$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%
So, as it turns out, the ponies don't really appreciate shooting flower pots, especially when we're doing so with their weapons. Skully wrote us off after the guards sent him a form detailing the charges against us; apparently, he was too weak to leave his bed for the moment. Dahl, similarly, was still unconscious.
“So, say we find whatever hole Ophidia is hiding in, then what? Do we accept the natives' help, or go in alone?” Oleg ponder aloud, sipping on some drink he'd found in the suite's refrigerator. It was fizzy, bitter, and also had a slight kick of caffeine. I think it mat have been a combat stimulant of some kind. It'll obviously be a trap meant to lure us to our death, which means we'd fail our mission.”
“It is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself.” Delphine's eye looked up from her scriptures as she reclined on a couch. She was no longer wearing her power armor, and settled for the simple vestments of a Sororitas. She wasn't even wearing her eyepatch, and allowed the scarred mass of flesh to be seen. It was about as ugly as you're imagining. “If the Imperium demands our death in the line of duty, then we must oblige unflinchingly.”
“Right I keep forgetting you and the boss were progena.” Progena, as I'm sure you know, are students in one of the many branches of the Schola Progenium. Imperial Guardsmen, male and female, go into battle and die, a lot, this means there are no shortages of orphans in the Imperium. The scholams are meant to train these orphans to become inquisitors, Imperial Guard and Navy officers and commissars, hell, even the current Ecclesiarch was a progena when he was young.
“It was a quality education, and certainly better than anything you received on your world, whatever it was called.” Now, see, that struck a nerve. My world was largely independent, with our Governor holding almost no power over the Great Clans, and we are a fiercely loyal people. We take in any orphans that arise from the Imperium's constant war, provided they are of our own blood, and teach them the ways of their ancestors. On Vlindrul, no one is without family, and everyone is taught to at least the average of most Imperial worlds.
“I'm going to forget you said that, Doc.”
“Do as you wish, Amos; it matters not to me.”
$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%
I had shed my armor soon after signing off on the Imperials' crimes, enjoying the freedom I found as my skin touched the naked air. Sure, I would live for thousands of years because of it, but that didn't mean it was comfortable to wear. My senses were still a little numb from the shock of suddenly weakening, but that too would pass. I was tired, sore, and sweaty, but I still had a job to do and little enough time to do it. Leon Ophidia was a dangerous criminal and worshiper of very real gods capable of annihilating and corrupting everything that was Equus.
The Black Legion was the real wild card, if they felt Ophidia was a major player. At most, there would be a small band of Chaos Marines with him, but there would likely be either one or none at all. I had a power weapon, and I knew the Deceiver's armor was capable of blocking one if I put all my strength behind the swing, but that said nothing of the might of a Space Marine. That was, of course, assuming he would chose to fight me in melee, which was arguably the only way I had a serious chance of survival.
My helmet blocked a shot from a bolt pistol, but only barely. A full on bolter or, heaven forbid, a heavy bolter would shred my armor like tissue paper. Hopefully, this theoretical Marine wouldn't be a sorcerer, so I could avoid Warp-fire and other such attacks. If everything went well, there would be no such man in the den of heresy, as much as I shuddered to consider anything heresy. There were not enough hours in the day to prepare for every scenario, and my focus shifted as I felt two synapse changelings approach. I smiled, immediately recognizing both of them.
Chrysalis walked in, holding our daughter in her magical grasp. Scipia was sleeping, which wasn't much of surprise given that she was still in infancy even though she looked like a school-aged foal. Longer lifespans are funny that way. My wife, though we were never married in a formal sense, smiled at me.
“Learn anything useful?” She asked, recognizing my flustered state. There was a bit of good humor in her voice, as she understood this was typical and likely to happen as my powers developed. I shot her a tired look as she settled on the bed, setting our daughter on one of the larger pillows.
“The inquisitor is hunting his former partner.” The revelation drew a slight hiss from her, but she settled quickly enough. Despite being an emotion-eating shapeshifter who was not above espionage and kidnapping, she absolutely despised betrayal, even though she essentially used the tactic during the mission that forced us to meet. “But get this: Dahl had a block I couldn't get through, surrounding the previous decade, and it felt different from his usual mind.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with him being a, what did you call it, psyker?” She wondered, nuzzling her cheek into the crook of my neck. I looked her in her visible eye with worry, knowing she was largely ignorant of the Imperials and their culture, as well as the risks that were inherent under their conditions.
“I really, truly hope you're wrong.” I knew Ophidia wasn't a psyker, but his cabal likely held one or two, so the danger still existed. But, to think Dahl may have been under daemonic influence was rather sobering. Possession was another possibility, as I wasn't quite sure what happened to the human mind in a host after the daemon moved in, rather, whether it was suppressed or destroyed. Neither option seemed better, only terrible in different ways. “The last thing we need is the Warp mingling with Equestria's magic.”
“You said something about this Warp and Chaos, so couldn't the Elements put a stop to anything that comes through?” She just wasn't really getting it, an I'm not saying she was stupid, just incapable of imagining anything the Elements of Harmony could not defeat. They were, in purest form, the antithesis of Equestria's chaotic energies such as Discord and the dead Sombra.
“Chrissy, the only thing I think the Elements will be good for is making a daemon laugh while we make our escape.” My voice was gruff and disallowing of any argument, which was quite a feat for me when it involved Chyrsalis. What can I say? The Grand Matron knew how to press the Deceiver's buttnons.
“Perhaps a visit to an old friend will ease your cynicism?”
$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%
I stood in the hallway outside my suite, puffing on one of Oleg's lho sticks. They were calming on my nerves, more of a relaxant than the stimulant it was for most people, but maybe that was just early addiction. I only took the liberty of smoking in the hall because the cleaning staff seemed like they could scare off a charging carnifex, and I wanted no part of that. I heard the clacking of hooves against the marble floor ring from down the corridor, and it drew my attention like a moth to flame.
There was the black xenos from the windowed tree, I was sure of it. She was helping to balance Skully, who was completely out of his armor and revealing he was almost entirely man instead of the machine Martellus was almost sure he was beneath his power armor. He owed me a few drinks from the first pub we could find, and I demanded a classy establishment. With strippers.
“Afternoon, Amos,” Taylor said, speaking in Low Gothic. I knew he was because I saw his lips moving and the servo-skull was in Dahl's room in case a nurse or someone had to see to him. The bug pony next to him nodded, and then spoke as well.
“Hello, my name is Chrysalis.” Her voice was double-layered, but she was obviously kin to the alien Arachni, and even the insect themed naming scheme continued. Normally, the voice would hint at something daemonic, but she seemed well enough is the Burned Man thought she was okay. She, too, spoke Low Gothic, albeit with a thick accent. “We were about to take a walk.”
“What she's trying to ask is will you join us?” Skully gave the insectiod pony a gentle elbow, but she said noting further. I didn't really need to think on the issue at hand, given my current state of boredom, so I gave my answer rather quickly.
“Certainly, I don't have anything planned.”
$%$%$%$%$%$%
Extra – From the Files of the Equestrian Inquisition Incident No. 21 “The Nevermore Incident”
November 14, 1008 AC
The Inquisitorial command squad (The Burned Man, Viscount, Medic, Musician, and Ripper) broke through the outer wall surrounding the griffon city of Nevermore, and managed to infiltrate the city's capitol building and secure an audience with the local warlord (Sturm Silverwing). They were quickly asked to leave the premises when they asked about the bloodstains on every member of the squad, which were localized to the mouth and nose areas. The Burned Man, having command of the squadron, answered honestly.
During months of fighting from Canterlot to Nevermore, rations ran low, and with cannibalism being illegal and unthinkable in Equestria, a solution was found. Griffons, dragons and dogs who were slain in combat were skinned and dressed for consumption, and the Viscount, Medic, and Musician ate meat on every occasion. Silverwing, horrified, ordered them from his city. He died on November 14, 1008 AC, the day before reinforcements from Eagland arrived.
It should be noted that griffon morale took a sharp plunge after news of flesh-eating ponies spread through their ranks.