Lineage

I felt the choice was obvious: Williams.

Alexander would have the city by the balls and cut loose any dead weight, but that was a hell of a lot better than a man that would try to fist fight famine or a woman that would try to seduce a plague. No, Alexander would be more than suited to run a city this small efficiently. All that was left was to look for the son of a bitch. I figured the best place to start would be the tavern in the Wind District: the Scarred Hound. Alexander was the man behind the books in that place and I was sure that asking around there would either get his attention or the attention of his men. Either way, someone was leading me back to Alexander.

“Richter!” I heard Luna’s voice boom throughout the tower. “War room, now!”

I called back in response before heading up the tower. The War room was the area the old king of this city used to plan with his generals in, obviously. When the city was under siege, rebellions threatened his rule, or they needed to finance better, the War room in this tower was where that all went down. It was quite lucky that several years back Luna had murdered everyone in this tower and taken it for her own purposed, and after hundreds died trying to take it back, they sort of gave up and acknowledged it was hers after that. I opened the heavy wooden door and entered, seeing Luna sitting at the table with a map of the city drawn on it holding a piece of parchment in her hand.

“You’re in luck,” she said, sliding the paper across the table. “Looks like you’ve got a new little sister.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, picking up the paper and reading through it. It was a letter from my mother, detailing her excitement for my return home after all these years as well as a promise to introduce me to my new sibling, Astraea.

“Huh,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “Rather arrogant to name your child after a deity.”

“It was originally going to be Athena,” Luna said with a shrug, leaning back in her chair. “We managed to talk her out of sacrilege.”

“To a lesser-known deity?” I asked.

“One who isn’t as easy to anger as Athena,” Luna responded. “She’s a lovely woman, but gets offended way too easily. Celestial Justice Warrior, and all.”

“Ugh,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “I guess Astraea works. Any description given?”

“Yup,” Luna nodded, throwing me a second, unopened letter. “Sketching of her right there.”

“Let’s have a look at the little tyke,” I said, opening the letter and unfolding the parchment. It would be easier to tell when she was older, but even now it was clear she was a almost a clone of my mother. She had the same eyes, same nose, and same facial structure that she did, only ten or twenty years between her growing up to be Cadance’s twin. There was no colour on the sketching, so I had to hazard a guess as to whether she inherited Cadance’s or dad’s colours, but from the distinctive separation lines drawn on her thick hair I imagined it was Mom’s.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Turning five in a few months,” Luna answered.

“Fucking hell,” I said in surprise. “Did I even get my foot out the door before they made her?”

“I said exactly the same thing,” Luna nodded. “Celestia was worried that you might feel slightly resented by having a younger sibling appear, seemingly as a replacement.”

“Eh, I’m old enough to not be bothered by it,” I said, placing the letter down on the table and taking a seat across from Luna. “I’ll probably barely see the little fucker with all I’ve got planned. You gonna try and make sure this one’s raised right?”

“I might not have to,” Luna said. “From the letters I’ve been sent, she’s already set a pigeon on fire and blown a hole through a window with panic magic.”

“Already?” I asked in surprise.

“It seems so,” Luna nodded. “I guess you’re just shit.”

“It seems so,” I mimicked. “Anyway, was there anything else you needed or can I go now?”

“Two things,” Luna said. “First, please tell Advalia to stop masturbating in the living quarters, I’ve already kicked her around the head for it a good number of times but she doesn’t seem to get the message. Can you give her a few words.”

“Sure,” I chuckled. “What was the second thing?”

“Was it you that kicked off a gang war in the square earlier?” she asked.

“Word travels fast around here,” I commented.

“It does when you’ve got your ears all over the place,” Luna nodded. “Yes or no, Richter?”

“Yes, and I’m planning on putting someone else in power,” I said with a calming wave of my hand.

“Who might that be?” she asked.

“Alexander,” I answered. “If I’ve got to pick a poison, I’d rather it be that one.”

“Fair choice,” Luna said, looking out the window and into the snowy sky. “The others aren’t gonna be happy about that.”

“The others aren’t gonna be alive to complain about it,” I shrugged. “After all, loose ends only serve to trip you up.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Luna smirked. “If you’re going to sort something now, take Advalia with you.”

“Why?” I asked. “I can handle this myself.”

“Just so she can stop spraying cum over the carpets in the living quarters,” Luna said.

“Hey, you brought her here, you deal with her,” I shrugged, standing up and heading out the door.

“Asshole,” she growled.

“Of course,” I laughed, making my way down the stairs. Once leaving the tower, I threw my hood up again and made a beeline straight for the Scarred Hound, quietly moving through the panic-stricken streets of the city as the remaining militia scrambled around, some ditching their uniforms while other remained as calm as they could. Opening the door to the tavern greeted me with a warm rush of air, smells, and pub ambience. I walked inside, closing the door behind me and throwing my hood down once more, going over to the bar to inquire about Alexander.

“What can I get you, lad?” the bartender asked me.

“An answer, hopefully,” I said. “I’m looking for Alexander Williams, the ‘landlord’ of this place. I’ve got a business deal to offer him.”

There was a look of unease about the bartender, telling me that he knew where Alexander was but that he was also reluctant to tell me. It was to be expected, of course. Those you trusted with your location had to be trusted to tell the difference between genuine connections and threats masquerading as one.

“You know a good price to get chucky eggs in the west market?” he asked in a passphrase.

“No, but I’ll be back once I’ve perused the prices,” I sighed, getting up from my seat and turning around only to have a hand placed against my chest and be shoved up against the bar.

“This him?” a burly man with a thick beard asked a young woman.

“Y-Yeah,” she nodded in a frantic manner. “He was the one that butchered the Baron’s men.”

“Good to know,” he growled, turning back to me with bared teeth. “I’ll be sure to mount his fucking head on a pike next to the Colonel’s office.”

“C’mon, man,” I sighed. “If a hundred of his men couldn’t kill me, what makes you think you can?”

“They never got this close,” he spat.

“Oi!” a loud, drunken, female yell came from across the room, getting our attention. “Can you two take your little dick-measuring contest outside? I’m trying to enjoy a nice pint here and you’re pissing the mood right down.”

“The fuck did you just say, you little cunt?” the militiaman demanded angrily.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” she asked in an irritated tone, necking the rest of her mug of mead and pointing angrily at the man. “I told you and your boyfriend to get the fuck out already.”

“You better watch your fucking mouth,” he snarled. “I ain’t above smacking around a woman, y’know?”

“Same as I’m not above smacking around the mentally disabled,” she laughed before growing deathly serious. “So come one then, you spastic twat. You in the mood to see which of us smacks harder?”

“Right, that fucking does it,” he growled, shoving me against the bar. “You stay there while I show this hussy bitch how to keep her gob shut.”

“Ooh, I’m fucking quaking,” she laughed, standing up with her mug in her hand to meet him halfway, smashing the wooden container off his head and slamming her fist into his jaw with a brutal right hook, sending the much larger man staggering sideways. Her raven hair danced as she proceeded to smash his teeth out over and over again, alternating between fists to keep him steady. He staggered further back until he knocked into the bar next to me, where the woman grabbed him by the back of the head, her deep blue eyes alight with fury, before turning him around and smashing his face off the counter.

Blood sprayed out of his nose on impact, the man being knocked unconscious instantly, before she threw him to the floor. She was then grabbed by the arm and punched in the face by another militiaman. She took the blow in stride, cocking back her fist again and punching straight into the man’s face, following it up by kneeing him in the crotch, forcing him to release his grip and hunch over, only to be taken down as easily as his friend by her gripping the back of his head and slamming her knee into his face repeatedly. She threw the unconscious man aside as two more militiaman came bolting towards her.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes,” she growled, wiping the blood from her cut lip and cracking her neck, squaring her stance and balling her fists. She deflected and redirected several blows from the militiamen before using a mix of fists, elbows, and headbutts to deal devastating strikes that broke bone and joints, easily taking down both of them in a matter of seconds without so much as a drop of sweat on her perfect face.

“Anyone else?” she demanded before turning to the bartender. “Or have you not got any more ‘Self-righteous cunt’ on tap?”

“N-No, Ma’am,” he stuttered in fear.

“Oi!” one of the militiamen yelled, his voice strained from the agony he was in. “You lads get the fuck in here and cut this bitch up!”

And as commanded, they obeyed: the door was kicked off its hinges and in swarmed upwards of twenty militiamen, all with swords in hands and looking very angry. The young woman chuckled, licking her lips and spitting on the ground.

“Fucking finally,” she grinned excitedly. “A good fight in this shithole is about as rare as a decent pint in this city’s pubs. Present company excluded, of course, Georgie-Porgie. Your brew is fucking stellar.”

“Thank you,” the bartender nodded.

“Surround her, cut her up, and piss on her fucking corpse!” one of the militiamen ordered.

“Pour me another one, will ya, George?” she asked him quickly. “I always need a hard sesh after a barny.”

“Will do,” the bartender nodded.

I watched him pull her a pint before turning back to the fight, seeing her extend her arms rapidly and two hidden blades of her own emerge from her sleeves, making me rather interested. She quickly went to work on the men as I turned back to the bartender.

“Mind telling me who she is?” I asked him.

“Will you buy a pint first?” he asked.

“Fine,” I sighed, digging coin out of my robes and tossing it on the table, taking the mug of mead handed to me and sipping from it. “Now, an explanation?”

“That there is Annerose, a girl from afar with a penchant for alcohol and violence,” he began. “Very skilled at both, to be honest. She’s no older than twenty five but already got herself a name for a very dangerous killer, though she’s not for hire. Keeps going on about only killing to protect the innocent and to preserve the peace.”

“Waste of fucking talent, I say,” I shrugged. “If you’ve got it, use it for personal gain. Peace if fragile, anyway. Coin isn’t.”

“Amen to that,” he nodded, washing mugs as blood spilled onto the floor, Annerose’s hidden blade coated in the red liquid as she danced around her opponents effortlessly, slashing tendons and necks like a hot knife through warm butter.

“I recognise her technique,” I said, looking at the bartender over my shoulder. “She’s using a bastardised form of Krav Maga but replacing the palm strikes with stabs. Seems to be doing it backwards, too. The palm strikes are used to open the opponent up for knee and elbow strikes, but she’s using knee and elbow and then the palm strikes, or the blades.”

“What’s your point?” he asked.

“My point is that she’s wasting time by going through different techniques and combination attacks when she should really just focus on killing them off the bat,” I answered, downing a bit of the mead. “She’s fighting to impress, not fighting to survive.”

“Trust me, mate,” the bartender laughed. “She doesn’t need to worry about surviving. I just want her to worry about making a mess for once.”

“Sorry, mate!” she said, flashing a beautiful smile to the bartender as she gutted one of the militiamen, their numbers reaching zero after her next kill. “You know how it gets.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, pulling her a pint and sliding it over to her as she approached the bar.

“You’re in my seat,” she growled.

“Get a new one,” I shrugged. “I quite like this one.”

“Excuse me?” she asked with an angry laugh. “Did you not see what I just did to those guys? I don’t think you’re fucking stupid enough to piss me off, despite how much of a twat you’re dressed like.”

“Did you see me kill the Baron and his men?” I asked, standing up and looking down on the smaller woman. “I don’t think you’re fucking stupid enough to piss me off, despite how much of a twat you’re dressed like.”

“You don’t scare me, kid,” she snarled.

“I don’t need you to be scared,” I responded. “I just need you to not be stupid. Now sit down before you get yourself hurt.”

There was a silence between the two of us as she pulled up another bar stool, running her finger around the rim of her mug as she stared at me.

“Your accent means you ain’t from round here,” she said after a minute of silence. “Where you from, then?”

“Equestria,” I answered.

“Ah, Land of the Horse Dicks,” she giggled. “I’m guessin’ from the look of you, you’re not a common boy?”

“What made you guess that?” I asked, looking at her sideways.

“You’re too fit to be a farmer’s boy,” she shrugged. “Common lad’s are ugly as fuck. Figured you’d be the product of selective breeding with the looks you got.”

“Eh, that’s a word for it,” I said with a smirk, turning to look at her properly. “I’m Richter.”

“I’m Annerose, though everyone calls me Lassie Loudmouth,” she smirked. “I’m sure you can guess why.”

“Indeed I can,” I nodded, taking a sip of my mead before asking her a question. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Alexander Williams, would you?”