Chapter 1: Five heroes walk into a diner…
Fallout: Equestria - Natural 20
Written by: TheBobulator, Tofu, SwimmingEagle, Adder1, and Tonto the Trotter.
Chapter 1: Five heroes walk into a diner…
***
“In the grim, dark future of ponykind, the world is trapped in an impenetrable shadow of evil. Very infrequently, distinguished individuals take a stand to try and alter the course of reality as they see fit. In these times when heroes and villains can no longer be classified into clear definitions of good or evil, there are moments when the very boundaries of the universe are pushed to their limits. At the end of the day, be they machine, ghoul, seapony, pegasus, unicorn, or champion, all are still ponies. Furth—”
“Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t ya?” came the sarcastic verbal jab of a sea-green unicorn. He had braided white and black hair and was leaning in from the restaurant window, his hooves hanging over the windowsill near the corner booth of the cafe.
“Oh, I’m just trying to set the scene and—shut the hell up!” the other unicorn in the booth screamed. He looked young, especially with his dangerously long blond mane and his well-groomed ashy gray coat. The sheer volume of his voice sent the window-borne pony further into the decorative pool out in front of the diner. A large dolphin-like tail flipped upwards with a splash, flinging a small torrent of water into the booth. Twisting his fins around, Riptide lifted himself back up to the window.
More and more patrons began filing into the diner in short order, all of them in various levels of costume. Some looked as if they’d clawed their way straight out of the grave, their coats perfect likenesses of rotten flesh save for their faces, where masks had been peeled or otherwise washed off. Others wore casual clothes or no clothes at all. Some still wore their filming equipment or rigging gear, which probably meant they’d been released for a break before returning to work.
“Looks like the pre-costume department rush is coming in,” Riptide mused. “Everypony wants a quick bite before they wait for a straight hour for someone to undress them.”
A young stallion with an apron bustled by, moving from table to table busily collecting dishes and wiping down the recently vacated tables. He was an earth pony with a red coat and a blonde mane.
“Heyo, Understudy, still working the commissary? Or are you method acting today?” Riptide jibed from across the table. The stallion looked up and rolled his eyes, smiling.
“Looks like we’re a few stars short,” Understudy noted amiably, brandishing a tray laden with five drinks of differing sorts before passing them out to all of the seats starting with the furthest. “Another orange juice for the seapony,” he said, passing the refreshment to Riptide who was leaning in through the window.
“You are a gentlepony and a scholar.” Riptide sucked down the remainder of his original orange juice through an extended curly straw. Removing the empty glass from the table, the waiter carefully positioned the full one so that Riptide could drop the straw into the bright yellow beverage.
“And here’s a Fix-it PhD for the one and only Inkwell.” A dewy silver can bearing a pleasant swirl of white and dark reds and a grinning doctor pony was gently placed on the table along with a cup full of ice, the cubes within tinkling softly as they settled within the glass.
“Much appreciated,” the unicorn smoothly responded.
“Three double espressos, extra vanilla, and extra cherry syrup for Frosty Winds the caffeine addict, whenever she arrives; strawberry juice for the equally missing suave rogue that is Mach; and I’m pretty sure I know what Frost Windchill wants, but we’ll see once he gets in.” A massive dark mug with large bold lettering embossed around the circumference scraped across the table, followed by a small pink carton bearing the picture of a ripe strawberry.
“When are the other three supposed to get here?” Riptide inquired, turning to Inkwell with a raised eyebrow. “I know that they were going to see if Littlepip wanted to join us, but it’s not that long of a walk to her trailer.”
Right at that moment, a very exhausted-looking teal pegasus drifted down into the cafe through the open skylight. She looked left and right, whipping around her white mane before identifying the booth occupied by her friends. A few random stripes of blue still showed in her mane and short tail, displaying plainly that she’d just gotten off set. There were traces of dark circles under her eyes that even her makeup couldn’t cover. Riptide smirked as she dropped in.
“Had to fight the autographers?” Riptide verbally poked the pegasus. “How many siggies did you have to give up?”
“Nah. Filming stretched out longer than expected, then the costume and makeup department happened. Ugh, I hate having to wear a giant, green ping pong ball-studded boot for twenty hours a day.” Frosty pulled her favorite ‘I hate days that have vowels in them’ mug right up to her face and inhaled the enriching scent of her ninth coffee of the day. “At least filming is done for the week, so I can finally relax.”
“I’d gladly wear that boot if it meant not having to film in a hot studio wearing a stifling full-body suit with fake snow everywhere,” Inkwell snorted, recounting his own morning on set.
“C’mon, Inky. It can’t be that bad. I’m basically wearing what you usually are on set sans the helmet.” Frosty ruffled her feathers and settled into her seat. “You’re just jealous I’m cooler.”
“Just keep cool on camera.” Inkwell waved at the nearest visible one. “Please tell me you read your mail. Or skimmed it, at least.”
Obviously not having read her mail, Frosty happily chirped, “Oh, I love getting paid.”
Riptide stifled a snigger. “Frosty. Cool. Teehee.”
“Don’t even try that with me today,” Frosty warned.
"I do my own stunts, Frosty—I will throw down with you." He raised his hoof, pointing at the smug mare.
"Oooh, I'm so scared that you'll splash water all over me. The. Horror." Frosty leaned back in her chair in a mock display of fear. “You might mess up my mane. Don’t get me started on my very extensive makeup.”
Inkwell sighed, “Girls, girls, I don’t care if it’s that time of the month. Stop squabbling about who’s got prettier lipstick.” Riptide looked like his head was about to explode from the thoughts building up in his mind.
“You bet your ass I’ve got prettier lipstick,” Frosty taunted with a flip of her mane.
“I DON’T HAVE AN ASS!” Riptide wailed, half in outrage and half in crushing disappointment.
Frosty’s victorious smirk turned into a puzzled frown. “Huh. You do make a really good point. Damn, there goes half of my material, too.”
With a deafening crash, the door to the small cafe slammed open and rebounded against the wall, letting in the outside sunlight and, along with it, the sound of hundreds of excitedly screaming mares. The three ponies seated at the table each turned to look toward the source of the commotion, all of them aware of who it was before they even turned.
True to their guess, a blood-red pegasus galloped through the door, darting nimbly to the side and out of sight before pressing his back tightly to the wall, looking rather harried. The cause for his behavior became apparent scant moments later when a group of clamoring fanfillies attempted to cram themselves through the door all at once, causing complete gridlock within the doorframe. Although he appeared to be trying to hide it behind a mask of inconvenience, the pony's smug sense of self-satisfaction was betrayed by the massive grin plastered all over his face.
Once security had dealt with the rampaging horde, the pegasus breathed a sigh of relief and trotted over to join the group at the table.
"Fanfillies, I swear," the pegasus said, still grinning a mile wide. "I think it's the wings, you know? Drives 'em nuts. Or maybe it's my ridiculously well-toned muscles. Or maybe my pearly whites," he said, flashing that grin again. "What do you think, beautiful? Any input on this?" the pegasus asked, unfurling a massive wing and curling it around Frosty's shoulders.
“I do like the wings, but keep ‘em to yourself, Mach.” Frosty hid her embarrassed grin behind a quick retort. “I’m sure your legal puppies would enjoy solving yet another suit of sexual harassment.”
“Shot down while I'm in character on set, shot down when I've got you away from the cameras… you can only hold out for so long, baby. All the fillies cave in eventually. C'mon, Frosty, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“My sense of adventure wants you to buy me my next coffee. Maybe then we’ll talk.” Frosty contentedly sighed into her mug. “Mmm… espresso.”
“HEY, CAN I GET SOME FREAKIN’ SERVICE OVER HERE!?” Mach bellowed, glaring around in an undignified manner, as if expecting ponies to be there to wait on him the minute he’d strode through the door. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a strawberry juice over here? I CAN ONLY EAT AND DRINK THINGS THAT ARE THE SAME COLOR AS MY COAT! ANYTHING ELSE IS UNACCEPTABLE!” he roared again, slamming a hoof down on the table before noticing the beverage already waiting nearby. “Oh, it’s already here,” he murmured, taking a sip before turning to Frosty, expression completely neutral as if he hadn’t just caused a scene with his obnoxious outburst.
“Very smooth.” Frosty nudged Mach in the ribs.
Mach scooted fractionally closer to the mare in question. “Got any feelings for your favorite stallion in the Wasteland?”
“Let’s pull it back a few notches. We’re off-set, so at least I won’t have to tolerate your wimpy set attitude all evening,” the teal-coated mare teasingly retorted. “Besides, you’re just mad that I’m a hard counter to you.”
“Oh, ow. Ow, Frosty. Ow,” Mach said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve shut me down, whatever shall I do?” Mach’s playful grin slowly faded as Frosty self-satisfactorily began to drain her massive mug, and a nagging question came to his mind. “How much are those, anyway?”
“Let’s see…” Frosty stared into the mug. “Three espressos for forty bits each, cherry syrup for ten bits, vanilla syrup for ten bits, I think. There’s also that stupid, scrubby ‘all-natural’ sugar bull—”
“Uh…” Mach uncomfortably shifted in his seat.
“—and one spurtzamajig of whipped cream for another three bits.”
“Is that a real unit of measurement…?” Mach muttered softly to himself. “Um, you know what? I think I left my wallet in my armor prop,” Mach stated with an awkward cough. "A-anyway… where, uh… where's Little Miss Pip?"
“I thought you went to ask.” Riptide frowned, sending up little splashes of water as he changed leaning positions.
“Wait, why me? Didn’t we agree that you’d be going?” Mach asked, glaring at the seapony in the window.
Frosty’s head came off the table and she dragged her mug back to her. "Word has it she’s got a prior engagement with somepony else. Homage, probably."
Everypony gathered at the table nearly simultaneously came to the exact same conclusion. "They're banging."
There was a lull in the conversation as laughter petered out and the gathering of ponies consulted their drinks for new topics. Inkwell poured the remainder of his Fix-it PhD into his glass. “So, what’s everypony been doing on set?”
Riptide recounted the latest bits of filming in the Oceania Arc. “Well, we finally got to the damn island. And maybe we can actually move the plot along. Gotta admit, costume department did a freaking amazing job on Sugar. You’d think she actually was full of wires. None of the green screen crap.”
“Sheesh, all I do is green screen at this point.” Frosty eagerly gulped down the last dregs of her coffee. “We’ve gotten to the point where after filming whatever scene we’re on, I need to immediately change outfits after takes so that my character can talk to herself. You know how hard it is to look at empty air where another character is supposed to be and deliver lines and reactions? This isn’t what I became an actor for.”
“Don’t they have stand-ins for that stuff? Y’know, so you don’t look like a stupid doofus talking to thin air?”
“Here’s the thing—we spent too many bits on special effects, so I just have to make do with what I’ve got.” Frosty shoved a hoof into her mug and gleefully eyed the glob of cherry syrup stuck to it upon withdrawal. “It’s too bad that my stunt double can’t act for shit.”
"You think you guys have it bad? Come take a peek the next time I’m shooting, I guarantee you’ll cringe at how lame my character can be,” Mach scoffed. “A whinier, more angsty person I've never met in my life. Seriously, the guy has insane daddy issues, and he's a stallion. That's a total mare problem. Not only that, but he turns into a blubbering wreck whenever he's faced with his own mortality. Come on, seriously? Buck up! Face your doom like a stallion, not a scared little filly! Sweet Celestia, my producer is out of his mind if he thinks anypony will buy a ticket to watch this drivel."
Inkwell snorted sarcastically, “Oh, it’s just sooooo terrible for you. I’ve seen what you get up to after filming, Mach. Lazing about the beach, trying to catch yourself a nice piece of flank. I have to wear this clunky cumbersome power armor outfit every day and then I have to wade through ‘ice cold snow’ in a insulated little studio. Snow as deep as my chin! MY CHIN!”
As the others chattered, a green-furred unicorn with a sharp muzzle and a rough beard entered the cafe with far less commotion than the previous patron, wearing a full set of Lunar Guard armor. Even if it was just a costume, it looked just as imposing—and heavy—as the real thing. The predatory slits of his irises and the subtle amber tint of his eyes completed the image. His mane and tail were a greasy black, the former poking out from his helm ever so slightly. He spared a quick glance at the others and settled down at the counter. “Strawberry daiquiri,” he said in a grave, smooth voice.
Understudy grunted, “Frost, you know we don’t have those.”
“Still?” The green unicorn frowned. “Hard lemonade.”
The waiter nodded and quickly returned with a small, frosty glass bottle filled with lemonade. The green unicorn let out a sigh of relief as his drink arrived, firing up his horn with a soft-blue glow and popping the cap off to take a long, drawn-out sip as if savoring the drink.
Inkwell swirled the ice in his cup. “Hey, Frost. How’s it going?”
Reflexively, both Frosty and Frost both looked up. “Huh?”
Frosty instantly realized she wasn't being talked to. "I should really remember how to listen carefully," She muttered to nopony in particular.
Inkwell fought to suppress a chuckle, then added,“Oh, careful with the language. We’re on camera.”
Frost Windchill glanced off to the side. “Cameras? What, are they—oh, don’t tell me they’re filming this! I have enough mo—”
Mach let loose an epic belch that rattled the entire table’s drinks.
“—to deal with just playing the damn guy!”
“Yep. They are, unfortunately.” Mach adjusted the straw in his juice box. “And cool it with the language, huh? You know what they say: profanity is the effort of a feeble brain to express itself forcibly.”
“What, do we have to be in—”
Frosty loudly groaned and rubbed her eyes with both hooves.
“—ing-character for this too?” Frost scowled.
“Nah, just act natural.” Riptide began to balance a plastic water lily on his nose. “You know. Recognition. Profit. Licensing fees. Hey, at least we’re still getting paid for this.”
A teal hoof went up. “I like money.”
“Fine,” Frost grunted. “It’s bad enough acting as a schizophrenic anti-hero with CGI cryomancy. Too many damn retakes… the hay do they expect me to pull that off perfectly?”
“Don’t you get paid the most out of all of us?” Frosty asked.
Frost turned his cold glare to the pegasus. “What’s it to you?”
“Hey, any of you get pestered by this one reporter?” Inkwell interjected, quickly changing the subject before anything more physical broke out again.
“What, huge sunglasses, horrible pink coat?” Frosty asked, her curiosity piqued.
“She shoves a microphone in your face and immediately starts asking stupid questions, right?” Frost grunted.
“Yeah, something like that.” Inkwell nodded.
“Hey, wait I’ve got a story—she asked me ‘what do you do in your free time?’ yesterday.” Frosty excitedly sat up with a flutter of her wings and a dramatic foreleg flourish.
“And?” Riptide leaned in further, awaiting an answer.
Frosty began to laugh. “In my mind, I was like ‘say masturbate, it’ll be funny’.”
“So what happened?” Mach eagerly asked, leaning in expectantly.
Suddenly, Frosty was the center of attention from the four other ponies at the table that were all waiting with bated breath for her to continue. “Not much. I told her to buzz off and talk to my agent,” she awkwardly responded, ears lowered in embarrassment.
There was a collective groan from the gathered actors. “Aww, and I was hoping it would be something more interesting.” Riptide flopped backward into the pool with a resounding splash.
“Woah, what’s with the evening crowd?” Mach asked, shifting uncomfortably when he noticed that the diner was considerably more populated than it normally was at this time. “I don’t like big crowds. I have way too many unpleasant memories of overzealous fans. Have you ever been glomped by a four-hundred pound fanfilly? It’s no picnic. It’s like being dive-bombed by a blue whale.”
“What was it…?” Inkwell scratched his chin. “I heard they’re filming ‘Too Many Doctors: The Return’. It’s just another one of Quick Sell’s D-rated movies.”
“What was their tagline?” Frost huffed, setting aside another empty bottle. “Something about death?”
“I believe it was… ‘Time for a second opinion’, right?” Frosty attempted to dramatically draw out the movie’s terrible catchphrase. “I think it’s a suitably corny title.”
Frost stared blankly at the cyan mare. “…I was close.”
“…no, you weren’t,” Frosty replied. “A second opinion is nowhere close to death. Well, in this case it isn’t.”
Juice was noisily slurped up through Riptide’s long curly straw. “Goddesses… that is really corny.”
“It gets better—there are zombies and sea monsters.” Frosty failed to stifle a hysterical laugh. “I’m surprised that there aren’t giant robots as well!”
“What.” Frost slumped his shoulders. “Ugh, the things movies get away with…”
“Says the pony that plays a rehydrated, freeze-dried Lunar Guard that loves those little cute flippy knives,” Frosty jokingly pointed out, then paused in thought. “Well, I guess this is also coming from the pony that plays a partly robot pegasus with an obvious hot-filly-with-a-big-gun thing going for it. Hmm.”
“Zombies and b—”
Mach loudly slurped at his empty juice box.
“—ing sea monsters are worse,” Frost grunted back. “Don’t argue.”
“Hey guys, my shift’s almost over, so this lovely mare will be taking over drinks and snacks.” Understudy nodded his head at the mare standing next to him. “This is High Tide. She’s a friend of mine and she used to work at the ‘Take-out’s Totally Terrific Themed Tacos’ on the other side of the lot.”
A bubbly little waitresspony trotted up to the table where the group had settled in, a little name tag on her work blouse declaring her to be High Tide. She was a cornflower-coated unicorn with a cutie mark of a tray loaded with meals. Her chestnut-brown mane was tied up into a manageable ponytail, and she wore a waist apron tied around her midsection just beneath her work blouse. A pen and a little booklet for taking orders were neatly tucked away in a pocket.
She wore a big smile as she approached the group, horn flaring into life and pulling her order book out to hold at the ready. Her demeanor was pleasant and inviting, and she paused to quickly scan the table before speaking.
"How is everything going so far?” High Tide immediately chirped. “Can I get anypony anything? Refills? Would you like to start things off with an appetizer, or are you ready to order?"
Frosty peered into her mug and swirled it around. “I require additional caffeine.” She gently slid the heavy ceramic container across the table to High Tide.
The mug was levitated onto a small tray on High Tide’s back. “No problem! What were you having?” she asked.
“Just the usual.” Frosty caught High Tide’s momentarily confused look. “I’ve spent a fortune on coffee here. Placeholder’s been making my coffee for months now. He’ll know.”
Riptide waved his hoof. “More orange juice!”
“Gladly!” The empty glass joined Frosty’s mug. “And what about you, sir?”
It took a second for Frost to realize he was being addressed. “Sure, whatever.”
“I might as well get another soda then,” Inkwell sighed.
Mach expectantly held up his empty juice box. “One more of these, too! Oh, and could you bring some of those spicy tomato chip things as well? Red warrior need food. Badly!”
“Ooh, on the topic of food… I know Placeholder’s got some of that killer blueberry buckle hidden somewhere,” Frosty interjected. “And I’m not going to believe his ‘I ate all of it’ excuse!”
High Tide finished writing everything down in her pad. “Excellent! Your drinks and food will be along shortly.” She gave the group a giddy grin before heading to a different table.
With drinks and introductions taken care of, Understudy returned and pulled up a chair stolen from another table to add to the end of the booth. He left the table again and came back with an assortment of books and a box. “Okay fillies and colts, you know the drill. Scoot the drinks and stuff back and wipe up your messes. I don’t want more salsa on my boards.” Obediently, everypony sitting at the table hastily wiped up their section of table with their fetlocks or somepony else’s fetlocks.
“Hey!” Mach tugged his hoof away from Frosty. “Use your own!”
“Coffee stains don’t come out of my fur very well,” the teal mare simply replied.
“After what happened last time and considering the circumstances, I think it might be best if you all rolled up new characters,” Understudy sighed, mentally recounting the disaster a few days ago while laying out the game board and the models he had retrieved from the box. “This week’s ‘Guns and Ghouls’ campaign will be an original draft, courtesy of yours truly.”
Paper and an assortment of pencils and quills were produced from various undisclosed locations. From within the innards of a large box, Understudy drew dice and reference books for use by the present company.
“Hey, Frosty, want to play Sniper?” Mach asked, giving the pegasus mare a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You’re a sniper on set, right? A good one? Should be like jumping right back into your role.”
Frosty shook her head. “Sounds too much like work. I think I’d like to play a necro for once. After I got this job, sci-fi future post-apoc stuff just doesn’t do it for me anymore. And I know this game supports the Dungeon Adventurers rules, so fantasy classes are totally legit.”
“You? I really can’t see you as being the dark and edgy crazy enchantress,” Mach jokingly teased. “Although I can picture you in a sexy, dark gothic outfit done up in red and black.”
Inkwell sighed. “He makes a point. You can go right ahead, but I just can’t see you being all shadowy and brooding.”
“C’mon, I could totally be the necromancer!” A shadow appeared to loom over Frosty’s face. “Imagine the following scene, if you will.”
The clock tower struck midnight. All around the knight, fog began to swirl and collect at his hooves. Gargoyles and headstones cast menacing shadows in the moonlit graveyard. Out of the mist emerged a shadowy cloaked figure, magical glowing blue staff tucked under one wing. The figure waved her staff a few times in the air before forcefully slamming it down on the ground, cracking weathered stone and dirt alike. A lance of dark eldritch magic burst from the staff and lanced into the ground.
Skeletal hooves burst forth from the dirt, a mysterious pulsing beat moving the bones. “Behold, the catastrophic power of… DISCO,” Frosty cackled. “Fear the necrodancer!”
Blank stares.
“No,” Frost stated simply.
“Yeah, that might be a bit much,” Inkwell agreed. “And it’s a little corny, too.”
“I dunno, I thought it sounded kinda neat,” Mach said with a shrug. “Progressive, even.”
“Brownnoser,” Frost mumbled.
“Stuff it, you miserable butt! Try shifting your paradigm for once! Who knows? You might actually have fun!”
“I had fun once,” Frost deadpanned. “It was awful.”
“Why are you always giving me the business, anyway? What did I ever do to you?” Mach asked, agitated.
“I just don’t like you,” Frost said simply.
“What? That’s impossible!” Mach stated incredulously. “Everypony likes me!”
“The fact that you take that as a given is exactly why I don't.”
“I think you owe it to me to at least level with me.”
“I find you boorish and obnoxious, and your disrespect towards the princesses irritates me to no end,” Frost said, placing both forehooves on the table and glaring straight across its well-polished surface at Mach as he said it.
“You can’t judge me on my performance, I like the princesses just as much as everypony else!” Mach replied defensively, looking to the other ponies seated around him for aid. “I can’t help it if my character is a blasphemer! Talk to my director!”
“I think you could read your lines with a little less conviction, if that’s the case,” Frost nickered. “You don’t have to sound quite so committed to the belief that they’re regular ponies and not in a league entirely their own.”
“You’re just acting all elitist because you get to work so closely with them. The rest of us should be so lucky. My billing isn’t good enough for either of them to make guest appearances. And aren’t you supposed to be making the point that they’re just ponies like us?”
“All right, settle down you two,” Inkwell interjected, attempting to make peace. “It’s the same thing every time we gather here. You’re always butting heads with each other. We’re here to have fun, right? Let’s have fun, then.”
“Fine,” both ponies grumbled sourly, intentionally averting their gazes from each other to stare at separate corners of the room.
“Never mind, I’ll just be the party tank,” Frosty sighed. “The true power of the Necrodancer might not be ready for the world.”
“Rogue,” Frost quickly uttered in a deadbeat tone. “The Masked Felon. Five strength, eight perception, four endurance, five charisma, five intelligence, eight agility, five luck.”
“Dude, you’re always rogue,” Riptide complained, splashing his tail in the pool behind him. “Why can’t I be the rogue? And seriously? Unhonored?”
Frost sighed and proceeded to kick a nearby chair over as he stood up and set his forelegs onto the table, “Well sorry I can’t shake the—”
Riptide violently sneezed.
“—mn character off, okay?! I can’t get him out of my head! It’s like he’s—”
Riptide sneezed again.
“—king with my head and I’ve—”
Riptide sneezed so hard that he launched himself backwards into the pool with a resounding splash.
“—ing become him, okay? Do you know how—”
Riptide noisily hauled himself out of the water and blew his nose with the napkin that was offered to him by Inkwell.
“—ng hard it is to play him? I have to think like him, move like him, and it’s so—”
High Tide returned with her tray laden with the group’s requested items, everypony’s murmurs of thanks drowning out Frost’s angry tirade. Mostly.
“—ing demanding! Sorry! So let me be the goddesses-damn rogue with the damn name and the—”
“Whoa dude, take a pill! Just… calm down, will you? Shh, we’re calm now. Do your exercises!” Mach encouraged, holding his hooves up to his ears. “Woosah.”
Frosty gave the green unicorn a worried glance. “Getting in character is all part of the job, but isn’t that a bit… much?”
“Fine, you can be the rogue,” Inkwell sighed.
Frost finally eased up and slumped back in his seat. “Rogue. The Masked Felon. Five strength, eight perception, four endurance, five charisma, five intelligence, eight agility, five luck.”
Murmurs of agreement echoed among the group, some more hastily than others.
Riptide craned his neck, looking at the others at the table. He nodded his head, understanding some hidden fact or situation. “I’m playing a Cleric-type character. Let’s see… seven intelligence, five strength, six agility, four charisma, five endurance, five perception. Serenity, unicorn priestess of the Goddess of Alcohol and Revelry.”
“Ah, yes, many an ancient theological text speak of the prowess of the deity of late night parties,” Frosty said sarcastically. “And her one memorable commandment—thou shalt don the effervescent toga to the fifth day!”
“Would you prefer her to worship the god of anal penetration?” Riptide snarked back.
“As funny as that would be, let’s go with no,” Frosty replied, looking up from the character sheet she was busy putting the finishing touches on.
“Right then! She has the stabby stabs of a spear gun and a bottle of Redrum,” Riptide elaborated.
The gray unicorn beside him sighed. “So, it looks like I’ll be playing the most normal character out of all of us. Not like that’s anything new.”
“You’re just jealous that Serenity’s prettier than—” Riptide leaned in to take a better look at Inkwell’s character sheet. “—‘Charuoal the arsunist’? That’s a terrible name.”
“Pfft, how many U’s in that? Like, five?” Mach snickered. “Is that even a word?”
“That’s not a ‘U’, that’s a ‘C’,” Inkwell growled, furiously erasing his character’s name and writing it again more neatly, this time much more careful about the tidiness of his writing. “And hey, with seven agility and luck, six endurance and intelligence, and four charisma, he’s the most balanced of the group.”
“So, what’s his angle?” Mach off-hoofedly asked, busy with his own character.
Many hooves met faces. “He’s an arsonist. He burns things.” Inkwell sighed again.
“Hey, that’s fantastic.” Mach nodded, apparently having stopped listening nearly the moment Inkwell started talking. “Truly enthralling.”
“Yes, these stats will do perfectly!” Frosty triumphantly slammed the reference book shut and blew off the eraser shavings stuck to her paper. “Ten strength, ten endurance, ten luck, two in charisma and perception, Three in intelligence and agility. Meet Beefsteak… BEEFSTEAK McRAGEPECS THE MINOTAUR!”
“I'm afraid your Super Sledge will be no match for the heavy machine gun of griffon heavy gunner Kurtis Warhawk!” Mach said excitedly, knocking over his juice box in his unbridled eagerness when he made a grand sweeping gesture with his hooves, as if hefting a heavy weapon. “Strength and endurance eight, perception and intelligence six, charisma three, agility five, and luck four. Everything will be dead before you get to it, sweet cheeks! Everything!”
“See, there’s a problem with that,” Frost huffed. “You actually need to be smart in order to play a character with above-average intelligence.”
“Somepony get the medic, we’ve got a major buuuurn!” Riptide crowed.
Inkwell covered the ear closest to the seapony. “Ow. Not so loud.”
“No suh!” Mach pouted. “No burn! Get bent, Ice Cube!”
“Minotaurs do have pectoral muscles, right? Can his pecs have pecs?” Frosty energetically bounced in her seat. “Wait, can I name his Super Sledge ‘The Meat Tenderizer’? That’d be awesome!”
As the group of actors continued to excitedly discuss their characters, Understudy finally finished putting the finishing touches on his campaign. “Are we prepared to begin?”
“Rock ‘n’ roll!” Mach exclaimed.
Frost managed a somewhat enthusiastic, “Eh.”
“Let’s do it,” Frosty happily mumbled into her mug.
Inkwell nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Yay!” Riptide pumped one of his hooves in the air.
“And so, our five brave Wasteland heroes venture forth into a brand new adventure...”
Author's Note
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
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.”
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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!
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“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."
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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.
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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
