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Chapter 1: Five heroes walk into a diner…5,598 words
Chapter 2: Exposition8,167 words

Chapter 2: Exposition

Fallout Equestria: Natural 20

Written by: TheBobulator, Tofu, SwimmingEagle, Tonto the Trotter, and Adder1

Chapter 2: Exposition

It’s been a hundred and twenty years since the megaspells dropped. Luckily for you, all your ancestors managed to get into the Stable that you all currently live in. All five of you are currently residents of Stable Eighty-One. Growing up, all of you quickly became close friends with each other. But now we move on to the present. The water crystal of your s-

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“Nope!” Frost objected, slamming his hooves on the table. “I’m using my veto card.”

Mach groaned and slammed his head on the table. “Oh, COME ON! It’s all the time with this guy! Please, just let us play a campaign for at least an hour without an objection from you.”

“I gotta admit, the premise is a bit overused,” Frosty admitted. “X to veto.”

From his side of the table, Inkwell groaned. “Looks like I’m going to have to veto this too. Sorry, Understudy, but I think you can do better than that.”

“Aww.” Riptide paused to take a sip of his orange juice. “I thought it was okay.”

“Fine, fine. Uhh... let me come up with something. Hold on, hold on. I’ve got another starting scenario in here somewhere. What’s wrong with the classic start? It’s the closest to the original movie and almost everypony uses it!” Understudy explained.

“I don’t like it,” Frost grunts. “Too generic.”

“Okay, here’s a different scenario.”

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Our story— our new and improved story, begins in the town of Plenty, somewhere between Here and There. It’s your run-of-the-mill Wasteland town- one drinking well, a militia armed to its ears, four bars, the local stockade, a bazaar, a fully-functional flak cannon, population seventy-four, and probably the lowest crime rate in the region. But that’s enough of that. We focus on the better-known bar in town: the Thug Tug. For the past few days, a peculiar advertisement has been posted on the unofficial town bulletin board that was the front wall of the bar.

Everypony make a perception check.

The air filled with the tinkle of magic and the rattle of dice in hooves.

A burnt orange stallion trotted up to the bar, the flier clearly calling his name. He tilted his head back and finished off the Sparkle~Cola in his mouth. Quickly, he tucked the bottle away in one of his saddlebags and scratched his patchy, short, ash-gray mane. Here and there, some of his fur similarly hadn’t fully grown in, apart from a few places where his burn scars prevented it.

He took a furtive glance left and right and, satisfied with his surroundings, tore down a poster featuring a stallion that suspiciously looked a lot like him, except with more fur in general. He scratched at his shoulder, thankful that he’d swapped his old outfit for some slightly more protective armored barding.

“I got a twelve, plus one for Int makes thirteen.”

Right next to the blank space where a wanted poster once hung, somepony had tacked on an ad looking for ‘experienced recovery experts.’ Charcoal skimmed the next few lines, one of which promised risk. Risk meant adventure, and adventure meant going somewhere, and going somewhere meant burning things. Burning things meant fun! He dashed on inside, looking for this ‘Gray’ for specifics on what to burn.

A griffon of decidedly average features, Kurtis Warhawk sported the usual tawny-brown fur from the shoulders back with snowy-white feathers covering his upper half. Olive-green markings surrounded his eyes and the tips of the feathers of the mohawk-styled plume atop his head, and he was protected by combat armor of griffon design.

Perhaps his most distinguishing feature was not a part of him but rather the weapon which he carried with him- a fifty-caliber heavy machine gun rested across his back, customized with a carry handle just above the barrel in order to allow the griffon to wield the weapon in both claws as well as a paint job featuring an open shark's mouth on either side of the receiver.

“This is an eleven.”

“So?” Understudy asked.

“That’s impossible- I only roll twenties.”

“Would you just shut up and go, already?”

Kurtis spotted the collection of fliers and notes attached in their own various ways to the wall. As is the life of a mercenary, promises of caps at little to no risk were jobs that couldn’t be passed up. He ignored the posts that asked for locating somepony, collecting ten radscorpion tails, and asking for a trade. Instead, his eyes lit up at one titled in bold text ‘high reward job’ and under it in slightly smaller font, ‘ask for Gray.’ Without further ado and caps in mind, he headed on in to find this ‘Gray’.

Shortly after, an equine of some sort approached the bulletin board. He- at least he seemed to be a “he”- wore a ragged set of barding made of a mix of denim and leather that completely covered his form. It was dyed black with splotches where it had faded, and a multitude of utility pouches and belts ringed his form. A cowl rose up to obscure his head, his tail was hidden beneath the folds of his barding- even his hooves were covered by wraps of hide and leather (or were they paws and claws?). If one was to look closer and peek under the cowl, one would see the glint of glass, the sheen of greasy leather, and the coarse shine of tarnished brass- a mask. Hoarse, almost strangled breaths hissed from it.

“Do I even need to roll the dice?”

Understudy sighed. “Yes. Yes you do.”

“I’m taking ten.”

“That’s no fun.”

The masked, indeterminate figure stared at the flier for a long time before quietly, almost soundlessly striding off into the Thug’s Tug.

A massive burly minotaur stomped up to the doorway of the bar. As far as his size was concerned, Beefsteak McRagepecs certainly lived up to his name. He leaned on the large end of the scale in every sense of the word, except his slightly less-than-average horns. Dark-blue fur poked out of the top of his heavily dented metal armor. The massive beast-man snorted, causing his large brass septum piercing to swing back and forth. His armor literally bulged at the waist and his equally giant goat legs were similarly armored, ending with spikes on his hooves.

However, the reason he was drawing so much attention was because of the gore-soaked Super Sledge strapped to his giant back. It showed signs of heavy use, down to the ichor wetly splattering to the ground in his path. It was either that, or the eye-searingly green party hat precariously balanced on his head. A small sawn-off shotgun dangled from his belt, comically small compared to his massive bulk. Reaching out with a gauntleted hand, he ripped the flyer right off the wall and brought it up to his beady eyes.

“Hey, I got a six!”

“Intelligence modifier. You actually got a three,” Understudy corrected.

“Aww. Curse you, brain! And you, small plastic shapes!”

Beefsteak had never been a minotaur of words. All of the little fancy black squiggles didn’t mean anything when excessive force was applied to them. However, he’d made sure that he knew the important ones: “Wanted”, “kill”, and “caps.” He didn’t see any of these words on the note and was about to punch it back to the wall until somepony nudged his inner calf.

A short unicorn mare with a singular blonde braid for a mane over her right shoulder sauntered up to the wall by pushing her way under the minotaur’s massive legs. Her onyx coat blended quite well with her attire- a raiment of imitation chainmail that she had salvaged from a costume shop. She had the perpetual air of excitement about her, something that came with her job description.

Clerics were a sight few and far between in the Wasteland, which was why Serenity carried around a short makeshift sword built from a lawnmower blade and plenty of duct tape, now resting across her mail-armored shoulders. Her hip was adorned with an ornate beer stein that matched her cutie-mark almost exactly, right down to the brass embellishments.

“Whoops. It rolled off th- oh, thanks... uh, that’s an eighteen.”

“What’s it say?” Serenity asked the hulking minotaur above her.

Beefsteak grunted negatively and shrugged.

The cleric leaped up and snatched the piece of paper right out of Beefsteak’s hand.

Serenity cleared her throat. “Searching for experienced recovery specialists. High-risk, high-reward job available. Ask for Gray.”

Beefsteak grunted neutrally.

Unmentioned to the minotaur, Serenity noted that the flier was written on some very high-quality paper in impossibly neat writing. On the back of the note was an advertisement for some kind of ‘gentlepony’s club’ in a faraway place that she hadn’t heard of. She shrugged and gave it back to him.

He stared at the pamphlet for a few more seconds before casually slamming it back into the wall, seemingly shaking the very foundation of the building. Serenity scooted around Beefsteak’s other leg to get to the door of the Thug Tug and quickly slipped inside, not even waiting for him to squeeze himself through the doorway after her. At least he made sure to take his favorite cap off first before entering. Hopefully nopony would notice the horn-shaped chunks missing from the top edge of the door frame.

The five of you are now inside the Thug Tug. It’s not a very well-built establishment, nor is it close to being the nicest bar any of you have been in. The walls are visibly spotted with rot and grime- or at least the parts of it that aren’t covered in graffiti and posters. Tables are haphazardly placed all over the floor, some of which are accompanied by chairs. The bar is right across from the door.

“I search for potential gray-like patrons!” Riptide chirped.

Perception check.

“Damn it, I got a five,” Riptide groaned.

With nopony in the crowd especially standing out from a cursory scan, Serenity simply shrugged and pranced off to explore the bar, leaving her bodyguard staring at the wall of posters and requests. She began scanning through every single alcoholic drink they had available.

Frosty immediately followed up with “I acquire liquids.”

Beefsteak glanced around, ignoring the multitude of stares in his direction. He carefully stomped over to the bar and slammed a giant fist into the cracked wood paneling of the bartop. The bartender, a grizzled-looking earth pony flinched and fumbled the mug he was cleaning.

“I require cider,” the minotaur casually demanded.

The bartender quickly recovered from his momentary slip-up and hastily filled the mug he was holding with the contents of the cider keg behind him. “H-Here you go, mister,” he stammered, sliding the mug over the counter.

Beefsteak snatched the pitifully small mug off the worn counter. He stood and bumped his horns against the ceiling, which also reminded him to mind his head and pay the tiny drink pony for the tiny drink with their tiny money. He removed a few caps, idly deciding that it was enough to pay for the cider, and tossed them onto the counter before going to find where his charge had scampered off to again.

“I scan for this ‘Gray’ persona,” Frost stated, crossing his forelegs.

Perception check.

“I’ll have to roll for this, won’t I?”

Yes, you do.

“Fine.” Dice rattled on the table. “Twenty. Told you I didn’t need to roll.”

The masked equine scanned the room, the glint of glass betraying his gaze from behind his hood. His eyes settled on a particular patron, and he approached with a brisk, even stride and sat down nearby. No muss, no fuss, no chatter, no clatter- strictly business.

Click, snap, click, snap. Charcoal played with his silver lighter. Each time he opened it, a burst of blue or yellow flames would erupt. Click, snap, click, snap.

“I examine the room for flammable materials,” said Inkwell.

Make a perception check.

“Really, guys? I fail to see how perception is going to change my character’s opinion on the flammability of something.”

A hoof conked him on the back on the head. “Just roll the dice!”

“Fine…”

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The die rolls off the table, but a unicorn’s glowing aura catches it and throws it back onto the game board before it hits the ground.

“Boo, I call foul play. He totally cheated to give himself a higher score.”

Mach threw his hooves in the air and pointed a hoof accusingly at the group. “Here we go again! You're always accusing me of cheating!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you vain narcissist,” Frosty sighed. “It wasn’t even your roll. Although, I have to say... your reaction is a little bit telling. Got something you want to get off your chest there, big guy?”

“Hey, I can't help being good at rolling the dice! It's all in the fetlock, y'know," he added pointedly, raising a leery eyebrow at Frosty. “Know what I’m sayin’?”

Unfortunately, the effect was lost on the mare since she was now muzzle-deep in her mug trying to lap up the last bits of syrup. “Don’t strain yourself,” Frosty distractedly muttered, her voice slightly echoing.

“I said—Oh, never mind,” Mach sighed, realizing he’d never get through to Frosty while she was in hot pursuit of the last dregs of cherry flavoring before switching tactics. “Oh hey, look! Somepony dropped a cherry on the table!”

Without looking up, Frosty replied, “Literally nopony else at this table has ordered anything cherry-related. I’d know. Stop digging your hole deeper and get back to the game.”

Understudy sighed and dismissively waved his hooves. “I’ll let it go this time, but that’s your one gimme for the game. Cocked and floor die are automatic re-rolls, no matter what.”

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Charcoal examines the room and happens to notice an unattended bottle of whiskey. He quickly whisks it away and hides it in his saddlebag where no one would even think of looking.

After a bit of asking around, all of you find yourselves at the same table. Before you sits a dusty blue stallion. His eyes hide behind a pair of oversized sunglasses and his light-blue mane is somewhat messily tucked into a poorly-fitted fedora. As disheveled as he looks, he’s wearing a full suit of well-maintained body armor complete with pre-war guard horseshoes. An equally shiny laser rifle is mounted on his battle saddle.

“Lady, gentlecolts, warmaster, and-” He stared at Beefsteak for a moment, “...minotaur. Thank you all for showing interest in Ambassador Shady Gray’s proposition.”

“This job better be worth all the gabbin’ and standin’ around,” Kurtis grunted.

Serenity shrugged. “I’m broke. I could use a few caps.”

“Me and Mr. Yellow want an exciting job, and this better be an EXCITING JOB!” Charcoal yelled.

“Hungry,” Beefsteak snorted.

The masked equine said nothing.

The stallion inwardly groaned, “The ambassador anticipated as such. Luckily for you, the task shouldn’t be very difficult for Wastelanders of your caliber. Fortunately for you, I can already answer one of your questions.” He pulled out a large pouch of caps.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Serenity asked, giving the pouch and appraising poke.

“I believe it’s an advance payment. I really wasn’t expecting that, to be honest,” Kurtis murmured, briefly grimacing in surprise.

Beefsteak leaned down and sniffed at the bag. “How much?”

“However much it is, I can guarantee it ain’t gonna be enough,” Kurtis grumbled.

“I pick up the bag and look inside.” Riptide said, having Serenity do just that.

Serenity poured the contents out of the bag for everyone to see. She begins the task of dividing the large amount of caps into more manageable stacks. By the looks of things, it’s about a hundred caps for each of you. Not a huge amount, but it’s enough to pique your interests. The-

“A hundred caps is chump change, Understudy!” Mach nagged insistently. “What kind of self-respecting griffon mercenary wets himself over a hundred caps? My interest isn’t piqued at all!”

“Shut up. It is, for the purpose of the plot.”

“Fine. Killjoy.” Mach returned to nursing his juice box.

As I was saying, the stallion grins at the five of you.

“That’s a mere taste of the riches Ambassador Gray can offer- provided my trust in you is not misplaced. Do we have a deal?” He looked at each of them one by one. “I’ve got a caravan to catch in ten minutes. Make up your minds quick, yeah?” .

“Gentlecolts, yea or nay?” Serenity asked her compatriots.

There was a round of varying noises of agreement from the gathered adventurers.

“The name’s Baby Blue. I work for Ambassador Gray’s pony-relations department.”

Now is a good time to ask questions. One or two questions each.

“What are we looking for and where are we going?” Serenity asked.

Baby Blue clicked his tongue. “Of course. There’s a dormant volcano called Mount Moon to the southern edge of the mountain range. Inside that volcano there should be a large rectangular steel box that has been stashed there. That’s the package.”

“What is there to smash?” Beefsteak rumbled.

“A clan of raiders take residence at the base of the volcano,” Baby Blue simply replied. “They’re aggressive, but I couldn’t care less about what you do to them.”

Kurtis tapped the table. “Timetable. When does this delivery expire?”

“You have-”

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“Wait, we’re still good up to the end of the month, right?” Understudy asked, breaking character. “None of you have anything lined up on weekends, right?”

“I have nothing planned really,” Riptide chuckled. “Besides this, I’ve got to do movie marathons. Character research... yeah.” Riptide looks away from the group for a moment nodding to himself.

Frosty arched an eyebrow at the seapony. “Research. Right. Anyway, I’m probably free. Gimme a ring if I don’t show, because that means I’ve either died or forgotten.”

“I might have to shuffle around a date or fifteen, and I’ve got a court date to get a restraining order on a crazy stalker mare, but I can probably make time between shoots for this,” Mach said with a massive grin as he leaned back in his seat. “Oh the woes of being hotter than the surface of the sun.”

“Sure, if I can manage to stay sober after the inevitable rough chapters,” Frost said with a shrug, then glared as Mach snorted.

“I’ll be able to make it, so long as I don’t pass out from hypothermia on set or heatstroke in this costume,” Inkwell grumbled. “The production team goes way too far to make my story more realistic.”

“I’ll take that myriad of ambiguous answers as a yes,” Understudy said, squinting at the group.

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“-about a two and a half weeks. More than enough time for you to get everything done.” Baby Blue calmly replied.

There was a loud crunch; the sound of a chair giving away underneath a particularly large minotaur. “Where do we take little box to?” Beefsteak rumbled, shifting to a kneeling stance and pointedly ignoring the shattered bits of furniture under him.

“Return here when you have the package,” Baby Blue calmly replied. “One of the ambassador’s couriers will be waiting to complete the delivery. He will also provide your payment in full.”

Charcoal raised his hoof. “How much on completion?”

Anticipating the question, Baby Blue immediately responded, “How does five thousand caps each sound?”.

“I want to intimidate him to give us more caps.” Frosty demanded.

Make a speech check. Ye be warned- there’s only a very small chance you’ll be able to pull it off. I’ll still let you do it, though.

“Seventeen! Yeah, eat that!”

Beefsteak placed one of his hands on the shotgun tied to his waist. “Little pony gives us more money. My service is not cheap.”

“Hoofsies off, buddy.” Baby Blue made a curt motion past Beefsteak. “Don’t even try. Boys? Change this thing’s mind, would you?”

A pair of massive orange blobs crunched forward, shedding cheesy dust with every shuddering movement. Everyone in the room, patrons included, stared in stunned awe.

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“Damn it, you got cheesy poofs on the board!” Understudy shooed the offending snacks off the board.

Mach leaned over the board and noisily sucked them up. “Oop, waip, Ah got it,” he offered apologetically. “Dere. Be’er?” He even went as far as dusting off the bits of cheesy dust with his wing.

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Serenity, along with the table, Baby Blue, and most of the scenery inside the bar abruptly flew across the room and smashed into the far wall.

“I regret everything!” Charcoal found himself screaming, being thrown the complete opposite way a second later.

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“And now he’s made it worse,” Frost sighed, clapping. “Congratulations. Great job.”

“Or did I?” the blood red stallion smugly said.

“I think some flew in my eyes,” Riptide whined, blinking rapidly.

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The giant cheese poofs from Tartarus disappeared and everything in the bar reappeared back where they had been a moment ago. Instead, two burly ponies wearing loose-fitting jackets and flak jackets underneath appeared behind Beefsteak. One hefted his battle-saddle mounted zebra assault rifle, the other menacingly pointing his light machine gun at the minotaur.

Beefsteak eyed the weapons aimed at him and reconsidered his demand, replacing his hand on the table away from his shotgun. “Hrmph.”

Obviously, the Ambassador’s aide is not willing to pay you extra.

“What? I got a seventeen!” Frosty angrily demanded.

You needed a twenty. Not to mention he carries no more than fifteen caps on his body at all times for this specific reason.

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Frosty angrily took a sip from her coffee. “Hmph.”

“Shoulda let me roll,” Mach teased playfully, drawing out the last word.

“Shut up! You didn’t even roll a twenty for your perception check!”

“Wind took the dice.”

“What wind? WE’RE INDOORS!”

“Ceiling fan,” Mach said flatly.

Even though she knew better, Frosty looked up anyway. “WHAT FAN?”

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Kurtis raised a claw and inquired, “If we work for you, do you provide dental?”

Baby Blue only responded with a withering glare that could peel paint. And gryphons.

“Are we buying our own ammo, or do we get some extra caps to take the edge off?” Kurtis asked, hooking a clawed thumb at the heavy machine gun on his back. “Fifty-cal rounds don’t come cheap.”

“You expect me to believe that you carry around an empty gun?” Baby Blue huffed. “Get your own. You all look like skilled mercenaries, so I’m sure you can provide for yourself.”

The masked equine spoke at last, inquiring in a surprisingly soft, quiet tone that barely filtered past the brass and leather, “Has anyone else currently or previously been hired for this job?”

Baby Blue jumped slightly. “Gah, it speaks. Ahem. Not this job, no. Otherwise, I’d recommend that you keep this business your business.”

“Very well,” the masked figure said. “Last question for me- what exactly is in the package?”

“None of your business.” He noticed Baby Blue nervously shift in his seat. “Any more questions, huh?”

The masked figure merely gave a tiny shake of his head and fell silent once more.

All questions have been asked. Baby Blue departs, leaving behind his empty cup and the slip of paper with a few key details written on it.

“Well, now what?” Charcoal asked.

“We drink!” Serenity called out. “Bartender, a round of your finest ale!”

Dutifully, the scraggly old bartender brought forth several mismatched mugs filled with some very undesirable-looking murky liquid. Caps exchanged hooves and satisfied, the bartender left. All the adventurers stared at their respective drinks for a moment, each waiting for another to hazard a sip.

“Aw, sick…” Kurtis warily eyed the mixture roiling in his mug.

“I think it just blinked at me.” Charcoal blinked at the mug in his hoof, then briefly considered whether Mister Yellow would like the ‘drink’ instead. “Five caps to the first one to take a drink.”

“Lehaim!” Serenity took an experimental quaff. She smacked her lips together, rolling the taste in her mouth. Finally she nodded and smiled to the rest of the group. “It’s stout and has a coarse finish. I also detect a splash of… ten-doubleya-two motor oil.” She continued to drink until the metallic sediment of the drink is all that remained of what she ordered. “Pay up, by the way.” She smiled, stretching out her hoof.

With a reluctant groan, Charcoal searched for some caps that weren’t melted and tossed them at the mare.

Beefsteak cautiously swirled the mixture in his mug, only stopping to pluck a particularly large and spiky insect leg out of the liquid. In one smooth motion, he downed the entire contents of the mug and slammed it back onto the table, reducing the container to tinder.

“Tastes like lamp oil and grease,” Beefsteak wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand and plucked one of the larger splinters off the table to use as a toothpick. “Reminds me of home.”

After spending the evening celebrating your recent collective employment, the more sensible of you decide that it’s time to get some sleep in order to get a head start on the next day. After all, you have a volcano to travel to.

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“Wait, is that all of day one?” Riptide exclaimed. “Booo-ring.”

“Yeah. That’s not all for this session though.” Understudy paused to take a sip from his drink. “Just gotta get all the brilliant exposition out of the way. You know the drill.”

Riptide sighed. “Oh good, I was scared for a moment that this was about to become the most boring gaming session of all time.”

“Of.” Frost started.

“ALL.” Inkwell added.

“Aww, I’m out of coffee.” Frosty whined, tilting her mug back for the last few drops.

Frost began to slowly applaud. “And another moment ruined by the illustrious Frosty Winds. Ah, whatever...”

Frosty raised her mug in the air and waved it around. “Placeholder! I require another!”

“This is when you throw the mug,” Mach teased.

The mare stared at her drink container, then at him. “But this is my favorite coffee mug.”

“ANYWAY! Back to the game.”

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After a good night’s sleep, the five of you get together in front of the Thug Tug bright and early. From here on, it’s up to you on what to do. Last minute shopping, maybe pick up some quests from the locals, all that good stuff.

“I check the merchants for any better weapons.” Frosty announced.

Without even bothering to check whether Serenity was okay with it, Beefsteak picked her up by the waist and slung her under his arm. “I need things,” he simply rumbled.

“Hey! I didn’t agree with anything! We go where I want to, not vice versa, big guy!” The little cleric demanded, flailing her limbs in desperation.

The bodyguard and his cleric both headed for what passed as a market in this town— more of a bazaar, really. Beefsteak stood between several stalls of goods and weapons, all advertising their less-than-exemplary wares and sighed. Everypony here sold little guns, not real weapons for strong warriors like he was. “I no longer need things,” he sighed and turned around, ignoring the renewed flailing of Serenity under his arm.

“What if I need things?!” Serenity beat at her bodyguard’s arm.

Beefsteak paused. “Did you need things?”

The mare abruptly stopped struggling. “Uh. Turn us around again. I didn’t really get a good look.”

The minotaur did exactly that and allowed her to look around.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem like there’s anything cool here. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“I already used all our grenades,” Beefsteak patted himself down, just in case there was still one stuck to his armor somewhere.

Serenity sighed and patted Beefsteak’s arm. “Figure of speech, big guy. One day you’ll figure it out.”

In the meantime, the masked, cloaked equine remained hovering just outside the Thug Tug. A dusty-looking brown pegasus eyed him warily. “You, uh, don’t talk much, do you?”

The figure merely gave a tiny shake of his head in reply.

“... weirdo,” the pegasus murmured.

You notice a caravan company at the edge of the town, advertising safe passage and cheap wares. Several heavily armed bodyguards surround merchants as they make final preparations. There are currently two caravans milling about by the gate. There seems to be a caravan leader leaning against the side of one of the wagons.

“Maybe we can buy passage from these clever folk,” Serenity spoke up. “I’ll talk to the merchants.” She trotted her way up to the company of caravans. “Excuse me fine gentlepo-”

“We’re full up,” one of them grunted. “Buzz off... cultist.”

“Cultist?” Serenity whimpered. “But I’m part of an established religion...”

“Yeah, that turned out fine. How about I do some negotiating?” Frosty brightly suggested.

Unperturbed by the denial of service, Beefsteak placed a hand on his super sledge and spoke again in a much more threatening tone, “We require transportation.” When he didn’t get an immediate response, he decided to unsling his super sledge.

Seeing Beefsteak’s actions, Serenity asked, “Wait, what are you doing?”

The caravan leader remained steadfast, even with the vague threat of death. “No can do, guys. I know what you were asked to do and there’s no way that I’m going to bring you and your shit all the way out to Mount Moon. Buzz off, I’ve got other things to take care of.”

In a fit of rage, Beefsteak roared and swung his massive melee weapon at the merchant.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Serenity leapt onto one of the minotaur’s arms to stop him, to no avail.

A single twenty-sided die skipped across the table, only stopping after bouncing off a cheese puff. “Oh hey, I got a crit.” Frosty exclaimed just as brightly.

The only things that survived the minotaur’s devastating swing were the leader’s fancy boots, still with his hooves in them. Otherwise, the rest of him had turned into paste all over the far wall, the wagon, and all over the ground. Ironically, the viscera and gore spelled out “You make a compelling argument.”

Frost promptly facehoofed. “No more letting the minotaur do any negotiating. At all.”

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“Wait, didn’t your character do something like that in your show?” Riptide suddenly asked.

Frosty scratched her nose. “Maybe? I don’t actually remember anything I end up filming anymore. I end up doing a lot of stupid shit on camera that somehow makes it through post-prod. Then again, I haven’t slept in five days so that probably doesn’t help. Five days? What day is it?”

Everypony at the table blinked in surprise. “How are you not dead?” Frost finally asked.

“I can replace sleep with caffeine. At least this isn’t the time that I had thirty-plus ounces of Five Hour Power in one sitting. I think I ended up deep cleaning an entire studio. Heck, I thought I could read minds for a while.”

“Again, how are you not dead?” Frost repeated.

Completely ignoring him, Frosty continued, “Sure, maybe my pee was probably mostly blood and my pulse was so fast that one of my makeup mares thought that my heart stopped, but it’s not like I was using it anyway.”

With a note of concern in his voice, Mach asserted, “I think that kills you.”

“No it doesn’t. Anyway, the whole series was supposed to be super cereal and stuff, but I ruined five takes in the pilot episode with reckless comedy. The Prod ran with it, and ratings after that looked pretty good to the focus group, so they basically let me do whatever I want- within reason.” Frosty smugly tossed her mane. “That’s how I roll.”

“Well, you’re clearly doing something right,” Mach sighed. “Serious apparently doesn’t draw in the bits as well as delightful romps do.”

“You obviously don’t understand the meaning of drama,” Frost huffed.

“Bah, I’m only at nine episodes and I have a cult following,” Inkwell teased, passing Understudy his empty drink for a refill. “You all try too hard.”

_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_

One of the nearby bodyguards snapped out of his stunned silence. “He killed Generic Caravaneer Three! Get ‘im, boys!”

“Excuse me?” Charcoal asked.

“Whoops, wasn’t paying attention.”

“He killed Shelving Unit!” The same bodyguard yelled. “Get ‘im boys!”

“Good job, Beefy- you’ve managed to instantly cause the entire town to hate us. Time to go!” Serenity started tugging on Beefsteak’s garments.

Beefsteak quickly slung his super sledge. “I negotiate aggressively. He refused to cooperate so I thought he needed a push.”

“Your little pushes are why we can't go to any bars anymore! OR the towns attached to them! We talked about this!”

The masked equine appeared to just stare at the exchange, letting out a deep sigh.

One of the nearby caravaneers loomed over him. “Hey, you three punks with them?”

“No,” the cloaked figure said simply and firmly.

Kurtis quipped, “Well, actually, we did just all just get hired by the same guy-” He was cut off by a glare from the masked figure, the glint of his glass lenses punctuating his point. The caravaneer glared at them as well, along with several of his compatriots. “...eheh.”

“See?” Frost grunted. “This is exactly why you need to have above-average intelligence to play characters with above-average intelligence.”

“... shut up,” Mach grunted.

The five of you are chased out of town by the surviving Caravan security personnel. As armed as you are, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to any of you— I see you opening your mouth over there, Riptide— to stick around. You probably won’t be able to come back here for a good long while. A few miles of sprinting and/or flying later, the goons have given up and are returning to town.

Not long after leaving town, you are ambushed by a group of raiders!

_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_

“Fucking hell, seriously? Two steps out of town and we’re already getting mugged,” Riptide bemoans. “Next thing you know dinosaurs are brought back to life but are now all invisible.”

Frosty blinked. “...what?”

“Anyway, it’s a gang of six raiders, mostly armed with clubs and small arms. The leader, a huge scarred burly earth pony, glares at you with extreme contempt. They look intimidating, but not so enough to cause a mass retreat of your party. They look like they could be easily taken care of.without too much effort. Roll for initiative!” Understudy declared.

Many dice clattered on the table. “I got a four.” Inkwell responded.

“Nineteen.” Frost immediately followed up.

“Aww. I got a seven.” Frosty groaned.

“Ten.” Riptide sighed.

“These dice are loaded,” Mach growled in outrage. “Five!? How did I roll a five?”

“Please don’t flip the table over again,” Frost groaned, burying his face in a hoof. “We’re all sick of you throwing tantrums when things don’t go your way. The last time this happened it took us forty minutes to set everything back up again.”

“Says Angsty McAngstypants.” Frosty chuckled into her coffee.

Understudy cleared his throat for attention. "Okay, turn order is as follows: Masky, Serenity, Beefsteak, Kurtis, and Charcoal. Now let’s get this combat underway before we get kicked out of here."

_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_

Before anypony could react, the Masked Felon twisted and punched his left foreleg forward, causing a hidden launcher to fire a crude bolt with a sharp hiss of air. With a thud and a sickening squelch, the bolt found itself into the right eye of the nearest raider. The raider howled in pain, but refused to die.

Disregarding the brutal impalement of one of their number, the raiders charged forward and engaged the five mercenaries in close combat. The leader yelled a coarse battle cry and unleashed a hail of bullets at the Masked Felon from his assault rifle. Every shot missed as the Masked Felon swiftly dodged out of the way.

Serenity was the first to charge into combat against the wasteland raiders, much to the annoyance of Beefsteak. He was still in the middle of unslinging his super sledge by the time she swung her beer stein at the raider with the resounding crack of bone breaking. It didn’t kill him outright, but it caused him to stagger and stumble.

“Cheers! Asshat.”

With an equally intimidating roar, Beefsteak finally freed his super sledge from the holster on his back and thundered forward, trampling the one raider that was foolishly trying to assault him and immediately charging the raider that Serenity had already slammed over the head. The hapless raider staggered to his hooves just in time to receive an underhand swing to the gut with Beefsteak’s super sledge. He flew into the air and crashed into the dirt a few feet away, his spine bending backward unnaturally.

“It’s out of the park! The crowd goes wild!” Beefsteak roared, pumping his fists in the air. “Oh YEAAAAH!”

With a click clack, the machine gun upon Kurtis’s back primed. Stinging death erupted from the barrel with a bass RATATAT. The raider immediately next to their leader exploded in gore. Her severed left foreleg struck the huge pony in the head.

Charcoal eyed the raider circling him, one hoof shoved in his pack of combustibles. His lighter was already in his mouth, ready to burn some cowardly scum. Mister Yellow would have to do with this one for the moment until something more challenging appeared. He produced the bottle that he had stolen from the bar earlier and quickly fashioned it into a very simple firebomb, tucking a rag into the top. Using his magic, he simultaneously lit the device and threw it at the closest raider, setting him ablaze for the moment.

The Masked Felon kept his focus on his initial target. A pinkish aura surrounded the bolt as it was dragged out… and promptly stabbed into the other eye, shoved in until there was a soft crack as it punched through the orbit and into the brain case.

“Hold on, pink?” Inkwell blurted.

Threateningly, Frost leaned forward in his seat. “...Is that a problem?”

Not looking for a fight, Inkwell threw his hooves into the air. “I’m not gonna judge.”

Out of the surviving raiders, one of them tried to take advantage of The Masked Felon’s inattention and attempted an attack of opportunity. With what could pass as either intuition, supernatural assistance, or skill, The Masked Felon simply sidestepped the raider’s clumsy swing.

Another raider fired his pistol in panic at Beefsteak and managed to land three shots in the minotaur’s lower leg.

“Ow! Seriously?” Beefsteak roared, mostly in annoyance rather than pain.

The raider that was still burning to a crisp, looked to his left and screamed. Then he looked to his right and screamed again. Finally, he set his eyes on Serenity and decided to scream one more time, charging her to—

Understudy started to rapidly flip through the rulebook.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Riptide asked.

“Just… looking up… a rule”

“What rule?”

Understudy continued to search through the rulebook and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Speak up!”

“Grappling rules in this edition.”

The entire table collectively gasps.

“Welp, we’re gonna be her for a whi—”

Victoriously, Understudy slammed his hoof over a specific spot on the page he was on— in a different rulebook than before. “Aha! Quick reference guide!”

The raider tackles Serenity, lighting her on fire too.

Riptide, roll to extinguish.

Dice clattered on the table. “Aaaaand 18!”

Serenity managed to keep the flaming raider’s flaming body off her and took no burn damage.

“Umm, can i see that quick reference guide?”

“Sure!” Understudy tossed the veritable tome filled with solely grappling rules to Riptide.

“Leesssseeee... okay ummm… Sacrifice throw?” Riptide suggested.

“Good choice! Combine your strength and endurance, divide by two and roll one D20.”

“Nat nineteen! Oh yeah! with Strength and… wow.”

“Right… comparing to the raider’s combat defense stat and his maneuver threshold.” Understudy began to roll more dice and do more mental math. “Rolling lower base stat. Twelve… Right! Now to compare terrain hardness, and scatter diagram… Rolling on severe damage chart… Wow indeed!”

“These are stupid rules,” Frosty lowly whispered to Mach, who nodded in agreement.

With a mighty scream, Serenity hoisted the raider up and in a classic Northern Lights suplex, smash his burning body into a stray rock, causing his head to split open like a ripe melon. The fire still burning his corpse cooked off the rest of his ammo, causing one D6 damage to everyone in a ten meter radius.

“And I haven’t even had a lager today! Who’s next!?”

“Too slow, too sloppy,” Kurtis sneered, bringing his machine gun to bear. “Heads down, people. Lemme show ya how it’s done--griffon style.” Kurtis hefted his machine gun. “Shit’s about to get mess-”

Beefsteak abruptly stood in front of the comparatively smaller griffon. “Whatcha think yer doin’?”

Kurtis tried to scoot around the massive minotaur. “What the fu- You make a better door than a window, Fathead! Get outta my way so I can handle business! Preferably before we all get shot to death, huh?”

“Hold on a sec, what happened to my turn?” Frosty asked.

“Shh, you’re after me,” Mach said dismissively.

“I thought I go before you.” Frosty protested, but Mach was already rolling his dice.

The roar of Kurtis’s machine gun drowned out Beefsteak’s qualms of turn order.

Before any of the bullets impacted or even had the chance to deal damage, everything froze in place. Raiders stopped in mid-dive, Serenity paused in mid-sprint, Kurtis stuck in mid-taunt, and Beefsteak with his massive arms crossed in dissatisfaction.

“Wait, Frosty does go next.” Understudy interjected.

At least Mach paused in mid-roll to exclaim, “Nuh-uh! ...Does she?”

“Yeah. It goes me, Riptide, Frosty, Mach, and then Inkwell. Not Riptide, Mach, then Frosty,” Frost grunted. “Pay attention for once, would you?”

Bullets reversed and whizzed back into Kurtis’s gun. Beefsteak smirked as he stepped forward instead to hand out his own brand of punishment.

The raider that Kurtis had aimed at had just enough time to sigh in relief before Beefsteak charged forward at him. With a victorious roar, he brought his super sledge up over his head and brought it down onto the raider. Awfully quick, the grime-streaked raider ducked out of the way and scuttled backward out of melee range.

“GET BACK HERE!” Beefsteak roared, trying to tug his oversized hammer out of the muck. “I gotta kill you into paste!”

“You should have just let me have the kill. You going first didn’t change anything anyway!” Kurtis taunted. “Now I’ve got to do this all over again.” He firmly planted his claws in the dirt and hefted his machine gun. “Watch and learn.”

The raider had enough time to fumble his sawn-off shotgun before a quick, precise burst of heavy caliber bullets shredded him. As an afterthought, Beefsteak stomped to the corpse and forcefully planted the head of his super sledge in it.

“What was that for? He’s dead.”

“He twitched.” Beefsteak matter-of-factly insisted.

The last two raiders looked like they were about to attack, but they took a very good look at the five still-standing adventurers before glancing back at their dead compatriots. In a strange turn of events that went completely against the average raider’s ability to exercise common sense, they bolted over the horizon, tails between their legs.

The mugging party has been defeated! Everypony gets fifty experience.

_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_

Silence followed. Finally, Mach flatly stated, “That was anticlimactic.”

“Hey, you’re the ones that scrapped my original opener. I had to throw something together.” Understudy. “That, and Placeholder has been giving me the ‘time to leave’ look for the past half-hour.”

Frost sighed. “Well, alright. Cleanup time it is, then.”

Everypony began to shuffle papers together, stack books, and replace game pieces in their respective boxes. Riptide was haphazardly tossing his pieces and counters into the same little container, which made Understudy pause in his cleanup.

“Hey, counters into the right boxes!”

“Excuse me for not having legs. I can’t really reach that far.”

“You have a horn, doofus,” Mach snorted, giving the bony appendage between the seapony’s eyes a casual flick. “Use it.”

“Ignore him. I got it, don’t worry.” Frosty started picking up the stray counters.

“Thanks, babe,” Riptide said with a smile and a wink.

The only reply he got back from the pegasus was a bemused smirk and a roll of her eyes, which was unnoticed by the others..

With everything packed up and sorted, Understudy levitated the boxes onto his back. “See you next week then?”

Inkwell rose and shuffled everypony’s empty drinking containers together to the center of the table. “Yup. Sounds good.”

Out of nowhere, High Tide appeared beside him and hurriedly chirped, “Oh, don’t bother yourself with those. Let me get those for you.” The assorted mugs and cartons were swept up by her magic as she began to use a rag to wipe down the table.

Likewise, Frost scooted out of his seat and stretched. “It’s been a great evening. I bid you good night, sirs and madams.” His gaze lingered on Frosty for a moment, then he remarked, “Somepony get Frosty back to her apartment. I think she might have passed out.”

Sure enough, the mare in question had passed out in her seat. At the moment, she was doing a good enough job on her own covering half the table in drool. High Tide was doing her best to clean around the comatose mare, but the ever-expanding lake of drool kept undoing her efforts.

“Oh, score!” Mach excitedly cried. “Now’s my chance! Time to win me some brownie points with the foxy lady!”

“If you try any funny stuff to that mare, we will have words.” Frost glared at the playcolt.

“Yeah!” Riptide defiantly added.

“What do I look like to you, a date-raper?”

Without any hesitation, Frost answered, “Yes.”

Mach’s ears flattened, and he gave Frost a level look before a smirk turned up the corner of his mouth. “Come on, it’s no fun if you can’t hear her squealing in pleasure at your every touch! Sheesh, give me some credit, at least.” Mach gently eased Frosty out of her seat and laid her across his back. “G’night, guys.”

“Should we gather for whiskey and cigars tomorrow night?” Frost asked the group.

“Never doubt it!” Riptide answered grinning mischievously.

“Whiskey and cigars, is that all you think about?” Inkwell chastised Frost as they both departed.

“Wait, somepony bring me my wheel-bucket! Don’t leave me here overnight!” Riptide belatedly yelled at the departing ponies. “I don’t want to drag myself to my trailer...”

Author's Note:

Thanks to Knighty and his broken code, the google docs import predictably didn't work as intended. I'm sure I put the formatting and paragraphs back in where they were missing, but I could be wrong.

Special mention to returning editor Tsunami Rain!

This is a collab! Remember to check out everypony's home stories too!

Frosty Winds from Memories
Mach from Outlaw
Riptide from Dark Shores
Inkwell from Rangers of Wintertrot
Frost Windchill from The Last Sentinel

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PersonalGamer

PersonalGamer #1 · Jun 19th, 2014 · · ·

The last line was the best part.

Though I honestly didn't realize it was an FoE edition of D&D.

Nyerguds

Nyerguds #2 · Jun 19th, 2014 · · ·

This is all so silly

By the way, is this "Placeholder" an actual intended pony name, or someone you guys totally forgot to give an actual name?

TheBobulator

TheBobulator #3 · Jun 19th, 2014 · · ·

4570302
It started off as a placeholder, but then I think we got really lazy. Boom, Placeholder the pony.

Nyerguds

Nyerguds #4 · Jun 19th, 2014 · · ·

4570309
lol. Well, I just submitted corrections to the Google Doc, as I was requested to do by SwimmingEagle

(I think it's set on "anyone with the link can edit", though )

Francium Actinium

Francium Actinium #5 · Jun 19th, 2014 · 1 · ·

Haha! That was brilliant! Sounds exactly like my RP games... I keep forgetting the rules and struggle to stay in character... cos I always play mares.
More please!

Lorthalis of Crows