!”

That was Plowshare’s voice. A heavy weight crashed into Nefszen, pushing him down. Something massive flew just above them so swiftly that the draft felt like a cold, biting wind.

Finally, Nefszen’s vision cleared as Plowshare swiftly got off him. “Tas!” he yelled. He hoped that the third arrow was still useful. No reply came from Tasimyssa. Next to him, Plowshare gripped his glowing gashing blade for another run. “Ta—“ he stopped when he spotted the mangled vipren corpse a few feet away; chopped horizontally into halves by a single stroke from Safaszan’s blade. Her bow was also in pieces, and her quiver had scattered its contents across the ground, where they were kicked up by scrabbling ponies and Safaszan’s earthshaking steps.

“Tas...” Nefszen let the name leave his mouth with a low hiss. He had prepared for this, just as he had prepared for his own death. Tasimyssa knew the risks, but all the knowledge did little to still his growing outrage. There would be no after mission celebration with her in Nazcatania, as they had always done for years of risking life and limb in the Empire’s service. No reminiscing of similar missions. Not this time. Nefszen’s grip on his ceremonial blade tightened. He couldn’t die now, not until he made this skink pay. He looked to the legionnaires around him, some form of misdirection already forming in his mind. With her death, Tasimyssa’s illusory disguise dissipated. These legionnaires were not going to take finding dead ophidites lightly. Fortunately they hadn’t quite noticed yet in the din of battle.

He wove a separate illusion, not complicated enough to disguise Tasimyssa’s corpse as a pony, but enough to hide it in the din of battle. He would have to deal with it later.

Safaszan threshed the ground as she whirled about to keep up with the skirmishers running around her. Good. The thrown up soil should hide the body. The venom must be coursing through her by now. Her affected wing drooped already, the flesh around the small wound blackened and weeping. Still, she raged on. One skirmisher, young and inexperienced from the looks of him, took a too sharp turn to avoid her blade. He slipped on the icy ground, and took a tumble right before she stepped on his head.

Careless mistake. Nefszen pointed at Safaszan’s blood-smeared foot and intoned his next spell. The body under those gold scales exploded with a wet pop, like a giant blister bursting. Grudge from being killed was a fleeting thing, especially if there was no prior connection between killer and victim beforehand, but corpse bombing was the one necromancy spell Nefszen was capable of, and he seized opportunities with practiced ease.

With a pained bellow, Safaszan recoiled her foot, the scales around the blast ruptured and blackened. The venom was softening up even her tough dragon scales, and her shields were fading. A dark red cloud emanated from the corpse, which was but a smear of gore and shattered barding at this point. Some of it wafted towards Nefszen, filling his nostrils with the stench of decay.

“Necromancy...” a familiar voice suddenly spoke from behind Nefszen. “Is that what they teach you down south?”

Chill Gaze, still perfectly composed despite all the spells he has cast earlier and the sight of several comrades dying, walked next to Nefszen. His eyes were hard, pitiless, like a cobrahn captain’s or a coatl’s. Even Nefszen was impressed. “We learn what’s needed,” he replied.

“You defiled a western legionnaire’s body, ranger, I won’t be letting that go anytime. For now..” Chill Gaze raised his horn towards Safaszan.

“I’ll show you what’s needed...”

Chill Gaze’s horn glowed an icy blue and the already chilly air around him turned outright frosty. Nefszen stepped back, his instincts leaving him wary as was often the case when faced with a powerful unicorn mage. A chilling draft whistled around them, flowing upward and coalescing above Safaszan.

‘So, this is a western unicorn mage,’ Nefszen thought. It was certainly a different sight to what he was used to. The Southern Legion did not favor direct magical attacks, at least not in such a massive scale.

Above Safaszan, the gathering wind swiftly turned into a large chunk of ice. There was conjuration mixed with this evocation spell, enough to form a great, if temporary, mass. Nefszen had seen this spell before, during a coatl magical contest: Fall Berg.

Safaszan recognized the brutal crushing she was about to receive, one that her failing shields would not be able to protect her from. She tried to hobble out of the way, but her severely ruptured foot nearly crumpled on to itself, the consequence of her increased weight. Nefszen had to chuckle. The pride tikhana’s puffing up just turned on her. The venom had spread enough to leave her wing dangling uselessly and her knee weeping copiously. The skirmishers recognised such obvious weak points and had taken to cutting at them as much as possible.

“You’re staying put, Safaszan!” Nefszen said with a sneer. He wove his own spells in. Nothing fancy like Chill Gaze’s. The ground erupted with black, conjured tendrils that wrapped themselves around Safaszan’s legs. The spell continued to grow until it was a pointed shard ice the size of a large hut that threatened to drop on Safaszan.

And with one final spark from Chill Gaze’s horn, that threat carried itself out.

As she looked up to the massive ice chunk hovering above her, Safaszan let out one last defiant bellow. The venom had sapped enough of her strength to turn it into nothing more than a particularly loud scream from an ordinary cobrahn about to be killed by the Legion. It wasn’t the first time Nefszen heard such a sound. Though, he supposed that he had not heard it nearly as often as one would expect after serving so long. Rangers killed quickly and quietly. A slit throat or an arrow between the eyes did not leave time for screaming. The west was so different after all.

The ice chunk came crashing down, crumpling even a tikhana’s hard scales as if they were rotting wood. Nefszen ducked as the massive blade Safaszan held flew above him, a severed hand still gripping it. Bloodstained ice shards flew everywhere, forcing everyone nearby to throw their hooves up over their faces. Nefszen grunted as a few icy splinters jammed themselves into his arms while stinking tikhana blood, befouled by envy venom, spattered across his chest and limbs.

The chaos eventually settled, leaving the surviving legionnaires staring at slowly collapsing remains of the fall berg. The conjuration was only temporary after all, and the ice was breaking down faster than it could simply melt. Fortunately, its job was done. Nothing was left of Safaszan save for a few glittering scales scattered across a great puddle of blood and viscera. Nefszen allowed himself a curt nod. Mission accomplished. He looked to the direction of the pony village nearby. It was going to be tricky trying to reunite with the others, but he could at least be satisfied that the Empire was free of one headache.

An alarmed cry snapped his gaze back to the nearby surroundings. A legionnaire was standing where he was sure Tasimyssa’s remains were.

“Damn...” Nefszen hissed.
> The Incident
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Official records state that the destruction of the cults of Luna was in response to the danger of their growing unruliness. The Blackmoon Blades for their murderous ways, and the Rondo for the chaos their revelry sowed. This is true on both counts, but it does not explain why the Night Parade also disbanded shortly, despite its benign existence.

A great number of historians agree that there was room for reform despite the extremes that the cults of Luna had delved into, and there was good cause to preserve them in some capacity. There was much to learn from the Blackmoon Blades’s killing methods, and both the Moonlight Rondo and the Night Parade could have been influential and true institutions for music and arts. Their complete destruction stemmed from attitudes within the Legion held onto at that time.

To understand this sudden, extreme response to the cults of Luna, one must examine two things true at that time. First, this was early on to the era of the Division, prior to the rise of High Commander Black Rose. The Prince was distant, and concerned solely with getting results from the Legion. The ponies of the Barrier Lands feared him and held him in awe. During the Time of the Three, all it took to earn his favor was to worship Princess Celestia. With the Division, nopony knew how to earn his approval. He ignored tributes and festivals, and personally tore down a temple dedicated to him. It seemed that the only way to to please him was to kill all he considered enemies.

Due to this, the Legion Commanders and their immediate subordinates behaved like a cult dedicated to the Prince, making stumbling, almost worshipful efforts to gain his elusive approval by outdoing each other in the slaughter of Equestria’s foes. This led to the second reason.

When the Prince returned from a visit to the Heartland, he was in a foul mood, particularly when matters that brought up Princess Luna or even the moon in general were brought up. The Legion Commanders, especially Western Legion Commander Sky Arc, saw this as both sign and opportunity to improve their standing with the Prince beyond killing invaders. Providence seemed to line up with this newfound goal. The Legion Commanders saw new enemies whose destruction would please the Prince. The Blades of Nightmare incident made it easy to eradicate the Blackmoon Blades, and the Moaning Top Incident allowed for the annihilation of the Moonlight Rondo. These cults were sacrificed upon the altar of Prince Terrato, despite his refusal to be worshiped. Perhaps, the instinct within ponies that led to the Old Kingdom still has vestiges left in all of us. The Night Parade, seeing the signs as they were, promptly announced its disbandment.

Things have changed in these times. The Prince has been more open and concerned towards the Legion and the ponies of the Barrier Lands in general. The Legion, in response, now anticipates his wishes in less fanatical ways. While it is a pity that much of the lore from the cults of Luna has been lost, there is refuge to be taken in the recovery of bits and pieces through the scholarly diligence. Perhaps, in the future, enough can be recovered to restore these cults in a more beneficial form for all of them.

-Notes by Historian Dare Vaunt of the Great Delve Arcane Academy







The villagers of Moon Basin, even in their inebriated state, started to suspect that something may be odd when the legionnaires attending the Rondo festival disappeared followed shortly by the pretty local healer. The odd rumbles coming from farther up the mountain sobered up the most cautious among them, including the constable and his assistants. No words of urgency were exchanged among the revellers, but all the merriment simply seeped out of them. They looked around and gathered together, aware more than ever that both the Rondo and the Legion were gone. This may as well be just a village festival with extra food and drinks. Not even the slightest peep of music that the Rondo was supposed to be famous for.

After a few half-hearted attempts to, at least, enjoy the laid out feast, the villagers silently agreed among themselves to head back home, suddenly worried of what might come from the mountain.

And something did come. A light blue unicorn mare that the villagers recognised as somepony from the Rondo staggered out of the tree line, soaked with sweat despite the cold, eyes wide with terror, and legs trembling from exhaustion. “Help!” she shouted hoarsely. “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

Behind her were a few more ponies from the Rondo, all desperately running and completely ragged. These did not look the sort that have been recently celebrating anything. Their eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and their hides clammy with sweat.

“What do you mean?” Mayor Bitter Hops asked. He stepped forward, and caught the mare just as she collapsed. Two more villagers, Constable Bronze Star and Saw Leaf, came to his aid when he struggled to keep her from falling.

“The Legion!” the mare gasped and sobbed all at once. “The Legion’s going to kill us all!”

Bitter Hops looked to the villagers that had crowded around them. The mare’s panic was already spreading among them faster than any disease. “What?” he asked. “Why? What has the Rondo or this village done to deserve such a thing?”

A Rondo stallion behind the mare struggled to catch his breath as he answered. “There was...there was this huge monster that suddenly appeared in the cave. It looked like an ophidite and it attacked the Legion! They must think that we were hiding ophidites among us!”

Fresh tears sprang from the mare’s eyes, and her face contorted in renewed fury. “They were already planning on killing us before it showed! Their unicorn mage called us degenerates, and he killed Wine Press!”

A second mare from the Rondo spoke up behind them. “I saw it too! I saw that same mage who killed Cloud Breeze even though there was an ophidite monster rampaging around! Killing us all is just as important to them as killing ophidites! They were unleashing poison gas all over the place!”

The villagers murmured among themselves.

“I’ve heard stories about this! This is just like Grape Song Village!” Saw Leaf yelled.

“By the Prince, are they going to kill us too?” Moon Cake asked. “We’re not part of the Rondo!”

“We accepted the Rondo, and aided their festival, that might be reason enough!” Bell Watch replied. “Especially if it’s an ophidite infiltration, they’ll probably kill us all just to be sure!”

“Hold on now,” Bitter Hops said as he turned the panicked mare over to Bronze Star before facing the crowd. “Think about this carefully, the Legion isn’t going to slaughter us all on a whim just because we might be ophidite collaborators!”

“You don’t understand,” one of the Rondo stallions said. “You weren’t there. The giant ophidite’s a convenient excuse. You should have seen how those legionnaires looked at us. They were planning to kill us all from the start! The Legion has it out for all the followers of Princess Luna!”

“That tears it!” Bronze Star said. “The Legion might execute us all just for being associated with the Rondo. Maybe just to quiet us to make it easier for the rest of Equestria to swallow what happened here!”

“Wait!” Third Wheel said. “If we get rid of the Rondo ourselves, the Legion won’t see us as a threat!”

Murmurs of agreement passed through the crowd.

“We should have never agreed to this festival!” shouted Kill Joy. “The Rondo has always been trouble!”

“They might even reward us for helping them!” Flame Stoke added.

The murmurs slowly rose to cries of assent. Bitter Hops trotted over in front of the crowd, waving his forelegs in a desperate attempt to quell this growing fire. “Listen to yourselves!” he yelled. “This is murder you’re suggesting!”

Bronze Star shook his head, and took a step to join the crowd before facing Bitter Hops. “Is it?” he asked. “Murder’s done out of malice. Think about it, Hops, we’re trying to save our lives here!”

“At the cost of killing others? There has to be a better way!” Bitter Hops looked towards the mountain slopes, towards where the Rondo ponies had come from. “We can talk to them,” he added. “We are not their targets, nor have we committed any crime. We can reason with the Legion without immediately killing others.”

“Even if we do that, we need to keep these Rondo ponies with us,” Bronze Star said. “If we let them flee, the Legion will see it as providing aid. If we want to talk to them, we have to keep the Rondo here.”

Bitter Hops looked to the Rondo ponies, who were already catching their breaths, though their wide-eyes panic only worsened.

“You can’t turn us in to the Legion,” the mare cried out. “They’ll execute us! For no reason! We didn’t hide that ophidite!”

“So you say!” Saw Leaf replied. “Maybe you were hiding that ophidite after all, we can’t know for sure! Let the Legion sort it out, I say!”

An argument, then a shouting match, broke out between the Rondo and the villagers. Bitter Hops could barely understand a word being said in the resulting garbled mess. The wine he had been enjoying so much earlier was making him pay dearly at this point with a buzzing headache.

The villagers had taken to surrounding the Rondo to prevent them from fleeing, but the size of the two groups were nearly the same, and the Rondo has clearly realized that there was no safe haven to be had in Moon Basin. They backed up upon each other, as if ready for a last stand. Bronze Star recognized the tension, and his front hoof occasionally hovered over his baton.

At the sight of this seeming threat of violence, one of the Rondo ponies let out a cross between an animalistic howl and an anguished cry. He made a mad dash for Bronze Star, eyes firmly locked on the baton, his hooves stretched out to grab the weapon. Flame Stoke moved faster, and tackled him halfway through his lunge. The two tumbled across the rough ground for a while, Flame Stoke barely able to hold back the Rondo pony, whose bloodshot eyes were all but bulging out of his skull. The veins around his throat throbbed as he screeched and struggled.

“Why can’t you just leave us be?” he shouted. “Everywhere we go, you guards and legionnaires have to show up and make us miserable!”

“Don’t make yourselves the victims and us the villains, you lunatic,” Bronze Star grunted as he helped wrestle down the Rondo pony. “You could have left us out of your schemes. Now, you’ve brought the Legion down on us!”

“Let him go!” screamed one of the mares from the Rondo. Her cries were followed by several more from the tree line. Bitter Hops tensed along with the other villagers. More escapees from the Rondo, there were too many now to easily corral. These new arrivals looked even more panicked and livid than the others. Upon seeing the struggle, they didn’t even bother trying to talk or beg. The stallion leading them galloped full speed. Even at a distance, Bitter Hops could see the strained, bulging neck muscles and the wild glare. The foam along the lower lips were also not lost on him.

“They’ve brought their lunatics out!” Bell Watch yelled. He gripped his rake tightly, making sure that the toothed end was aimed for a vicious downward strike at anypony threatening. “We have to fight to save the village!”

“No—!”

That was about as far a Bitter Hops could go before the villagers rushed past him, like an unstoppable river during a storm. One of them struck the pinned down stallion with a large branch, freshly cut from a nearby tree, leaving a viciously long gash across the stallion’s face and knocking him out. Bronze Star, free of having to restrain a pony, looked at the exploding situation. He let out a sigh, the sort of sigh a pony might heave as he watched a natural disaster inevitably envelop his home, pulled out his baton, and moved out to protect his fellow villagers in the only method left available: knocking out the Rondo ponies.

More villagers waded in as well, mostly with makeshift weapons where they could find them. Saw Leaf was swinging a chair, Moon Cake had a large metal platter floating in front of her through telekinesis while she swung a heavy ladle. Many just came in swinging their hooves, and even biting. A few less...enthusiastic ponies hung back and threw rocks.

A long time ago, in a different life as a stupid young stallion trying to make a living in the West’s capital, Bitter Hops ran around in the the Great Delve’s Underbelly with a gang. This wasn’t his first brawl, even if it had been a while. One of the Rondo’s stallions charged him, a big, young, stupid-looking one with a frenzied glare coming out of his blood shot eyes. The stallion swung wildly with a bare left front hoof, and a large branch with his right. Bitter Hops stepped back and let the poor fool swing and miss. This one had come running and screaming from the trees. He was breathing hard on the get-go and his weapon was too large and cumbersome. After a second miss, his exhaustion weighed him down, leaving his neck open. A couple of decades back, Bitter Hops would stick a bamboo skewer into that bulging vein that presented itself. As mayor, he simply swung a hoof to the stallion’s jaw. Old age hadn’t weakened him that much, it seemed. The stallion fell to the side glassy-eyed and stiff-legged.

Around Bitter Hops, the fighting had taken full swing as more ponies from the Rondo emerged from the forest while ponies from the village, curious over what was happening in the festival, stumbled into the scene. No words, only alarmed yells, hoarse screams, then fighting. Somepony has upended the long tables, spilling whatever remained of the food over. Both villagers and Rondo ponies alike discovered the unopened bottles of wine and liquor, and started using them as makeshift clubs, and even knives when the bottles shattered.

Several Rondo ponies had dropped to the ground, unconscious from knocks to the head or struggling to catch their breath after a kick to the gut.

“Bronze!” Bitter Hops shouted. “Stop anypony from killing!”

Bronze Star looked up from battering a mare with his baton and nodded. He put himself in between a villager with a broken bottle and a cowering Rondo mare, knocking the bottle away with his baton while yelling. Nearby, a Rondo stallion had snapped the branch he was using into a crude point. Bitter Hops jumped on him, twisting his foreleg so he dropped his weapon.

Nearby, the escalating violence infected every pony. More dangerous weapons came out, one mare was choking another with a twisted cloak, a Rondo stallion banged the head of a villager against the ground.  This had to stop...this had to—

“Halt!”

More ponies emerged from the trees. The authoritative, non-panicked voice told enough. The sight of barding and enormous blades and spears made it even clearer.

At this, the Rondo changed from desperate lunatics to cornered beasts. Spears lowered and blades unsheathed, the Legion swiftly came upon the brawl.

“Legionnaires,” Bitter Hops said. “These ponies from the Rondo—“ he stopped when he noticed that one of the legionnaires was carrying an unconscious Cinder Spark over his shoulder. “What are you doing? That’s Fort Commander Forge Spark’s daughter!”

The lead legionnaire, a unicorn stallion Bitter Hops didn’t recognize, looked him over for a mere second before focusing on the Rondo. “Stand aside, citizen,” he said offhandedly. “This is Legion business. Leave the Rondo to us.” He lifted a foreleg to signal something when a distant shout from past the tree line stopped him.

A lone pegasus in light-barding flew towards them at breakneck speed. Though he wore some barding of a legionnaire, he was a far cry from the lancers the Western Legion was known for. This must be some sort of scout or messenger. True enough, he swiftly arrived near the other legionnaires. He nearly crashed in his hurry, and he was panting heavily when the other legionnaires helped him up. “Word from the main force!” he gasped.

The lead unicorn lowered his foreleg, and leaned towards the pegasus.

“The Moonlight Rondo is harbouring Blades of Nightmare,” the messenger went on. “Make sure to capture all of them!”

At this, the lead unicorn’s face went livid. “Blades of Nightmare!” he snarled. “Forget capture! Two of my siblings went on that raid on the Blades, and they came back in bags!” He turned towards his troops. “We’ll do it as Skirmisher Captain Plowshare said! Execute the Rondo! No prisoners!”

The rest of the legionnaires saluted, then moved in. One particularly crazed stallion howled, and jumped in, obviously counting on getting in close to prevent those long spears and huge blades from getting to him efficiently.

The first spear went through his throat with little resistance, spraying blood all over his chest as it punched through to the back of his neck. The legionnaire responsible deposited his body on the ground without so much as a grunt before closing in with his fellows.

The legionnaires moved in unison, like a wall of metal and muscle with enormous spikes protruding from their formation. The Rondo, even with some of their fellows knocked out, outnumbered them almost three to one, but an unruly mob of frightened, half-drunk ponies were not going to dent this formation. Behind the line were the unicorn magi, as well as a small group of ponies with different barding. Bitter Hops didn’t recognize them. Perhaps observers from a different Legion? They were armed with bows and dressed in leathers. From the south then. The Rondo ponies mentioned ophidites, these legionnaires must be here to help with that.

Even in their muddled state, the Rondo ponies understood the odds. One of them took off screaming, not even looking back to see if her fellows were right behind her.

A light green glow seized the Rondo mare so swiftly and tightly that her shoulders popped audibly. She let out a scream as the telekinesis dragged her towards a legionnaire. A barbed spear found its way through her back, cutting her spine and silencing her scream. When she went limp, the glow with winked out, letting her body drop to the ground.

“No prisoners!” the unicorn lead barked once more. “Tonight, Equestria ceases tolerance for the Rondo!” The rest of the legionnaires responded with a swift rap of their front hooves against their chest plates. They moved in unison once more, and swiftly thanks to their light barding. The nearest Rondo ponies had not expected such swiftness. They didn’t even get to run before they were skewered and cut down. The unicorn magi in the group raised shields when the Rondo ponies threw rocks or attempted crude telekinetic bolts. When the barrage stopped, they went back to grabbing ponies with telekinesis and hurling them in front of the formation to be killed.

The southern legionnaires fired their bows at the Rondo with an almost gleeful look on their faces. Bitter Hops scowled and choked back an urge to charge them. No legionnaire should be that happy about executing citizens, no matter the crime. He stepped back and instinctively wiped his face with a foreleg. He had thought it was sweat, but a crimson smear across his foreleg greeted his inspection. He wasn’t wounded, just too close to the nearby slaughter as it turned out.

“This is too cruel...” Bitter Hops mumbled. He looked across the killing, towards the faces of his fellow villagers. Even in the moonlight, the horror on their faces stood as clear as if they had been standing under a noon sun. What thoughts of killing they might have entertained a few moments ago withered at the sight of the genuine article. His gaze swept past them, towards a limp mare lying on the ground. The legionnaire carrying her must have simply dumped her there to get back to his task. ‘Cinder Spark!’ he thought. He galloped over to see if she was injured. The legionnaires here must all come from Sharpstone Fortress. They wouldn’t harm their Fort Commander’s daughter. Still, this was hardly a good way to treat a mare who had never so much as gotten angry during her entire stay in Moon Basin. Why was she unconscious to begin with? Did they knock her out? That made no sense, she wasn’t the sort to get wild and violent like that mare who frequented—

Bitter Hops looked around some more. No sign of that mare...what was her name again? Cloud Freeze, perhaps. Regardless of her actual name, she was nowhere to be seen. He knew what she and Cinder Spark had going on; a situation he didn’t mind, but had enough prudence not to inform Forge Spark. In a crisis such as this, it was unusual that they wouldn’t be together, unless...

Bitter Hops looked back to the trees where these Rondo ponies and legionnaires all came from. Perhaps, he should just assume that any of the Rondo that didn’t come out before the legionnaires has been taken care of. That included their leader, Spared Rod, and poor Cinder Spark’s marefriend.

“Uh...”

With a groan, Cinder Spark opened her eyes. It took only a second for that half-lidded confusion to turn into wide-eyes panic. She rose to her hooves with a start, then looked around.

“Cinder Spark,” Bitter Hops said. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Cloud Breeze...” Cinder Spark whispered. Her tone turned into a hiss, and her front hooves dragged angrily against the ground. Her face contorted into a vicious scowl. “Chill Gaze!” She paused in her growing anger to assess the situation as soon as a few more screams finally reached her. The sight of the Rondo being slaughtered seemed to bring her perspective. “Mayor Hops, what’s going on?”

“The Legion,” Bitter Hops replied. “They’re here to kill the Moonlight Rondo.”

“The Rondo...” Cinder Spark started to tremble, her eyes welling up with tears. “To the end, she had to care for them so much...” She looked to the slaughter and stepped towards it. “I can’t let them destroy it now, not when she cared so much for the Rondo!”

“What are you doing?” Bitter Hops cried out. He waved his forelegs and tried to get in her way. “If you interfere, the Legion will—“

Cinder Spark, in a show of physical strength that took Bitter Hops by surprise, shoved him aside and let out a spell.

Bitter Hops had seen Cinder Spark’s spell casting on several occasions. She was no spectacle starter or hardened unicorn mage. Her magic was simple; summoning small objects to her side, creating temporary tools or materials, mending outfits, healing small cuts, and helping plants grow.  His jaw dropped when huge arcs of her magic coalesced in front of the legionnaires, taking on the shape of a massive wall of scintillating colors. The wall flashed red, then orange, then purple, going through a fantastic and intimidating spectrum of lights. The legionnaires stopped dead in their tracks at the sight. One of them accidentally poked his spear into the wall. When he pulled it back, the metal head had dissolved while orange liquid, still hissing and smoking, dripped from the haft.

With such a massive and imposing barrier between them and the Legion, the surviving ponies from the Rondo were able to run for it, terror lending wings to their hooves.

“Don’t let them get away!” the lead unicorn mage shouted. His horn crackled in an obvious attempt to dispel the wall, but this creation proved resilient and complicated. Though he had no love for the Rondo and its antics, Bitter Hops couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at their escape. He looked to Cinder Spark, ready to offer a few words of surprised praise at the sudden power she showed, but she had fallen on her knees, eyes unfocused. Her horn sputtered magic, the sign of an overworked unicorn. 

“Miserable, rebellious citizens!” one of the southern legionnaires snarled. She aimed her bow at Cinder Spark, and loosed without a moment’s hesitation.

Cinder Spark offered no defense. On instinct, Bitter Hops placed himself between her and the incoming danger, forelegs spread wide to cover as much as possible. It was only when a sharp pain, like the bite of a venomous snake, lanced between his shoulder blades did he remember that this might be a stupid idea. He had no defense to offer either.

“Hops!”

That was Bronze Star yelling, along with his heavy galloping. He was coming here, but there was nothing more he could do. Bitter Hops stared at the bloody, glinting point of an arrowhead sticking out of his chest. In front of him, Cinder Spark’s eyes widened. She pressed against him, inspecting the arrowhead, struggling to come up with some way to help. A fire was spreading from the wound, a hungry flame that chewed through muscle, organ, and bone. This wound...there was more to it than just the wood and steel. Even if they could patch this wound up, he would still be doomed.

“That’s the Fort Commander’s daughter, you idiot!” some legionnaire shouted.

“Hops!” Bronze Star cried out. He held Bitter Hops in his forelegs just in time as Hops’s legs gave way. Bitter Hops tried to reply, but the only thing to come out of his mouth was a trickle of blood. Bronze Star’s legs shook as he gently laid Bitter Hops on the cold, pitilessly hard ground.

“They murdered the mayor!” some villager shouted. Bitter Hops couldn’t recall which one.

“You monsters!” Bronze Star cried out. “He wasn’t Rondo!” He galloped off, towards the Legion with baton in hoof. Several villagers followed his example.

“No...” Bitter Hops tried to say. He could barely attempt a wheezing whisper. His lungs were failing, burned up by whatever poison was circulating his body. “You’ll die...”

“We’ll all die...”
> Incident Conclusion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Southern Legion does not mind, your Highness. The Western Legion loves the barbs they throw our way, and we know them by heart; the slaving operations Apple Slice unearthed, the Boiling Marsh Incident, the Deadmarsh Slaughter, the Debacle at Scale Grove, the fall of Greenfang Fortress, and, yes, the fact that the first invaders to make it to the Heartland were ophidite agents. They forget that we deal with the might of the Empire of Ophidus, the most cunning and versatile of Equestria’s enemies, on a daily basis. The most they had to encounter from the Empire were a few isolated infiltrator squads and roving slaver bands.

I will point out the West’s failures if that’s the game they want to play. The handling of the Third Ursan Extermination Campaign which was only salvaged, barely, by High Commander Black Rose taking the reins, the Blades of Nightmare Incident, the many bandit rebellions, the first through fourth Great Delve Riots, and the Moaning Top Incident. The West has slaughtered more citizens than it has ursans, and is responsible for the destruction of all the groups once dedicated to your Highness. The Western Legion has also borne the most decimatios of any Legion. These are facts. They have a lot of nerve accusing the South of getting ponies killed when they do such a fine job of killing ponies directly.

Now, if we can move past our customary, petty, inter-Legion rivalries, I would like to move on to our joint operations within the Heartland.

-Southern Legion Commander Moon Haze during a joint Legion meeting shortly after Reunification.





How had it come to this?

Screams swirled around Cinder Spark, nearly drowning out even her thoughts. Bronze Star’s anguished cry still rang in her ears. Her heart was pounding and her breathing remained heavy after casting that prismatic wall. She made a tentative effort to get to her hooves, but gave up when her legs trembled too much. Instinct told her to stop the constable’s suicidal charge. He was no match for the Legion. None of the villagers were, or even the village as a whole. She looked up in time to see Bronze Star, at the head of a group of villagers, stumble. One of those rangers accompanying the troops from Sharpstone Fortress put an arrow into his shoulder. Still, he charged on, until one of the skirmishers stood between him and the rangers.

“Stand back, citizen!” the skirmisher shouted. “If you attack the Legion, you will be cut down!”

Bronze Star was in no mood to listen, though. He tried to raise his baton, but his foreleg was gone halfway through. The skirmisher’s gashing blade dripped blood as it swung with far too much ease and speed for such a large and cruelly edged blade. Bronze Star was still staring at the stump of his foreleg when his head fell from his shoulders.

The bloody demise of their lead did not dissuade the other charging villagers. Moon Basin was small, and everypony was close to everypony else. Right now, their constable and neighbor has just been murdered as far as they were concerned. Their outrage proved far greater than their fear as of the moment. The wine most likely helped as well. They charged bravely, foolishly all things considered. Most of them didn’t even get a swing in before spears found their chests and throats.

“If these villagers aid the Rondo, execute them as well!” the lead unicorn shouted. “Any pony who hides a Blade of Nightmare must die!” He lifted another Rondo mare with his telekinesis, turned her upside-down, then brought her skull down on the rocky ground.

One of the rangers took aim at Cinder again. Faced with death, she couldn’t even move. Half of her screamed at her to get away, or even duck. The other half was convinced that this was probably the only way this night could possibly end.

“I said that’s the Fort Commander’s daughter!” a skirmisher shouted. He struck the ranger’s forelegs with the haft of his spear.

“What of it, West-pony?” the ranger hissed. “She attacked us with a spell!” She aimed again.

Furious, the skirmisher struck the ranger’s cheek with the butt of his spear, knocking the mare down.

Even Cinder had to pause in shock at what happened next. The ranger’s visage seemed to shift and fade, like smoke. Her fur turned into dark brown scales, her eyes shrank into golden, slit orbs, and her mouth opened in an angry hiss. Her hind legs seemed to merge into a single tail, and her forelegs sprouted claw-tipped fingers.

“By the Prince!” the skirmisher shouted. “Vipren! The rangers are ophidites!”

The rest of the Sharpstone legionnaires turned towards the rangers with wide eyes of shock that swiftly turned to fury.

“Capture them!” the lead unicorn barked. “There might be more!”

The fighting renewed itself and reached a fevered, confused pitch with the Legion keeping track of three separate targets. The brutality was too much, even if everything they said was true. Cinder Spark struggled to cast a spell, any spell to even so much as slow this killing down. Her horn sputtered with magic and whatever spell she desperately sifted through her mind failed. Her stomach was heaving at the thick smell of blood. Her head pounded, unable to take all the shrieking around her. The prismatic wall she had set up was already fading, and the legionnaires had taken to circling around it anyway. All that power was good for was to offer those Rondo ponies some time. 

This was too much. It was all too much. She couldn’t protect Cloud Breeze, and she couldn’t protect what Cloud Breeze cherished. As always, there was nothing she could do. She dragged herself away from the sights and sounds. She had no idea where to go. Perhaps, just somewhere in the woods where she could curl up and die. The horrible noise from the slaughter faded slightly as she gained more distance.

As the noise faded some more, Cinder found the strength to stand up. She was by an overhang of rock, overlooking the slope of Mount Moaning Top. She knew this spot. It had a great view of the mountainside as well as Moon Basin. She and Cloud Breeze often came here, and—

There were too many lights down in Moon Basin and the surrounding area. Cinder knew those type of lights. They came from unicorn horns. Unicorn magi for sure. The Legion had come to Moon Basin as well, likely to intercept the fleeing Rondo to and root out any that might be hiding in town. The fleeing Rondo ponies were heading for that direction. Ultimately, her last ditch spell was useless as well. Extermination was nearly certain for Cloud Breeze’s beloved Rondo.

“Father...” Cinder murmured. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you?”

There was no going back to the village. Her father...no, Fort Commander Forge Spark would certainly be there with the main bulk of the Legion forces sent to exterminate the Rondo. She couldn’t let him find her. Not now. With all her paths closed off, she had only one more thing to do.





How had it come to this?

As he ran downslope with spells and bolts flying past him, Nefszen instincts brought the question. Perhaps, it was because he knew full well that he wasn’t going to get out of this alive. A pity. Alfszen was going to have to graduate with only his mother watching. A pity for his slaves too. So close to citizenship yet so far.

He had to give it to the unicorn magi of the West. They weren’t the most sophisticated or technical of spell casters, but they had power and mana to spare. As soon as one of them saw Tasimyssa’s true form, they blanketed the area with dispelling magic. It wasn’t even a matter of how good he weaved his illusions. It was like a highly skilled vipren trying to outwrestle several dim-witted constrictors. No amount of technique could hope against such overwhelming numbers and strength.

His disguises failed, so he ordered a hasty retreat. Though, it was more like he ran for his life and trusted that his troops had enough sense to do the same.

The light shining on him made it easy to see his way, though that was because he had pegasi above shining their bullseye lanterns on him while signalling for their fellows. There was no escaping the Legion if he couldn’t get rid of them, and he didn’t have a spell to spare to shoot them down, not after expending so much on Safaszan.

“Captain Nefszen!” Fork Tongue huffed as he galloped next to Nefszen. Snake Eyes galloped right behind him. “What are your orders?”

Nefszen couldn’t help but smile. He had led the Legion to a merry chase in the opposite direction of the village. Maybe it was a futile effort, but he could at least try to give Kasamyssen and Sohomyssa a chance to escape. He stopped, and drew his ceremonial knife.

“You were both loyal and skilled, Fork Tongue, Snake Eyes. That we are trapped here is through my failure. Your citizen pledges are granted, and I declare you both true Imperial Citizens!”

The Legion’s galloping drew nearer. They sounded like rolling thunder; the approaching storm of steel and magic that would engulf a miserably small Imperial force. Even so, both slaves...no, both citizens, puffed their chests out and drew their blades.

“We have one last task,” Nefszen said. He pointed his blade at the incoming legionnaires and intoned the final spells he was ever going to cast. “For the Emperor, and for the Empire!”

Snake Eyes and Fork Tongue neighed and reared up before charging ahead to buy him time, as true as any constrictor wall, these two. Nefszen raised his blade both to cast and as a salute.
> Aftermath
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Decimatio is reserved for large units of legionnaires that have committed a grave crime. Such a case that qualifies for decimatio must be submitted to the Prince once guilt is determined. Only the Prince may pronounce decimatio.

While the Prince is deliberating the issue, the offending unit shall be escorted to a suitable patch of wilderness no less than five miles from any settlement or outpost. They shall make camp here until punishment is completed.

If decimatio is not pronounced, the unit shall be given the appropriate punishment instead as deliberated by the Legion Commander involved, and the matter is resolved without taking the steps after this. If the Prince gives the order for decimatio then the following steps must be undertaken.

Prior to decimatio proper, all officers directly involved in the incident shall be executed by hanging.

The remaining legionnaires shall form among themselves groups of ten. The method by which these groups are formed may vary so long as the groups are of the prescribed number. Should there be remainders, these are to be distributed among the formed groups as evenly as possible.

Each group shall draw lots among themselves.

Whosoever the lot falls upon within a group shall be clubbed or stoned to death by the others in the group. At the end of these proceedings, a tenth of the offending group of legionnaires will have been executed. A record must be kept on the groups formed and who was executed. This record shall be submitted to the appropriate Legion Commander, and our Prince.

Legionnaires attempting to escape from the proceedings of decimatio shall be executed regardless of wether the lot fell upon them or not.

After decimatio, the bodies of the executed shall be burned and their remains scattered across the execution grounds. No remains shall be buried or entombed. Their families shall receive no compensation. The surviving group shall be disbanded and redistributed within the Legion. Each survivor shall be marked for dishonor. Upon their death, their remains shall also be burned and scattered. Their families shall not receive compensation. Rules and procedures regarding marks of dishonor and their removal have been discussed in previous chapters.

-Legionnaire’s Handbook, Offenses and Punishments.





“We have word from the Prince. Decimatio has been decreed.”

Forge Spark could only stare ahead morosely as Western Legion Commander Sky Arc loomed over him like some avenging hoof of His Highness himself, fully armored as if she was about to fly out to do some lancing herself, and bedecked in the medals she earned in a lifetime of service. Of course, that lifetime had mostly past. Her red mane, still in a long, proper braid, was streaked with gray, half her left wing was missing, and her dark brown fur did not cover the many, many scars along her neck and body. Before she was Western Legion Commander, she was Flight Gorehowl’s captain.

Forge Spark expected decimatio. The rest of the troops that participated during that disastrous night had been out in the wilderness for days now.

They were successful in slaying most, if not all, members of the Moonlight Rondo, including Spared Rod through strange circumstances, and they uncovered an ophidite version of a kirin. Still, Moaning Top had changed from a distasteful but necessary operation to a great, disgusting blemish on the Western Legion’s face. Sharpstone troops also killed a large number of Moon Basin’s villagers, and had allowed themselves to be tricked by an ophidite infiltrator squad.

More than that, in Forge Spark’s eyes, his beloved daughter had disappeared, and her protector, Coal Grey, had been killed.

And so punishment was needed. Decimatio demanded that he, as the Fort Commander involved in this disgrace, must be executed.

“I must go, then,” Forge Spark said as he stood up. Even trying to lift himself from his chair proved difficult. It felt as if he was chained to the floor. A hanging was a traitor’s death; dishonorable and pathetic. He would be remembered as a criminal and a failure. To twist the knife further, his estate and all he owned would not be passed down to his kin, but instead be given to the Legion.

“Hold,” Sky Arc said. She placed a hoof on his shoulder, eyes soft for the first time in all the years he had known her. “I’ve made some arrangements in your case.”

“Sky Arc, I am not running away from this,” Forge Spark replied.

“And you won’t be,” Sky Arc said. “You must die, this cannot be changed, but I’ve arranged for changes in your execution.”

Sky Arc adjusted her spectacles, and gave what Forge Spark could guess as a sympathetic look. “You will take your life, and your death will not be treated with dishonor. Your body will be buried with full rites, and your estate will be given in accordance to your will.”

Forge Spark allowed himself a small, tight smile. “I’m grateful,” he said. “And I’m sure your husband will be too. Tell my brother to spend his share wisely.”

“Don’t turn me into a money-grubber,” Sky Arc replied. “I know your daughter will inherit most of it. Be asssured that I have troops out in search of her.”

“Thank you,” Forge Spark said. He could manage this much, at least. In the end, all he was good for was a source of money for his daughter. He looked up. “The poison? I assume it’s poison.”

“Half Spear!” Sky Arc barked. The doors to the office opened, and her earth pony assistant walked in with a platter in his mouth. Atop the platter was a large goblet of silver and ivory.

“I was wondering where he was,” Forge Spark said. He focused on the goblet. Such a richly decorated and elaborate vessel for such a grim and simple task.

“Hemlock,” Sky Arc said. “Slow and painful for expiation. I expect that you will reconsider that this was any sort of favor halfway through.”

Forge Spark stared at Sky Arc for a while, lips grim and even, eyes hard. Yes, expiation. That was true, he supposed. The command to annihilate the Rondo came from the Legion Commander’s office. Sharpstone was just the closest source of troops. Yes, it was his and his troops’ fault that the debacle was as bad was it got, but the notion of Sky Arc talking about his expiation nearly made him laugh. All he said, though, was “Don’t worry. I never considered it to be one in the first place.”

He closed his hoof over the goblet, and drank long and deep.





The side trails of the Western Barrier Lands were notoriously treacherous paths, barely more than light, pony-made cuts across the steep, unforgiving sides of the mountains they traversed. They seldom had any rails or walls to protect a traveler, and they perpetually struggled against the forces of erosion. To an inexperienced traveler with no means of flying, a fall down the mountainside was a likely fate.

Fortunately for Chill Gaze, he had been travelling and studying these paths for most of his life. The Legion’s inquisitors chased after the most slippery prey, the sort that would use these nearly forgotten trails to move about in secret. That he skulked through them now, as if he belonged to the same class of degenerate that he pursued so hard was not lost on him. It was necessary, however. Decimatio demanded his death. The Legion may have killed a few citizens unnecessarily, though it was in defense, but it did not deserve anything even close to decimatio.

He couldn’t die here, not as one more twig in a bundle thrown to the fire. Not when he had executed his orders and rid Equestria of degenerates. This was not justice. It was not even efficient. As such, he had to correct it.

He had escaped at the cost of slaying a few sentries. There was no forgiving what even he could only call murder, but there was no other choice. In the grand scheme of things, they were but low-ranking grunts, acceptable losses to preserve an efficient inquisitor. It wouldn’t be long, though, before they would come looking for him. His career as Director Chill Gaze was over, but he could still spend his days in a secret service to Equestria; rounding up degenerates in his own way, cleaning up messes that the Legion itself was too soft to deal with.

First, he had to disappear. Perhaps travel to the Southern Barrier Land, where it was easy to be lost in the swamps and jungles. A few years in some backwater bog and he could start working on an identity, and salvage the pieces of this life of his. He didn’t mind the hard work.

Chill Gaze paused from his musings when he caught a figure rounding a sharp turn and walking towards him. The shape was pony enough; a mare from the size, but the heavy hooded cloak made it difficult to make out any features. This was no path for regular travellers to take. This one must be a criminal or an outcast of sorts. She was alone and did not appear laden with goods. Perhaps, just a loner taking a difficult path just to avoid company. Chill Gaze bit back the urge to stop her and inquire. He was not acting in the Legion’s authority right now. After he had settled on this new life, he might be able to scrutinize even lonely travellers.

The figure walked closer, and Chill Gaze could assume that this was no legionnaire. They would travel in pairs, at least, and would not hide their affiliation. No visible weapons either. They had to pass close to each other as the path was so narrow. As they did so, neither offered any greeting. This was a path for those who wished to avoid attention after all.

Suddenly, the cloaked pony suddenly lurched towards Chill Gaze, as if fainting, just as they were passing each other. On instinct, stretched out a hoof to catch her.

The cloak flew up and Chill Gaze just barely caught the flash of magic from the unicorn mare’s horn. Something cold and sharp jabbed deep into his gut. Pain followed like a stroke of lightning, erupting into a blaze of agony in his torso. He gasped and grabbed the mare’s hoof. A knife-shaped magical construct glimmered bright orange in her grasp, like a sliver of a sunset. Trembling, he pulled it away and twisted it, managing a look at her face in the process. This face—!

“I followed your troops,” the mare whispered hoarsely. She was disheveled and haggard, her eyes bloodshot and weary. Still, there was no hiding the warmth of her looks: the light pink fur, the fiery mane, the eyes like distant campfires. This was the Fort Commander’s daughter, Cinder Spark. “I followed them hoping to get my chance with you.” She pushed hard, trying to get another stab in. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten or bathed in days, and her fading strength confirmed it, but Chill Gaze’s own strength was bleeding out of his stomach wound.

“I saw what you did, inquisitor,” Cinder Spark went on. “You’re a murdering degenerate, no better than those you’re supposed to hunt!”

“I’m not,” Chill Gaze snarled. His own horn flashed in a desperate spell. Shards of ice flew from him, plunging into Cinder Spark’s throat. Her blood sprayed into his face, half blinding him as she fell back. She gurgled and coughed as her back struck the rock wall behind her. Still, she kept a satisfied grin. The sudden loss of balance forced Chill Gaze to step back.

Only his hind hoof found nothing to land on. With a sharp inhale and an aborted cry, Chill Gaze fell back-first down the mountainside. Sharp rocks scraped his back, then his head, his face, his chest, his knees as he tumbled down. Pain exploded everywhere in a confusing barrage. His vision spun, blackened, and whirled. Just as he consigned himself to be shredded into nothing, he tumbled off a sheer drop. His waist struck an outcropping with a sick crack and a brutal lance of pain, just above his tail, as he finally stopped. He gasped, the most he could accomplish instead of a cry. He had ended up on his back, partly wedged in some crack on the mountainside.

“I...”

Blood trickled out of Chill Gaze’s lips. He tried to shout again, but all that came out was a pathetic groan. Not that there was any pony to call to. He tried to move, but his hind legs did nothing. Even his forelegs barely responded, and only with horrific agony. Blood continued to trickle from his stomach wound, leaving sticky rivulets along his belly and matting his fur.

Left with no options at all, Chill Gaze simply stared at the sky as birds circled lazily.
> Incident Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission in Mount Moaning Top had one objective: the investigation and elimination of possible ophidite infiltration during the Moonlight Rondo’s festival.

A total of one hundred and twenty legionnaires from Sharpstone Fortress were sent under the command of Fort Commander Forge Spark consisting of a small reconnaissance team, including an Inquisitor, thirty unicorn magi, forty lancers from Flight Razor Thrash and Flight Slaughter Wing, and forty skirmishers. A large contingent was deemed necessary to prevent any escape and in preparation for hostilities from the Moonlight Rondo.

The mission uncovered the presence of a dragon-cobrahn hybrid known to the ophidites as a “tikhana” who was acting as a Moonlight Rondo liaison and had sold their leader colt slaves taken from the Empire. Also uncovered was a squad of ophidite infiltrators consisting of a cobrahn leader, three vipren, and four indoctrinated pony slaves. Legionnaires who encountered these ophidites report that they helped in tracking and killing the tikhana, suggesting that the Empire of Ophidus was also hunting the tikhana, before they were exposed and subsequently killed.

The Moonlight Rondo was found guilty of collaborating with an ophidite, trafficking in drugs and slaves, and harboring a Blade of Nightmare. In response, the entire cult rose up as a hostile organisation and attacked the Legion forces participating in the mission, forcing the Legion to eliminate them in self-defense. The number of members slain during the mission match up to the number given by earlier investigations on the Moonlight Rondo.

An incident occurred between participating troops and the inhabitants of the village of Moon Basin in which members of the Moonlight Rondo stirred up the crowd with false stories of Legion hostilities towards the village. The villagers attacked participating troops and defended members of the Moonlight Rondo.

Participating troops have been found guilty of overzealously defending themselves and attacking the villagers, resulting in the deaths of twenty of Moon Basin’s villagers including Mayor Bitter Hops and the local constabulary. A travelling troupe of entertainers led by Sweet Cheeks were also later involved in a similar clash as they fled down the northern side of the mountain and were killed to the last pony.

For the slaughter of undeserving Equestrian citizens, all participating troops, including Fort Commander Forge Spark have been subjected to decimatio.





Dove Quill placed the report on the mostly empty shelf within Sharpstone Fortress’s newly added archival room. A copy of the incident report had already been sent to the new Fort Commander’s office. He had read the whole thing, mostly as a curiosity, and shaken his head at the senseless slaughter involved. These were dark times for the West, especially with stirrings from Ursinium as well.

With a sigh, he looked to the rows of empty shelves and book cases. A brand new section for the archives all set up to receive countless reports on the Legion’s activities, and this was the first thing to grace it. What else would he be adding to these shelves in the years to come. Relatively speaking, the era of the Division was still young. So many strange and terrible events awaited the West, and everywhere else for that matter.