//------------------------------//
// Chapter 9: Literally Hoofler 
// Story: Dragonfall 
// by DannyJ 
//------------------------------//

>Assert dominance, and usurp control of the bandit clan from Googlymoo.

The door slams against the wall as I kick it open and shove my hostage outside. Wet all over and stinking of liquor, Googlymoo trips down the steps and faceplants in the mud with an undignified yelp. I step out after him and place a hoof on his throat, a lit cigar now held in my mouth rather than the glass shard. The rest of the camp, startled by my sudden entrance, scramble to grab their crappy spears and rusty swords, before moving to circle us both. Tied up to the post still, Breakspear gives me a disbelieving stare.

I look at the bandits surrounding me, around twenty in all. They keep their distance, fearing that I'll do something to their leader if they make a wrong move. I meet each of their gazes in turn, lingering longest on Mort, who holds a blank, wide-eyed gaze as he hefts an axe by his teeth. I wonder if he even comprehends that this is all his fault.

"Oi, look at this, lads!" says Baldric, floating one of the few decent swords the gang has. "This bloody Soonheart's 'aving a laugh with us! Yews all find this funny as I do?"

He grins, baring a mouthful of rotten teeth at both me and Googlymoo beneath my hoof.

"None o' us give a nutty shit 'bout Googlymoo," Baldric continues. "Go ahead an' off 'im! Soon as yew do, we'll slit ya up from balls to barrel."

"Sloice an' doice an' make all noice," Mort adds unhelpfully.

I give Baldric a flat look.

"Listen, you don't know who I am, what I can do, or what I've been through in the last few days, so you can't possibly comprehend how unimpressive I find you. Please just take my word for it, you are thoroughly outmatched here, and you'd be stupid to attack me. So let's skip the posturing and get down to brass tacks."

Once again, I turn around to look at all the individual bandits. Most are ponies, and quite filthy and disheveled ponies at that, but I count a few griffons, diamond dogs, and even a mule among their numbers. Each of them looks just a tad more uneasy than before.

"All of you are wasted here. This whole enterprise you've got going is pathetic. Dragonfall is a city on its last legs, its populace so perpetually depressed that they're basically all just waiting to die. Until four days ago, they didn't even have a city guard. You are a gang of thieves and murderers. This is an environment you should be thriving in, yet you're camped out in the forest like a bunch of losers, subsisting on turnips and pig fetuses. You live in the kingdom with the best social welfare system in the world, bar none, and you still somehow managed to go hungry. That is a level of failure I didn't think was possible until I came to Dragonfall. Your leader just got taken down by your hostage, for Celestia's sake."

Most of the bandits at least have the decency to look ashamed of themselves at that.

"In short," I say, taking a puff of my cigar as I carefully look between each of them, "it might be time to consider a change of career. I have an offer for you all, one I think we'll all benefit from. Dragonfall is a shit place, and it's had a high rate of attrition on my platoon. I need bodies to fill out the ranks, and I don't particularly care where they come from or what they've done. Join up with me, and I'll clear any standing bounties on your heads, hire you on with full pay, and I'll even take you with me whenever we finally leave this shitheap. I won't lie, it's a horrible job, and you'll probably die, but in that regard it's no different than what you're currently doing. Left out here to your own devices with the Sunhearts after you, I give you three days, tops.

"So, that's the deal. You've got one chance, and only one. Anybody who's willing, gather your things and leave with me. Anybody who's not, stay out of our way, or I'll butcher you all."

Stunned silence follows my request, the bandits all looking to each other uncertainly. The first to break it is Baldric, who answers with a derisive laugh.

"Haha, 'ear that, lads? Soonheart wants us to join 'im! How's about we show what we think of his offer!"

Baldric raises his sword. 

I step off Googlymoo's throat and glare down at him. With lightning reflexes, the griffon rolls out from under me, gripping his prehensile lion tail around a jar of off-brand "WISKEE" underneath him, and he tosses it at Baldric's face. The jar shatters, and the portly unicorn screams and staggers back, also making the rest of the bandits recoil. I spit my cigar in his direction.

The cigar ignites the alcohol, and Baldric's face bursts into flames. The other bandits jump out of the way as he howls, running around like a headless chicken. Some raise their weapons and point them at me, but none dare make a move. Googlymoo, free from my grip but still covered in alcohol himself, wards them off with a frantic wave of his claws, while also backing up to keep out of Baldric's way. Together, they all stare on in wide-eyed horror, as their comrade rolls over the ground in a futile attempt to douse the flames.

"Does anybody else here want to take a shot at me? I offer that now is the time to do that. It's worked out well for Baldric. Wouldn't you agree, Baldric?"

The bandits say nothing, and do nothing, but watch Baldric scream and flail about on the grass. With another threatening look from me, they all drop their weapons and kneel, except for Mort, who takes a second longer to see what his comrades are doing and copy the behaviour. Even Googlymoo, still shaking slightly from the whole display, sits upright and bows his head, cheap spirits still dripping from his feathers.

"Right..." I say with a smile, ignoring Baldric's shrill screaming in the background. "Good choice, team. Good survival instincts. They'll serve you well on the battlefield. And by 'the battlefield,' I mean Dragonfall. Pack your things; it's time to wade into Hell."





The trek back through the burned forest is no more pleasant than it was the first time. Before, I was a prisoner, and my only friendly company was Breakspear, whose rejection the night before had cast an awkward shadow over the whole affair. This time around, I'm the one leading the group, which one would think would make the experience more tolerable. And yet, the bandits of Googlymoo's thus far nameless band are so staggeringly incompetent at even the most basic tasks that they can drive me into fits of frothing rage without even trying.

"How damn hard is it to just walk in a line?!" I scream at the mule, who stumbles and stammers while sweat pours from his forehead. "One hoof in front of the other! Time it to the pony ahead of you! Like he's doing with the griffon! Keeping in harmony is the number one thing equines are known for, you dumb son of a whore!"

He slips and drops the crate tied to his back, which breaks on the forest floor and spills gold and silver everywhere. I clench my teeth, and bellow an order to halt. The whole group stops in their tracks, while we wait for the mule to pick it all up again. As he scrambles to gather the pieces, I look to the back of the procession and glare at a diamond dog clutching a spear, who shies away from me slightly when I walk up to him.

"What?" I snap.

The dog jumps. "Nothing! I say nothing, Mister Bat Pony—"

"Lieutenant Agony."

"—I say nothing, Mister Lieutenant Agony Bat Pony. Please no..." The dog hugs the spear tightly against his body. "Please no lighting me on fire?"

These are my newest recruits to the Sunheart Company? I'm regretting this decision already.

I grumble disgustedly, and return to the front of the column. The hapless mule's been joined by Breakspear, and together, the pair have loaded most of the fallen treasure back into the chest. Googlymoo stands nearby, a clenched talon held conspicuously close to his chest. 

They finish reloading the treasure, and with Breakspear's help, the mule is able to affix the chest on his back more tightly than before. They mutter a few words, and exchange a smile. Their friendliness makes me seeth. Despite his earlier rejection, I'm pretty sure I still have a shot with Breakspear, and the last thing I need is competition for his affections, especially from some flea-bitten mule.

"Are you finally finished?" I growl.

The mule, already sweating again, nods, and I shout to pick things up again. And through the forest we move, in a column so loose and disorganized that it can scarcely be called such. Googlymoo floats up to me at the head of the column, with Breakspear following a few paces behind us. He keeps to the air, talon still closed tightly against his breastplate. 

"You've quite a different approach to command than I, mon ami," Googlymoo says. "I'm glad to see my former crew responding to it."

"How kind of you to share your opinion," I drawl, rolling my eyes. "Your completely unsought opinion."

He chuckles, but his eyes glint with predatory shrewdness. "Might I offer a bit of constructive criticism?" 

I'm planning to tell him where he can place his criticism, but he continues without waiting for a response.

"You're expecting a bit more from my crew than you should. These are bandits, recall – paupers and peasants gone desperate. You have a few that have seen service in some institution or another – a city guard deserter here, an ex-mercenary there. But this rabble is uncouth and undisciplined by nature. They're not some well-drilled, well-greased machine, like your Sunny Pony Company."

"And if I don't start holding them to some sort of standard, they'll never be anything but paupers and peasants." I straighten, and look down my nose at him. "What favours did your command style do you, anyway? Your entire troop, yourself included, pledged themselves to me the second I immolated Baldric."

Googlymoo's eyes darken. "Well, he was a cunt. Burned down the forest just for the fun of it last night. You probably earned their undying love just for that act alone."

Well, that answers why the forest caught fire... though how it did, in a rainstorm, remains a damned mystery. 

I set it aside for now, and thump Googlymoo's breastplate. "That attitude is exactly what's wrong with your lot. There's no unity, no esprit de corps, no reason to care for one another. Give me one week with them, and they'll be the most tightly knit band of brave companions in Equestria." 

Behind me, Breakspear snorts disdainfully. I can only assume his disgust with the bandits runs as deep as mine.

Googlymoo's grin is convincingly congenial, normally, but the one he wears now looks unusually strained, and undeniably artificial. 

"Well, lieutenant," he says, the word inflected with that weird, oozing accent of his. "I look forward to seeing it, and to being a part of this brave new future you've promised. My gratitude to you for giving me such a place."

"A decision I'm sure you'll never give me any reason to regret." I fix my gaze on his clenched talon. "So, what did you take from the treasure when that mule dropped his load?"

Googlymoo quirks an eyebrow, and makes a decent enough show of looking affronted.

"Moi? Stealing treasure? What do you take me for, lieutenant, some sort of bandit?"

He laughs. He thinks he's being cute. He's mostly just being stabable, but I'd rather not get into a second tussle with him just now. Much as I love shaming Googlymoo, and as fun as killing him would be, he is the bandits' former leader. Having him on staff will probably give me a bit more sway over them, provided I can break him. And I'm pretty sure I can, given a day or two. 

I kick off the ground and hover in time with Googlymoo.

"Now now, let's not start our new working relationship on a sour note," I say patiently, holding a forehoof open for him. "Come clean, give it here, and we'll forget the whole thing."

With a reluctant sigh and a shrug, Googlymoo acquiesces – by drawing back his talon and flinging something shiny and metallic at me. It strikes my barrel with a light stinging sensation, and drops into my hooves. It's a silver necklace, the pendant depicting a crucified beast engulfed in flames – the emblem of the old defunct Hunters Guild.

That bastard. 

"Ha ha, very funny." Sarcasm and malice drips from my words. "Because I'm a vampire, right? I've got pointed fangs and bat wings, so I must be! Very original of you."

Googlymoo's eye twitches, but he remains grinning. "I'm not sure I follow, lieutenant."

"Oh, don't be cute. You're not suited for it. You know as well as I what this is. Wrought silver, with a sunlight enchantment – a hunter's tool. You thought this would hurt me, didn't you? Well, I'm sorry you're so slow on the uptake, but thestrals aren't vampires, and blessed silver doesn't work on us. At best, some of us have vampiric ancestry, but actual vampires have been extinct for, oh... about seven hundred years now, give or take? Kind of the reason we don't have hunters anymore, in case you didn't notice."

The disappointment is plain upon his face. I remind myself that Googlymoo might have capitulated, but I've yet to truly break him. Well, time to get a head start on that. I toss the emblem over to Breakspear, who catches it with characteristic panache, and I drop to my hooves again.

"Googlymoo..."

"It's Guglier—"

"Googlymoo," I snap, smirking at the indignant look on his face. "Would you care to guess my special talent? Surely you've noticed my cutie mark, the bloody teardrop. What does that mean to you?"

Googlymoo's eyebrows knit together. "Some sort of ocular cancer? Makes you cry blood?"

My smirk immediately disappears. I rub my forehead and sigh.

"Yeah, never heard that one before, either," I grumble. "Try again."

Googlymoo glances at my cutie mark and thoughtfully runs his tongue along his beak. "Don't suppose it be... killing?"

"Closer," I say cheerfully. "Come on, almost there!"

"Um..." Googlymoo dithers.

From behind us, Breakspear sighs loudly and rolls his eyes.

"It's not a teardrop. He just likes to say that it is. Lieutenant Agony's cutie mark is the enemy's blood. It represents first blood. His talent is winning battles by attacking first."

I glare murderously at him, and then turn back to Googlymoo, who now eyes me more warily.

"Hrm... Well, he's not wrong," I grumble. "Traps, ambushes, and surprise attacks are my forté. Given prep time, I can always hit you before you hit me, and when I do, I always go for the kill. For example, within fifteen minutes of being untied, I was able to get the drop on you, capture you, coerce you into giving up your hidden supply of combustible spirits, and put together a plan to burn Baldric alive. If that plus my letting you live after the fact is not enough to dissuade you from this sort of upstart behavior in the future, then frankly, I can't help you. So just keep in mind..."

I sidle close to Googlymoo, and press my face uncomfortably close to his beak. 

"...I always win when I draw first blood. And I always draw first blood." I grin. "Do we have an understanding, Googlymoo?"

There's fear in his eyes as he nods, shakily.

"Très bien." I shove the griffon away. 

"The emblem," he says cautiously. "I don't suppose I could get it back? It's an old family heirloom."

"Is it? Then that makes taking it from you all the sweeter." I grin wider. "Now, to the back of the column with you – you've lost the privilege of walking with me. Plus, you still stink of alcohol."

He shuffles away, followed by the judging stares of his former subordinates. If he's not broken, he's well on his way there. Breakspear replaces him at my flank, the hunter's emblem hanging around his neck.

"Will you be wanting this back, sir? Or placed back with the rest of the haul?"

I grunt and shake my head.

"Keep it for yourself. We must needs break Googlymoo, Breakspear, and as much as pawning it off would hurt him, seeing you with it would hurt all the more."

"Or it could just make him angrier, sir, and more likely to try something in the future. Perhaps something a little more lethal than throwing silver at you." He glances back at the column, then drops his voice to a whisper. "I really don't know if this is wise, letting yet more criminals into the Sunhearts. I know we need to fill out the ranks, but must they really all be thugs and murderers?"

"Yes, because we haven't the luxury of being choosy," I say. "Besides, if we expelled all the thugs and murderers from the Sunhearts, who would be left? We're all criminals, Breakspear, of one variety or another. Just the two of us alone have committed more war crimes in our careers than some nations have in their whole histories."

Breakspear bites his lip. "Sir..."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What is it?"

"Sir, I..." Breakspear stops and straightens. "I've never committed anything that could be construed as a war crime."

I'm so busy staring at him in disbelief that I smack face-first into a tree. I grumble, and rub my face where the bark bit into me, and go right back to staring when I'm finished. The bandits, apparently thinking that this is routine, draw to a halt and proceed to mill about. Some watch us, nervously. Googlymoo stands apart from the others, still looking abashed. The mule sweats and trembles.

Breakspear explains himself, more firmly. "I'm a professional, sir, not a psychopath. I'll kill an enemy in battle, and I'll take my share of the loot, and sure, I have no problem with exploiting the locals for resources when we need it. But I've never stepped hoof outside of those boundaries. I've never taken part in any of the atrocities this company is known for, and I never intend to if I can help it."

My jaw actually drops at this revelation. A scrupulous pony in the Sunhearts? Breakspear, no less? Why, that's just... incredibly sensical, come to think of it.

I shake my head to clear the cobwebs of disbelief.

"But... I've ordered you to do some pretty horrendous—"

"Yes, you have."

I frown. "So how do you...?"

He shrugs. "You don't need to be wantonly cruel to win a battle, sir. I figured that out pretty quickly."

I can't tell if I'm attracted to him more, or less, after this revelation.

"Wait, but... that one time, during the Minosian border skirmish. When we drove those orphans into the mountain pass, and I ordered you to cut off their retreat... how did you do that without the suicide bombers?"

Breakspear chuckles. "Well, sir, that's a funny—"

Behind him, the mule catches an arrow in the jugular, and keels over, dead. The treasure chest spills its contents a second time, the clatter and noise cutting off Breakspear before he can account for himself.

I stomp my hoof into the dirt. "Dammit, mule! Even in death, you're a pain in the ass!"

A nasal, girlish chuckle answers me. "Oh, but mein freund, your troubles extend far beyond van dead untermensch."

There's a clatter of armour as ponies in gilded plate emerge from the woods, surrounding us on all sides. They brandish swords and spears, bows and crossbows, whose quality put my bandits' meager armaments to shame. They're Sunhearts, obviously, and under normal circumstances, I'd be... well, not quite happy to see them, but my emotional state would at least be positive. But I know who I'm dealing with. The accents give it away, as surely as the emblem on their armor: that stupid-looking windmill with the crooked, bendy arms. It's the sigil of the second or perhaps third worst platoon in the company.

Which, the Sunhearts being the Sunhearts, should say quite a bit about them.

A pony, though not the pony I'm expecting, steps out from behind the tree I'd just collided with, brandishing a black bident at least twice her length. Reddish pigtails, held in place by red barrettes, frame a pale, peach-colored face and icy blue eyes.

"I suggest you lay down your veapons," the pony says, her voice and smile snide in equal measure. "Let ze untermensch serve as example for vat happens if you do not."

Those of the bandits who haven't already disarmed and/or soiled themselves proceed to throw their gear to the ground. I grunt disgustedly, and take a step toward the mare.

"Excuse me, sergeant, is it? There's been a bit of a misunderstanding here. You see—"

She responds by thrusting the bident toward my face, its prongs stopping mere inches from my eyes.

"Filsy batponies are better seen, not heard," she hisses.

That's what I get for trying to be reasonable. I stare down the very pointy tips of those prongs, and level a threatening gaze her way. "This filthy batpony outranks you, sergeant. I am—"

"Vhat? Vhat did you say, filsy batpony? You vant I should be taking you to... ZE CAMPS?"

She thrusts the bident toward me, and I stumble backward to avoid getting my eyes gouged out, falling onto my hindquarters in a most undignified manner.

"I said—"

The sergeant thrusts again, and I scramble backward, until I'm once more standing beside Googlymoo. 

"ZE CAMPS!" she cries, loudly, for the benefit of her platoon.

"ZE CAMPS!" the others chorus back. They turn it into a chant, cheering and shouting in unison, all with the same accent, that awful nasal one that sounds like they're gargling all their words.

Googlymoo leans into my ear and chuckles, a bit of his old smarm having returned. "You were saying, lieutenant, about 'always drawing first blood?'"

The chanting suddenly stops, and a deathly quiet settles over the forest. The Sunhearts all stare at Googlymoo with smoldering intensity. I step away from him, cautiously.

"Ein Französischer?" the sergeant whispers in a raggedy voice. She repeats herself, loudly, thrusting the spear in Googlymoo's direction. "Französischer Schweinehund?!"

Googlymoo grins nervously. Then the butt of an axe collides with the back of his head, and he collapses to the ground. Half a dozen ponies are on him immediately, battering him and bludgeoning him with swords hilts, axe shafts, and the butts of crossbows. All while the sergeant shrieks, in increasingly orgasmic-sounding tones.

"FRANZÖSISCHER SCHWEINHUND!"

Something in my chest tears and aches as I watch Googlymoo crumble under their merciless beating. I wanted to be the one to break him...





I don't bother protesting any further after our capture. I merely wait and bide my time. The sergeant leads my entire column out of the forest and towards the camps where the rest of her comrades are based. This particular Sunheart platoon were assigned to protect the outskirts of the city, so she leads us southward, around Dragonfall's towering walls and into the muddy farmlands that Googlymoo's bandits so often raided.

Although the countryside is drowning in rain even now, not much appears to be growing. The soil is full of stones and weeds, and any crops we pass by look sickly and weak. Other fields are completely black, as if the farms were burned recently. I look to the battered and bloody Googlymoo for an explanation. He just shrugs and mouths the words "Baldric" and "cunt" at me, before wincing and placing a claw back over his black eye.

Along the way, we pass by more Sunheart patrols bearing the windmill-thingy sigil, most of them unicorns, and most with white coats and blonde manes. They salute the sergeant and sneer at us as we're led by, and a few of the more daring soldiers even spit in my direction. This is not the first time I've had to deal with these guys, but at least all the other times they knew who I was, and weren't so brazen in their contempt for me.

"Ze camps are not far now," the mare in charge sing-songs, looking back over her shoulder at me with a sinister smile. "You vill be put in your proper place zhere."

An opportunity presents itself, so I cower slightly and feign a gasp of fear.

"No, not the camps!" I whimper. "Please, tell me that the... the führer won't be there!"

Her eyes widen in momentary surprise, and then so does her grin, which grows even more predatory.

"I do not know. Ve vill have to see, von't ve, filsy batpony?"

"No, anything but that!" I cry, holding a forehoof over my face, as much to hide my smirk as to feign fear.

She cackles and hits me on the head with her bident.

"Silence now. Ve approach."

"Ze camps" turns out to be a cluster of buildings at the edge of one of the burned fields, lined with barbed wire fencing. They seem to have been converted from various barns and sheds, although the guard towers and flagpoles look new. More Sunhearts stand in the towers and at the gates, and give me dirty looks as the sergeant leads me inside.

Within the fence, the camp still looks much like a farm. Chickens run around freely, a bucket on a winch sways in the breeze above a well, and on the porch of a nearby farmhouse, a bearded stallion in a straw hat shakes a walking stick at us.

"Git them bandits!" he shouts, inadvertently spitting over his own beard. "Git 'em all!"

The Sunhearts start splitting up our group, herding all of the ponies (including Breakspear) off into the barn, while cramming all of the non-ponies into what may have once been a tool shed. I am the sole exception, as the sergeant instead kicks me to the ground and points her bident at my throat.

"Vilhelm!" she screams.

Another soldier, this one a white pegasus with a blue mane, trots over to us and salutes. "Sergeant Zweiteskind."

"Is der führer still on-site for ze inspection? Zis untermensch vanted to surrender to him personally."

"Ja. He is having blitzkuchen und kaffee vith Frau Artichoke."

The sergeant smiled. "Inform him of ze situation."

"Vilhelm" marches off to the farmhouse, leaving me alone with my captor. I lay on my back in the mud, squirming from the raindrops pattering on my forehead. The mare with the bident grins at me as she holds me in place, and when the farmhouse door opens again, I swear she looks about to have an orgasm.

The lieutenant steps across the muddy ground, approaching us slowly. Despite favouring the look of horns, white coats, and blonde manes, he's a navy-green earth pony himself. His mane is short, black, and carefully combed, and his tiny patch of a moustache looks like the head of a toothbrush. Upon his flank, he bears the same sigil that the rest of his platoon wears. As far as cutie marks go, it's probably one of the most abstract ones I've ever seen. He looks at me as he steps closer, frowning slightly, and tilts his head.

"...Leutnant Agony?" he whispers, eyes swimming with uncertainty. "Mein ballbruder?"

"Hi, Hoofler," I say, waving a forehoof. "Mind helping me out?"

He breaks into a wide grin, grabbing my hoof with his own and pulling me up as the sergeant backs away, looking shocked. He grabs me with both forehooves and embraces me in a bone-crushing hug.

"Agony, mein ball-brother, I thought you vere dead!"

It's hard not to scream from how much this hurts me on both a physical and emotional level.

I've never liked Lieutenant Hoofler, but he likes me. When I first joined the Sunhearts, he treated me just like he treats all non-ponies: with deep, unapologetic disgust. However, that all changed after one particular incident in which Hoofler took an arrow to the testicle, and I was the only other lieutenant who didn't laugh at him for it, because I'd been there myself and understood that pain.

Ever since then, he's taken a liking to me, and whenever he sees me, he calls me his "ball brother," often very loudly and in public. He even commissioned a pair of official ball brother t-shirts for us, and made me wear one to a party once. It was humiliating, but I did it, because it benefits me to keep on his good side. Still, despite his unprecedented approval, I've never been able to return his friendship. Not really. There are some things I can't forgive, and I've never liked his type. Nobody likes his type.

I am of course referring to ponies born outside the Heartland who change their weird-sounding foreign names to put equine words like "hoof" or "mane" in them to compensate. Seriously, they may think it makes them sound more Equestrian, but it's actually just ridiculous. We get it, you're an immigrant. But for Celestia's sake, either choose a proper Equestrian name, or keep your original one. Calling yourself something like Adolf Hoofler just makes you sound like a jackass.

"Hoofler... you're crushing me again..." I wheeze.

He lets me go abruptly, and I drop back into the mud.

"Sorry," he says, giving a sheepish smile before turning to the mare with the bident. "Sergeant Zweiteskind, zis is Leutnant Agony, ze Noble Thestral. He is under mein protection, and is not to be harmed."

The sergeant blinks, but quickly snaps into a salute. "Ja, mein führer!"

"Wunderbar. Now, go attend to ze other prisoners."

She gallops off without another word, while I cough and splutter in the mud. Hoofler gives me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"I vas so vorried when I heard about the ze situation in ze Mining District. Ve could hear ze vall collapsing all ze vay from here. You vere presumed dead."

"I just... went for a spot of camping..." I groan, standing up again. "Sergeant Breakspear also survived. Your subordinate led him off to the barn."

"Ah." Hoofler nods primly. "I shall have him released post-haste."

"The other bandits too, if you don't mind." 

Hoofler raises an eyebrow at me. 

"I recruited them as replacements for my lost platoon," I explain. "I need them. Especially the griffon with the black eye."

He smacks his lips.

"For you, I shall allow it. But I vould much rather you recruited ponies for ze Sunheart Company, not more filsy untermenschen like griffons und mules und batponies. No offence."

I glare at him.

"...Was?" he says defensively.

Since the rain has washed enough of the mud off me, I trot over to the farmhouse porch to get out of it. The stallion in the straw hat fell asleep sometime in the past few minutes, so I casually kick him off of his chair and claim it for myself. He lands face-down on the floor, hindquarters in the air and snoring loudly. I lay back in my new chair and sigh, while Hoofler trots over to join me.

"So, how have you been adjusting to Dragonfall?" I ask.

"Vell enough," Hoofler says with a shrug. "Mein platoon have been restoring order to ze farms und other outlands. Ze bandits of ze vestern forests vere a problem, but you seem to have sorted zat out. Ve hope to have more zan einhundert of them in ze camps by ze end of ze veek."

"Uh-huh," I say disinterestedly. "And what exactly are you going to do with a hundred captives?"

Hoofler pauses, putting a hoof to his mouth.

"...I don't know. Slave labour? Ve can find some use for zem, surely."

"Do you even have enough to feed all these prisoners?" I continue. "The farms around here look like they barely have enough to supply your soldiers, let alone these prisoners and the city as well."

"Hmm... You make a good point. But vhat alternative do we have?"

"Execute them?" I say, as if talking to a foal. "Duh. Just shove them all into one of these buildings and burn it down. Boom. Problem solved. They'd make good fertiliser for these fields, too."

Hoofler gasps.

"Agony, zat is immoral! Und illegal! Und... Und..." He stops, furrowing his brow. "Hmm... Zhough, now that you mention it..."

I sigh and sit up in my chair.

"Look, you obviously have your own problems out here, and I can only imagine that things in the Mining District are a thousand times worse. A slime monster made of dead ponies ate half my platoon, and I presume it didn't stop there. I need to get back to the city and deal with this situation before everything goes completely to hell."

Hoofler smiles and waves a forehoof. "Oh, ja, of course. Actually, I vas heading to Dragonfall myself next. Captain Blackheart still hasn't returned, and ze other Leutnants are convening to discuss his possible replacement. Ve could go together!"

I feel elation and disappointment all at once. I do not want to spend an extended amount of time around Hoofler, but this vote is exactly what I've been waiting for ever since I killed the Captain, and I want to be there for it as soon as possible.

"...Sure," I say, smiling through gritted teeth. "Sounds great."





Approaching Dragonfall in the rain is like wading upstream through a river. At one point in the past, I imagine the walled city was designed like a castle, with a traditional moat and drawbridge to keep monsters out, and a brick road leading from its massive front gate out to the surrounding lands. However, the land that the city occupies is uphill, and Dragonfall's criminally irresponsible weather team saw fit to let it keep raining forever. Now the moat's banks are broken, just as they were on the day we arrived in this accursed city, and once again my non-winged followers are fighting through a knee-deep current of rainwater up what should be a footpath.

When we reach the city gates, there's no drawbridge there, but instead a stone bridge with high walls on either side of it to prevent the moat from flooding the city. I grumble as I finally land on the ground again, followed soon after by Googlymoo and a few other fliers. Ahead of us, the city gate is maintained by more Sunhearts of another platoon, who watch us carefully while we wait for the rest of the group.

Breakspear is the first non-flier to arrive, followed by Hoofler, who leans on him for support as he wipes his black, rain-soaked mane out of his eyes.

"Vell..." Hoofler gasps, "Zat vas unpleasant. Let's not do zat again, ja?"

"Agreed," I say.

Googlymoo, briefly giving Hoofler a disdainful look, barks an order to the rest of the bandits staggering up the path. They fall back into a loose non-column, just like in the woods, and clump up after him. He looks to me, and gestures with a wing towards the city gates. I give him a simple nod in return, and lead the procession forward. Maybe I can make a decent sergeant out of him after all.

The Sunhearts at the gate turn out to be Lieutenant Dynamite's platoon, bearing his sigil of a cheerfully grinning pony exploding into several pieces. The gate guards point their weapons at us as we approach, rightfully so, since I'm leading a company of several bandits. Fortunately, they recognise Lieutenant Hoofler and myself, unlike the sergeant who captured us in the forest, and yield when I tell them to stand down. We move through unimpeded, marching through a long tunnel leading under the southern wall, and then out into a wide-open marketplace.

Despite the rain, plenty of stalls are still attended by both merchants and shoppers. Dynamite's Sunhearts with their spears and crossbows dutifully patrol between the stalls, and the hobos with their cardboard signs dutifully beg for table scraps outside of every building. The bandits, many of whom I doubt have seen civilization in a long time, stare at the scene with wonder and awe. Myself, I just wonder why Dragonfall has rain on a market day.

"Okay," I sigh, turning to Breakspear. "I guess the best thing for it now is for you to lead this sorry lot back to the Mining District and link up with any other survivors, while I go with Hoofler and meet with the other lieutenants."

Breakspear blinks.

"Sir, are you sure about that? I mean, the platoon must be in chaos right now, and you could probably stabilise them better than I. Especially with..." He briefly looks to Googlymoo, and then leans in closer to me with a conspiratorial whisper. "Especially with our new recruits."

I consider this, and then give a questioning look to Hoofler, who simply shrugs.

"I can probably delay ze vote a little... But ze others vill probably vant to start ze meeting as soon as I arrive. If you vish to take part in discussions, I vould arrive sooner rather zan later."

If the vote for captain is starting that soon, I need to be there. Most of the other lieutenants hate me, and even some of the ones that don't are potential rivals. If I want to be the captain, I need to be there to negotiate and make promises. If I show up to the vote at the last second, I won't stand a chance. And the last thing I need is somepony like Hoofler or Ulysses snatching up the position.

"I... I think..."

"Aaaaaaaagoooooooonyyyyyyyyy!" a shrill voice screams over the din of the marketplace.

My blood freezes in my veins. Even years later, I recognise that voice. I turn around and stare across the marketplace as a crimson mare approaches. I want nothing more than to run away from this, but unfortunately, I seem to be rooted in place by some magical force.

She trots up to me with an ugly sneer plastered across her face, not helped by her botched nose-job and early wrinkles. In my defence, she was much hotter ten years ago.

"Agony," she says again, practically spitting the name.

"Hard Cash," I say, grimacing. "You look like you've seen better days."

That earns me a glare.

"...So what do you want?" I ask.

"I'm here about your daughter, Agony," she says contemptuously.

"...My what?"

A small filly walks out from behind her, her coat much darker than her mother's, almost brownish in colour, and her mane a vibrant red. One of her hind legs is held in a brace, and her yellow eyes stay fixed upon the ground rather than me.

"This is Redwood," says Hard Cash. "Say hi to your daddy, Redwood."

"Hi," the sullen filly mutters.

Of all the things that I do not have time for right now, I do not have time for this the most.

WHAT NEXT?:
1. Follow Breakspear to reunite the platoon and deal with the slime monster situation.
2. Follow Hoofler to attend the lieutenants meeting and vote for the next captain.
3. Stay and deal with possible paternity issues.