This graph will increase in size as the storyline continues forward.
“Anyone can deal with victory. Only the mighty can bear defeat.”
- Adolf Hitler
——
Chapter Twelve: The Strong tumbles, the Weak soars.
“Ever since our last victory, volunteers from the public have been increasing spectacularly, griffons previously dodging the draft have come out of hiding, and any moral issues within our Empire has withered away,” Garrison informs, “These muskets have installed a new found vigour in our country, a new hope.”
“Yes, that news is certainly pleasing,” Bridges agrees, “We are going to have to withdraw our current musket division for reinforcements, just over 600, of the original 1000, are remaining. Lucky, only 43 firearms are missing, or irrevocably damaged. We are, however, facing an ammunition crisis, the combined effort of training and battles have reduced the number of shots to around three per griffon,” his facade merges into slightly worried, “The next battle they engage in, will possibly be a disa—”
“Ah!” Garrison interrupts, “It’s sort of slipped my mind until this moment, but the scientists have created a substitute for the gunpowder,” he puffs out his chest, “Through sheer accident, one researcher found one important ingredient in gunpowder— saltpetre, by mishap, dropped a torch, onto a mound of the stuff, when inspecting local farm procedures. As apparently, it’s used in fertiliser.”
“Well, that is certainly an interesting development,” President Senatus comments, “could we just use that as our propellant?”
“No,” Garrison counteracts, “mixed with, what we found as charcoal, actually works. But still requires a higher temperature to activate, we believe that the substance is still missing one important ingredient,” he hold one of his talon up, pointing towards the sky, “If combined with the limited amounts of gunpowder Atomic Discharge provided, it functions, implementing this means we can stretch our ammunition by two or three times, this procedure does, however, increase misfires.”
“That is a short time solution,” Bridges vacillated “But I’m a bit worried that Atomic Discharge won’t be able to provide the next batch of muskets, as she still under coma.”
“Don’t worry about that,” President Senatus dismisses, “A smart lady like her would have it automatically delivered by crew.”
My eyelids slowly unlatch, giving me visual access to the room surrounding me. I found myself lying tucked under milk-white sheets, I could feel the fabric rubbing against my fur. As a response, I performed a swift glance under, and found my body completely naked, devoid of my majestic clothes. The space around me is sterilely clean, and lanterns are tucked into each corner, shining brilliant, pleasant warm yellow light and morning sunlight radiated delightfully through a window.
Bandages nearly enveloped the majority of my physique, one of my forelegs is encased in a primitive wooden medical splint, and the few places where my coat was showing, displayed a moderate crimson colour tinge.
Defiantly a hospital. But with no antiseptics, modern medicine, heart monitors, or really anything that defined a hospital before the Organic Immortality Era.
Though I soon noticed that there was someone, or more specifically, some pony staring at me from another bed in the room. A yellow pony, with purple eyes, and red hair to be specific, is suited against the bed frame. The expression she holds feels as though she has been carrying for hours, like the wrinkles of her frown has saturated into her expression, staining it.
Why does this horse feel familiar?
Oh.
At that moment, everything came rushing back to me, the General, the firing lines, the blood, and her, the person I didn’t leave to die on the battlefield, for some unknown reason (probably due to blood loss).
As a response, I too stared directly at her and did the one thing that seemed most appropriate at the time.
“What?”
The sudden outburst of noise causes her to leave from her mind-scape, and return to the land of the living. Blinking a few times, she focuses her vision back onto me.
Only now, realises that I actually wake.
Her scowl returns at full force, her eyes narrowed, and her breathing became deeper, and focused, to top it off, she crosses her forelegs over one another, finalising that stereotypical angry look.
So, as a reaction, I repeat my last statement, but at a slightly higher pitch, “What?”
She persists with watching me closely, inspecting, and extracting my very posture and expression. For once I do feel overly exposed, not just because of my decent lack of garments, but also since it feels as though she is searching every bend and junction in my soul.
It quite obvious these are symptoms of clothing deficiency.
Since I’m so bored, I guess I participate in a staring contest.
…
Nope. Bored already.
It'll be almost impossible to make sense of my current predicament if those eyes are continually staring at me, so I revolve my body by the factor of 180, without moving my forelegs, in addition to facing my back towards her.
I can imagine that I gained quite a lot of wounds during that conflict, most likely explains why I’m covered head to toe in bandages. Not that they would really achieve much anyway, I’ve already got advanced blood clotting and a state-of-the-art immune system. Though, even with all those customisations, it’s still a small miracle I didn’t die. Genetics can only do so much.
Speaking of that, where did they take me? The sort of critical condition I was in would have determined a restricted time limit. Though, in my humble opinion, the command centre, or a town should have been sufficient.
What about the blood? From the appearance of my bare appendage, I haven't been thoroughly washed (good news), which also explains that faint expired, decomposing smell of death lingering in the air, the blood soaked into my fur, must be rotting at this stage.
Now, how to get out of here? I can’t remain in this location, I’ll go mad, or just end up killing myself so I respawn back at base. I could escape, though the doctors (if you can call them that) would be thoroughly shocked to find an empty bed.
Just walking out could be an option, allow them to glimpse at me while I’m leaving.
Or, I could literally just ask, and if need be, use the threats to not provide any firearms anymore as an insensitive to discharge me.
I continued to ponder my thoughts for serval more minutes until it was interrupted by the soft, but a still vaguely scratchy voice of someone relatively close to me.
“Why?”
I turned my head in the direction of the spoken communication until my perception lands upon the pony I was staring as previously. She still sits in the exact same position, her posture hasn’t even bulged a single centimetre, the only indication that she even talked was that her mouth was slightly unhinged from the rest of her jaw.
“Excuse me?” I counter query, attempting to understand the context of what she’s asking.
Her muzzle starts the process to form words, “Why’d you do it?”
Can she be any vaguer? “Do what?”
Her posture suddenly undergoes a change, her expression merges to one of extensive fury, and she waves her forelegs around as if she is attempting to make herself look bigger and more aggressive then what she appears to be.
“What do you fucking think??!! Why the actual FUCK are you fighting for the dirty democrats! Killing your brothers and sisters! Betraying Princess Celestia! To further top all that off, you were covered in someone else’s blood, and you looked like you were fucking enjoying it!” She exclaims in one single breath, her lungs hyperventilating from the extreme onslaught of her word choice.
Really? THAT was what she was worried about? “Firstly, I didn’t kill any ponies (I don’t think so anyway), Equestria technically isn’t at war with the Griffon Republic, and Princess Celestia doesn’t concern me. Though I did actually approach her first when I came up a weapon concept, so in that respect, I did put Equestria first. Also, I did save your life, so,” I huffed, “You could give me some slack,” counter arguing her outburst.
She stares at me again, her voice laced with even more anger, “You PROVIDED those weapons??!”
Oops, a bit a slip of the tongue there, “Pretty much.”
She was just about to streak a response, but before she is able to, the doors to the infirmary suddenly open. Manufacturing a sound not dislike a floorboard creaking. One griffon nurse walked in, she held a checklist, her eyes, firmly locked onto it, completely oblivious high tension flowing throughout the atmosphere. That is, until she rotates her head 45 degrees up, engaging her pupils with that of mine.
I simply just stare.
The nurse looked like she wanted to pronounce something, it’s quite obvious by the way she unlatched her mouth and raised her right talon slightly up. However, nothing came out, not even a peep.
With the situation transforming exceptionally awkward, she bolts out of the doorway, out into the unknown.
Even with my superior intellect, I don’t have the ability to discern exactly what had occurred, and so, I turned to the only other source of the room.
“What’d you think that was about?” I politely enquired.
The pony I was addressing faced me for a brief second, and then turned her back to me. Pretending as though I didn’t even exist in the room.
Time is relative as it continued to pass over me, as I laid there in bed, thinking over my current predicament, and my situation on this entire planet. I must admit, It’s been pretty fun, and I have no reason to leave anytime soon, after all. The amount of entertainment I’ve gathered from this place is exceedingly more then what I’ve ever, obtained at home. I just the adventure, and the fact that I hold the fate of this whole planet in my bare hands. I could destroy it, I could make it thrive, or even, just continue to mess around with the natives.
Which in my opinion, is the considerably better option.
It was at this moment, thunderous footsteps instituted from the hallway, interpreted as much more distant, and powerful compared to the background hospital paces around the facility. The steps persisted with becoming louder every second, concluding that the particular person generating those sound effects, is heading towards my general direction.
I swivel my head towards to doorway, only to see several important, and professional military personnel marching through with new dark-blue uniforms. Guess the black clothing was replaced for some reason?
The small group consisting of a multitude of different ranks, and positions. One person, I recognise as General Bridges, while others, are complete and utter strangers to me. Each griffon's facade was laced with an absolute stoic serious expression. Perhaps they here to talk business? Who knows how long I could’ve been knocked out.
General Bridges stood perfect attention at the end of my bed frame, two officers, erected confidently beside him, and three regular soldiers on either side of me, stood in almost perfectly straight lines, muskets orientated on shoulders. One could almost anticipate they metamorphosed into statues.
“Miss Atomic Discharge,” General Bridges confidently began, “For your efforts on the Western Front, you saved my life, and continued to fight the enemy despite serious wounds. You have thirteen confirmed kills, eight unconfirmed, your actions distracted the enemy advance, distributing unorganisation and confusion on the battlefield. You saved countless lives that day, in recognition of your efforts, I am awarding you with our most prestigious honour, the Steel Claws Badge.”
Bridges placed a gold outlined circular badge, with a lightning bolt behind a metallic enveloped talon located in the centre, directly onto my chest. I must admit, it is quite magnificent, the person who created this must have spent hours polishing it to perfection.
The small audience gathered around immediately begin to applaud, contributing with words of comfort like ‘congratulations’ and ‘well done’. I would be lying if I said at least a small part of me didn't enjoy it. Getting praised for contributing to the total picture, can be quite hypnotising.
“Also,” The General added, “One of our traditions is that any soldier, particularly peasants, have the right to retain citizenship and freedom, for earning any medal category three, or higher. We would have removed this policy, though we haven’t concluded our complete constitutional reformation.”
(This was often one of the many reasons soldiers were usually so tenacious.)
He cleared his throat, “Thus I offer you, a full Republican citizenship,“ he places a parchment of paper on my lap, directly in my reading perception, “to this extent, the President has offered you a job in the Military as a technological designer, and Tactical Analysis,” Bridges smiled, “that is, if you accept it.”
Should I? It could be quite interesting, though, there would obviously be a few limitations, and it would be difficult to achieve anything outside the Griffon territories. This world has been quite an adventure so far, so what’s a little more spice added to the situation going to alter?
I am able to steal a quick glance at the other pony in the room, her expression, surprisingly, as if she is understanding the circumstances, but, is still overshadowed by the frown of detrimental hate.
“Give me the necessary military documents, and I’ll see what I can do,” I stated, “Though, I really appreciate the recognition.”
“Not a problem!” The General chirped, “Also, I would like to apologise for the President’s absence, he sadly, couldn’t make it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I responded, “How long was I exactly unconscious for?”
“Almost a week, it’s a miracle you didn’t die from starvation,” he replied.
“Huh,” I tapped my chin, “How are you going anyway? You were in quite a hefty fight with that other soldier.”
He almost silently chuckled, as if remembering the ‘good old days’, “Turns out the only risk I have is a possible wound infection, which, might I add, is unlikely, due to my exceptional immunity, and a broken arm bone.”
General Bridges pulls his arm cloth upwards, exposing his bare forelimb, with a wooden splint holding it in place.
“Doctors said that as long I don’t place much pressure on it, it’ll heal within the next few weeks,” he remarked.
“Huh,” I concurred, “I guess that amour did its job then, didn’t it?”
“Yes, I suspect that without it, I may as well have been minced meat.”
Since the conversation had been along the lines of his or the government's interest, I decided to change the subject to fulfil my self-inquisitiveness, “Just out of curiosity, what’s with those blue uniforms? I thought the military used black as the official colour.”
He answered as if already anticipating the question, “The President, along with serval advisers decided that blue would be a much more approachable by civilians then black, as the dark pigment is usually associated with death, and vile characteristics, also, the design was relatively similar to the enemy, as such we changed our uniforms to contain more definitive aspects.”
“Cool,” I eulogised.
A short period of silence follows the atmosphere transfigured into a somewhat awkward tactility, as neither person could contemplate a particular subject or topics to communicate, with the sole purpose of occupying each other’s time.
I thought this period of silence had its run, “Not to sound rude or anything, but where exactly is my equipment?”
Bridges blinked a few dozen times to complement the change of theme, “Ah, that,” he started, “The musket and ammunition are currently located underneath your bed. I was forced to restrain serval scientists who attempted to steal your weapon, who were obviously quite intrigued by the significance of the design,” he adopted a thoughtful attitude, “What is it anyway? It’s not like any of the firearms you sold to us.”
“It’s just a prototype,” I lied, ”I’m still making modifications.”
“Interesting,” the General mused, “Anyway, I best leave you now for rest, who knows exactly the amount of damage administered to your body.” With that, he, and the rest of the soldiers begin to rotate on the spot.
“Actually, before you leave, would you be able to ask the staff to discharge me?” I vowed.
Bridges swivels his head to look directly at me, accompanied by rising a single eyebrow, “I seriously have the impression you took quite the beating, perhaps you should stay here until the doctors give the go-ahead.” That last statement signified his leave from the room, the soldiers lined up beside him in perfect, straight lines, and they all marched out the door.
“Damn it,” I muttered narrowly below a whisper.
Since I have absolutely nothing to do, and I really don’t want to look to the right of me. At this stage, I decide to take hold of the new medal I acquired, and inspect it closely. Examining every dent, every detail, and the texture.
Of course, there is a bloody scratch, one singular line, located on the backside of the medallion. Which, obviously activates my OCD, slowly killing me from the inside-out.
Once the scuff had been scowled at for more than a lengthy time period, I move onto the next object located on my lap. The parchment of paper, and so, I began to read the terms and conditions to become a citizen of the Griffon Republic, which to summarise the points, you have to;
-Abide by the laws of Federal, State, and Local Governments.
-Join the Military if called on by conscription.
-Any previous citizenship of any other country will be removed.
-Listen to any command given by the appropriate authority.
-Vote on a new Mayor, Governor, or President when the election process arrives in your relevant area.
-Respect everyone, no matter what social position, job, or income they may have.
-This citizenship will automatically be revoked if you become a citizen of another nation.
One particular activity I dislike is reading, and when I am presented with more then half a page of writing, like in this case, I just skim throughout the whole file, usually picking up any information in BOLD or ITALICS, so don’t get irked if I missed one or ten of the important arguments.
The whole document is written to be overly complex, it’s quite obvious anyone with not decent reading and writing skills, would not be able to comprehend this contract.
With particular a line of thought lingering in my mind, that is, if accepting the citizenship is whole-fully worth my time. I am able to position myself upwards and drag each of my legs, one by one, onto the hard, wood floorboards below. Careful to avoid damaging any of the medical equipment located on my appendages, by keeping the pressure on my right fore-leg to a minimum, and proceed to revolve my head to gaze underneath the bed I’m occupying.
My brain fired thousands of the essential neurone signals, to release the chemical reaction in my brain which stimulates the feeling of ‘relief’. The equipment I held previously, from what I can tell, is all located in the singular placement, underneath the held up mattress.
The saddlebags, my Glorious ‘Land Pattern Musket’, and even my red-stained clothes are all accounted for. Using my fore-hooves, I scoop these objects up and continue to dump all of them, onto the bed cover.
Once I have suited myself back underneath these sheets, ensuring that my back is in a reasonably comfortable orientation. I shuffle through the equipment, scrutinising every piece for every detail, and mishap. I, after all, don’t want anybody to meddle with my stuff, if anyone has, I will literally beat them into a pulp.
And of course, like God hasn’t already shat on my soul enough, the flint in the musket is ‘missing’, which results in the entire weapon, to form into something less functional than a sharp-less metal stick.
In case your tiny brain can’t comprehend this, it’s basically just a useless club. Unless I can find a replacement for this flint. Which obviously is easy enough, I can just manufacture some more, what pisses me off however, is the fact, someone MEDDLED with my equipment, without MY BLOODY PERMISSION.
A fire burned every shred of compassion and hope deep within my soul, as I continued to angrily stare at the missing piece. In fact, I think I was staring so hard, the metal and wood which composed up the musket, may as well caught ablaze. My mind, was ticking at a million kilometres a minute as it was complementing thousands upon thousands of ways to kill someone as painfully as physically possible, and the one thought that kept on repeating throughout my mindset, was;
‘Do people like their eyes scooped out with a spoon?’
All of this, however, was immediately shattered by a voice, an annoying, incompetent, idiotic, cringey male voice.
“My love! I was so worried about you! I came as fast as I could!”
Oh, FUCK.
…
You know that Griffon I mentioned last time? The griffon who thinks I’m in love with it? Like we’re meant to be together? Just because of a red heart appearing on my flank when I standing directly next to him?
Yep.
Him.
And so I did the one action considered one-hundred and ten per cent normal in my own personal book, I seized hold of my stuff as quickly as physically possible, leapt in a dramatic display of energy, and darted in the opposite bearing from the incomer.
Which just happens to be directly towards the windows.
No, not Windows 10 Remake, actual, physically present, glass.
The only notion travelling through my cerebrum at that moment was; ‘Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Holy Fucking Shitting Fuck get the fuck away from me! Shitting Fuck Fuck Shit Shit…’
I unconditionally disregarded the loud CRACK from underneath me, and the fact by now collapsed right-foreleg is dragging on the floor at an unnatural angle. Since I was still holding onto all my items with my left fore-leg, it was involuntary to still utilise my damaged appendage, by hopping repeatedly at a remarkable velocity.
The glass shatters into thousands of shards as I pass through, converting my acceleration and relative mass directly into the impact, several of these pieces proceed to cut, and loge into my skin, resulting in a handful of blood trails to stream down my bandages.
I landed on the grass outside, and continued to run in a random direction, my only goal, to achieve as much distance between me, and that other Griffon as possible.
An abnormally big white pony was situated upon a golden throne, she was in the process of listening to suggestions and propositions that could possibly assist life in Equestrian, and, like always, was wasting her valuable time by concentrating on nobles who consider their reputation, and literal existence, deserve recognition, especially from the royals like Princess Celestia.
The current aristocratic flapping her gums is a purple mare, dressed in an abundance of jewels, and lead outlined garments. Her muzzle, pointed up towards the roof, with her eyes closed as if the surrounds are not worthy to even receive a simple glance from her pupils.
“—was actually standing on the street and refused to move out of my way! Absolutely ridiculous! We should reaffirm the public of our prestigious position by distributing harsh p—“
Of course, if she wants to keep the nobles in line, it's important to just pretend what they’re stating is at the most importance, by simply nodding and smiling at every declaration that seems one of the significant points.
Everything good must come to an end.
If you couldn’t tell, I was being heavily sarcastic.
Another pony, located to the side of the throne, Raven Inkwell was her name, is the particular attendant in charge of your highnesses' schedule. She has a major case of ‘perfection’, and keeps every event, and time period exactly on track, rarely a single second early or late. Thus, it’s not surprising at precisely 2:00 pm, she called for this specific session to be over.
“I’m afraid your session with Princess Celestia is over, please exit the courtroom in a professional manner.”
The noble-mare simply gave a generous Humph, revolved around, and walked away with loud, leisurely, calculated steps. The sounds echoing throughout the large space.
“Can Abundant News please step forward,” she continued.
Another pony, featuring an orange coat, and a violet mane walks into the large sovereignty expanse. Except on this occasion, it’s not a noble, but an actual, well-respected person with a suitable job occupation, he only speaks when necessary, and when spoken to. As you can imagine, the atmosphere suddenly tensed, mostly due to his indistinguishable facade. As any news regarding the empire, provided by this particular bloke, is usually quite significant. This is of course of an exception to Raven, who literally doesn’t give a fuck about anything besides her schedule.
The pony in question trots just up-to-the throne steps and implements a long, impressive bow to the Princess. The whole entire posture of this pony simply screams ‘loyalty’, as if he considers the Princess to be a literal Goddesses. Which, may, or may not be the case, it really depends on your point of view.
“Your Highness,” he elegantly starts, “I’ve come bearing news in the Eastern state of Germaney.”
That particular location has always been a slight problem, not only for their mixed languages between Equestrian and Germane, but mainly on account to their different beliefs, and culture. It’s really only a matter of time before they attempt to break off from the rest of Equestria. Which, they most plausibly will not be able to, as their economy is depicted to design, and manufacture goods, and thus, wouldn't be able to support their own country with enough sustenance.
The orange pony transforms his tone to additional solemn, “Rebelling in the general area has increased by 467% in the last week, guard patrols are being increasingly attacked each day, government buildings, including places where civil servants work have also been damaged. Fear of the foreign Equestrian states has increased substantially, as a sizeable amount of ponies are flocking from disease-ridden areas, and into, other states like Germaney. Local civilians, and even, guards originating from the area have been using intimidating vigour to keep the potentially infected from entering the state.”
He generates serval sounds not dislike of ‘ahem’, as if he is clearing his throat of flume, “Reasons for this may include; the current disease spreading all throughout the nation, the lack of food and water in Germaney (consistently cold, infertile ground, and the current drought), lack of Pegasi to control the weather, high unemployment, and general distrust to the Equestrian Government. Any further reasons that could potentially aid them in the insensitive to break from the Equestrian Government, could potentially result in bloodshed.”
“Past assistance provided by you has had little, to no affect, Pegasi sent to control the weather have been largely rejected, the amount of food and water being sent only supplies 5% of the population (as nobles refused to grant anymore), and increased guard surveillance in the area has been counterintuitive.”
For the first time during this meeting, he actually presents a pleasant, genuine smile, “Thank you, your highness, a 40 page report has been situated on your desk,” he excites another bow, “I’m sure you’ll be able to quell any resistance within the next couple of days.”
With that last statement, he walks off at a rather fast rate, while still elegantly incorporating an air of professionalism.
The pair, Princess Celestia and Raven, were not cheerful, but actually quite downcast to clarify, both had their reasons, one was worried that some her ponies could procure harm, and the other, was upset this session ended sixteen minutes too early.
The atmosphere was whole-fully despondent, however, Celestia, through hundreds of years of experience, still maintained a calm, and content expression, but really, she was almost screaming on the inside.
Imagine their surprise when another noble, a stallion to be exact, just as greedy and self-obsessed as the one previously, trotted into the throne room with no-one’s permission, literally slicing through the ambience like freshly warmed butter.
Obviously, Raven was less than pleased with this.
The situation was rescued, however, when the thone-room doors exploded inward, releasing a wave of rushing air towards the organisms located inside. The particular pony responsible for this, is an extraordinary dark blue alicorn, with a starry night mane, and one heck of an attitude.
“Sister!” the incomer exclaimed, “We must talk to thee immediately on an urgent matter!”
Silently, the white princess was actually relieved, to have a decent reason to terminate the current situation.
Princess Celestia turned her head and expressed a hint of fake sympathy, “I apologise, today's session has been temporarily cancelled.”
The noble-stallion simply expressed extreme signs of irritation, and so walked away with loud, quick, deliberate steps. The sounds echoing throughout the large room. The blue pony, known as ‘Luna’ slams the doors shut with her magic, the only people remaining in the courtroom is the princesses, several guards, and Raven.
At this point, Celestia could finally examine her sister's features, her peepers appeared slightly bloodshot, the eye-lids emerged as though they amalgamated into the fur, like they never even existed in the first place, forever, unblinking. Her stomach raised up and down repeatedly, her muzzle unfastened slightly, breath hyperventilating at an abnormal speed.
Hooves trampled across the ground as the night princess sprinted to the throne, once there, she stood for several undetermined seconds to catch her breath, she had likely run a considerable distance, in a short period of time.
“We’ve received grave news from the Griffon Empire,” Luna insinuated, “Our whole battalion completely got wiped out! And roomers suggested at the hooves of new revolutionary weapons nicknamed ‘boom-sticks’!” She grabs her sisters shoulders and shakes repeatedly,” 82 of the original 100 guards hath’t died or gone missing! What in tartarus do we do??! How can we possibly fight against yound??! And to top that off, the media hath already gotten their greedy hooves on the subject!”
“Calm down,” Celestia instituted, “Describe to me what exactly happened.”
Luna took several, long deep breaths to stabilise herself, “The volunteers we sent wast absolutely demolished by the Republican army. According to some of the soldiers not in complete shock, the weapons were able to kill almost everypony before they even reached the enemy lines!”
Her voice becomes additionally stressed, but regretful and despondency, “It’s my fault, we shouldn’t hath insisted we sendeth any volunteers, it’s what Nightmare Moon would hath’t done.” *Sniffle*
“Come here,” Celestia grapes her wings around her sister, comforting her, “No it’s not, you couldn’t have known.”
Of course, these weapons seem very familiar to Celestia, where has she heard them before?
“Could you please describe these ‘boom-sticks’?
Luna uses her forehoof to wipe her eyes, “The guard described them manufacturing sounds yound of large explosions, and white smoke,” she gazes up at her sister, eyes the size of dinner plates, “I’m not sure what exactly happened, but my guess is that they all shot some sort of object, at an extremely fast rate, but your guess is as good as mine.”
At that moment, it suddenly clicks, Celestia specifically remembers somepony pitching an idea—of a new type of powerful weapon to the guard, something that will be able to ‘send them to the top of the food chain’.
Celestia isn’t renown for her remembering capacity, but when such a unique, and different idea is proposed to you, your bound to remember.
“Sister,” the white Princess states, “I believe I have an idea of who possibly created those ‘boom-sticks’,” she hugs her sister tighter, “and it was one of our own.”
Luna, stares at her sister's eyes, full of surprise, shock, and most importantly, self-doubt. She just doesn’t have the mindset to even begin to consider that declaration truthful, how could one of their ponies — their subjects, possibly be responsible for this?
“Raven, could you go through the documents regarding the last couple of weeks in session? Contemplate for anything mentioning ‘improve the guard,’ and present on my desk every possible paper containing that information.”
‘We will find that pony,’ Celestia thought, ‘She will pay for the lives lost that day—and for the future as well.’
Cautious was reading the current report on the front, directly to the King, which, might I add is dangerous, he is either extremely brave, or idiotic, “Several nobles have withdrawn from the war effort, taking their soldiers with them,” the Griffon flips through a couple of pages withheld in his claw, “we’re down 5627 soldiers from our two recent battle, and another 2000 have been removed, leaving us with a total of just over 8000 troops.”
The King rubs his chin as if he was in deep thought, “Just execute every noble that attempts to quit, and add their soldiers to our new found, standing army,” he switches his gaze back to Cautious, “Any good news?”
“Yes actually,” he replies, “Nine of these ‘firearms’ were captured by some retreating soldiers. They are already being studied by our most intelligent generals and scientists.”
“Make sure to concentrate on researching any weaknesses, I’m not sure we have the time to explore how they actually function,” the sovereign commands, "also, save one for me, I want it as a trophy."
This story is going to have quite a lot of characters, so I've decided to create a Character Sheet to express important individuals.
This graph will increase in size as the storyline continues forward.