Frosty Mug
Money: Does it really matter right now?
Fame: I’M GONNA DIE!
Status: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Few plans rush through your head in the second the creature takes its first step. Most of them involve running, some involve very brief heroism quickly followed by a significantly longer period of being dead. Your brain wins, though, leaving fighting Corrupted to adventurers. If the creatures ever discover they have taste for fine liquor, you’ll be there, but for now you’d rather be anywhere else. Time to get out and call pest control - i.e. somepony with a bazooka.
Like the giant pussy you are, literally in the former and figuratively in the latter part of the description, you spin around and bolt towards the bar counter to get your stuff, wishing you had something to slow the Corrupted down, but the only table is too far away.
“Grraawrg!” you hear behind you the moment your hooves thud on the wooden floor. Aside from the creaking of wood, that’s pretty much it, though. The creature is either making next to no noise, or isn’t moving. You sure as Tartarus aren’t going to turn your head and look.
Your answer comes anyway as you trip on a loose floorboard, but amazingly manage to turn the incoming roll into a power slide behind the bar.
Wait, why are you here again? Why didn’t you just run towards the door since all you have in your bag are copies of documents and stuff you can fairly easily replace?
None of that matters as the counter you’re hiding behind creaks under new weight. The Corrupted’s talons scratch deep grooves into it when it pulls itself upwards onto the surface, watching you with a toothy grin.
An excellent followup idea crosses your mind. It’s amazing how well your brain works under pressure. From your bag, you pull out the sturdiest item you can find - your dad’s bottle of whiskey. You saw this in the movies all the time - really good alcohol catches on fire easily.
“Dear princess Luna’s plot, guide my hoof and shine thick, jiggly, and bright in my dreams!”
Quickly unscrewing the cap, you grab the bottle with both forelegs, and lob it as hard as you can at the Corrupted.
“Ha haa! Eat fire, you feral bastard!” you call out victoriously as the heavy glass bottle smacks the Corrupted straight in its muzzle and bounces off into the air, still amazingly in one piece.
Then you realize you have absolutely nothing even remotely related to flames, burning, sparks, or other dictionary entries for fire.
So much for being a genius when in a tight corner...
The Corrupted shakes its head, letting go of the counter and keeling over backwards. You’re halfway to celebrating, but you manage to stop yourself and keep your cool. If those things were so easy to get rid of, they wouldn’t have taken over the whole surface of Equestria and wiped out most of the pony race centuries ago.
Anyway, if there ever was a good time to get out after your blown chance earlier, it’s now. With your main bag held in your teeth, you rush from behind the counter with the clear intention of legging it.
As you leave your hiding place, you spot a black blur from the corner of your eye aiming for your shins, or where your shins would be were you a normal-sized pony. Due to that mistake on the Corrupted’s part, you manage to jump high enough to avoid the swipe, jerk your head sideways, and let the bag in your teeth go.
You don’t wait for anything after hearing the smack.
Well, you DO open the door outside instead slamming into it in hopes it gives way. After all, it swings inside and is pretty much the sturdiest part of the building itself, including the masonry.
Sweet, sweet outside air of the street. Oh how you missed it!
Time to find the nearest police station and-
“HEEEEEEEEEEELP! THERE’S A CORRUPTED IN MY HOUSE. HEEEEELP!”
Screaming like crazy is also an option.
Apparently, just like back in Vanhoover, warnings like these aren’t taken lightly here in Pine Hills. A group of mercenary-looking griffons passing by draw their various ranged and melee weapons. A bearded unicorn in a long dark blue robe on the other side of the road levitating a heavy staff next to him teleports with a snap right next to you.
They don’t pressure you, one griffon merc only asks:
“Inside?”
You nod.
As he takes the first step forward, air in front of him blurs, and like a living shadow or smoke, a changeling materializes out of thin air. She is smaller than everyone involved, reaching up to your chest even with her little horn, bears short grey mane which is something you haven’t seen from her kind in their original forms, and her chitin is dotted with tiny bronze specks in places. She has normal eyes too, although still blue, cool.
“Back off,” she says calmly, and to your surprise the rough mercenaries and the wizard clearly getting ready to cast some horribly apocalyptic magic stop. Then they turn away to leave without as much as a word.
“Uhh, miss, thanks for the help, but shouldn’t you let those guys deal with the situation? They looked a bit more… threatening than you. No offense,” you look down at the changeling.
She gives you a raised eyebrow, shakes her head, and enters your future bar.
“Well that’s new,” you hear from inside, and despite your complete lack of desire to go back, you peek through the open door.
The Corrupted is lying inside a wide hearth which at some point had to be used to warm the whole room up, curled around your backpack…
...and holding an empty whiskey bottle with its back tentacles, attempting to shake some more liquid into its mouth.
It gives you and the strange changeling lady a curious look as you both come closer, and goes:
“Blrlblrlb...”
“Hmm, I’ve never seen a Corrupted go for normal food or drink...” she mumbles to herself, “All they usually eat are their concentrated berries. Oh… could it be the high sugar content and thus energy value of liquor?” she turns her head to you, “Alright, don’t get in the way. I’ll deal with this.”
You are quite lost right now. One one hoof, the Corrupted tried to eat you… you think. On the other, you really don’t like violence. You could simply leave, write off the documents and clothes in the backpack now used by the Corrupted as a pillow, and sort out new ones in the Pine Hills bank. After all, you still have your identification in the smaller pouch around your neck. You don’t know who the changeling is, but she sure as hay looks far more suited to dealing with the situation than you are. Anyway, it’s not like there’s anything to steal around here other than the meager beer and wine supplies in the cellar. You could also inquire more about the situation since you are new in town and have pretty much no clue what’s going on. On the off chance that the sudden stress damaged your brain, there’s always the option of letting the Corrupted stay, try to buy it some more booze, and eventually use it to lure customers in. That way you might prevent the possible splattering of the brave changeling all over the walls. She does look sure of herself, but she’s even smaller than a normal pony.
Or, you know, some even more inventive plan. If there is something you’ve always been proud off, it’s your imagination.
So, what’ll it be, Frosty?