//------------------------------// // Chapter 23 - First Impressions // Story: Bad Mondays // by Handyman //------------------------------// His morning started much as it always did these days: dreamless sleep followed by disorientation. He stirred in the - thankfully - appropriately sized bed in his cabin. The dark wooden walls creaked under pressure, and the heat radiated from the exposed copper pipe running down one corner of his room. He really needed to get that covered before somebody burned themselves on it. He yawned, stretched, and pulled himself from beneath the covers. He blinked. Where the hell was he again? He stumbled forth out of the bed and observed his surroundings. It was a small room, rectangular with two walls longer than the others. The far wall, the one with the porthole window, bent outwards slightly. He walked over to it, cursing as he stepped on something hard on the floor with his bare foot. He opened the porthole window and squinted through the glare of the sun to be greeted with nothing but blue sky. And white clouds nearly level with his window. “Oh. Right,” Handy said, blinking. His voice was hoarse. “A couple thousand feet off the ground... huh.” They had been traveling in his newly acquired airship, which he had yet to christen, for the past three days on the journey down to Firthengart. Overall, it was the faster option. Travel by chariot would have covered more ground quicker, true, but they’d need to stop for the night, and the train to Firthengart would have wound its way through the countryside. It’d take its sweet time. Airship travel meant they could cut through the bullshit, and it also meant Handy did not have to put up with fellow passengers freaking out over the human daring to enter the sleeping cabins to, you know, sleep. There was a knock at his cabin door. “Yes?” he answered. “We’ve crossed the border, Sir Handy. We’ll be starting our descent shortly.” The cracked, rough voice of Silvertalon spoke from the other side of the door. “My thanks Silvertalon. I'll leave it to thee to take us down,” Handy said, stifling a yawn as the he heard the griffon stalk off. He looked around as the limited light of the porthole brightened his room. It was spartan, little more than the bed and a dresser, his travel packs, and armour. The two packs he had carried his gold in that he simply refused to let anyone near, one of which was now thoroughly emptied after the successful bids for new farmlands and the costs of getting the damn ship off the ground. There was his smaller travel pack that he carried necessities in was off in one corner. His armour lay strewn haphazardly about the room. He swore he had stacked that neatly; it must’ve been knocked loose in some turbulence during the night and rolled across the floor. Certainly would explain the gauntlet he had trodden underfoot. The airship, he had learned, was a small one by most standards. Although the size of the envelope generally made anything look small by comparison, it came with six cabins, a bridge with a generous view deck of the world below them as well as a lower deck that was currently unused with the engines in the back. It was steam powered, which made sense considering the technology was readily available, though it made water gathering an issue and certainly wasn't the fastest form of propulsion Handy could think of. Silvertalon, a griffon he had hired to pilot his airship while Handy himself finished learning how to take care of it himself, told him he could increase the ship’s speed by feeding certain crushed, magically charged crystals into the ship’s water supply. Crystals, it was always crystals. What the hell was it with this world and crystals? He shook his head and began the arduous task of fitting his armour on, wearing a tunic under his mail to prevent chaffing before stopping himself. He reached for the dresser instead of his cuirass, and he put on his formal suit. His armour had been repaired once again by his blacksmith, but he had yet to polish and clean it. He didn't want to make his first appearance in Firthengart as a scrub after all. He exited the cabin and was greeted with the sounds of griffons talking in one of the rooms down to his left. Joachim exited the room across from him. “Sleep well?” the king asked. “As well as could be hoped,” Handy said, rolling his shoulders as he affixed his cloak about him. “Who’s on point?” he asked casually. “Shortbeak, Godfrey, Tanismore, and Frederick,” Joachim responded. “Jeremy, Celebra, Grimtooth, and Shadowsunder are the ones you can hear enjoying their breakfast,” he said, gesturing with his head behind him as the two walked down the corridor towards the bridge. Shortbeak and the others were currently taking the morning shift in guarding the airship’s exterior. “You needn’t worry, Handy. Your shiny new ship is well looked after,” he said, smiling. Handy frowned. He had disagreed with the knighting of Shadowsunder initially after a training session with Shortbeak and the others, but was reassured that the bird had the skills to be worthy of the position. “It’s you I’m worried about,” Handy said, snorting. “Why Handy, I never knew you cared.” “Fuck you, Joach. It’s my job to care. Literally, you pay me to give a shit.” “And here I thought you were a friend,” Joachim said, feigning offence. “For a given definition of friend, I suppose,” the human shot back. “Mercenary,” Joachim said, smiling, to which the human responded in kind. “Fop. And thanks for helping with the costs. I didn’t know these things could be so expensive just to get off the ground.” He could’ve put it off, but damn it, it was his airship and he was going to fly it. Besides, he used the extra money to help repaint the envelope to be an off-black colour with his own sigil in white painted along the sides: the knot and hammer. It was too big and obvious a form of transport to not go the extra mile, afterall. “No problem. Had to come out of my own coin-purse, but I felt I could help out. However, I hope you can now appreciate why Gethrenia doesn’t have a fleet of them now. Also, so long as you let me borrow her once in a while,” the king said, opening the door to the bridge. The room consisted of a wooden platform that was dominated by the helm wheel which directed the ship and was surrounded by six heavy brass levers controlling the fins: three on either side, with several valve readers to observe water pressure and temperature as well as air pressure to gauge hull and envelope integrity. The platform overlooked a half dome of glass set within thick wooden frames that extended from the wooden ‘roof’ that formed the upper deck and the gas filled envelope immediately above it. The frames arched down and inwards. Once they descended below the cloud layer, it’d give them a staggering view of Firthengart. “We’ll see,” Handy lied. Silvertalon, whose talons were actually black as it turned out, was busy overseeing the ship’s descent. His focus was absolutely centred on the task at hand. The pair of them stood behind the middle aged griffon, his brown feathers dirty and moulting, a terrible thing to see in any griffon. Reminded Handy of the balding gene a lot of his uncles back home possessed and wondered if the same happened to griffons. Although he had yet to see anything of the like personally. “Excuse me, sir.” Handy nearly jumped as he turned to regard Crimson. The pony was sitting on her haunches to his right, apparently observing Silvertalon working the bridge. She had expressed her desire to come with him on the journey to the tournament earlier in that week. He thought it odd but probably figured she was bored, having cleaned up the alchemy guild rather nicely, certainly enough for Klipwing to have an easy time taking over for her in his absence. She had also seemed different recently, constantly looking over her shoulder too. He had questioned her about it once they had taken off. She said she had grown increasingly worried she was being followed when she left the guildhall during the days. Also she had stopped calling him master and seemed more relaxed in his presence. If you could call her cold, indifferent visage relaxed. He didn’t complain; it certainly made him feel less like a creep. In any case, he did promise he’d protect her, and if she was feeling uncomfortable in Skymount, he might as well take her with him. She hadn’t been terribly specific about why she felt she was being followed, but he figured she was just getting jumpy in her idleness. He’d address the issue when they got back. “What is it, Crimson?” he asked. Joachim rolled his eyes at the pony and walked over to talk to Silvertalon. “What do you want me to do when we arrive?” she asked dispassionately. He frowned. “What?” “I just want to make myself useful, sir,” she said. “I don’t want to be a burden.” Well that at least made sense. He smiled. “It’s a festival, Crimson. There’s nothing for you to do here. Just… relax, I guess,” he said as he turned away. He paused and turned back. “You… do know how to relax, right? To go have fun?” It was a serious question. Given what he knew about her past and her demeanour in Skymount, Crimson had to be the least outgoing pony he had ever run into that wasn’t in the Equestrian military. She blinked at him. “Of course, sir. I just want to help in any way I can.” “I took you along, quite literally, so you could feel at ease. You don’t need to do anything for me Crimson, just enjoy the festival.” Her ear flicked “…Alright, sir.” She looked out the windows before them. He frowned at her. “Crimson, are you sure you’re feeling alri-?” “Breaching cloud layer,” Silvertalon croaked. Handy turned to see the wispy clouds part before the ship’s windows. He was greeted with a vista of rocky hill-lands and winding, shallow rivers framed by mountains to the west and great pine forests darkening the horizon far to the east. Sparse deciduous forests, whose autumn colours stood out like burning fires against the greens, browns and greys of the land and tiny villages dotted the landscape along with large, hedge farms as the griffons tried to eke out subsistence from the sparse soil, usually by grazing herds of the strange, grey three legged animals that griffons used as cattle. There, old stone roads crossed rivers with ancient bridges. Occasionally, there were large towns and the random castle, the shadows of clouds creating a patchwork of light and dark across the landscape that was still so far below them. “Tsk, told you it wasn’t much to look at.” Joachim chuckled. “When we get further south, it’ll get prettier.” The king turned to look at the human, who seemed to be in a bit of a daze, an unusual cast to his expression. “Handy?” Handy didn’t immediately respond. Looking down at the landscape below, his thoughts were brought back to some musings he entertained when he first exited that accursed forest months ago. He had scoffed at his old acquaintance’s fondness of a certain part of the old country that he considered blighted and barren. McConnaughy, wasn’t it? Yeah that sounds about right. Yet here and now, a world away and looking at Firthengart, he was reminded of Galway, and he suddenly could appreciate where his friend had been coming from. There was a certain rugged beauty to it. “Handy?” A claw waved in front of his face, two talons snapped together in quick succession. Handy blinked rapidly. “Hm? What?” He turned to Joachim. “You alright? You had this odd look about you.” “Sorry was just… lost in my own little world for a minute,” Handy said as he turned to Silvertalon. “How much longer till we reach Ironcrest?” “A few hours yet, sir,” the griffon replied. Handy sighed. Well, he was up now. There went his chance to lie in; might as well go do something useful. "I'll go back to my room and get prepared then," Handy said, making a mental checklist of all the things he needed. Blood capsules, check. Of course, this still being Griffonia, having one's meals bloody was always an option, but Handy wanted to eat steak properly once again, so blood capsules it was. Salve, check. Three bottles in fact. Truth was he ran through his supplies long ago. For uh, entirely medical concerns of course, not because that shit was amazing or anything. Torch of witchcraft, check. Expensive Brick, check, although that was only along with him because he wasn't entirely sure that if he lit the torch again that it'd still be the harmless blue flame it had been when he lit it. He also brought it along so that when it inevitably set off playing his playlist at random intervals, he was around to put a stop to it. "Probably shave that ridiculous display from your face," Joachim said, looking to the side. Handy frowned down at him. "Well forgive me for trying a new look," Handy said, referring to the small, pointed goatee and moustache he had been cultivating for the past month. "Sides, weren't you the one who thought it was ridiculous when I said human males shaved often?" "I am and it is," Joachim replied, smirking at Handy. "But that was before I saw how silly human facial styles could be." Handy narrowed his eyes at his liege. "I have not finished it yet," he said defensively. "Sides, not as if most people will see it anyway. I can wear my face however I wish." "So long as you hide it behind your helmet, yeah." Joachim snorted. "I think it looks well on you, sir," Crimson said impassively. "See? Crimson likes it." "Crimson works for you." Joachim deadpanned. "It’s in her best interest to suck up to her boss." "I work for you, and I don't hold back my criticism. What’s your point?" "My point is that you're my friend, and you can get away with that. Everygriffon thinks it's ridiculous, Handy." "Silver, what do you think?" Handy asked. Up until now, the middle aged griffon had been shifting, ever so slowly, away from his boss and his king, hoping to not get in under anyone's paws. Too late for that now. He sighed, weighing his options. King or boss? "For one thing, Sir Handy, I will never withhold any criticisms of you," Silvertalon said, looking straight ahead at his instruments. "See?" Handy said to Joachim. "My employees never have to fear speaking their minds.” "That said, I agree with his Majesty," Silvertalon said. Handy glowered at the back of his head. Joachim puffed his chest out. "Fine," Handy said, "I'll take care of it later, then." "Thank Heavens," Joachim preened. "...When you sort out your ridiculous feather mane," Handy said, Joachim protectively ran a claw along the swept back feathers of his head. "Hey I like it like this." "Do you see any other griffons wearing theirs like that? Normally the court follows styles that the king adopts, right? Why do you think none of your courtiers haven't done so?" "Well I uh, maybe they're just independently minded!" "Are we talking about the same court? Doesn't sound like it," Handy replied, smiling. "I think it makes you look dignified, your highness," Crimson said, not even looking at the pair. "Aha! Even your pony thinks so!" Joachim said, pointing. "She is a pony," Handy said. "Ponies wouldn't know good sense even if it hit them in the face with a wet fish." He didn't see the light smile on Crimson's otherwise neutral face. "Silvertalon, what do you think?" Silvertalon groaned internally. Why couldn't they just leave him to pilot the ship without fearing for his job? "Majesty, it'd be churlish for anygriffon to so blatantly comment on how you desire to present yourself," he began. Joachim looked pleased. "However, I agree with Sir Handy," he said, covering his bases. "Ha!" the human exclaimed, Joachim looked sideways at the pilot griffon for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Well, whatever,” the king eventually conceded. “I’ll need to stop off at Castle Greyvault to meet with King Goldtooth before I can enjoy the festival proper.” Handy nodded at that. “I’ll have Silvertalon park the ship somewhere convenient. “Yeah, just play nice by the time I get back, alright?” “Play nice?” “I mean try not to get into trouble,” Joachim said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a good guy, Handy, but All-Maker, do you end up in trouble a lot.” “I can’t help but recall that almost all of that was never, in fact, my fault.” Handy smiled. “Handy…” “Fine, fine, Joach. I promise I won’t start anything.” --=-- He was tossed bodily from the tent mouth with great force. He landed, cursing, in the wet mud just outside of the large tent, sliding on the ground, startling nearby ponies and griffons, causing one young one to drop the bundle of javelins he was hauling. Loud footsteps could be heard behind him as the one responsible for the violent ejection of the human stepped forth. Deep, rumbling laughter could be heard, and his fingers curled inwards into shaking fists, creating gouges in the pliant mud. To think, the day had started off so wonderfully. It did not take long for the king to set off for the nearby Castle Greyvault in the city of Ironcrest after they had arrived. It was a tiered, walled city set atop of low sloping mountain, giving it a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. Its tan walls were stark against the landscape, and its inner districts were protected by more curtain walls. Castle Greyvault was a soaring, gothic construction with spires and buttressed towers that caught the eye immediately. Handy made it one of his objectives to visit the place at least once before leaving, but he quickly found his attention rather disconcertingly seized by the vastly more interesting sight laid out to the south of the city. Between three griffon townships lay an expanse of the king’s own demesne which consisted of several hectares of fields, a lake, and a small forest. Traditionally used by Goldtooth’s clan as something of a private garden, albeit one not marked by statues or walls or cultivation of any kind, it had been designated as the grounds for this year’s fall festival. Handy would discover later that this had been done for cost reasons, at least initially. The festival had been flagging in popularity in recent years, and Goldtooth had seen no reason to go to the extravagant lengths such an event usually called for. Apparently, he had not expected many to show up other than the occasional young, enthusiastic, noblegriffon looking to earn his wingblades and the local peasantry looking for distraction. However, Handy’s little foray into international diplomacy back in Canterlot had set off something of a buzz. Ponies began speculating about Prince Blueblood’s participation in the tournament on behalf of Equestria, and Handy’s own, shall we say, exaggerated social profile served to spread anticipation for the festival far beyond Firthengart’s own borders. This in turn attracted not only the idle nobility in Firthengart itself, excited for the possibility of seeing an Equestrian prince put in his place, but also attracted more and more griffons of means and commoners from surrounding counties and provinces. This, in turn, attracted more entertainers, merchants, caterers, and mendicants, each eager to capitalise on the growing collection of wealth and opportunity just outside the Firthengart capital. This, of course, was only counting the revellers and the opportunists. The heightened profile of the growing festival was only exacerbated by the influx of hopeful warriors, each eager to prove themselves in the king’s tournament. And counting the numbers coming from Equestria and beyond for the entertainment offered meant Goldtooth was faced with what many might consider a good problem to have. Depending on one’s perspective, of course. On the one hand, he now had the prospect of hosting a festival and tournament to rival that of the High Kings, and all of the prestige that offered him. On the other hand, he now had to shell out more money in order to reorganize and prepare the grounds to better suit the needs of the growing tent city that had been slowly growing out from the centre of the demesne. Which, in literally any other context, would cause a lot of other kings to lose sleep as the tent city was quickly approaching a size that made the siege of Vienna look like a camping trip with friends. Simply ensuring everyone had shelter was a massive undertaking, which thankfully, the surrounding townships helped alleviate such matters. Policing the event however, had cost a fortune in additional guards brought in from the king’s other private holdings. So one can forgive Handy for getting completely and absolutely lost when he finally descended from his own ship which Silvertalon had been forced to park some distance from the festival proper. Given, you know, he was apparently not the only one who saw fit to arrive in his own dirigible. Crimson had some difficulty with the rope ladder, Handy pointed out she could just materialize herself some wings like she did back on the train, she hesitated and pointed out that it would probably not be the best to use that kind of magic so openly. He conceded the point, and so Handy had to descend the rope ladder with a pony on his back, clinging to his shoulders. He was treated to a rather mixed reaction upon entering the grounds, ponies and griffons trying to get out of his way, while others tried to deliberately get his attention, hawking their various wares to tempt the human. Have you ever been to a music festival? If so, you may have a fair idea of the sheer batshit lunacy involved in trying to simply find one’s way through what was effectively a Pan’s Labyrinth of living bodies, cloth, wires, and random detritus. The sounds and smells were at once overpowering and inviting: cooking meat, lilting music from minstrels and bands, the cheers of crowds entertained by traveling fools and tricksters. More than once, Handy found himself walking down one lane between colourful tents, found a dead end, turned back and found a new tent set up right in the middle of the path he had just walked down, forcing him into completely changing his course. To be fair, this was not particularly aggravating. He did, after all, have nowhere he needed to be and was merely taking in the sights of the festival so he could find his way later. His goal was to find landmarks, such as the lake he saw from the sky, the forest, the duelling rings, and melee stadium, tall wooden constructions he could vaguely make out past the tent tops. Once he found roughly where they were in relation to each other, he was confident he could make a rough mental map from wherever he managed to pitch a tent. He lost Crimson somewhere along the way. She said she wanted to go off and see if she could find a plot for Handy’s own tent after he mentioned what he was doing. He had approved, and she had wandered off as he stopped to purchase some cooked meat from a small blue and white tent. The hippogriff wouldn’t take his eyes off of Handy’s hooded face as the transaction took place. Not as if he could see it properly; the hood was designed to fit up and around Handy’s helmet, blades and all. As such, it was particularly voluminous and ensconced Handy’s uncovered head entirely in darkness. As he walked off, biting down into the savoury meat, he realised it was probably going to be particularly difficult finding Crimson again but shook it off. He’d worry about that later. As he found the tournament grounds, he ran into more and more ponies and griffons in various suits of armour and weaponry. And more species besides: there a dog, there a minotaur, there… Was that a deer? Well that was another source of meat Handy was not allowed to consume ever again. Now these stares he didn’t particularly care for. If you’ve ever walked into the wrong bar before, you’d understand exactly what it felt like to be sized up for a potential brawl. He committed a few of the warriors he saw to memory. There was one particularly vicious looking griffon in full plate sitting outside a black and gold tent he didn’t like the look of. He clicked his talon blades on the haft of his halberd as Handy passed. There was also a grey pony wearing a purple, hooded cloak, barely hiding its black cuirass that turned to look at him as he passed. There was something about the way it carried itself that was distressingly familiar, so he made a note of being wary if he saw it again. Now, it should be noted that Handy was not always quick on the uptake. He had assumed that, this being a tournament, it should be the expected norm to see a variety of warriors from across the land. He really should have paid more attention to Shortbeak’s warnings as more than half of them were there for the possibility of fighting him personally. To be the one to defeat Handy the Milesian, this upstart human, publically and to gain money and fame for doing so. Handy didn’t see that, however. With the odd exception, he considered most of the potential combatants with contempt. So it was with an arrogant swagger that he made his way to a particularly large white tent on the outskirts of the tournament, the sounds of laughter and conversation coming from within. Curious despite himself, he entered past the tent flap and was greeted immediately with silence. The room was filled with ponies, griffons, dogs, and other creatures sitting on top of crates, eating and drinking on top of empty barrels. Almost all of them wore some kind of armour and carried weapons: spears, staves, axes, swords as well as species specific weapons such as wing blades and hoof claws. Handy, having unintentionally caused a scene because of his curiosity, could not afford to simply walk out the way he came. So he took another step in and walked down past a number of barrels towards the back to find himself an empty seat. Once seated, a young griffon with her feathers tied back with a blue ribbon approached with a board in her claws, clearly nervous and glancing around her. He ordered a cup of water so as to not appear rude. It was surprisingly warm out there in the festival and his heavy cloak did not help matters. The majority of the tent’s occupants observed him openly. Slowly, however, the tension eased, and conversations began anew once the human got his drink and made no sign of ill intent. Once he was not under constant scrutiny, Handy eyed the occupants in turn. There were a few… oddities. For one thing he saw what looked like a small griffon, except with a pony head. He thought perhaps it was some griffon hybrid like the hippogriffs he had run into, but the proportions were off and the distinct lack of foreclaws instead being replaced with proper leonine paws. The chest piece it wore was banded steel in segments meeting together in the front, tinted brown and framed by sloped shoulder guards that curved around the back of its neck, down its withers and up and outwards into points. What looked to be long stemmed fleur de lis on either guard was indented into the metal. The pony… lion…. thing was talking to an ordinary orange pegasus in similar armour who had her foreleg around a spear with a banner attached. He could vaguely make out a device of a silver shield with a grey lion pony rampant on a dark grey field. He was also made uncomfortably aware of a tall yellow, two toned-green maned pegasus three tables away to his right with emerald eyes. Literally, her irises looked like there were actual emeralds. The mare wore pale blue, intricate, light armour and what looked to be some cloth shaffron disguising most of her face. She seemed to be studying the human and only looked away when Handy made it a point to turn his hooded head in her direction. There was a zebra in the far corner, bigger than the witch he had seen in the forest so long ago who had a dirty brown cloak and a bandolier with bulbous glasses filled colourful and sometimes luminescent liquids. Now, Handy was not one for being racist, but he was starting to suspect all zebras of being witches. He knew it was wrong to judge a species based on such a small selection of the population, but, fuck it, he’d been doing that since he got here, so why stop now? It was then that his peaceful drink was so rudely interrupted by a loud bellowing voice outside the tent demanding to know where the human had went. Silence fell on the tent again and several tables turned to look at the door. Handy groaned audibly and rubbed his forehead. Who was it this time? Didn’t sound like a minotaur - the voice was too harsh and rough. Wasn’t a dog either - far too big to be a pony or a griffon judging by the sound of the footfalls. It was armoured and angry and- Very, very tall. Handy’s eyes had widened at the sight of an eight foot tall, red-brown fucking dragon that had just entered the tent. Its sloping forehead ended in four, short black horns that shot out backwards from its head. Its lower jaw possessed an impressive underbite, and its beady, yellow eyes scanned the room, sparks erupted from its nostrils as it snorted derisively. It spied Handy sitting at the back, smiled viciously, its scaly, leathery wings shifting over the back of its black breastplate. “There you are! Supposed ‘dragon slayer’!” the red beast taunted, striding forward, forcing people to get up and move out of his way as he knocked barrels out of the way. Now, Handy was somewhat accomplished when it comes to fighting things that were A) bigger than him, or B) more experienced than him. However, he did not know as much about dragons as someone with the title of dragon slayer probably should have. As such, he didn’t consider that young dragons, such as the one bearing down on him, might be interested in the opportunity to prove their mettle against someone famed for killing dragons. After all, when one thinks of dragons, they think of great, majestic beasts of fire and fury, perhaps lurking in gigantic caves upon beds made of the ransoms of fallen empires. Or like the sepulchral dragon he himself had nearly been fried by in Lepidopolis. What does not come to mind are hot blooded teenagers roving about the countryside in blackened armour swinging great axes, but, you know, given the world he lived in, common sense kind of had to take a back seat. The dragon loomed over him and slammed its meaty, scaled palms onto the barrel, causing his tin cup to bounce in place with the force. “Have to say… You don’t look all that tough. Where’s your claws of iron, your horns, and your piercing red eyes of death?” “I left them with my other cloak,” Handy decided to say, his mind racing to say anything as he scrambled to think of a way out of this situation. He had been frozen rigid at the sight of the dragon. Though outwardly appearing calm, the thought of the large, fire breathing lizard out for his blood brought up uncomfortable memories. As well as, you know, the fact it was literally a living engine of the one thing on earth capable of turning him into an instant bonfire without the need of any accelerant. ’Don’tbreathfiredon’tbreathfiredon’tbreathfire-’ It snorted again, orange bursts of flames coming from his nostrils. The dragon smiled, probably noticing the look of surprise on the human’s face as it was briefly illuminated. “What is this? Is this a joke?” he said, leaning closer. “I am afraid thou hast me at a disadvantage…” Handy said. “To what do I owe the pleasure sir…?” The dragon stood back up to his full height. “Ferix…” the dragon said proudly. “The destroyer.” Handy blinked. “I’m… sorry?” he asked, his brain stopping, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. “You haven’t heard of me?” the dragon said sharply, knocking Handy’s water aside. “I am the most feared bounty hunter in the land!” “And thou callest thyself ‘the destroyer’?” Handy said, blinking. He snorted. The dragon’s eye twitched. “What’s so funny?” “Forgive me,” Handy said. “I meant no harm by it. Please, how can I help thee?” The dragon growled. “You can help me by explaining to me what’s so funny before I tear that ridiculous patch of fur from your face.” Handy felt the familiar boil of anger rising up inside him, but it was severely tempered by his own innate and completely understandable desire to avoid any errant flames that’d cause him to light up like a Guy Fawkes display. Unfortunately, it did nothing to stop him running his mouth. “It’s just… Well, tis bad form to call yourself by thine own titles,” Handy said. “Tis presumptuous.” The dragon snarled. “Oh and what do you call yourself, dragon slayer?” “Handy of Milesia,” he said. “What others call me is their concern. I am a bit too old to hide behind names.” “Ha!” The dragon laughed, “Know what I think? I think what you mean to say is that now that you have a real dragon in front of you, you’ve suddenly lost the nerve to be cock of the walk.” “Thou art not a real dragon,” Handy’s mouth shot off before his mind could catch up with it. Really Handy, that’s an awful bad habit you have. The dragon’s eyes widened at that, and he jabbed a finger at Handy’s chest, the claw ripping a tear in the expensive fabric. The human frowned at that. “What does that mean?” “Thou art far too small for a start,” Handy said, his blood rising and slowly overtaking his fear. “Which means thou art still a child. Tell me, art thou sure thine is of the age to be running about with sharp objects? Surely thine parents raised thee with more sense than that?” There was the sound of crates moving as several tables started moving away from the pair. The dragon’s flared to its full, impressive wingspan. “You’ve got a mouth, monkey boy…” it said, leaning close. He could smell its noxious, acrid breath. “And I would say thou hath a pair of balls to be talking to me like this,” Handy said. “But clearly that is not the case. Thou art just a fool. Come back when thou hast reached thine majority and thy manhood has properly dropped.” Handy blinked and his reason caught up with him. ’Wait… What did I just-’ The next thing Handy knew was a powerful bellow as the dragon reared back and roared, shaking the tent. His claws grabbed Handy by his jacket, ripping into it as he was flung bodily through the air, hitting a barrel and knocking a griffon and a pony aside as he bounced on the ground and slid out the tent flap. ’Okay, Handy…’ he thought to himself, pushing up off of the ground till he was on his knees. There was a surprised looking pony in full plate to his right, his armour tilted a pale teal with a proud purple crest raised from his helm. He paid it no mind as he looked down. His tail coat was ruined with wide tears across it, he was missing practically all of the buttons, and his white dress shirt had been torn. His cravat was there, but it was now a dirty, muddy mess like the rest of him. Thankfully, he had the good sense to wear his mail that day, otherwise he’d have a few more marks to add to the growing collection on his flesh. ’You promised Joach you wouldn’t start anything. Calm down, there might still be a way out of this without coming off like a pu-’ “Not so tough now, huh?” the dragon boasted from the tent behind him. Handy grit his teeth and noticed a drop of blood fall into the mud beneath him. Raising his gloved hands to his face, he discovered his nose was bleeding. ‘Must’ve hit that barrel harder than I thought.’ “I guess you’re only good for hot air and standing up to weakling ponies!” Handy smiled as he got back to his feet. “Okay…” Handy said, making a mental note to point out to Joachim that he did not, in fact, start this. He had witnesses. Violent, witnesses but witnesses nonetheless. “Let’s try this again…” he said, loosening the clasp of his hammer.He gripped it in his right forefinger and thumb, and twisted. The hammer, whose head now faced downwards, slid out of the hook as he grabbed the bottom of the haft. There was a particular reason Handy drew it like this. First off, it meant that the dragon behind him wouldn't be warned by Handy telegraphing his movements in drawing the hammer despite the pony beside him took a few noticeable steps back, looking down at his hammer. Secondly, he needed all the leverage he could on the haft for his next move. The dragon opened his mouth to continue berating the human as it took another step further. Handy whirled on the spot, his hand letting go of the hammer as he swung around, the intricately detailed, silvered weapon crashed into the dragon's forehead with tremendous force. The dragon staggered back into the tent, completely bewildered and disorientated from the surprise blow. Ferix shook his head, only to see the human doing what only madmen would do: he was charging at him. Ferix's eyes widened, and he raised his arms to swing at the human. Handy ducked under the blows and put his weight into his shoulder as he barrelled into the dragon's midsection, sending it sprawling across a table, shattering it to splinters and sending the food and drink upon it flying. Handy breathed through his nostrils, looking down at the fallen dragon as it struggled to pull its wing loose of an iron band from the destroyed barrel. He reached down and picked up his hammer. "Thing is... Anyone else taking a blow to the head like that? Without a helmet? They'd be out like a snuffed candle, or worse. But thou can take it, can't thee, big man?" Handy said, idly inspecting his hammer for the odd scale that came off the dragon's head and became lodged in the grooves between the knotted designs. So, his dragon scales were not so invincible after all. Good to know. The dragon roared and got to his feet, kicking a crate away and sending a griffon back. Several of the other patrons were now jeering at the pair, thoroughly enjoying the impromptu morning's entertainment. Those with more sense either quietly made their way out the exit behind the human or kept their thoughts to themselves and their various appendages close to their own weapons. Ferix reached to his side and withdrew a large iron axe and swung at Handy in a wide arc. The movement was terribly obvious. The dragon had taken a step forward and overextended himself. Shortbeak had punished Handy when he made a similar mistake during training a few times. Handy ducked under the swing, shifted his centre of mass, grabbed the axe wielding wrist with his free hand, and moved his left foot between the dragon's legs, kicking his foremost foot off balance. He pulled on the arm, using the dragon's own momentum to force him forward onto Handy's own shoulder as the human pushed up and rolled his body to force the dragon off of its legs and over the human to land head first on the ground. Hard. Handy rolled his shoulders, wincing. The dragon was a heavy bastard even if he wasn't shouldering all of its weight at once. This elicited a cheer from the seated crowd, and Handy smiled. Ferix looked dazed, blinking away confusion before he snarled again. His claw shot upwards and decked Handy, sending him stumbling backwards. He rubbed his jaw as he got back unsteadily to his feet. That hurt like a bitch. He withdrew his gloved hand. More blood; looked like Ferix's scales were sharp. He turned around just in time to have the dragon grapple Handy around the torso and lifting him off the ground, charging towards the back of the tent. A couple dogs and griffons were forced to dive out of the way of the angry dragon as Handy was thrown down on a crate. Unfortunately for him, he was not wearing his shield on his back that day. Handy coughed and groaned, pain piercing his back. He blinked away at the pain when he heard Ferix grunted and looked up to see the dragon rearing back, his axe in both claws. Panic shot through Handy, and he brought his hammer up, both hands clasped tightly around its haft as the axe came down. His arms nearly buckled under the blow as haft clashed against haft, and the axe blade hovered nearly an inch away from his face. He gritted his teeth in pain and effort as Ferix snarled at him. He could hear movement as more people got off their seats to give the pair a wide berth. Handy looked up and saw the dragon's jaw was open, making out an orange light growing at the back of his throat, smoke emerging from its nostrils. A primal, instinctive fear shot through the human's body. "Nope!" he shouted and kicked the dragon in his nether regions. The damage was minimal, but the shock got the job done as Ferix raised his head and opened his mouth to shout in pain, shooting off a burst of fire over Handy's head and burning a hole through the tent wall as a group of griffons dived out of its way. --=-- "Oh, this is just ghastly!" Stellar Eclipse rolled her eyes at the prince's exclamation and shifted in her black armour. Officially, she was here as the prince's bodyguard, although she was out of her regulation armour. Unofficially... well, she had to pull a few strings to be selected for this mission. Luna wanted somepony with experience facing the human to travel with Blueblood, which left her a limited pool to work with, and it was through some convincing that Stellar got the job. The prince was despondent as he trotted through the muck and mire of the festival. Cloud had went on ahead to make arrangements for the tent. Lucky stallion she got stuck babysitting. You'd think two months of royal guard training, the system of which was currently under review as nopony like Blueblood should have been able to survive let alone pass the trials, would have conditioned the good prince to the harsh realities of getting one's hooves dirty. Nope. "Really, are you seeing this? I cannot believe I have to stay here with all these commoners and brutes!" he said, waving a hoof for emphasis at the passing tournament participants and revellers going about their business. "I can't see why I cannot stay at the Palatinate in Ironcrest. Griffons are savages, but if I must stay in their wretched country, I should at least suffer their best imitation of hospitality rather than this plebian mess." A brown feathered griffon eyed the prince evilly while sharpening a sword on a whetstone as the ponies past. Stellar made a note of his face. Just in case. "Participants have to camp on festival grounds, highness," she said in the well practiced neutral tone of royal guards. Her eyes darted about under her hood, scanning their surroundings. She had spotted the human earlier while Blueblood had been busy inside a tent having an argument with a blacksmith. For a second, she had afraid he recognised her, but he had just moved on. "Hmph! As if I were some common riff raff," the prince said, eyes closed, chin high in the air, and his armored hoof raise to his chest in injured dignity. Stellar rolled her eyes behind his back. His attitude hadn't changed one iota. Her ears swiveled to listen to a sound behind her, and she dived at the prince. And crashed down in the mud. She blinked rapidly, then shouted up at the prince. "Down!" she hissed, cursing. Despite the lack of change in the prince's attitude, the prince's training kicked into immediate effect as soon as he saw Stellar move. "How dare you try to push me down into the mud!?" he said indignantly, his blonde mane resplendent in the morning sun. "I have half a mind to-" The prince was cut off by a burst of fire flying just over his head, the sudden sound of fire rushing past his ears, feeling the rush of warmth as it passed overhead and blasted apart a weapon stand. A beleaguered looking squire came out of his tent carrying a large crate and the griffon's shoulders slunk as he looked at the scorch mark on the ground where his goods once stood. The prince let out a high pitched scream in surprise. "Goodness..." Blueblood said once he had calmed down and turned to look at where the fire blast came from. There was a large white tent a dozen feet or so from where he stood with a large circular burn mark in its side, slightly smouldering. Blueblood snorted. "Mindless hooligans!" He looked at Stellar, who seemed to be staring up at him. "Don't just stand there! Go do something! I have been assaulted.!" "Uhh... Highness?" "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow imperiously. "Your mane is on fire." He blinked, then his eyes widened as he grabbed a shield some dog was polishing. "Hey!" the dog shouted. Blueblood ignored him, seeing his reflection and that his glorious croupe, which had taken just forever to style and groom so that it could be held in place under a helmet and not be messed up when he took it off, was currently sporting a happily crackling little fire. He screamed, tossing the shield back at the dog, and taking off at a gallop. "Water! I need water!" Stellar stumbled over her own hooves. "Wait!" she shouted, galloping after the prince, cursing her luck. Briefly, she wished that the fireball could have arched a few inches lower but noooo, it'd just be too convenient, wouldn't it? --=-- Handy ducked as a claw smashed a support pole in half. A portion of the tent fell upon a few tables’ worth of cheering onlookers. He twirled the hammer around, holding it in a backwards grip with both hands on the haft and dug the top of the hammer head into the dragon's exposed midriff. Honestly, if you're going to go to the bother of wearing a plackart, why not wear the rest of the cuirass? The dragon doubled over and took a step back before swinging up with its left fist, catching Handy on the lower jaw and sending him reeling backwards, dropping his hammer. "Mon ami, keep it up!" a voice said as Handy lost his balance and fell backwards, only to be stopped as a pair of hooves pressed up against his back. He turned his head, his hood long since fallen back. He turned to look to see what stopped his fall, and a brown unicorn stallion with a wide brimmed, black hat and grey beard smiled up at him. "This is the most fun I've had all week! Show that dragon who' boss!" he said, pushing the human up. The stag sitting across from him with the large antlers laughed. "I'll say! Twenty bits on the dragon!" the deer said. "Hmm, agreed," hat pony said, smiling. Handy didn't bother responding. The dragon was recovering and getting to his feet, and he couldn't find his hammer. He needed something big and heavy and he needed it now. He turned, tipped over the barrel the deer and pony had been using so he could grab the bottom of it, knocking their drinks and food onto the floor. Thankfully, the barrel was empty, though it didn't do anything to alleviate the aches in his lower back from when he had been used as an impromptu crowbar, however. He winced as he raised the barrel over his head, took a step forward, and brought it down on the dragon's head as he got back to his feet. The barrel became stuck comically on the dragon's head as it broke through the wooden planks. Ferix flailed his limbs and cursed as he stumbled around, blind and disorientated. His limbs flailed out, smacking a dog off its seat, his flapping wings knocking a hovering griffon out of the air. Handy took a breath and turned to face the astonished deer, spreading his arms wide. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, lads." He turned back around to search for his hammer. "Wankers..." he muttered under his breath. There was a tap on his arm, and he turned. The serving griffon from earlier was holding his hammer. He took it from her and muttered a hurried thanks as the sound of breaking wood followed by a deafening roar brought Handy back to the matter at hand. Ferix was now several feet away from him. The tent space was a veritable ruin of broken poles, torn fabric, and destroyed crates and barrels. Most of it was Ferix's doing. The dragon was furious, and unfortunately for Handy, he didn't look too much the worse for wear for the fight. "I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU, HUMAN!" Ferix roared, fire spurting from his nostrils as he spoke, his eyes staring death at Handy. Handy hesitated, the sight of the flames giving him pause. He took in a breath through his nose to calm himself and took a step forward, bringing his hammer up when something yellow stood in his way. "Thats enough!" A yellow pegasus with emerald eyes stood before Handy. Wings flared, she turned her head back to look at the dragon. "Both of you!" Her intervention was met with boo's and jeering from the gathered warriors in the tent, unfazed by having their meals interrupted by the fighting. A half-eaten fish was thrown at the pony, who ducked her head under it and glared at the hippogriff responsible. “Ah, get out of the way, crystal flank, you’re spoiling the fun!” the offending avian shouted. His sentiments were chorused by a few others. Handy took the opportunity to catch his breath, Ferix, meanwhile, merely fumed. “Out of my way, equine,” he said threateningly. The yellow pegasus narrowed her eyes. Handy barely noticed her twitch her feathers as she whirled around with incredible speed to face the dragon. “Save it for the tournament,” she said sternly. “Look at this place! You’re going to be bringing the guards down on us all!” “Hah! I don’t care. I am having this upstart ape’s head now, not later,” Ferix retorted. “Perhaps thou should listen to the good lady,” Handy said, spreading his arms wide. “At least in the tournament I’d be able to embarrass thee in front of a wider audience.” He glanced to the far right corner of the tent near the exit. The zebra from before seemed to be mixing a few of his glasses of noxious liquids. “Stop. Antagonizing. The dragon,” the crystal eyed mare hissed, turning her head back towards the human. “Mademoiselle, perhaps it is best not to get in the middle of fire and steel, qui?” hat pony said, smiling. He and the deer moved away from where they had been standing behind Handy, their table now currently in a thousand pieces halfway across the room. The crystal pony didn’t bother looking back at the stallion. “Thats a laugh, human; you can barely hold your own and you expect to beat me in the tournament?” “I expect to beat thee, period, Ferix,” Handy challenged, taking a step further. The pegasus rounded on him, and he looked down at her. “Oh what now, thee as well?” “If that stops this sooner.” “I have no quarrel with thee, pony, move aside.” “No,” she said firmly. Handy sighed at her. “Hiding behind a pony, human? You’re weaker than I thought,” Ferix’s deep rumbling voice resounded with laughter. “I am not the one standing over there with their back to the nearest exit,” Handy challenged. The dragon looked behind him, noting he was, in fact, a few feet from the exit. By now there was a sizeable crowd gathered around the tent peering in to see what was going on. “Perhaps thou wishes to take a respite and leave before getting your skull caved in.” The crystal pony facehoofed. “I will tear your head off human!” the dragon snarled. “Like your foppish uniform, I’ll reduce you to strips of meat.” He pointed at Handy’s ruined coat. “What this old thing?” Handy asked, smiling as the blood ran from his nose and cheek, pinching his collar. “I dunno, it certainly served me well." "At what? Getting you the attentions of some effeminate stallions?" the dragon guffawed, and Handy's eyes narrowed. "Thy mother certainly liked it when it adorned the floor of her bedchambers.” That comment elicited uproarious laughter. The dragon bellowed it’s fury and rose to its full height, taking in a deep breath as its clenched teeth barely held back the building flame. The yellow pegasus took flight, whisking herself out of the line of fire. Handy ducked behind a collection of barrels and crates. He looked up to see the serving griffon standing stock still where she had been, staring at the dragon like a deer in headlights. Ironic considering the actual deer had long since legged it to cover. “GET DOWN YOU SILLY BIRD!” Handy reached up and grabbed the griffon by her left wing and pulled her to the ground as a furious fire blast washed over the top of their cover. Handy virtually cowered beneath his cloak, desperately keeping all of his body parts under its voluminous cover for fear of being caught in the fireblast. Illogical, given his cloak was hardly fireproof, but he wasn’t thinking about that as he silently cursed his earlier, foolhardy action and wondering exactly which of his family members he could curse for giving him his temper. The fire breath abated, and Handy opened his eyes which had been screwed shut. He saw the worn, red velvet interior of his hood and the grass and clay of the ground beneath him. He didn’t feel like he was on fire, but it was certainly a lot warmer and he smelled of smoke. He lifted his hood up and realized his hand was pressing down on something. He lifted himself up and pulled his cloak away to reveal the terrified face of the young griffon he had just pulled out of the way of an inferno looking up at him. He had been pressing her head to the ground to keep her out of the line of fire. “Get up,” he said, coming to his knees and pulling her up. He could hear the clash of metal and shouts around him. The tent was in chaos: the entire section he was in was a ruined mess, and the tent wall behind him had completely burned away. People were running to and fro outside of it as he saw the fire had touched several other tents. “Go, go on, get!” he said, pushing the griffon outside the tent as he turned to see Ferix. The pony lion he had spied from before was currently flying about the dragon’s head whacking at it with a mace. The dragon was alternating between trying to bat it away with its wings and claws and fighting off the orange pegasus with the spear. Meanwhile, the zebra from before, reared up, a bottle of a foaming green liquid raised in its hoof. It swung its hoof, sending the concoction flying towards the dragon. For a moment, it’d look like it was going to hit it dead in the chest before it ducked to avoid a low swing of the lion pony’s mace. The bottle landed in a crowd of warriors who began choking, some falling to the ground unconscious. This got the others attention, who began hurling insults and threats at the zebra, some trying to make their way through the burning chaos to get at the creature. The yellow pegasus, who had been on the zebra’s side of the dragon, found herself on the wrong side of the crowd's ire and was busy defending herself against angry griffons and ponies. The sound of broken glass and splintering wood was ever present, and Handy knew the wise thing to do was to just slip away. Especially because of the, you know, fire in his part of the tent. He grit his teeth. This dragon had officially ruined his day, and if he didn't take care of it now, he'd only be a problem later. He eyed the burning tent and wood around him warily as he navigated around them quickly, suddenly very grateful for his cloak as he took a step forward. A dog fell to the ground before him after getting bucked to the ground by the deer. It shook its head, saw Handy above him, and snarled. Handy booted it in the face and it fell right back down again. Ferix had his back to him, distracted by the lion pony, having knocked the orange pegasus aside, dazing the mare. He jumped up and hooked his hammer around the dragon's neck, dragging Ferix backwards with his weight. The dragon roared in fury and thrashed before tripping over the vengeful orange pony's spear and falling to the ground, front first. Handy managed to hang on as the dragon fell and pulled himself up and was now busy planting his feet on the prone dragon's left wing joint and the base of his neck, pulling back on his hammer and trying to choke the dragon into submission. Not an easy thing to do in any scenario given how long his neck was. There was a shrill whistling noise. The tent flap burst open, and armoured griffon guards in Firthengarian green and grey coloured tabards spilled forth onto the scene and surrounding the tent. Handy looked up as a particularly heavily armoured griffon walked in, scowling directly at the human. Handy recognised him as Sir Lightning, one of Goldtooth's knights he met in Canterlot. The griffon's eyes briefly surveyed the scene. Parts of the giant tent had collapsed, other parts were on fire, there were unconscious tournament participants everywhere, and the remainder were being pulled apart and held down by the griffon guards trying to contain the chaos. Lightning's yellow eyes turned back, judgingly, to Handy and Ferix, who had stopped struggling when half a dozen halberds were leveled at them. "Okay..." the human said, slowly taking his hammer away from the dragon's throat with one hand, his other raised in a placating gesture. He wobbled as the dragon he was currently standing on shifted. "Not gonna lie... This is exactly what it looks like." --=-- "TWO HOURS, HANDY! WE LEFT YOU FOR TWO HOURS!" Joachim screeched. "Truth be told, that’s impressive. Normally, it takes Tanismore three hours to start a major bar fight," Shortbeak quipped, eating an apple. "Technically, it was not a bar. More of a... refreshment tent I guess?" Handy said. "THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER!" "Hey! I didn't start it. The dragon threw me across the room. What, was I to just sit there and take it?" "Yes! No! I don't— Gah!" Joachim said. "Goldtooth is going to dig into me for this," he groaned "My most sincere apologies for thy injured dignity, my lord." Handy deadpanned, seated as he was on an upturned crate. Crimson trotted over, carrying a bag of ice in her muzzle. "Thanks." He took the ice and held it to his jaw. "So didja win?" Tanismore was leaning against one of the sturdy poles holding up Handy's dark blue and black tent. "He was on the ground by the time we were arrested. I was not, so..." Handy shrugged. "Hits like an avalanche, though. "Hmph," the perpetually surly Godfrey vocalized, face hidden beneath his full helm. "Probably should have talked your way out of that one." "Yes, negotiating with a dragon, sounds like a valuable waste of time," Handy said, the deliberate contradiction in his sentence eliciting a chuckle from Tanismore. Joachim was still frowning. "Look, are you going to be alright?" Joachim said, pointing at Handy. The human took off his now unserviceable coat and shirt, leaving him with his chainmail. "The festival starts officially tomorrow." "Tomorrow? This tent city has been up for weeks now," Tanismore pointed out. "The festival proper starts when the king blows the ivory horn," Joachim explained, waving his claw for emphasis. "It’s this whole ceremonial thing. It opens with a round of games and the first round of duels for the tournament." “Oh. Good,” Handy said, wincing, placing a hand against his lower back. “I was hoping for an early start.” “You sure you’re going to be alright?” Shortbeak asked, concerned. ’Nothing illegal drugs can’t fix.’ “I’ll sleep it off,” Handy said. He shared a look with Joachim, who understood perfectly well Handy had been taking a few bottles of salve from his own supply. “Has anyone seen that pony prince about?” Handy asked, his brow furrowing. “Blueblood? I heard he was seen running for the lake earlier,” Tanismore said. “At least he showed up,” Handy said, snorting derisively. In truth, the raw anger he had felt towards the pony faded somewhat, at least to the point where he no longer wished to kill him. Hospitalizing him, however, held a certain vicarious appeal. “Look, Handy, we’re going to be leaving now. Perhaps I should leave Tanismore or somegriffon behind to make sure…” He trailed off after seeing the rather poisonous look Handy gave him. “Right. Sure, fine. Just don’t get into any more fighting, alright? Save some of that for tomorrow.” Handy smiled slightly at that. “I’ll still have plenty to make a good show for Gethrenia, Majesty,” Handy said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. With a final sigh and parting farewells, the griffons left the human in his tent. He sat there with the ice pack to his sore jaw for a while, Crimson sitting off to the side, shuffling her hooves. “Hey, Crimson?” “Yes sir?” the red pony said. “If you’re going to sit there being awkward, at least make yourself useful. See that pack over there? The full one,” Handy said, gesturing towards his pack of changeling coinage. “There’s a bottle in there, orange liquid. Fetch it for me.” The pony nodded and trotted over, opening the bag with her mouth. Handy raised an eyebrow at that. She seemed to take her time, gazing into the bag. “Hey.” He drew her attention away. “Eyes off the gold; just get me the bottle,” he said warily. She nodded and reached into the bag with a hoof, drawing out the bottle. Handy accepted it from her. “Crimson, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “You’ve been acting odd, and you haven’t used your magic at all.” He shook the bottle he just received for emphasis. She blinked at him before sighing. “In truth, I’ve been having headaches recently,” she said sadly. “It gets worse when you use magic. I just didn’t want to admit it. It’s embarrassing for a unicorn.” She looked away. Handy raised an eyebrow at that. In truth, he guessed that made sense. Unicorns focused magic through their horns, but it didn’t explain everything about her odd behaviour. He was, however, not in the best of moods and couldn’t honestly give a fuck. “Alright then. Go out and have a look around the festival then, I’ll be staying here for the rest of the day.” ‘For what little of the day is left anyway.’ Being detained by Firthengarian guards was not a fun way to spend five hours. Hat pony and the deer had somehow managed to slip away, leaving the rest of them to their fate, followed shortly after by the witch zebra. It left Handy, the yellow pegasus, lion pony, the other pegasus, twenty other unfortunate saps, and the dragon with an iron clamp around his jaw to be lambasted by a rather irritable griffon knight for their reprehensible behaviour. For five. Hours. Straight. Lightning had a hell of a pair of lungs. Also issues, lots of issues. Crimson hesitated, looking back at the bag for a moment. Handy didn’t notice, distracted as he was by trying to unstopper the bottle of glorious, glorious pain relief. “Okay,” she said at last, trotting over to the door. Handy looked up at her for a moment as she left, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. His ministrations on trying to loosen the damnable lid of the bottle slowed as a thought dawned on him. So, he arrived in Firthengart, and the first thing he did was get into a fight with a dragon. He stopped, considering the implications of that. This time last year, he was sitting in an office, scanning memorandums and worrying about what sauce he was going to put on his microwaved potatoes later that evening to make them taste less like burnt ass. Now he was a medieval knight worried about such petty little things as fighting dragons, becoming a blood sucking abomination, getting on the wrong side of colourful pony princesses who told the bodies cosmic to shut up and sit down and he was sought after by some extremely powerful sorceress who, according to Crimson, considered him as her personal property. He looked at the bottle of salamander salve for a few long, hard moments. "God," He said at length. “How the fuck is this my life again?”