Lutscintorb

by Mary Sue

Obtaining Property

Grunting, Whiskey struggled to lift the mare with his magic. Sweat beaded over his brow and his horn sparked like a firework. It felt like he was bracing some ceiling with the tip of his horn, sensing something in his neck ready to pop as he fought for breath and strength.

“Just get her off the ground,” Sharp Tack said.

“I’m trying!” Whiskey wheezed, his eyes ready to pop from the exertion. The mare was hardly more than an inch in the air.

“You’re useless,” Sharp Tack said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed one of the mare’s limp forelegs and pulled her body up over his withers. Whiskey gasped and uttered an angry groan, but for what it’s worth he didn’t relinquish his magic until the mare was firmly set across his friend’s back.

He hooked the mare’s satchel off the ground and threw it over himself. “She’s heavier than she looks,” he muttered.

“She sure is,” Sharp Tack remarked sarcastically, walking back to the campsite at a brisk pace. “What’s in the bag?”

Whiskey trotted up beside him, rifling through the satchel with his magic. “Let’s see, we got a notebook, some pencils, a compass, a pair of binoculars...” He lifted out a bundle of fresh fruit. “Oh, score! Apples!” He took a bite out of one and stuffed the rest back inside the satchel. “Looks like our princess is a park ranger or something.”

“I don’t think she’s a princess,” Sharp Tack said, glancing back at her. “Makes no sense for someone of that stature to that have that kind of gear on them.”

“Fine, aristocrat, noble, whatever,” Whiskey said, taking another bite of his apple. “Look at her coat: smooth, pink, all dainty-like. And that mark on her flank, for crying out loud! She’s a somebody, for sure.”

Sharp Tack turned his direction as the breeze blew their campfire’s smoke at them. He walked around the fire and up to the stagecoach. “I don’t disagree with you,” he said with a quick smile. “But she was hugging that there satchel like her life depended on it, and her leg looks to be pretty banged up to. I’m not sure if she’ll be able to walk with it, but the closest settlement is Ripper’s Creek and that’s where we came from. There’s nothing around here but plains and mountains.” He cleared his throat. “Point is, I got a hunch her being here is no accident. I know as well as you do that it would take a crapton of magic to teleport a pony to where we are.”

“The only accident was sending her where we are,” Whiskey said with a wider smile, coming to a stop beside his friend. “Remember the last aristocrat the boss had? The ransom we were able to squeeze out of his rat-faced family was enormous!”

“Which is why we need to figure out who she is, but just as importantly figure out why she’s here.” He craned his neck at the door of the stagecoach. “Open the door. Then see if there’s anything in that book of hers worth knowing.”

“Eh, I’ll do it in the morning,” Whiskey said, and then yawned. “She isn’t going anywhere.” His horn flared briefly and the thick iron padlock holding the door closed clicked apart.

The interior of the stagecoach betrayed its outward appearance. While the stagecoach displayed some sense of self respect, with its polished cherry panels and black-and-yellow trim, beneath the exterior the carriage was cold and rotten. The inside had been gutted, presenting its bare scratched wood and a floor carelessly strewn with straw. Outside, the windows were covered by thick drapes that were fastened to the bottom of the frames. They concealed a layer of thin and magically-infused glass, and then another layer of iron bars. A bucket sat in the far corner and something resembling a mail slot sat high up at the front of the carriage, just behind the driver’s box.

“She’s a delicate thing, that’s for certain,” Sharp Tack observed, unloading her into the carriage.

“Yeah, yeah,” Whiskey droned, returning with a horn cap. It was a small, metallic mesh cone with a bright blue crystal the size of a pea at the very tip. He placed it on the unicorn’s horn and tightened the clamp at the base. “That one should last about another two weeks, by the way. When we get to Portsmouth we should stock up on more horn caps and sell the other two we have. They’re pretty full.”

“Sounds good,” Sharp Tack said with a nod. He closed the door to the stagecoach and slapped the iron padlock back into place.

Comments

[JustAnotherTimeLord]

So these guys are apart of some group of criminals, huh? Why do I get the feeling they're going to end up following that dainty little mare wherever she goes? I suppose I should hold off on guesses until we hear from this mare.

[Emotional Flight]

Horn Caps

Okay, time for some guess work.

Horn Caps seem to both prevent magic use and cause magic to get stored in the "bright blue crystal the size of a pea," given the context of what he's talking about. Since they also seem to have full ones, either they have Unicorns that they're keeping as magic generators or Whiskey has been putting Horn Caps on his horn as a way to make money.

I'm willing to bet the latter, since they seem to be alone.

[Titan Commander Sebaste]

Blasted bandits...

[Revan]

I already anticipate the crew building.