[Blazing's Entry]
The interrogation went on without a hitch. The Legion soldiers used a tried and tested method of concentrated yelling where one was like 'Who are you spying for?!' and the other was like 'Tell him, he's a loose cannon!'.
When I said that until like five minutes ago I had no idea any foreign legion existed he started crying. To make him feel better I asked if there actually was anything spy-able here in the middle of nowhere.
The other guy just watching until then joined in the waterworks.
As it turns out the Griffon Foreign Legion is incredibly unpopular among the ranks of Griffon military and griffons are sent here if they make their supervisor super mad. When I asked what the problem was the interrogators were happy to answer any question I had just to spite the Imperial Legion in case I really was a spy. So, things are like this - Griffons DESPISE outsiders, Foreign Legion EMPLOYS outsiders. Not much more needs to be said.
Despite all that the institution still stands because it helps evaluate the (undoubtedly much inferior) combat skill of the enemy and understand their thinking. It also serves as a great place to send those members of the standard Legion who failed their duty or are undesirable for other reason as mentioned previously.
My only reason to care is that I'm stuck here now. My guess that we're in the middle of a wasteland was correct as I was told that this place recieves fresh supplies only once a month via a caravan. As my usual luck goes, it left about three days ago.
When the completely pointless interrogation was over I got a room to myself, the directions to where I could procure cleaning equipment, and instructions to simply mop the floors in the fortress hallways at night. It's Canterlot all over again and, honestly, I'm at least a little happy to be in a familiar situation despite it slowing down my ultimate objective of returning home.
Right now I'm passing out in my room. It's never been more noticeable than now how much weaker I am than I used to be and it made me think. The transformation isn't at fault here, I guess. If my alicorn form was what ponies consider normal then I shouldn't have this much trouble even after wandering the desert, the endurance and natural regeneration should see to that. My aching muscles and painful slowness of every movement tell me something is as it should not be. Two things come to mind - either Harmony's transformation relied on my memories in more than just appearance and I really let myself go and got too reliant on divine power to carry me OR there's something big I don't yet understand about my new body.
The unfortunate answer is probably both. Let's focus on the first thing then - I'm weak, slow, and unused to my size, shape, and balance. That needs to be fixed as soon as possible.
Right after I...
Mistake here. Blaze has just passed out. I think we deserve a little rest. Also, embarrassing fact, Blaze prefers being a janitor rather than a temporary recruit because he hates hurting ponies. Perhaps he shouldn't think of his job less as punching and more as forceful nose booping.
[End Entry]
Is it wrong that the most interesting thing to me is the concept of a bucket with a sieve on top which filters the sandy water into something clean-ish? Well, if there ever was a proof that I have no ambitions whatsoever this is it. It's night, the fortress heating is not bad at all, and I'm mopping the floors in complete silence.
*Squish squelch*
It reminds me of my first days in Canterlot sooooo much. All that remains is for Chokey to come to my room and start bugging me about some small nonsense and possibly whining about how unsatisfactory her last night's bedwarmer was.
"Good times," I smile to the darkness and push a complex tray with an electric light holding most of my cleaning supplies to a new area.
The fortress is nothing special - a standard square outpost with high walls and a turret in each corner. Half of the walled-off space is taken by the inner courtyard where recruits train and various utility sheds stand while the other half is the main building itself, tall, menacing, and square again. This place must have some pretty bad feng-shui or whatever the weird pony in Canterlot called it.
The good thing is that my temporary job is more annoying than difficult but despite that I'm still exhausted when I'm done right as the new day dawns on the horizon. Grab the mop, swab the floor, slam it into the water bucket, repeat until the water is more sand than fluid, put the sieve on, pour the remaining water into the second bucket, refill the clean one, repeat until all four floors of the building are done. Simple, mechanical, physical, exhausting.
I've never been a morning pony and I don't think I recall ever waking up early enough to see the sun slowly rise over the desert and let its golden beams flow over the dunes. As exhausted as I am after a night shift I put the supplies away and walk out to the courtyard. Dry wind sweeps through my mane and few strands of bronze from my coat flow away with it. The sounds of a new day starting come from behind me as the fortress gradually wakes up. The sentries guarding the outer walls walk around me with hazy eyes, ready to drop down for now, and new sets of guards walk up to the crenellations.
Just another day in the desert.
"Hey, Frostfire!" a familiar voice says firmly behind me, "Good you're not sleeping yet, I'd hate to have to waste cold water on you!"
A sand-colored griffon who briefed me about my job after the interrogation grins wickedly when he sees what has to be my half-asleep face. His name is Hamilton and is of somewhat high status in this place. The Legions of griffon army have some strange rankings and I'm not sure where exactly he would rank against an Equestrian soldier but I'm sure he's somewhere on the top.
"What's going on?"
"Get to the storage shed and bring the weapon crates. The training starts in ten."
I could say that's not my job but I have enough experience to know that the only answer I'd get would be that my job is to do whatever Hamilton tells me.
*Sigh.*
I plod towards a small square building with wooden door secured by a padlock. Thankfully, my keyring offers the necessary key so I don't have to make myself an ass in front of the griffon asking for it. A light switch next to the door reveals crates upon crates of equipment none of which is what Canterlot guard would consider training.
Either the Foreign Legion has some really impressive doctors or they just don't care about having crippled soldiers around because I'm absolutely sure that if somepony gave these weapons to fresh recruits back at home the limb count wouldn't remain head count times four for very long.
Well, at least they are clean and so sharp that any cut would be easy to stitch.
"Crap," I mumble as my telekinetic grip slips and fails competely. I'm too worn out.
Mistake, little help?
No. Energy. Whatsoever. Need rest. Oh, I know! YOU CAN DO IT, BUDDY! You're the champ!
The heck was that?
Morale boost?
Yea... those don't work on me. So, nothing?
Sorry, I can only watch.
*Siiiiiigh.*
With no other choice, I walk around the nearest crate and start pushing.
Sure wish I was an earthpony now. Much better than an alicorn who is weaker than one.
When several crates of weapons and armor are out on the training field Hamilton stops me and waves me off.
"Now go away and don't bother the soldiers."
I ponder going to bed but the sun and my now flowing blood, plus a tiny bit of curiosity at the practice, keep me from leaving and make me watch the figures of various shapes and sizes do standard physical exercises and match against each other.
In all honesty, I'm shocked when a black shape with holes in his hooves walks without any fear between several minotaurs, a majority of various kinds of ponies, and most of all - griffons. The Foreign Legion apparently doesn't harbor the usual griffon xenophobia and while the griffons look at the others in a not exactly friendly fashion there isn't the hostile atmosphere I would expect.
Difference one has already been noted - the soldiers use real weapons for practice. Difference two makes my eyes bulge - they are doing their standard exercises in full armor and, according to the bags hanging on various parts of their body depending on species, carrying a full set of wasteland survival supplies. Difference three - the Legion apparently focuses more on physical exercises than technique and skill.
Makes sense. Cromach was crazy tough and strong even for a soldier, especially when your only experience with soldiers were Royal Guards. He wasn't the best fighter though.
True.
After about an hour of me making observations and debating whether to go to sleep or not the practice is over and the mixed groups start to disperse. Unfortunately, I probably should have gone to bed as Hamilton's grin tells me who's going to be putting the equipment back.
"Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap," I hum to myself.
"You're not getting any overtime for this, Frosty," he chuckles.
"Peck me, catbird," I lean against the first crate and ineffectively push against it.
"Perhaps you should join the training as well, weakling. Might make a griffon out of you one day."
No more species switching, please. I'm happy I don't bark some days.
"Tooooooo tireeeeeed for your craaaaaaaaap," I groan, pushing the defiant crate, running purely on willpower.
One down, five to go.
Hamilton apparently got bored with me because he walked away as I was wobbling back from the equipment shed.
"Mooooooooooooove!" I grunt.
The crate flies up.
"Good box! Now off to the shed with you," I wave and point.
I blink.
My eyes bulge.
I focus.
More bulging, not just of the eyes.
"Eeeeeerm."
Holy cleansing flames of our wings!
Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?
The crate is being effortlessly held by a cream-colored minotaur female at a head height for me. Watching her stride to the shed and back, I realize my first glance was correct.
Holy tits.
Literally.
Work brain, work! She's coming. Mouth, close! Mistake, HELP!
Diverting blood flow back to the head. Cute kittens, freezing water, something not sexy, anything.
So, you're broken too.
Soooo biiiig.
She's here. She's gonna get mad. She's gonna hit me. I'm an idiot I'manidiotidiotidiot.
"SORRY!" I yelp, shaking all over.
The minotaur is naked aside from a loincloth which is, logically, very useful here in the desert. The soft fur of her upper body ripples as she raises her hand and...
...pats my head?
"I'm used to that. You ponies and griffons react the same every time," she smiles as I lean back, still surprised I get to keep all my teeth.
My brain restarts.
I've been among the minotaurs for long enough to know about their physique but during my stay with Darkhorn I haven't seen a female minotaur naked. Granted, at the time I had very different things on my mind so only now one BIG difference sinks in, two differences.
Mares have their fine beauty points - soft mane, lean frame, firm rumps, red eyes, bat wings, short, carpet-like, black coat...
...no, that's just Chokey.
Anyway, even when pregnant, as I've seen in some magazines for lonely souls like me, mares' point of sexiness have never been breasts. No, not even the legendary milkmare from Trottingham. Minotaurs, on the other hoof, are a bit more endowed.
They're the size of our head!
I believe Mistake overexaggerates... and agrees. Her calmness and discipline as she picks another crate up and carries it off help me focus again. With all my remaining power I resume my work and both of us finish the job in no time. When we're done I cough nervously and collect myself.
"I apologize, it was rude of me to stare... even if it was... understandable. That was a really bad complim-UMF!"
My head is in a marshmellow heaven. Regrettably, only for a while.
"I said not to worry about it. My name is Rock Candy by the way."
"Bl- Frostfire."
"You're still staring."
"I'm not, I'm respectfully admiring all your fine points."
"Especially these two," she rubs her chest and two nipples harden right in front of my muzzle.
*POMF!*
My face meets the hard ground.
"Gnnn, lost balance thank to these damn things. I-"
She picks me up. She me-damn picks me up as if I was a feather! With her hands under my front legs I enjoy the hug. There is no strength left in me so I just ease myself and lay my muzzle on her shoulder. My wings slowly go limp, not even folding like they should but just hanging like drapes. Sun warms me up from behind. It's nothing compared to the warm softness of Rock Candy though.
"Better?" she asks.
"Thank you, miss," I push her away, "I'll try to control myself better next time."
"Oh, next time?" she grins.
"I'll be mopping this place every night this month, milady," I tip an imaginary hat.
"Well, I'll be here for two more years so, you know, who's got it worse?"
The shadow king, the god of darkness, my evil doppleganger, the avatar of doomsday. Who's got it worse?
"I'll be happy to lend an ear anytime... starting tomorrow. I'm exhausted. Thank you for the help, miss."
"Candy or Rocky, both are fine."
Smiling and bowing my head, I hobble my way back to the fortress. Maybe... just maybe something HAS changed. Maybe deep down I'm not just the awkward colt who ran away from home anymore.
Maybe my return to Canterlot won't be as pointless as I think it will. I'd never admit it to Mistake but... let's just say that no matter what I said about fixing things I still believe that sometimes it's just too late and all you can do is cut your losses and start over.