My Iron Warriors: Ordinance is Magic

by Perturabo

Attack the block

Loyalty.
From Iron Cometh Strength.
From Strength cometh Will.
From Will cometh…cometh…
Damnit, what comes after will?
Hmm…iron, strength, will…faith!
From Will cometh Faith…heh, bullshit, what did we ever have faith in?

Rorke’s face creased in concentration beneath his helmet as he tried to finish the mantra. The Unbreakable Litany was a meditative aid taught to all Iron Warriors on their induction to the Legion, to focus their thoughts and remind them of their duty. Rorke had never found in useful at the best of times -and now was hardly the best of times.

The streaking spectrum of light whizzed above him again, loop-de-looping and accelerating more. Deep down, Rorke was impressed by the speeds it could reach, but he’d come up this hill at the edge of town to get away from the others-specifically, Lorkhan. His intended sword-practice was interrupted by another’s training.

“Xenos.” He called out, helmet-vox amplifying it to a threatening dirge. “Xenos-horse.”

At first she didn’t seem to listen, building up momentum for another trick. Just when Rorke thought-hoped-he was going to have to break out the bolt pistol, she slowed and descended, flapping only a yard above ground.

“What?!” Rainbow Dash asked, fixing Rorke with a dark look. The Iron Warrior considered drawing his pistol anyway, but instead leaned back on a tree leisurely, folding his arms.

“Can you really not do this anywhere else?” He asked. Dash’s face scrunched in agitation, but she said nothing beside grinding her teeth together. “You’re in my way.”

“Uh, newsflash Iron Weirdo.” she replied, spitting the last two words. “This, is where I always practice flying. You’re the one butting in.”

“Uh huh.” Rorke replied, raising an eyebrow. Temptation got the better of him. “How bad a flier do you have to be to need practice?”

That got her. Rainbow snorted angrily, baring her teeth and balling her hooves in a fighting stance. She zoomed forward so as to be only scant centimetres away from Rorke’s faceplate, large magenta eyes narrowed and staring into his red optics.

“You wanna say that again, bub?” she hissed, wings flapping angrily. Rorke leaned closer, helmet’s targeting reticules locking onto the Pony. His voice was a mocking, exaggerated whisper.

“You. Are. A. Shit.”

For a moment the Astartes thought Rainbow was going to crack and come at him. He hoped so; then at least he’d have the justification of self-defence when he tore her apart. But eventually she seemed to curb her anger and retreated, giving him a final scowl before skyrocketing back into the clouds with an audible sonic boom. Rorke watched her go for a moment, before growling in frustration and beginning his march down the hill. Maybe they’d leave him alone if he went to the outskirts of that bastard forest. The Iron Warrior barely got ten paces before a familiar, bratty voice called out behind him.

“Hey, tall dark and ugly!”

With some effort Rorke shrugged off the insult, turning to see what the Xenos had to say. Rainbow was hovering where’d she’d been before, fixing him with a hard stare.

“What is your problem?” she called out, flicking her multi-coloured hair up. “I mean, the Princess agrees to get you home and ignores all the things you’ve done-which is completely uncool, by the way-but you’re all still acting like a bunch of jerks!”

Rorke knew he should have ignored Rainbow Dash and carried on walking, but something in her tone agitated his temper. He took step towards her, hand unconsciously moving onto the hilt of his Power Sword. Rainbow gulped, but kept up a brave face.

“Would you like to know my problem, little Xenos?” Rorke asked, struggling to keep his voice level. Her silence was invitation to continue. “Before the Thousand Sons ambushed us there were around 70 of us on the ship. 70 Battle-brothers, and all of them were of the Legion. After we crashed, there were about what-35? 40? about 40 of us left. When we sat out on that little errand for your precious Princess, there were 27 Iron Warriors. And now, there’s 15.” The urge to put a bolt in something’s brain was almost overwhelming, and Rorke found himself trembling slightly.” “54 Space Marines. 1 Obliterator. There are star systems that are worth less, alien. So you tell me what you think my problem is with being stuck here and having to play nice with your kind.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Rorke continued his angry stride down the hill, suppressed rage carrying him forwards. A couple of Ponies stopped to look at the stomping giant in their midst as he passed with a mixture of fear and disgust, but they were intelligent enough to manoeuvre out of his path. The Champion lashed out at some form of picnic table as he walked, his boot crashing straight through the feeble wooden planks. Lorkhan would be pissed if he found out, but the Warsmith’s approval was the last shitting thing Rorke cared about right now.

He stopped when most of the Xenos had fled from him, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down and stop his frame spasming and shaking. Lorkhan had pointed out that affectation when they were in the forest, and although he hadn’t made a big deal about it in truth Rorke found it as disturbing as his brothers did. He tried reciting the words of the Unbreakable Litany, but as ever they proved little comfort.

It took him a minute or two to notice the Xenos by his side. Her coat was mint-green with an off-white mane, whilst the image of some kind of stringed musical instrument was stamped on her side. Wide golden eyes stared at, as far as Rorke could tell, his hands, whilst her mouth had dropped open in a concoction of awe and lust. She was absolutely silent bar heavy breathing, seemingly unperturbed by the demi-god she sat beside.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Rorke growled.

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Honesty.
“Now, ah gotta be honest here.” The orange pony with the hat-Applejack-said as she trotted up the hill. “Ah don’t lahk ya. If tha Princess think that y’all should be let loose round Ponyville, then shoot, that ain’t none of mah business. But what’cah boss did tah Pinie was downright despicable-ah don’t trust yah, and ah don’t lahk ya. Are we clear?”

“Whatever.” Zuko replied, only half paying attention as he stumbled awkwardly. He didn’t know where Lorkhan had managed to drag the bionic legs up from-he wasn’t sure he wanted to know-and the Warsmith’s admission that he had no idea what he was doing hadn’t reassured the Champion. But somehow it’d worked, although Zuko’s bionic grafts had yet to take fully, making walking somewhat of a challenge. He’d lost count of how many times he almost stepped on the small yellow pony with a bow in her hair that seemed intent on milling around by his feet. She was one if the group who he’d ‘saved’ in Canterlot, Zuko had realised, and the fact that she’d helped spare the Iron Warriors’ lives earned her some grudging respect from the Champion. But she seemed to have made the mistake of assuming they were now friends, sticking close to Zuko whenever he was near. The buzzing of his beloved power fist-now returned to its proper place on his arm-summed up his feelings on the matter personally.

Applejack gave him a suspicious sidelong glance, but seemed content for the meanwhile. They continued walking, stopping when they reached a point overlooking much of the orchard. Apple trees stretched as far as even his Astartes eyes could see, standing sentinel over neatly ploughed fields. It certainly seemed efficient enough, although the focus on apples and apple-related goods above all else was a little…creepy.

Applejack trotted up to the nearest apple tree, placing the basket slung over her back beneath it as she did so. She turned so her rear was facing the tree, before casting another look at Zuko.

“Before ah start, are yah sure yah wanna help us with tha’ harvest?”

The Iron Warrior nodded. He was; not because he actually wanted to help, but because he realised this was the easiest way to get food coming in to the Warband and its serfs. That, and Lorkhan had said they were to make themselves useful – at least for the time being.

“Well…that’s maghty decent of yah.” Applejack admitted. She kicked out with her back legs, striking the tree with considerable force. It vibrated, apples dropping neatly from the branches into the baskets. The Xenos farmer retrieved her hoard and piled it into the wheelbarrow they’d brought, moving the now-empty basket to the next tree.

“That’s pretty much all there is to it.” She said. “AB’ll help ya if yah need it.” Zuko assumed ‘AB’ was the smaller horse, grunting in acknowledgement. He started work on the closest tree, the yellow Pony sticking close to him as promised. She needn’t have-Zuko’s strength made shaking the fruit loose an easy task. Applejack’s strength was commendable, but the Astartes moved at least as fast. The group worked in silence, Zuko constantly aware of AB’s stare when his back was turned and Applejack’s searching glances. After half an hour they’d cleared at least fifty trees collectively, when an ear pitching screech broke the farm’s stillness.

“What in tarnation…” AJ muttered, glaring at Zuko as she and AB ran back to the crest of the hill. Zuko followed, already having an inkling. Near the barn Zuko could just make out a small greenish pony running as fast as its legs could carry it as the source of the screech. Behind it came Rorke, bellowing expletives and swinging his power sword in a liberal manner. Zuko was impressed that the Pony was outpacing his brother, but utterly unsurprised by the turn of events.

“Oh, for Pony’s sake!” Applejack cried, stamping a hoof in frustration. She eyed Zuko angrily. “Ah don’t suppose y’all have an explanation for this?”

“Besides Rorke’s rampant stupidity, no.”

AJ didn’t seem wholly satisfied with the answer, trotting towards Zuko.

“Ahm gonna go help Lyra. You trah anything-“ she said, prodding Zuko with a hoof “-or hurt mah sister, and ah swear…” She trailed off, before turning and running down the hill towards Rorke, snatching her lasso up as she went. Zuko and AB watched her go, before the Iron Warrior turned away and went back to shaking the tree he’d been working on.

“Ahm Applebloom.” A small but confident voice said behind him. “Pleased to meet’cha, mister…”

Zuko stopped shaking, resting his horned helmet on the bark. Here they came, the questions. He’d been expecting as much. Silently, Zuko called on the Primarch for strength.

“Zuko.” He answered curtly.

“Pleased to meet’cha Mr Zuko.” There was a pause. “So…you’re from space.”

“Yes.” Zuko made a point of not looking at her, continuing to harvest the apples.

“Whut’s it lahk in space?”

“Grim.”

“Grim?”

“Yes. And Dark.”

“Oh.” There was another pause. “Mah big sis says y’all went intah the Everfree forest.”

“Yes.”

“Did’cha meet Zecora?” Applebloom said, excitedly.

“What’s a Zecora?”

“Oh, she’s a zebra who lives in a hut in the forest. Everyone thought she was bad, but ah found out she weren’t, and now she’s mah friend and teaches me to make potions and stuff! She’s almost as cool as Applejack!”

Zuko had stopped shaking the tree now. Images of a falling branch replayed over and over in his mind.

“Erm…nope, can’t say that we did, excuse me, got to get to this tree, busy doing Iron Warrior stuff.” He walked with speed, shaking the tree with increased vigour. He could feel Applebloom’s gaze on the back of his neck.

“Oh…only, no one’s seen her for a few days, and ahm startin’ ta-“

“Who were your companions in the city?” Zuko asked, loudly and desperately.

To Zuko’s relief she approached the subject with aplomb. “Oh, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo? They’re at Pinkie Pah’s right now. I wanted ta go but AJ said I had tah help with the harvest…anyway, we’re the cutie mark crusaders, and we’re a super-secret club tryin tah find our special talents! Only, we don’t know what they are yet, so that means we have to trah everything!” She went on, Zuko tuning her out for the most part. Only the occasional mention of ‘Cockatrice’ or ‘talent show’ confused him enough to get his attention. It wasn’t long until the questions were coming again.

“Whut’s your cutie mark mean?”

“My what?”

“Your cutie mark.” She pointed. “On yah shoulder.”

“It’s not a ‘cutie mark’.” He replied, tapping the helmeted skull affectionately. “It’s the Iron Warriors Legion symbol.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a symbol.”

“So…that means yah don’t have a cutie mark?” Zuko stopped shaking the tree, sighing and dipping his head against the trunk again.

“I guess not.”

“So that means…yah can join the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” Applebloom’s voice picked up excitedly, and she started hopping around his feet squeaking. Zuko looked at her despairingly.

“I’m…alright.”

Applebloom abruptly stopped her bounding, face falling and ears drooping. She kicked a hoof along the ground sadly.

“Oh…mm’kay then.”

Zuko nodded, turning back to his work.

“So…if y’all are soldiers from space…and there was some big war or somethin’…then wah’d yah lose?”

Applebloom yelped in fear as Zuko’s power fist roared into life. The tree he’d been shaking toppled as he punched straight through, energy field crackling on the wood. Slowly the Iron Warrior rounded on the filly, heartblood-red optics blazing. She stumbled back a few steps, squeezing her eyes shut and desperately trying to shield herself from the imminent attack.

“Ahm sorry, ahm sorry, ahm sorry!” she cried, shaking. She fought to control her breathing, voice quietning a little. “It’s just…ah wanted tah say thank ya. I mean…I know y’all must really hate bein’ here. All the grown-ups are bein’ really mean towards yah. But yah saved us from the Changelings, even if ya didn’t really mean tah. If it weren’t for you me and mah friends’d be dead right now! So…thank ya.”

She waited for the fists to fall. They didn’t. Applebloom stopped shaking, opening one eye, then another. Zuko was standing before her, head tilted slightly. Where before he’d been aggressive, now he regarded Applebloom with nothing but mystification.

“…don’t mention it.” He said eventually. His voice was still deep and frightening, but had ever so slightly mellowed. Applebloom smiled, standing to walk over to him.
“EVER.”

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Magic.
Vortun groaned internally as another of the fibre-thin wires pierced his mutated flesh. A small electric shock ran through him, but the Obliterator refused to budge. It was still uncomfortable, and Vortun wondered yet again how he’d got himself into this position.

Any sort of attempt to mourn his lost brother was cut short, as Vortun had found himself eagerly hurried into the peculiar hollowed out tree that the Iron Warriors had spotted earlier. It turned out to be the local library – a fairly exhaustive one at that –and also home for one Twilight Sparkle. The purple Unicorn had accompanied the Company onto the wreck of the Olympian Sun, and afterwards had relentlessly pestered Lorkhan into allowing her to study an Obliterator. The Warsmith had eventually relented, sending Vortun. With some effort he had managed to squeeze into the basement, although the bulky transhuman filled pretty much the entirety of the floor-space.

What space did exist was filled with scientific hardware and whirring machines that seemed completely inconsistent with the technology level Vortun had previously observed the Xenos to possess. The Obliterator himself was hooked up to most of these by various cables, streams of data being hastily sketched onto graphs and printed out. He tried his best to remain impassive, but the constant movement, teleportation and chin-scratching of his host only served to distract him.

“Frau Sparkle, I don’t think zat-“

“Hush. Quiet, please.” She cut him off briskly, still engrossed with examining one of the peculiar diagrams the machines had produced. The novelty at being addressed in such a way was enough to stop the Obliterator crushing the Xenos.

“I’m just zaying, vat exactly do you hope to accomplish from zis…examination?” Now Twilight did look up, eyes half closed in either annoyance or exhausting. Her voice was patient, but hostile.

“You and your…friends, are unlike anything ever seen in Equestria before. Therefore, we have literally no idea what we’re dealing with, and frankly I don’t like that mister. So we’re going to run these tests, and check the books, and REcheck the books, until I have an idea what in the hay you are, okay? Especially for a freak like you.” Vortun looked at her, keeping his face neutral.

Twilight simply rolled her eyes at his lack of co-operation, returning to her studies. Levitating a book beside her, she donned a pair of reading glasses and scrawled something in it. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“These readings…they’re completely insane! I’ve never seen anything like them.” A note of professional curiosity had crept into her voice, although she was clearly working to suppress it. The door on the small walkway above them slammed shut angrily; moments later, a small purple dragon toddled down the stairs, glaring at Vortun and waving a rolled-up newspaper in his direction. The Obliterator did the best he could to raise an eyebrow.

“Vat exactly are you intending to do with zat, small saurian?” The dragon looked a little shaken, and his eyes were slightly puffy, but he still waved the makeshift weapon in mock imitation of threat.

“No way I’m leaving Twilight in here with you, monster. You want her? You’re going through me.”

Twilight seemed touched by his defence of her, but also a little concerned. For his part Vortun was just trying not to laugh.

“Spike…are you okay?” She asked, reaching out to place a hoof on his shoulder. The baby dragon shrugged her off, turning away and clenching his fists tightly.

“I’m fine.” Twilight looked at her assistant, then back up at the Obliterator. Vortun gave an innocent shrug. The Unicorn’s horn lit up for a brief moment, before fizzling out. She turned back to her study. Vortun watched Spike for a moment, hoping he’d provide some further drama to alleviate some of the boredom of being here. It was clear he wasn’t rising to it, yet nor was he focusing on the Obliterator any more.

“Little von.” He said, tapping a power talon on what remained of his warped power armour. The sound echoed around the confined room. “You seem upset.”

“Shut up okay!” Spike shouted. Small licks of green flame erupted from his nostrils. Vortun smiled, flexing his claws as subconscious Astartes battle reflexes began to kick in. Before Spike could kick off, Twilight had stepped between the pair, a shield of purple light not unlike the one the Iron Warriors had been trapped within in Canterlot encompassed Vortun.

“That’s enough.” She said, sternly. “Just, please behave until I’ve finished the tests? Please? Then I promise you can go.”

Vortun stared at her in impassive silence. Twilight watched him for a moment, before her shoulders deflated and she shook her head despairingly. The Obliterator turned his attention to one of the date-engiens he was connected to, running a mutated fist down it.

“You do realise zat I could break out of here whenever I velt like it?” He said idly. “Is nacht difficult.” Twilight took a deep breath that the Obliterator assumed was to calm herself.

“You could.” She conceded. “You definitely could. But, I know you won’t.”

“And vhy is zat?”

“Because if you did try, then Princess Celestia would kick your butt!” Spike cut in, a feral grin replacing his previous maudlin demeanor. Vortun did not reply, or even move; but change did begin to overtake the blessed warrior. Machines flashed and whirred, needles scribbling on paper even more rapidly, as one of Vortun’s arms was reformed into a gargoyle-mouthed plasma cannon thrumming with barely contained power. The mutation was echoed by the ugly sneer cracking the Obliterator’s face. Twilight and Spike retreated, stumbling over discarded scrolls of paper. The Unicorn’s ears drooped as she realised just how much Vortun towered over her. Spike had taken refuge behind her, peering out from behind a leg.

“Vill she?” Vortun asked. His voice was deceptively calm, and quiet; completely at odds with his monstrous form. “Really?”

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Kindness.
Lorkhan closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of spades breaking earth and metal being bolted into place. The familiar action of construction and fortification brought the Warsmith a measure of contentment; he could almost ignore the trembling yellow and pink bundle by his feet.

‘Fluttershy’ – it turned out that was her name – padded the ground in what the Iron Warrior guessed was nervousness, the expression enhanced by her predilection towards covering her face with her long, flowing mane. She’d said next to nothing, or barely even made looked at Lorkhan, since they’d arrived. That suited the Warsmith fine; he wasn’t in the mood for discussion, especially with this particular alien.

“The trenches should be two metres forward,” he voxed out loud, not bothering to keep it private. “and 57 more degrees counter-clockwise.” The two closest Iron Warriors nodded, moving to comply with their entrenching tools.

“Umm…I don’t think…” Fluttershy mumbled. Lorkhan felt his grip on his axe tightening.

“Every Iron Warrior is, as well as an exceptional soldier, an experienced architectural journeyman. Celestia asked me to repair your hovel, and against my better judgement I’m going along with it, so don’t tell me what you don’t think.”

“Oh, I know you’re trying to help, but…can’t you put it back the way it was?” Lorkhan gave her a look that spelled out his answer, before letting loose an exasperated sigh. The sound of chisels broke the air again, restoring a measure of peace. It was only a measure.

When presented with the reconstruction task, Lorkhan had been surprised to find that the cottage wasn’t some natural, magically-altered creation. It was fashioned from timber, glass and nails like any building, with the grassy roof being artificially planted. Peculiarly there were a lot of allowances made to have room for animals to dwell. Then again, from what Lorkhan had observed, Fluttershy seemed to have taken an entirely fitting government-sponsored ecological job.

He supposed the design was aesthetically pleasing enough, if he’d ever cared for such things. But Lorkhan was an Iron Warrior, and upon seeing the sight the first thing that had struck him was the complete lack of defensive features. The Equestrians had very little need for functional fortresses, he’d observed that much. But the complete lack of kill-boxes, ease of approach by tracked vehicles, substantial deficiencies in anti-aircraft fire…his professional instincts were almost offended. He’d said as much to the small yellow horse.

“Oh, but, I mean I don’t really want it to be impenetrable…” she started. Lorkhan sighed again, before unclipping a tube that had been mag-locked to his belt. Popping the lid off, he removed the parchment from within, before opening it and holding it so Fluttershy could see.

“Your house will still be a functional place of habitation.” The Iron Warrior said, adopting a business-like tone. “We have merely provided additional reinforcement to areas formerly bereft of sufficient…iron. Here, and here.” He pointed at two marked areas on the diagram. As if parroting his motion, the other Iron Warriors began to hammer the sheets of metal into place on the side of the half-rebuilt cottage. Lorkhan had wanted Rorke for this job, to direct the work whilst he inevitably had to placate Fluttershy herself, but the Champion had managed to slip off. “Now, we’ve marked these three areas to mount the battle cannon. Where do you want it?”

“B-Battlecannon?” Fluttershy whimpered. Lorkhan rolled his eyes, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. One of the Obliterators, with the help of its unblessed brethren, was dragging the heavy cannon towards the construction site. The Iron Warriors had managed to tear it from the remains of a battle tank found in their ship’s wrecked hangar bays. It had galled many of them to bequeath it to a Xenos, but Lorkhan had pointed out that they were still craftsmen as well as mass-murderers, and they may as well do the job right; besides, they could always take it back if needs be.

“Oh, m-my…” the Xenos whimpered. She buried herself in her hair even further, now shaking slightly. Lorkhan went back to watching his men work, pleased at the progress they’d made in turning the cottage into a stronghold.

“Why are you so mean?”

The question took him off guard, as well as raising his temper. Lorkhan turned to face the pony, surprised to find she was now looking right at him, even if one eye was hidden. She squeaked pitifully as their eyes met; Lorkhan had fashioned some of the lower part of his helmet into a skull. That probably wasn’t helping.

“We were made to be this way.” He answered in a stony voice. Fluttershy squeaked again, and Lorkhan saw tears forming in her eyes. This stress of all this was seemingly too much for her. The Warsmith forced himself not to stamp the pathetic creature into the ground, instead reviewing the blueprints he had drawn again.

“I could say the same.” He said, curious despite himself. “Why are you such a coward?” He hadn’t been expecting an answer from the alien, instead bracing himself for something along the lines of her running away sobbing. A guttural Olympian curse met his ears, presumably because one of his Iron Warriors had dropped the metal sheet they we reinstalling on his foot.

“Well…m-my dad…he left when I was a little filly…”

It surprised the Warsmith enough to get him to look up from the blueprint. Fluttershy wasn’t crying now, instead staring at the ground as if reliving some trauma. It occurred to him that this pony was far from the most sociable he’d seen; what if he was the first creature Fluttershy had ever told this too? If so that was a hell of a bad decision.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe she just wanted to get it off her chest, and not be judged for it.

“My father left too.” Lorkhan said. He wasn’t sure why he said it, and dragging up the memories certainly didn’t make him feel better. But Fluttershy did look at him now; not smiling, but not as fearfully as she had done. Lorkhan’s iron mask was as emotionless as ever. For a brief moment, a debased form of kinship threatened to blossom between them. It evaporated the moment Lorkhan’s vox chimed.

“I have the special order, lord. Where’s it going?”

“Around the edges, the weak points we identified.” Lorkhan said out loud. On cue, three Iron Warriors clutching a wide array of explosive charges ambled past him and Fluttershy. The pony squeaked again.

“A-are you sure that’s safe?” She asked, voice almost inaudible even to Lorkhan’s enhanced hearing.

“Relax, will you?” He retorted. “We just need to loosen up some of the rock to install the tank traps and so forth. We’re seasoned professionals at this.” He rolled the blueprint up again, slotting it back in its canister and flexing his arms. “What could possibly go wrong?”

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Laughter.
“Why are we doing this, this is so stupid.”

Barbus couldn’t see Varvillon’s expression, but from the way his shoulders moved it was fairly obvious he was laughing. The studious Astartes wouldn’t have been Barbus’ first choice of companion, but anyone of Olympian blood was better than no-one when it came to this blasted bakery.

“I thought you’d be asking rather more obvious questions.” Varvillon retorted. “Like, where’s that music coming from?”

“Thank you.” Barbus deadpanned. “I’d been trying not to think about that.”

The two super soldiers were stood at the periphery of Sugercube corner’s kitchen, which is probably the last place in the galaxy Barbus had ever expected to be. If indeed this was the galaxy as they knew it; frankly, the Iron Warrior was still having doubts over that. Frankly he was still surprised that he’d managed to fit inside these buildings at all; then again, this whole place did seem like something out of a child’s holo-pict. Although in the holo-picts that Barbus remembered the aliens were always crushed under the boot heel of mankind ascendant at the end.

He wasn’t doing much crushing of anything at the moment.

On the other side of the room, in the bakery’s kitchen area, were three of the Xenos. Barbus had been learning their names throughout the day by listening in; the pink one, presumably the oldest and the one Lorkhan had engaged in heroic battle, was called Pinkie Pie, which was easy enough to remember. She was the one singing along to the music, apparently espousing the virtue of making baked confectionary to her two assistants. Varvillon had noted, with some degree of interest, the reality-bending powers she seemed to possess; twice during the song she had disappeared, only to reappear from within an oven or behind a lampshade. Much like the music seemingly spawned ex nihilo, Barbus preferred not to think about it. Of the two little ones, the orange one with the shorter hair was called Scootaloo, whilst the white one’s name was Sweetie Belle. All of them seemed to be doing their best to completely ignore the Astartes’ presence, although Sweetie had cast a few fearful glances in their direction.

“Do you think it’d help if we took our helmets off?” Varvillon asked.

“Probably.” Barbus admitted. Varvillon stared at him a moment, just to be certain his brother had no intention of removing said helmet.

One of the ovens beeped, and Pinkie hopped over to it. She always travelled like that; hopping, as well as having a goofy grin plastered across her face. Even though she wasn’t talking to Space Marines, being in her presence was grating in the extreme. The only reason he’d come was it was somewhere to hide out and beat helping Lorkhan in his community service, or being prodded with a stick like Vortun, or…whatever Mordecai was doing.

Pinkie opened the oven, pulling the tray containing the baked goods out with her teeth. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo’s faces lit up at the sight, whilst Varvillon watched with detached academic interest. Pinkie gently placed the tray on the counter, before giggling to herself slightly.

“Alrighty then, Crusaderinos!” Gods, that voice really is annoying. “Now that they’re baked, it’s time to get caked!” The complete lack of sense the sentence made was almost physically painful to Barbus. Before Pinkie could murder the language any more, there was a knock at the door. The pink horse left the other two with a bowl of leftover mixture, bounding past to answer the knock. Again, she made a point of not looking at the Iron Warriors. For their part the Marines kept staring at the two juveniles, but the conversation could clearly be heard.

“Oh, Applejack, you’re just in time! We were baking some muffins, well when I say we I meant me mainly, but the Crusaders were helping me, and Derpy was meant to be here but she’s not so-“

“No tahm Pinkie, have y’all seen Lahra?”

“Lyra?...no, can’t say I have, sorry AJ! I saw ‘Tavi earlier though, but she didn’t want to come and make muffins, which I think is a shame because-“

“No tahm Pinkie, ah need tah fahnd Lahra…aw horseapples, there those varmints are, gotta run”

Barbus didn’t hear the door close. Instead he remained focused on the two little ponies across the room; for a moment he thought they were actually going to try and talk to him, but fortunately they seemed more scared of the Marines than anything. At least they weren’t stupid, then. Sweetie Belle was spending her time sniffing the steaming muffins, a blissful expression on her face. Scootaloo on the other hand was grinning devilishly, handling the bowl of mixture and dipping a hoof in. She flicked the residue at Sweetie, coating her white fur with blobs of cake mixture. Sweetie looked down in surprise, before up at her friend with a grin. Grabbing some flour from a packet, she threw that a sway of response, staining Scootaloo’s coat white. Before long a fully blown food fight was in progress, Ponies ducking behind the counter for cover. Barbus heard Varvillon laughing; he turned to look at his fellow Iron Warrior.

“I’m starting to think you actually like these things.” Barbus said, sounding as if he was describing liking a fungus. Barbus drew in breath to reply, but was cut off by another shrill screech.

“Girls, no no no!”

Barbus looked back at the chaos. In the confusion it seemed Sweetie Belle had produced a knife from somewhere, and was pretending to assault Scootaloo with it. Pinkie apparently took a dim view, running – not hopping – across the room and snatching the knife away. Sweetie looked at the ground, like a naughty child being sent to the principal’s office.

“Sorry Pinkie…”

The stern look that had crossed he pink Xenos’ face vanished in an instant, and she drew both children into an embrace.

“Aww, that’s okay girls. You just have to be careful with these things, okay?”

“Okay.” They said in chorus. It was all Barbus could do not to stick a grenade down his own throat in despair. Pinkie released her friends, looking at her wrist. It seems she’d…drawn her own watch on. That was another thing Barbus decided not to think about, but by now his head was starting to hurt.

“Great googly moogly, just look at the time!” Pinkie cried, slapping her face with a hoof in exaggerated surprise. “It’s time for you girls to have a nap!”

“Aww, but we’re not even tired…” Sweetie Belle said.

“Yeah, and besides, we’re not babies, we haven’t had a nap in years!” Scootaloo finished. Sweetie Belle’s face reddened, but she nodded in agreement, Barbus felt like he needed a nap.

“I know you don’t want to girls,” Pinkie said apologetically, with a rueful smile. “But we were up all night last night partying! And Rarity and Rainbow Dash said I have to be a responsible sitter, so that’s what I’m gonna do!”

“…okay.” The two little ponies mumbled, eyelids already drooping. Pinkie ushered them up the stairs, before finding them a room and tucking them into bed. Barbus and Varvillon followed, to seeing much else to do. The stairs creaked under their weight, but somehow managed to hold. When the two small Xenos were tucked up beneath the covers, Pinkie patted them each on the head once.

“Just for a few hours, then I promise we’ll have lots of fun later!”

“Oh, maybe we can go crusading!” Sweetie Belle practically screamed, grinning from ear to ear. “We could get our Cutie Marks in…in…”

“In white water rapiding!” Scootaloo concluded, grinning even more. Pinkie clapped her hooves excitedly.

“That sounds super fun! Well, I’ll see you later, mm’kay?”
“Goodnight Pinkie.” Sweetie and Scootaloo chorused. Pinkie drew the blinds, and turned to bound out the room. She stopped for a moment, as if she was going to tell the Iron Warriors to leave, before deciding that giving them the silent treatment was more important. Varvillon moved to allow her to pass, and the sound of her hopping down the stairs was all that broke the silence.

Barbus and Varvillon turned and looked at Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo looked at Barbus and Varvillon. An awkward tension descended, Barbus flicking the end of one of the horns that curved around from the side of his helmet whilst Sweetie Belle hid under the covers with a squeak.

“Child.” Barbus said eventually.

“Yeah?” Scootaloo answered. Sweetie squeaked again.

“You were chastised for playing with a blade.” It wasn’t a question. Sweetie’s horn poked up from beneath the covers, followed by two large green eyes.

“Y-yeah, but…I guess it was wrong and stuff…”

Barbus didn’t reply for a moment, just staring at the two Xenos. Then, he reached up to place a hand either side of his helmet and yanked upwards. The hiss of pressure being released indicated the broken seal. Taking it off, he held it in the crook of his arm, blinking.

“Have you ever wanted to know what it feels like to have a knife go through your eye?”

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo screamed. Pinkie rushed back into the room, flinging the door open. Varvillon had slapped a palm into his face and was shaking his head sadly. Barbus just smiled, whilst his red bionic eye glowed and clicked.

“Sleep well, tiny horse.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Generosity.
“I must say,” Rarity said, taking another sip of her tea. “You’ve been quite a surprise, my dear>”

Across the table her bulky guest demurely supped his own brew. Being forced to take a seat on the floor may have rankled with some of his more prideful brothers; yet, Mordecai had always been an advocate of ‘ladies first’.

“Oh pish posh, think nothing on it.” The sorcerer replied, casting an idle eye to his helmet. It rested on the table in front of him, glaring back at the Warlock. “If one is bound into service as a condition of stay, then one may as well make the best of it.”

She chuckled elegantly, resting the cup on its saucer. Mordecai had found that his power armour made actually fitting a finger through the ring of the cups difficult; it hung in mid-air before him, suspended by his telekinetic power. He didn’t technically need to drink it of course, but it would have been rude not to partake in his host’s offer.

“Well you were an absolute darling in helping me run my errands today.” The white horse continued. She smiled at him, and Mordecai was keenly aware that she was the first pony he’d encountered to do so. “Although I fear we gave poor little Spikey-Wikey a terrible shock.”

“Your small dragon friend?” The Iron Warrior inquired. It had been he who had answered the door when Rarity and the sorcerer had visited the library for a quaint little volume titled historical styles of the Griffon Kingdoms, and was seemingly quite put off when he saw the rapport his two visitors had built. Mordecai wasn’t sure why, but from the way he had looked at Rarity – not to mention the hormonal stench his Astartes senses had detected – he could make his own judgements. “He seemed a stout fellow. I’m sure he recovered post-haste.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Rarity conceded, though her bottom lip stuck out in a small pout. She levitated her own drink now, swilling it with a teaspoon. “I just feel so awful for scaring the poor dear like that. You must admit,” She flashed the Iron Warrior a coy smile. “you all make quite an impression.”

Now it was Mordecai’s turn to chuckle. A genuinely warm smile crossed his features, though he didn’t meet her eyes. He wasn’t like his brothers in terms of temperament, he knew that. Ever since they’d fled to the Eye after the Siege he’d been changing.

No, he wasn’t like them. He probably never would be again.

“You are, of course, correct.” He acknowledged. The weight of his rune inscribed sword and power axe was suddenly very heavy at his side. “It is in our very nature to be violent and cruel. By all rights we should have slaughtered every living thing on this planet by now.” His voice never lost its jovial edge. Rarity was still smiling at him, but now it was noticeably more glassy – more forced. “Yet for all my dear brothers and I may loathe this place, we are not foolish enough to think that to pursue such a course of action would be conducive to our on-going success. I for one, intend to make the best of circumstances.”

Rarity had recovered her poise by now. It occurred to Mordecai that the glamorous creature before him must have become an expert at feigning interest over the years. “Well, pardon me for being so…crass, but your friends certainly seem to be less positive about this than you.”

“Alas, I fear they are the majority rather than the exception. We do not agree on many things, I regret to say. It is the cause of no small amount of…friction between us.”

“Good heavens, you mean they ostracise you?” It surprised Mordecai to hear that she sounded legitimately saddened.

“Not ostracised so much my lady, more that they are…somewhat acutely alive to the existence of etiquette distinctions.”

“Well, I say good riddance to them.” Rarity snapped. Her eyes were steely. “You are quite the charmer Mr Mordecai, it must be said, and so I possibly imagine why you would willingly associate with such deplorable individuals. Especially that foul brute Lorkhan.” Her voice was ice-cold now. “What he did to Pinkie was unforgivable.”

“You must make allowances, my dear.” Mordecai said in a patient voice. “This whole frightfully rummy affair has been a terrible strain on the Warsmith, particularly when our previous, less than prestigious style of living is considered. And I feel he may blame himself for some of our escapades in the forest at the behest of your Princess.” He stared into his drink, as if plumbing it for answers. “My Lord Warsmith, whilst an extremely capable man in his own right, has the unfortunate tendency to not always consider matters with sufficient assiduity before embarking upon a course of action.”

“But you would vouch for him then?” She looked unconvinced.

“I would.” Mordecai affirmed. “Lorkhan may have his faults, I admit, but he is my captain and I am sure he will adjust to life here soon enough.”

Mordecai was no telepath, nor could he see into the future’s twisting paths. Yet even he had a terrible inkling that something was about to happen; an inkling that was answered moments later when the explosion happened. Rarity squealed and jumped about a foot in the air, dropping her cup in fright. It shattered, spilling the liquid all over the floor. Mordecai calmly placed his cup down with a sigh, and went to join her by the window.

Something had slammed into the ground outside Carousel Boutique, leaving a crater only slightly smaller than some artillery shells. Steam was rising from it, but the crowds of ponies gathered around it made identifying the object difficult. He was finally able to tell that it was a letter box, ripped from the ground by a powerful blast and sent careening through the air. The word ‘Fluttershy’ was just visible on the side. As expected, a familiar voice could be heard from the other side of town, unmistakable despite Mordecai’s distance from its source.

“WELL EXCUSE ME PRINCESS.”

Before Mordecai could speak up, a mint-green pony dashed across the impact sight, a wail emanating from her throat. Rorke, of course, was behind her, screaming just as incoherently. A rope was attached to his leg; an orange pony with a hat clutched the other end in her teeth in what looked like an effort to slow the Iron Warrior down, although he dragged her along with little effort. The procession dashed in front of the crowd, before disappearing from sight.

The sorcerer watched all this with a detached and aloof air. He was keenly aware of Rarity’s disapproving gaze burning into his side. Mordecai turned to face her, his face a stoic and emotionless mask.

“Acclimatisation…may take longer than expected.”

Author's Note:

Unf. The whole idea for this chapter was so much better in my head. I tried my best to interconnect it, but all the Ponies seems OOC; well, except AJ, but that's because she's the best horse. Pinkie and Fluttershy in particular are a nightmare. The Iron Warriors are acting a little OOC, but then again they're always like that-I liked the bit with Zuko and the Apple family though. To be honest this whole section could use some trimming, but I don't have the patience, energy or inclination for that right now.

When Lorkhan talks about his father, he is of course not referring to his biological dad. Giving a battle-cannon to a Xenos might be a big no no for Space Marines in general, but...well, it's Fluttershy. It's not like they can't get it back later.

Hopefully none of you Dashfags feel short changed. Pinkie and Flutters were more annoying tow rite, but Dash came off the most wooden in my opinion. Still, I'll leave you guys to judge.

Comments

[Cobra of England]

You should make a series of these My 'Insert Space Marine Legion here': 'Prefered Method of Warfare' is Magic.

Some of the results could be... Intresting.

[Bolshevik Skeleton]

2708171 my little emperor's children dubstep is magic

[Verbose Soubriquet]

When Space Marines get bored, interesting things tend to happen.
This chapter kept up the wittiness, mainly because all the jokes were delivered so well. Each funny bit was utterly serious and deadpan, and their results were hilarious.
The ponies did not seem out of character to me. Applejack is stubborn and defensive, Rainbow is an aggressive pain in the skidplate, Fluttershy is a pushover, Twilight is an obsessive nerd, Pinkie is hyperactive and irritating, and Rarity is diplomatic.
Wow. When did I become such a cynic?

[OnlineImhotep]

The idea of giving Fluttershy a fortress is hilarious.

[OnlineImhotep]

Also; shouldn't that say, "My Iron Warriors: Ordinance is Magic"?
You know, with the 'I' in 'Ordinance'?

[Perturabo]

2708171
Oh dear lord.

The World Eaters.

I can't even.

Although I reckon the Iron Hands probably would react the worst. So much weak pony flesh, so little time. The Night Lords and Dark Angels hold the dubious honour of being my favourite Legions, so either 'Terror is hilarious' or 'Heresy is secret' would have been the working title. I'm also dabbling with Word Bearers currently, so 'My Little Word Bearer: Religion is Magic'?

Huh. That kind of rolls of the tongue.

2715066
Urm...urr...

Yes, yes it should. I'm not even gonna try and weasal my way out of this one.

[JawsOnYou67]

2720797 My Little Blood Ravens: Stealing the Enemy is Magic

My Little Tyranids: Om Nom Noming is Magic

My Little Ultramarines: Plot Armor is Magic

My Little Sons of Malice: Silence is Magic

My little Black Legion: Failing is Magic

My Little Thousand Sons: Magic is Magic is Magicly Magical AkA Rubric Marines

My Little Death Guard: Herpy Hugs are Magic

My Little World Eaters: *rip tear smash* Magic is for Weaklings

And finally

My Little Dark Eldar: Rape is Magic