Chapter 2 - Ruffian's Wharf
Ruffian's Wharf - South-Central Port of The Ocean
Ruffian’s Wharf didn’t look like much, Blade realized as she cleared the last of the scraggly pine trees. She’d been traveling through the forest for the last few days, and though it was nice to be free of its confining boughs, at first sight, the town didn’t look much better. Then again, after Equestria, it took a lot for a place to look spectacular.
Ruffian’s Wharf wasn’t that. In fact, it was going the other way, from the look of it. A spectacular dump.
She frowned as she came to a stop near one of the last pine trees, taking a moment to sit and take the faint weight of her recently acquired saddlebags off of her haunches. So this is Ruffian’s Wharf, she thought as she eyed the shoddy collection of buildings. What a hole.
The town looked battered, beaten-down, as if some giant had come along and pressed its mighty paw against each and every building, pressing them to one side or another until the town had the appearance of a fledgling’s toy houses, built without regard to straight lines or edges. Then again, maybe they had been straight at one time, and the cold, icy wind that was stealing the breath from her beak had simply pressed the buildings to one side over time. Since leaving the tree-line, the harsh wind had been biting into her, slicing through her feathers, sucking away what little warmth she’d had, and making her wish she’d thrown something better than the ragged scarf she was wearing onto her supplies back at the trading post. The long walk across the open expanse between her and Ruffian’s Wharf was going to be chill indeed.
Why’d they have to build it so far out on the point? she wondered, eyeing the frozen ground the settlement had been built on. Surely they don’t need that many berths. Her sharp eyes could see the rough wood of the docks, hanging out over the ice around the edges of the city. There were ice-ships docked at several of them, their sails down as they hovered above the ice, tugging at their mooring lines.
She shook her head as another gust of wind rippled across the open expanse, momentarily drowning out the monotonous, endless groan of the ice ocean itself. It was an even-trade off—the grinding, gravelly undertone that had filled the air for the last two days of her trip was mercifully gone for a moment, but in its place a biting chill that made her eyes wander.
No way I’m flying in this, she thought as the gust died down, a shiver running down her back as the chill faded and ending in a twitch of her tail. I’m hardy, but— She shook her head, glancing down at her unprotected sides. Even as hardy as her griffon heritage made her, she wasn’t acclimatized to being this far north. She’d need some kind of covering if she was going to fly more than a short distance.
Which meant she was walking.
She gritted her teeth and stepped out around the scrub pine, holding tightly to her breath as the wind did its best to suck it away. She could feel her scarf tugging against her neck, the stray ends whipping back and forth above her wings, and for a moment she considered coming to a stop and tucking the ends home.
But no, she decided. There was no reason to stop now. The sun was already low in the sky, the long dusk of the north already upon her, and she wanted to be well inside Ruffian’s Wharf before the sun finished its traversal across the horizon.
At least the road is clear, she thought as she trudged along the cold, gravel pathway that led up to the town. It was completely empty, all the way to the first few ragged buildings. But either everyone else is staying inside for the day, or this place isn’t very lively.
She brought her eyes over towards the docks again, narrowing them as she looked for any signs of life. Nothing. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s not enjoying the cold, she thought as she pulled her wings tighter against her body, wincing slightly as a twinge of pain shot through one of them. She glanced back at it, but she couldn’t see any sign of the wound beneath her feathers.
Which was … odd. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Clearly the wound hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d first thought when the train boiler had detonated a few days ago, but even then, there definitely should have been more to the injury than there was. That morning, when she’d peeled her feathers back to check on it, she’d been greeted by a scab that looked as if it was already over a week old. The light cut on her side had looked even less recent. It wasn’t something to complain about, but at the same time…
She shook her head as the decrepit buildings that made up the outskirts drew closer. There was a time and place to wonder about her apparent ease of healing, but this wasn’t it. No, instead, she needed to keep her mind fixed on her mission. To start, she needed a plan. And she needed information.
Hopefully, she’d find both here.
She passed by the first outskirt building, eyeing the faded and weathered qualities of the wood. She could see daylight through its warped planks, and the sound of the wind howling through the slats let her know that the place had been abandoned some time ago.
If not for that, she thought, it’d almost be hard to tell that one from any other building. The faint, grinding crunch of the ice mixed with the crisp scratching of frozen gravel beneath her feet, echoed off of the wooden walls around her. It was almost like stepping over a line. There were the battered, lopsided and spread out buildings that were “outside” the town proper, and then suddenly the buildings were clustered together, wall to wall around her, as if she’d just entered some foreboding, wooden maze.
She paused for a moment, coming to a halt in the middle of the street and eyeing her surroundings. It was … Utilitarian didn’t quite seem like the right word for it. Direct, maybe? Or perhaps purposeful suited them better. The wooden walls weren’t even painted—the surrounding surfaces were made up of nothing but the constant grey-and-brown of old, weathered wood, with what looked like a mixture of spare rags and dirt wedged between the boards for insulation.
All in all, so far it was looking like the perfect match to the desolate landscape around it. Who would want to live here? she wondered as she resumed her path up the street. I feel depressed just looking at it.
At least the buildings had taken the edge off of the wind, although there was still a stiff breeze echoing down the open street. She pulled her head up as she heard faint voices, one of them laughing. But it wasn’t a jovial laugh. There was a hard edge to it. Dark, and mean.
Ruffian’s Wharf, she thought as the street ahead of her took on a more familiar feel. She stepped off to one side, her talons clacking as she moved onto a wooden boardwalk that seemed to be serving as a sidewalk. Up ahead a duo of earth ponies wandered out an alleyway between two buildings, one of them the source of the laughter, and she got her first good look at the residents of the town.
They didn’t look friendly, despite the chuckles that the larger of the pair was letting out. Both were wearing lightweight vests, one of which had a knife sheathed across the shoulder. The pair were ragged-looking and dirty, with roughly cut manes and stubble crisscrossing their jaws. The smaller of the pair had a wicked looking scar running across his right foreleg, a twisting line of white that started above his hoof and terminated somewhere above the shoulder of his vest.
The larger of the pair looked up, his laughter dying as his eyes locked with Blade’s. A scowl moved across his expression, one mirrored by the smaller pony. “Lookin’ for something, feathers?” he asked, sneering.
Not worth the effort, she thought even as she opened her beak. “Naw,” she said, giving her ruff a quick shake. “Just passing through.”
“Aye, a newcomer, eh?” the smaller pony asked, the light-blue coat around his eyes betraying the amount of grime on his face. “Going to go join your feathered friends out at the Crying Eyrie?”
The name puzzled her for a moment before it clicked. Teardrop Eyrie, she thought, pulling the image of the map in her pack to the forefront of her mind. They’re talking about the Teardrop Eyrie. No, they’d been goading her about it. Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted up one her talons, letting the light glint off of the shortened—but still sharp—tips.
“Easy, miss,” the larger pony said, eyes widening and his expression changing as he held up a hoof and waved it at her. “Able here’s just had a bit too much salt today.” He let out a nervous laugh as he looked down at the other pony. “We both have. Don’t know what I was thinking. Right, Able?”
“Buncha feathered, spineless, loo— … losers,” Able said, shaking his head and glaring at her. “They ain’t welcome here, and neither are you.”
Well, she thought as she watched the pony’s companion quiver slightly, shaking his head. I guess I won’t be looking for a warm welcome here. Still, it wasn’t worth starting a fight over such a weak insult. Even if the pony was lumping her in with her cousins out in Teardrop.
“Just point me to the nearest bar,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “One with rooms for rent. My business here is my own.”
The first pony seemed to recover a bit of his bravado at that, though he couldn’t quite keep his ears from lying low as he jerked his head up the street. “Near the center of town, miss,” he said. “Take a right at the intersection, and look ‘fer the place with the crowd. You won’t miss it. Tall building.” He said the last bit with a slight emphasis, as if that was somehow impressive.
“Bunch of feathered cowards,” Able muttered, giving her an angry look. “Leaving us drifting without a sail, saving their own cowardly—”
“Shut yer yap,” the first pony said, shoving him. He gave Blade another apologetic look. “Like I said, miss. Too much salt.”
“Right.” There wasn’t much else she could say, but she rolled her eyes as she turned her gaze up the street. “Up this way?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Just go ‘till you reach the intersection and then look to ‘yer right. You’ll see it. And … uh, miss?” he said, looking up and down the street as she began to move. “Watch yerself. Bloodhooves are in town, and they won’t take kindly to a griffon, Teardrop ‘er not.” Then he turned and shoved his companion. “Come on, Able. We’d best get back to the boat, get ‘er ready for the ice.”
“Yeah, fine,” the smaller pony said, shooting one last glare in Blade’s direction, “Feathered cowards.”
She ignored the barb as she resumed her trek down the street. This is off to a glorious start, she thought as she moved deeper into the town. Apparently griffons aren’t welcome here.
That fact was news to her. Granted, she hadn’t ever known much about the Ocean, not past the failed expansion attempt one of the clans had made into it some thirty years earlier, but from what little she’d been able to read from the Equestrian texts on the place before she’d fled Canterlot, the place didn’t have a reputation for being quite so xenophobic.
Or maybe it was just a pair of speciesist earth ponies. Then again … She was moving deeper into the town now, the grumble of the ice growing as she moved closer to the shore, and there were more signs of life and habitation now. Ponies sitting by doorways, walking on the streets, cutting in and out of small alleyways. And while none of them were moving out of their way to avoid her, she could see the slightly hostile glances they were giving her.
Interesting. Was this the result of the “Bloodhooves” that the first pony had mentioned? And who would they be anyway? Pirates? Marauders? A local gang?
Up ahead the street seemed to terminate in some sort of square, a rounded, battered-down open area with a simple signpost in the center. Several streets branched off of the intersection, and she slowed, letting herself take a good look down each of them. Most of them seemed to head straight for the docks, their ends terminating in open air and rough wooden planks that edged out over the grinding ice. There were more ponies down those streets, though not as many as she would have expected on a working day. Then another gust of wind tore through the town, the wooden sign rattling loudly above the groan of the ice, and one of the ponies raised a hoof and shook it at the sky.
Ah, that explains it, then, she thought as she watched the pony resume his plodding step forward, shaking his head. It’s the wind. It’s got them locked in.
She took a few steps forward, not leaving the planked walkway but moving closer to the edge, and gave the street one final look. The pony, still shaking his head, vanished into an open warehouse. Moments later a pair of mares walked out and began moving down the dock. She caught a glimpse of a net cutie mark on one’s flank, and made a mental nod. Those were probably ice dredgers. No wonder they were upset with the weather.
Another gust of wind made the sign in the center of the square creak, and she glanced up at it, running her eyes over the faint lettering.
Not much help, are you? she asked with a shake of her head. The signpost had four directions painted on it. “East Dock,” “West Dock,” “Bar,” and “Out,” the last of which helpfully pointed back the way she had come. I can see all of those places from here easily enough.
Including the bar. She turned towards it and resumed her pace forward, eyes squinting as she glanced up at it. The pony she’d spoken to hadn’t been lying, it was a tall building … compared to the surrounding structures. She doubted it would have stood out quite so much if the warehouses near the docks were any closer.
Still, it was clearly the building she was looking for. Two lanterns hung on either end of the building, unlit but rattling as the wind jerked them against their hooks. The front windows were covered over from the inside, blocking out any view of the occupants or interior, and the door was heavy set, closed firmly—though that was probably to ward off the cold more than anything.
Still, the upper level of the building showed a few uncovered windows, and she could smell the sharp, tangy scent of woodsmoke drifting from the chimney, so it was probably warm inside.
Plus, short of breaking into a warehouse or counting on the hospitality of the town, it was probably her best chance for a place to sleep that night.
The heavy door resisted her push at first, and she was forced to give it a little more pressure with her foreleg to shove it open. It gave, though slowly, and with a bit of a squeak that told its resistance wasn’t entirely the thick wood’s weight. Warmth rushed out at her, along with a faint rumble of conversation that felt … familiar.
She stepped into the bar and let the door swing shut behind her. The rumble of conversation slowed for a moment, eyes and ears swiveling in her direction and lingering before twisting back, the conversation rising again. There was a slight difference to the tone though, a muted sound that made the fur between her shoulder blades prickle.
I’m a new element, she thought as she took a quick, customary look around. The bar was fairly full, mostly earth ponies, though there were a few pegasi scattered throughout the room. The bartender, an earth pony himself, was seated behind the bar, one hoof dragging a cleaning cloth back and forth across in slow, circular patterns. She watched as his eyes did a slow roll over her body, stopping slightly on her bags, and then he was back to staring at his work, a disinterested look on his face.
She made her way across the room, holding her wings tight to her sides as she passed between the various tables. Here and there lanterns had been set on top of poles or built into the center of the heavy wooden tables, their light flickering just enough to add a slight, wavering ambience to the light that spilled in through the upper levels.
Interesting, she thought as she took a seat at the bar. No magilights. They’re using oil lamps. It was a curious choice, given that the lamp oil couldn’t be cheap. Not to mention the smell. She pushed a heavy breath out of her nostrils, clearing the oily stink of the lamps from her beak … but only for a moment. Then it was back again, a stifling but constant odor.
The bartender gave her a long, sideways glance as she sat down, the circular cleaning motions of his cloth slowing as he rolled his eyes over her once more. “Can I get ya’ something?” he asked after a moment, his words slow and strung together, like he’d had too much of his own salt. Nearby, the door to the kitchens slammed open, a younger earth pony mare sliding out with a tray across her back. A table in the back full of a particularly rowdy group of patrons let out a cheer as the mare made her way across the floor towards them.
“Yeah,” Blade said, letting her eyes slide back to the bartender. “How much for a room?”
“What currency?” the bartender asked, his hoof coming to complete stop, leaving the smudges and grease on his cleaning cloth clearly visible.
“Bits.”
“Ah,” the bartender said, the circular motions resuming once more as he turned his attention back to it. “Bits. For you, one night? Twenty-six.”
Blade let out a scoff, the feathers of her ruff rising. “Twenty, and that includes a meal.”
The bartender’s motions slowed, and he looked back up at her again, his brown eyes narrowing. “Fer a griffon?” He shook his head again, the creases in his coat showing that the dull-yellow color probably would have been a bit lighter if he bathed more often. “Twenty-five.”
She relaxed slightly. “Twenty-two, and that includes the meal I’m about to order.”
The bartender closed one eye, squinting the other as if deep in thought. Then he grunted. “What’ll ya’ have?”
“Meat,” she said, lifting her wing and pulling her bit-bag out of the secure pocket she’d stowed it in. “You have any?”
“We might have some,” the bartender said as she played the bit-bag across her talons, the bits within clinking against one another. “It’ll cost you an extra two bits, though. Chicken or rabbit?”
“Chicken,” she said without thinking. One of the stallions at the rowdy table slapped the serving mare on the rump with his hoof as she passed, and the whole table erupted in jeering laughter. “I’ve had enough rabbit lately.” Especially the string-meated ones she’d caught in the forest on her way there. She reached into the bag and felt around with her talons, pulling out two ten-bit pieces and a five-bit piece. “Also, I need some information.”
She slid the bits across the bar, the gold-covered metal slipping easily across the smooth polish, and the bartender’s eyes moved down. She could see him counting the bits in his head and acknowledging the lone extra, and as she pulled her talons back his hoof swept the bits back under the counter in a practiced, rapid motion.
“Let me get ya’ yer food,” the bartender said, dropping from the bar and making his way towards the kitchen, leaving the rag on the counter. “Wait here.”
Like I’d go anywhere else now that I’ve paid, she thought as she watched the stallion disappear into the back. Though she felt like it after seeing how ill-kept the place was. I’d better check the bedding for mites, she thought as she eyed the stairway up to the upper level. Between the clientele and that rag, cleanliness doesn’t seem to be a high priority.
Another bout of laughter rolled off of the rear table, one of the patrons slapping another across the back with her hoof. The serving mare was still there, trying to gather up the group’s used silverware as they pushed and shoved at one another.
Not much in the way of manners here, either, she thought as she turned her attention back to the space behind the bar. Then again, it’s Ruffian’s Wharf. They certainly seemed to be living up to the title.
Which did explain the crossbow mounted behind where the bartender had been standing. She recognized the design: It was an old Skystrike model from the Empire. Easy to load, easy to fire—even for a pony—and easy to take care of, though this one looked a little worn. Most of the clans used them in one fashion or another, usually as part of their training curriculum, since the simple design and easy pull made it a dependable starting weapon. She’d fired her first when she was just nine.
Must be a leftover from the clan expansion attempts, she thought as the kitchen door swung open once more. The wood looks like it’s in good shape. I don’t know about that string though.
A hot, spicy scent filled her nostrils as the bartender slid a tray down the bartop at her. She caught it with one claw, the stew inside the wooden bowl slopping to one side but not out. A carved spoon clattered against the tray as the bartender tossed it down, and she nodded as she picked it up.
“So,” the bartender said as she lifted a steaming bite and clamped it between her beak, ignoring the almost scalding heat. “You want information?”
She nodded and swallowed, her stomach letting out a faint growl of appreciation. “I’m looking for someone,” she said, scooping up another spoonful of the stew and ignoring a potato that dropped back into the bowl. “Last I heard, he lives around here.” Maybe even here in town, she added mentally, slurping down the spoonful. She could taste the chunks of chicken that had been added to the mix. It was stringy, and little overcooked, but it wasn’t terrible. It was certainly better than nothing.
“What are you looking for them for?” the bartender asked, his voice low. He reached down below the bar, his hoof coming back up wrapped around a thick, wooden cup, which he slid in her direction. The hoof dropped out of sight once more, this time rising with a pitcher of water.
“That’s—” She paused as she became aware of the slight lull in the conversation around her. Figures, she thought. I spent too long in Equestria. Still, there wasn’t any harm in anyone hearing. “I’m looking to talk with them,” she said, swallowing another spoonful of soup. “Nothing else.”
“Hmm …” The bartender leaned back, eyeing her through mostly closed lids. “And who is it you’re looking for?”
“Last I knew, he went by the name of Hain,” Blade said as the bartender began to pour water into her cup. His eyebrows rose at her words, but he didn’t make any comment. “You know him?”
“I might,” he said, nodding. “And you just want to talk to him?”
“That’s right,” she said, nodding. “Just talk.”
There was a sudden burst of laughter from the nearby tables. “You’re looking for that washed-up old molter?” someone called, chortling. “Have you tried at the bottom of a bottle?”
“Maybe she wants to join him!” a second voice added in. She felt her ruff rise as she pinpointed the direction of the comments. The back table. Of course.
Focus. She pushed her ruff back down, gritting her teeth as she brought her focus back to the bartender. “So you know him then?” she asked, ignoring the jeering laughter coming from the back of the bar.
“I might,” the bartender said, his expression betraying no reaction to the comments flying from his patrons. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and started to move away.
The clink of metal on metal brought him to a stop, his ears twitching in the direction of the two five-bit pieces she’d just stacked atop one another on the bar.
“One more question,” Blade said, lifting a talon and tapping the coins. They made a faint tinkling sound with each faint tap. “I’m also looking for someone else. They would have passed through here maybe two, three weeks ago.”
The bartender turned back, his hoof sliding to sweep away the coins, but she brought her claw down with a faint snap, the trimmed end denting the metal. “First,” she said, lifting her bowl in one talon. “You promise me the info. Second …” She tilted her head and the bowl back both and swallowed what was left, running her tongue around the rim as she lowered it back down. She felt energized, buoyed by the meal. She picked up her cup, twisting it in her claws.
“Second,” she said, looking the bartender right in the eyes. “You tell me where they went.” She tossed her head back and washed what was left of the soup down, her stomach rolling as the ice-cold water crashed into it and mixed with the almost boiling stew. The mug came down with a heavy, echoing thump as she locked eyes again with the bartender. “Do we have a deal?”
The bartender’s eyes flickered to the stack of bits under her claw before coming back to rest on her. Then, slowly, he nodded, and she lifted her talon up, not bothering to take her eyes off of his as he swept the money away, depositing it somewhere behind the bar. “Deal,” he said, though his voice seemed to catch slightly. “What do you want to know?”
She smiled. “I’m looking for a unicorn,” she said, leaning forward as the fur between her shoulder blades prickled. “Probably blue, or some shade thereof, with a cutie mark that looked like an … eye …” The bartender had taken a step back, his eyes wide as the silence of the room caught up with Blade. The entire bar had gone quiet.
“Wait,” came a loud, jeering voice from the back of the room. “You’re looking for a unicorn?” The bartender took a step back, and she turned, shifting her weight on the stool as she faced out into the bar. The table of loud-mouthed ruffians in the back was standing now, several of them with their wings flared, and she could see the identical tattoo marks across their chests and shoulders. A gang then, or something similar.
“Get a load of the feather-cat, boys,” one of the group, a tan earth pony, said, leaning forward as he spoke. “She said she’s looking for a unicorn!” He twisted his head left and then right, looking at each member of his group before turning his attention back in Blade’s direction. “And not just any unicorn …” The words trailed off in a nervous, almost psychotic laugh as he stepped up onto the table, the group parting around him as he walked across it and down the other side, coming in a straight line towards her. His head twitched, and there was a short blade in his teeth, glinting in the lamplight as his head jerked back and forth. Ponies pushed themselves out of his way clearing a path straight to Blade as the rest of his table watched.
“Now, Slit,” the bartender said, his voice shaky. “Let’s—let’s be reasonable about this. She’s not from around here, and—”
“Can it, old-timer!” Slit snapped, his voice only partially muffled by the knife’s handle. “Or maybe I’ll let my boys here have a little fun with this place. It looks like it could use a little freshening up.” He kicked out with his leg, a chair skittering away across the floor. “Maybe I’ll even let them say hello to that serving mare of yours.” He was almost at Blade now, his eyes glinting as his head jerked from one side to the other. “It’s been quiet in town lately, and I haven’t had a chance to cut something in a while. My knife?” He let out a laugh. “She’s thirsty.”
Ruffian’s Wharf might have been putting it a little lightly, Blade thought as Slit came to a stop next to her, his breath hot as he reared up on his hind legs and brought the knife up next to the side of her head.
“So, feathers?” he said, a faint giggle rising from his throat. “What’s it going to be? An eye? Or a wing?”
She turned her head, fixing his eyes with her own. “Ruffian’s Wharf, huh?” she asked as she narrowed his eyes. “I’m not impressed. Wing!”
Her wing snapped out from her side, catching Slit right in the throat. A wheezing, choking, gasp ripped free of his mouth as he stumbled back, his eyes wide, the knife falling towards the floor. She caught it with her talons as she leaned forward, wrapping her other foreleg around the back of the stallion’s head and locking her wrist beneath his shoulder. Then she jerked herself back, pushing off with her back feet and bringing Slit’s face down on the top of the bar with a heavy crack that echoed across the room.
She uncoiled her arm and spun, bringing the stolen knife down and stabbing right through the stunned stallion’s outstretched hoof. The hilt shook as the blade dug into the bar, and she stepped back as Slit let out a horrified, gurgling cry. She turned towards the rest of his table, which was staring at her in stunned silence.
“Anyone else?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
For a moment the entire room seemed to hesitate, and then with a roar the entire table leapt at her, two of the members stumbling over themselves and crashing to the floor in their haste to get to her. She rose up on her hind legs, her wings outstretched as the group rushed towards her. Then, just as the first was about to arrive, she lashed out, her claws slamming into one of the raised lanterns and sending it crashing into the foremost stallion. He screamed as the glass shattered, scalding hot lamp oil splashing over him and then erupting in flame. He bolted for the door, crashing through it without even bothering to open it.
The pony behind him didn’t even spare a glance in his direction. She leapt at Blade, her wings spread wide as she brought her hooves up in a rudimentary offensive gesture, and then threw a punch aimed at her beak.
Amatuer, Blade thought as she wrapped her own talons around the mare’s oncoming hoof and tugged, stepping aside as the mare overbalanced and crashed into the bar, her head ringing out with a thump not unlike that Slit’s had made. Blade turned away from the already limp body and brought her talons up just in time to meet the next attack, parrying the blow with claws that should have left bloody tracks across the stallion’s foreleg, but instead slid harmlessly across his coat as the trimmed, dulled ends refused to bite. She settled for bringing her other limb up, cracking her elbow across the stallion’s muzzle and grinning as she felt the crunch of bone breaking. The pony let out an outraged cry as she shoved him back, blood gushing from his mangled nose.
Two more rushed at her, one of them wielding a large club with what looked like bits of ragged metal embedded in it, and she took to the air, flapping her wings and lifting off. The first pony skidded to a halt, his eyes burning with rage, while the one armed with the club followed her upwards, beating her own wings as she rose to meet Blade in the air.
“Really?” she couldn’t resist calling as the mare let out a scream and snapped her wings back, launching herself at Blade. “You know why griffon legions don’t use clubs?” She shifted her body to the side, darting out of the way as the pegasus mare whiffed her swing with the club and went into a roll.
“Because the weight makes us do that,” Blade finished, kicking the rolling mare in the back with her rear legs and throwing her roll into an out-of-control tumble that slammed into the upper balcony. “Idiot.”
Something slammed into her back and she twisted as the sudden weight forced her down, coming eye-to-eye with another earth pony. From the look of things, she’d jumped from the balcony stairs to land on her back.
Well, she’ll bring me down, Blade thought as the mare locked her forelegs around her shoulders. But has anyone ever done this to you? She tucked her shoulder down, rolling with the momentum of the mare’s blow, and they crashed down on top of one of the tables, the mare’s breath rushing out of her with a whoosh of air as Blade’s full weight came down atop her. Nope.
Move! She rolled off the table, its patrons scattering away from her as the remaining three members of the group came at her in a classic pincer movement, utensils and impromptu weapons held in their hooves and mouths.
No thanks, she thought as she sidestepped a hasty swing and darted back. It didn’t work for the Guard, and it definitely—” She darted forward, catching the leftmost stallion off-balance and stepping inside his range with a classic Fury stance. Won’t. Work. For ... Her talons and forelegs were a blur as she snapped them in and out, pulling every bit of speed possible out of her limbs and sending the stallion staggering back, his eyes dazed and looking in opposite directions. You! She finished with a double-backhand, the stallion’s head snapping to the side as he toppled backwards, his jaw slack—and not just because it was probably broken.
She stepped to one side, snapping her wings forward and backing her up against the bar as the last two ponies rushed in, their weapons raised high. She caught both of them at the same time, one in each talon, and then pulled down, hard. Their heads met with a resounding, hollow thunk that echoed across the bar, and then they too collapsed, their limp bodies spilling across the floor as she let go of their hooves.
“Don’t move.” A faint, familiar click sounded behind her and she froze as she recognized the sound of the Skystrike crossbow. “Turn around.” Slit’s voice was raspy but hot with anger, and she turned to see him standing on the other side of the bar, the Skystrike carefully cradled in his hooves. Blood was running down his wounded foreleg, but the pony didn’t seem to care. There was a mad glint to his eyes, a hint of insanity to the way one of them was twitching.
“Gotcha’ now, don’t I you molting carrion-eater?” Slit asked. The bartender was cowering nearby, cringing in fear as Slit lifted the bow a little higher. “You’re gonna pay for this,” Slit continued, jerking his wounded leg out for emphasis. “I think I’ll let the boys have fun with you after I do, and then, if you’re still alive, we’ll turn you over to Pyre. He’ll deliver you to that horn-head Sagis, and then you’ll really know what it means to mess with us.” He lifted the crossbow a little higher. “What do you say to that?”
Blade glanced at the weapon once more, her body tensing, and then she relaxed. “Go ahead,” she said, grinning. “Try it.”
Slit’s self-assured look bled into an angry howl of rage as he pulled the trigger back—and with a sharp snap, the crossbow string parted under the pressure, the bolt jamming.
Blade leapt forward, rising over the bar as she yanked the useless crossbow from Slit’s hooves. There was a deafening crack as she spun the butt of the weapon up into the side of his head, and then his eyes rolled back, his body going limp as he slumped to the ground like a sack of dead meat.
“Moron,” Blade said, clubbing the comatose pony a second time with the Skystrike for good measure. She turned to the proprietor as he began to slide away. “You should’ve taken care of the string,” she said, hefting the weapon in her claws and giving it a good look. “It always goes bad on this model. Now.” She set the crossbow on the counter, glancing around the bar as she leaned in close. The rest of the clientele had vanished. It was just her and the owner. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about this unicorn?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as he whimpered. “And why everyone around here seems so jumpy about him.”
Count of Laws Broken: 11
Total Laws Broken: 48
Damage Value (In Bits): 384
Total Damage Value (In Bits): 32,518
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New Dusk Guard! Eeeeeeeee! Sadly I must wait till I'm home as my lunchbreak is nearly over and work frowns on me reading Ponyfics during business hours. Booo.
Woo, something to read between calls at work!
Hey look, I'm done reading it (the currently only 3 chapters)! It only took about an hour! That's pretty dang good.
Also, look! My prediction about the bar fight was correct! Looks like it was heavily edited though.
Can't read this till after work. But once I'm off....
The cumulative AAR is hilarious. Here's hoping that it'll expand and be detailed when, not if, she does more significant misdeeds.
6047510
If you recall in Dusk Guard: Rise the point when the team went to investigate the crystal caverns, but were stonewalled by the Royal Guard commander who showed them no respect, wouldn't let them do their job, bungled his own attempts at investigating, made the researchers wait out in the rain, and was subsequently tossed out and reprimanded by Steel, that's Nimbus.
6047485 no one can say Blade doesn't know how to make an impression, in every sense of the word.
6048330
Maybe not always in the best way either. Either I'm wrong about those footers, but I'm pretty sure she has broken a lot of laws...
6048337
Well, to be fair, consider what laws they may be. For example, if fighting someone counts as a charge of assault and battery because it's against the law, than fighting five attackers and beating them down counts as five broken law incidents. But this depends on where you are and what the laws are too, so the numbers get interesting depending on where you are and who's in charge, too.
Mostly it's just for fun, though.
6047547
I'm pretty sure that when those numbers start to climb, you'll be able to look back at the chapter and go "Yup, that was that."
6048370
True, but it's still a lot of infractions, regardless. I mean, at the end of ch. 2 it's 48 laws broken. That's no small amount.
EDIT:Hey Viking, it's being featured. Pretty impressive for a first day.
Congrats on the feature, great to see the story there on day 1.
6049112
Thanks!
'Obligatory Borderlands reference comment'
Does she have Wolverine-like healing abilities? Did the blown-up battery do that to her?
Also, it'd be interesting to know what Hunter has planned.
Well, this is definitely shaping up to be an adventure. Now if it's finished....why do we only have 3 chapters to read???
6050483
Posting schedule. New chapters go up Tuesdays and Fridays.
6050581 Okay
Griffons have G names. This one is clearly a changeling.
i.imgur.com/fIvet.png
The cumulative damage count is reminding me of the ghostbusters platformer. "Nice shootin, Tex!"
It's been awhile since I got on fimfic, and this'story's the first I'm reading after the literature break.
My memory's still sharp though. (Spolier) I clearly remember this scene from one of your writing guides. Won't say which though, that wouldn't be fun, would it?
And speaking of which, how long has this fic been on your mind?
6053997
Hahaha, yeah, that was a stealth teaser that very few picked up on (there's a lot of people who read my guides but don't read my fics ... go figure).
And I've had this in mind since ... well, before I was even halfway done with Rise. This has been in the works for a while, along with the rest of the saga!
6054081
Chekov's plot, go figure
. You've had this planned out for quite a bit didn't you.
6049435
Can't we just go Beyond the Borderlands?
Story is looking very promising so far. Looking forward to Blade tangling with a Bruin.
One question, though: what keeps those boats floating above the ice?
6048318
Thanks for the refresher. 'preciate it.
6048393
I may or may not have been spoiled by Arad's own AARs for his missions. Might I suggest these:
1) Most expensive crime/law-broken
2) Most frequent crime/law-broken
3) Notable crime/law-broken of the chapter
6055847
Figured as much, just tossing the question into the air. Possible blackmail involved?
6054227
Pretty much from day one, actually. Some of the finer details have been worked out along the way, but this has been a work of years. Someday, provided I can keep earning enough from writing to stay at it, the whole saga will be done!
6056096
Wow, that's a ton of work--but speaking for myself, at least, it's greatly appreciated!
Wait... she broke more laws... in a lawless area? Or are we counting Equestrian laws here? Or, is she in fact just that good? Hmm... I shall read on and see.
6266030 I like to believe she's just that good.