After millennia of slumber, the ponies of Tambelon have awoken. For good or ill, they set their sights on the surface.
Golden Writ smoothed back his greying mane, smiling at the bespectacled mare sitting across the table from him. Judging by her talent mark, a sealed scroll, he was dealing with a local official… and not a bad-looking one, either.
Of course, he was there for business. Evening Twinkle was probably there because she picked up some smattering of Equish in the past 24 hours, though she wasn’t alone.
“We live castle.” Golden writ explained, displaying his limited knowledge of their language, “You no want we live castle. You give supplies. We leave. No come back. No more fight.”
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