Fallout Equestria: Houses of the Holy

by Maxypony

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Tragedy, Crossover, Sad
Length: 37435

dark tragic sad Fallout Equestria fic

“I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to Anypony, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

Currently down for editing… Yeah, this will definitely take a while, I am rewriting most of the first chapter with the expert editing assistance of Fillyosopher13, mobius, octane, A.J 93, masquerade, doomande and several others…
Thanks guys, you are making it readable

Feel free to comment… It'll be fun!!

(Authors note: This story has actually been around for quite a while, since before june. I just didn't have much of anything concrete in the form of plot, characters, chapters etc. Dont hate cuz it looks new. :)

I currently have nothing worthwile to say here or in the story read at your own risk and please hit me up in the comments as feedback (even of the old stuff) will help my writing and development of the current FoE:HotH story!

Updatey things
Chapter 1 is slowly making its way to completion.
yay exciting!!

Im still looking for writing and editing help if anyone sees this and is somehow interested contact me.
please.

(For editors)
Gdocs: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1kFdRICshtmcdPLiOuRIn8YB9CvBOzfswT70rd9rE0MA/edit

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-14 19:50:50 UTC

Beware: broken Drafts and other Junk

SPOILERS!!!!!

Despite being majorly out of date many things in here have elements that contribute to the current story line.

Here is some random stuff I typed up while trying to develop a FoE story.

Most of it still has some level of relevance to the story as I see it now but since Im no longer directly using any of this I though some of you might find it at least interesting/entertaining or containing the occasional idea thats only half crap.

Authors Note: Im just going to throw a bunch of first draft junk in here and if you want to read it and comment then go for it you are amazing!!

other wise it really has nothing of quality in it, and half of it will be from such a long time ago that it has no relation to the story im currently developing. Feel free to ask me if there are any ideas in here you like enough to think about using. I'll probably give you the go ahead, creative commons and all that.

Here is a non-comprehensive list of things in here: Lots of out of context notes everywhere!!! BEWARE

(I have a lot more notes im probably never going to use that might be added later if anypony is interested in me expanding this)

Project Tinmare: Something I might use, about developing a android pony technology.

Island port town: Random brainstorming and character/scenario testing

Seven Years: A character introduction and backstory stub

Nor'wester: A Short segment that I wrote at quality to try out a few ideas

[profile] An overview for an early version of the protagonist

Archived: FoE: HotH (Pre-Write): This is the longest segment in here... (really long actually) I might make a sub directory for it if Im asked. Anyways its basically everything I was working on for my FoE story before I re-read the first half of Kkat's and FoE:PH and decided to completely redraw my story arc, plot, location and characters (so basically everything) lots of ideas and chapter parts: (some well written and most embarrassingly bad. But hey its drafting, and its supposed to be terrible!!!)

Drafts and Junk...

Black Isles is a breakaway from Solaris Inc.

Final:

Basically, if we can get our boot MgrK 5.10.2 to debug zenibucks firefly AI then we will all retire comfortably.

If it boots and recompiles firefly will become a self adapting software package, operable on the new quantum processing  microframes. Each is unique and the mounted program has to open and re-compile with minimal interaction. Once it loads the AI is hosted, it becomes a permanent "living" adaptable partition of the CPU core.

The firefly AI was made specifically for the Qcpu microframes, 38TB of magically developed code, it took 361 exponent nano-spells to create the base codex. It is wondrous, at least it would be if it worked. Right now there is nothing that can make use of it. A complete dud. That is where we come in, our infinite compatibility subroutine may be able to  exocompile  their AI

Step 1 mount MK5 onto the microframe.

Step 2 boot MK5

Step 3 figure out why firefly keeps dying

Step 4 fix it

Step 5 reconfigure firefly using MK5 infinite compatibility subroutine

Step 6 compile

Step 7 recompile

Step 8 hope it works

Step 9 rinse and repeat

Step 10 merge

Step 11 reboot

Step 12 begin debug on live model

Step 13 set priority to pre bootmgr as sideground program. Run in parallel.

Return 1

Inquire: are you alive?

Then nothing. It was struggling.

The day project 5.10 was canceled... We had a fully functional prototype body. A a completely finished three stage AI just lacking a interactive graphycal interface. And a new bio-electric processing core, with 7 terabytes worth of intelegence modules. Forming 574 nodes devided into 8 dual core processors. Four to each side of the chip. (like terminator.)

All we had to do was put it together.

But  new technology, developed by companies with more funding already had superior models ready to go into full scale production. Ours was too expensive and lacked duribility.

We have a functional endoskeleton built. But nothing to drive it. We need to build the program from the ground up. Teach it to walk and program it to think and learn. It is a monumental task, but once that is done all we need is a processor core small enough to fit in the skull case. That core will be developed independently by a crack team of scientists using the latest construction techniques using micro transistor waffers and bio-electric memory cells.

If the transmorphic endoskeleton prototype is completed in time we will be tasked with making an AI program for the mainframe to learn how to operate that system and teach itself to design and improve the transmorphic body. The central program has to be easily adaptable to different platforms and the mainframe system must be completely self adapting. A mind of its own.

Black Island has recently demonstrated a multiplication megaspell based core matrix using bio-electric string wafers and combining them with a neural framework of stardust droplets to create a microchip capable of running our program at 217%

that chip can run the program with enough power to fully impersonate a pony. Infiltration skeleton designs are a new priority. As is a self adapting infiltration AI, likely rigged into vault tec's and MoM networks.

Someone get me a megaspell complexity level webcode to create that program!!

Our project has begun compiling a code longer than the conversion of a pony into a crusader mainframe.

Most of the code is the self adapting underlink based in our cultsader mainframe that will autonomously update the mobile AI's

MoM stable tec

Sky web

Marauder mainframe.

Trottenheimer as a student. Declines they steal some of his theores.

The genesis research complex.

Project stardust

Project Zephyr

Project nautilus

Several young, charismatic, genious wealthy kids take over the company and derastically advance research at the cost of scale and production info structure.

Polyspells: amplifying the number not size.

Microspells.

Nanotechnology.

Many small robots to make one big one. Each piece has its own little mind.

Microspell fission reaction in an ice chamber.

We need a lot of flux.

Starmetal to control megaspell amplification.

The final wave of code group 2 are especially independent.

Code group three are more intelligent and have the ability to fully intergrate. A hive mind. Efficiency up 120% on the battle field. Infiltrator models can uplink directly. Permanent deep cover.

Many small bots make up the whole, is more efficient and can learn faster. Muscle memory like. Parts are interchangeable but chips are more difficult.

Project Tinmare Operations “Luna’s Spirit” and “Last Oppertunity” Datacard

Putting a pony on the moon was really just for show. The real missons involved putting bots on the moon to tirelessly collect moon rock samples for experimentation with starmetal and general scientific persuits. Three companies were each paid 100 million bits to build a program to collect samples and return them to equestria. They had 5 years to build the program before liftoff. Each company had strong qualifications for heading the atonomous explorations and site construction portion of the lunar colonization effort, that posistion was the reward for most sucessful mission.

Solaris: qualifications included previous experiance with large scale satilites and general energy technologies.

Black Isles Corporate: Pioneered the robotics industry and had previous involvment in a mission to send a stationary telemitry probe to the moon two years earlier.

(unnamed): led the mare on the moon project

Day 1: Black Isle R & D Studios

“Everypony, we have a new project: to build a robotic system for the perpose of exploring the surface of the moon.”

“corporate espianage reports that solaris is planning to use a sattilite waystation and a large number of drones uplinked to the satilites centeral brain to explore  the surface. they will leave the surface and attach to the satilte to deposit their payloads. they are exporling desposible, and reusable lunar drone options.

The MotM dev team is exploring a system with central bases equiped with one way return rockets and syfisticated bots to explore the surface atonomously.”

what are the mission priorities?

“exploration, sample return and fesability of robotic resource development on the surface. they want to build a habitat. we have five years before sample return is mandated.”

We are currently assembling several preperduction andronies for hardware testing and a MK 5.10.2 AI debug drivers. roaming the moon would be an amazing opertunity for the MK 4 debug AI’s to develop learning skills in a wholy new enviroment.

it would be relitively easy to retrofit two of them for lunar exploration. by then we should have functional assembily line test MK 5.6.4 models. Besides, developing a single trip sample return probe would be a synch.

“well, what are you standing there for? get to work on it!”

Day 73

“today we got the go ahead from the MoM. Skyweb is being comissioned full scale. MK  3 & 6 are now the priority projects. MK 4 was canceled outright, we have no need for self atonemous robotic drones. The only reason MK 5 isnt canceled is because of the secondary and subsystem parts of the project. hopefully those systems will form the backdrop for developing the MK 7 hivemind soldier bots. in MK 5 each piece of the bot has its own processor and flash memory, greatly improving agility, reflexes and reducing the processor load. the MK 5 AI core doesnt have nearly the raw AI computing power of MK 4 but it has a much smaller variations in processor load. it hardly ever freezes up. MK 5 takes the advanced “self aware” AI of MK 4 and the lifelike interchangable cybernetics of MK 6 and melds them together into a deep cover capable replica android.

Day 87

We continue to be plagued by problems with MK 5. Between huge programming delays and expensive cost overruns, the whole MK 5 project could be canceled. depite its promise. Fitting a fully functional selfaware AI into a crystilne matix the size of an acorn is no easy task. MK 4 was a mainframe on legs, MK 6 is a mindless, but realistic puppit. MK 7 uses massive servers and skyweb to interconnect its drones. One superadvanced AI to control them all.

Day 91

we have bodies now, but no mind to think for it and now brain for that mind to inhabit. while MK 4 pioneered the replica inteligence AI, MK 5 uses an entirely different base code, the operating systems run off of entirely different kernels.

the MK 5 kernel was written by one of the interns. it runs at three layers, and is very difficult to intergrate. the primary AI runs on its own dedicated core, the boot system runs on background drives and the motivators, drivers and everything else runs on top of that. the AI can still think, albit slowly, even if the entire system crashes and needs to reboot. redundency, it never freezes, quite important for a infiltration unit.

it can upload itself onto a seperate server, but if that crashes the entire AI is at risk of death.

Day 94

The engenieers have the skeletal frames now, just handed them over 20 minutes ago. hopefully they can figureout a way to have the skeleton functional and at home on the moon. *sigh* here comes the custom parts. sonofabitch.

Day 99

We’ve started on the pre-boot programming for the 5.10.2 beta, or stage 2 of the three stage MK 5.10.2 kernel. Stage 1, or the isolated AI stage, continues to be a total nightmare. it will be working fine then suddenly it crashes out of nowhere. stage one should never crash. period. Over 200 days of testing a completed stage 1 and still its frought with problems.

Day 117

Today we found the dead body of the intern who wrote the MK 5 kernel. somepony blew his brains out inback of a dumpster. some of our guys immediately raided his appartment. we got there just intime. somepony was in his study and escaped through the window. we did find what they were after. After the intern left us and began working for the ministry of awesome, we stole his work: the MK 5 kernel. turns out the kid was working with MAw to develop that program into something fully functional. He’s written a complete filesystem for stage one. Im going to have the boys get to work testing it. here comes MK 5.11.1 a new alpha code.

Day 147

We have a huge gap to catch up to whoever the kid was working for. our contact at MAw says the kid never recieved a paycheck from MAw, its possible he did freelance and was paid in cash. ill have the boys contenue to look into it, doesnt matter though. What is important is that the kids code we have was written for a 32 bit kernel, which is what the most advanced terminals run off of. most still use the 16bit system. MK 7.1.8 has been testing a 64bit kernel, if we can get it to work the possibilites are endless.

The new kernel we found in the kids appartment is the same code base as MK 5, but written for the 64bit kernel, we also found among his notes a new spell he has been developing. its what he used to create the new kernel. he call it a micro-spell. it makes writing lines of code superfast compared with what we have been doing. It will make using a 64 bit kernel possible on MK 5. Also, MK 7 could be opperative within the next couple years, instead of in a decade.

Day 163

The intern gave his micro-spell system to stable-tec. Though the grapevine we heard they will be using that technology to put someponies entire consciousness into a mainframe. someone on our end must of heard wrong. that is impossible.

Day 177

success!! we have a pony who can perform the micro-spell. The pony in question was the interns roommate. Our stallion goes by the name of trottenheimer, says he helped the intern with developing his theory.

Day 186

What the FUCK!!! the whole lab exploaded, trottenheimer just blew the damn thing to hades. something went wrong with the micro-spell. I dont know, trottenheimer says he doesnt want anything to do with the project anymore, says the spell matrix we are working on is too unstable. needs aplifications or a control spell, something. we’ve lost everything

Day 190

while sifting through the wreckage, one of the hazmats found a slightly damaged memory server, our entire code could be stored on it. it will take months to rebuild everything, but over a decade of research could be saved on that server.

Day 207

Word came down from command, they want to build the first MK 7 mainframe now, says that we can use it as a server farm to extrapolate microspells and code our programs, they want to call it “auto-generating” code. If it works it could shave years off of developing new software for everything, if the damaged server cannot be recovered.

Day 243

The MK 5 memory server has been completely recovered, we are beginning to make progress again.

Day 311

Say hello to the Marauder Mainframe.

Day 326

We have begun compiling the stage two kernel, all 2.93 gigaytes of it. Overall that feels like a pretty simple set of code, the MK 5.10 project is massive! 3000Mb of data, nearly 17 million logical lines of code.

Stallion!!

I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or

any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now.

Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

Black isles corporate is out to kill her for what she forgot.

Requeim for the Dreams of Harlem's Sweetest Lullaby or lulz for short.

My dad considered himself something of a romanticist.

Radio reading and spelling education.

Flashback in her dreams. Learning to feel care and believe. The start of story she is very "human" holding life as sacred.

She was that, feeling. Then lost it (to survive?) and knows how she felt. She tries to regain that ability to feel the world like she cares and it's real. (like I have been not feeling)

Trauma Damage to mind reaction to stress and gore.

Flashback: I don't wanna kill anymore. (memory wipe) set up story begin.

I had killed them. Innocent civilians, in the crossfire. I felt remorse for my carelessness. Remorse hurts, it hurts too much. That remorse was festering, killing me. I couldnt go on through that pain. I had to stop feeling remorse. So I stopped. Then, I-I didn't feel anything.

Black isle started as a think tank??

Relationships it's who you meet, that makes you who you are.

Deer. I stared at the might stag. His majestic antlers were like steady oaks and his golden mane ruffled gently in the warm autumn breeze sturing. An awe inspiring sight.

(newly taken from her home. Nothing left for her??)

Necklace made of cold metal blocks her HUD and other robo interfaces.

It make her appear more pony like. Just like a time lord locket doctor Who.

Maximo computer slaver

I've been waiting for the right master to come along.

Pick me pick me. Sometimes the wealthy decide to journey into the wastes. Most hire a robot slave for loyal companionship. Most try and get hired right away. But one just sat down and played in the sand

"why aren't you begging like the others?"

The others all think that the master only picks the slave. But the best master, who wants the best slave, waits for the slave to decide.

"did you decide?"

Yes I have.

Stable tec built a stable in space or on the moon (designed one at least)

The future or whatever can be changed. But it does not change in giant sweeps. Somethings are tied together with such strength that they cannot be torn appart, like our love.

The setting can change but people are the same.

Perk Child at heart? No just younger more like a 15-16 year old filly who still sees that magic and joy in the world despite all she has been through. Quicksilver. redux colors. royal blue mane, silver hooves and eyes. coat is tbd. possibly redish and possibly an exposed cybernetic gunmetal grey spine.

Thereby replacing my personal need for robotic main character. (fitting Osprey into the plot and story hasnt worked well at all)  the cyborg parts do NOT give her any major computer/technological advantage. Its mostly for style. especially at the start. she got them from being sold as a slave to a crazy scientist for them to experiment on. Or we could not. she is ashamed of being a cyborg. tries to hide it from others. “I dont want you to see me like this.” etc...

My first step on land sent a thrilling jolt throughout my body. I was my own mare! Freedom at last.

First order of business; caps, food, water and a place to sleep uninterrupted for about a week straight. This meant I needed to get a job, so I was going from one form of slavery to another. At least this time I was working for someone because I choose to and I was going to get paid for it. I wandered around town for a few hours. Meeting ponies, perusing the merchants wares and asking about any odd jobs that needed doing. After so much dull, monotonous rowing I wanted a job with excitement and action. Danger and trials. awesome and more awesome.

The job closest to the bill was playing courier and taking several messages to a settlement on the other side of the island. The only way across cut directly through raider territory out along the old paved road that passed by the geothermal-electric powerplant. Stray too far from the road you will get yourself trapped in the boggy swamps to either side and eaten by radigators or feral lurkmares. If you go at night and are a bit sneaky none of the raiders will see you and take pot shots. The last two couriers went missing. nopony was willing to take up the job, except me of course!

anxiety about cyberspine and braminskin cloak to cover it up.

hellhound companion? Submissive personality developed from years of slavery?

I entered the bar and ordered two pints of rum to steady my landsickness and balance my sealegs.

“Aren’t you at tad young to be drinking this stuff, kid?”

The bartended asked.

“I am old enough to hand you the caps.”

I replied whittily.

"Point taken..."

As I walked up hill to the edge of town I heard two loud voices arguing.

"You fucking bitch!"

I walked closer and put my ear to the shack door. It had been a long time since I'd heard an angry raised voice that wasn't that of a slave master. Domestic arguments are new fare to me.

"Get the fuck out of my house, fucking cunt! I'll kill you!"

Just then there was a loud commotion followed by a thundering crash. I was splayed out on the street with a bleeding unicorn mare and a smashed doorway on top of me. The mare in question struggled to get up as her assailant pulled a rusted 9mm and popped off two shots before the gun jammed. Luckily for the both of us his aim wasas crapy as his gun. One round thumped into the wooden wreckage of  the door, the other pinged harmlessly off my shoddily disguised metal armor. Thankfully nopony was paying much attention to me at that moment: the ricochet went unnoticed.

Needs editing for metal pinging...

With the assistance of hooves as nimble as mine it was only a moment before I was back upright. Not willing to allow anypony mistreat another this way, I began to assist the mare who landed on top of me. Her feeble movements increased frantically as I was lifting her onto my back while the stallion with the gun tried to clear it's chamber. As we escaped the stallion loosed off several more rounds, but thankfully none struck home. The buck didn't follow us. By the time we were safely away the abused mare had begun to recover, supporting most of her own weight and staying upright without much support.

"Thank you." She croaked.

“You can call me Quicksilver, what do you go by?”

“Cherry Red. *caugh* Is he coming?”

I popped my head around the corner, looking for any sign of aproaching ponies.

“Doesn’t look like it. Are you hurt too bad? Where is the nearest doc?”

Among the scraps were several xxxxxx that I completely missed. Didn't notice them at all.

I noticed the sharp prick in my flank, what I failed to see was the poison dart falling to the ground.

I've had worse. *shows scars along spine and backs of legs. Plus small mathematically and ergonomically placed incisions contouring my body*

It looks like you were skinned alive. What happened?

Don't remember.

We came upon the geothermal power plant. I couldn't resist the urge to explore. That was why I took the currier gig anyway.

"come on. Could be ghosts, or even better insane mutated monsters."

I had committed to entering as Cherry Red raced to catch up saying.

"you are insane. This place is full of ponycidal robots!"

The heavy metal door slammed shut behind us. We were trapped inside.

"I hate robots."

Especially the demented ponycidal ones. These kinds of mechanical monsters gave me the creeps. I was a mechanic by a loose definition of trade. I loved fixing engines, guns, energy weapons and the like. I was tolerable with computers and even carried a half broken pipbuck 2000 on my foreleg for a while before being taken into slavery. I enjoyed the challenge of understanding the complicated language computers used. I had no problems with those things.

Either this or a very emotional personal reason for hatred of cyber ponies. Sworn vengeance?

But combine computers with machines? Pretend to give it a soul and then use it as a weapon because the makers were too weak, lazy and scared to fight on their own. Robots, cyborgs and worst of all android ponies were something altogether satanic and pure wrong. The oceanic wasteland had enough problems already without android ponies popping up everywhere with their self-righteous, immutable belief that flesh was weak and that salvation and eternal life came through converting ponies into lifeless, soulless mechanical monsters.

The only good news was that androids sink. Island hopping was relatively difficult for the metal army.

Maybe...

Buckthesda main server AI kills cherry red and tries to capture Sil. Sil is a special cyber android with the state of the art personality matrix. Cannot tell the difference between her and real pony. She has several real ponies memories, too.

She is prewar but mind imprint is fresh. The outer pink/blue? hide and royal blue mane is a ponies body stripped from its bones. While conscious and alive. Sil hate herself for this and so many other things. The pony was alive/conscious because the nerves all work nearly perfectly, and are very sensitive. She was made from parts of three Pegasus siblings?? Same colors?

My body, I wasn't these ponies. I was... Was I really this metal monster? My body was NOT mine. Not a single part of me was really something I call as my own. Was my life, memories and everything real or just a cruel fabrication? what could I trust? Not me or anything I knew that was for sure. I was made, not by magic or the cycle of life, but by some pimply colt fiddling around in a cramped wire strewn room full of super servers and screens over 200 years ago.

Rdash fancied herself the explorier. Searching for artifacts like daring. The holy houses were stable like vaults commissioned by MoA made by stable tech early on all across the globe?? The normal route is around. They take the dangerous shortcut through uncharted territory.

Level up is next program download??

I could feel the camera eyes watching us as we tried to sneak through the facility.

And then I skipped the powerplant part because I couldn't think of anything to put there.

I gave her the memory orb. She cast her spell and began to project the orb's contents into the world around us. Or

the audio track began to play.

If you will follow me right through here...

There we go. This is the central chamber of the temple. As you can see the far wall in covered in carven markings. My best guess is that they are the cutie marks of previous star children ponies. Look right there. Yes, that appears to be a lightning bolt shooting through a cloud. All these temples have that set of symbol.

What does it mean dash? I don't know, just don't know.

Wow. Rainbow Dash was privately funding several private excavations of ancient temples and other sites. Searching for some super artifact or something.

After harrowing adventures fighting raiders and exploring ruined power-plants we arrived at the seaside town. I dropped Cherry Red off at her sisters and made my way to the postmaster. He paid me my 200 caps and I left to find another job to do.

I decided it would be ok to spend a couple caps and get a beer at the local 'bait' shop.

"I tell hear you made it through raider territory and past the crazy robots at the power plant. Stuff like that takes courage. Interested in another easy but risky bid?"

Depends.

"We've been trying to find a pony able to head inland to find the signal relay out in the jungle and figuring out what stopped it from broadcasting."

I'm good at fixing things. I could fix it while I'm out there if you get me some scrap electronics and a few broadcaster parts.

"500 caps. It's a deal. Be warned there are some dangerous creatures between here and there. It's a two day trip. Stop off at Rivertown for the night."

I left but what I had seen in that powerplant still bothered me.

I arrived at the broadcast relay and immediately saw what the problem was. I had become so good at repairs that it was like I could see the original schematics of things directly inside my head.

cutie mark is a set of gears...??

Ministry of charity chadence?

near the broadcasting tower was an old military bunker. Just begging to be explored. There had to at least some valuable tech within that I could get at and sell for a tidy profit.

Brushed stray filaments of blue mane out of my eyes. I'm at the wharf and some pony says. I'm looking for a big buck... He is two days away by skiff at Tarnation.

Hey I know that buck, he is zodiac. Why are you looking for him? Lets join up.

That's fucked up. The Order of Charity funded Buckthesda to make androids that are able to love...

My hooves are my greatest asset. Either as weapons or for holding the same. Some ponies say I'm solar powered. It cannot get too sunny or hot for me. The cold though? Ick. Darkness is my friend as well, shadowkeeper.

Buckthesda and The Black Isle Institute.

Cape carousel missile launch station...

are competing technocratic cults or something before the war? Advanced stuff??

Explore the territory. Lake here, hill there, forest, big scruffy pine tree. Stuffs like that.

Fighting automata. Prejudice against, finds out who she really is and faces a choice. Her kind or her friends.

Shells as an alternate currency to caps.

Overall issue/theme

Water, war, famine, mutants, Solaris, purifying the wastes, understanding the hoof, different factions, raiders/slavers, plague, radiation, repairing prewar tech, ghoul zombies, mutant creatures, abominations, Supplies, rivalry, love... Survival needs. (food water shelter)

(or) off all the unfair bias in the universe. I was stuck with a dyke as a bunkmate. the ship was way over crowded so many ponies had to sleep two to a bunk.

The only other pony who sided with me was a dyke. I never could understand sexual perversions. Over time we grew close. I never had the opertunity to just be near another creature like that before. It felt wrong, but good too. Soon we were cuddling every night. I felt nothing romantic for her but I suspect she needed to be close to me more than I wanted anything contrary... the first rule, always support your friends decisive choices. Back them up no matter how bad it hurts.

So many years as slave made it hard to see what I wanted for myself through the forest of others desires.

I felt, I wasn't sure what I felt. Content maybe?

What's happening on the islands.

The basis: a cluster tail of tropical islands used to research projects far from Zebrica. A large population

proportionate to land mass. Also tanktuga. Islands, Japanese theme?

Partners/friends don't like androids??

History of the Ponynesia Keys, Bangclop, crime, illegal research and trade, slavery and other bad things.

The skynet affect...

Give a self aware computer enough time and resources and it will inevitably grow more powerful at an exponential rate.

200 years and a highly advanced and automated research and production facility? Lots of robots. Maybe even several terminator androids...

I was always acrobatic. I could handstand on my fore legs. I felt as comfortable on two rear as I did on four.

Extraequestrial

All-equestrian: AER? Air?

May the goddess fuck my ass with a garden rake.

Darewood "dashing" Doo and his

stalwart ghoul mareservant argyle.

Completely non-canon. Experimental prestorm sequence. Not for in story use.

Chauvinistia

The once proud sun city with its golden statue of the goddess celestia.

Clopenhaggen

Amsterdam

Two shadowy figures crested a ridge overlooking the glowing night lights of chauvinistia city.

The traveling couple, a stallion and a mare paused at the outlook and dropped into whispered conversation.

With indifferent surprise their hidden observer watched as the pair, as stallions contenued down into the fortified mini-metropolis.

The darkness of the moonless night was augmented by the dense cloud cover of brewing the thunderstorm.

Without a whisper of sound their diminutive ghost observer spread her wings and skyward from her spreading limbs of the arboreal perch masking her existence from the world.

The darting shadow observed her quarry from the protection of a storm cloud as they made their way to a decrepit  hovel at the city's outskirts, just within the outer most levee.

On soggy ground, mere feet from surging tide of the rising typhoon, a small, unremarkable package exchanged hooves.

The pair left the city and their contact behind as mysteriously as they arrived, with the same ghost lurking behind in their blind spot.

Whispering wings fell through the heavy downpour, a single black void bringing death were it fell.

The package had a new destination, but one it, or it's new ghostly currier would never reach.

(happy one dark one?? Beat to the chase by QS? Has package already? Or wingman? Meet up in the storm? Or a chase neither returns from? Or just one. QS? Looses contact with maurauder in the storm? Something else?

The ghostly one is Black Velveteen???

Lit by a sudden flash of silvery lightning, a swift dart of color dodged between two dark storm columns.

The dizzying rumble of thunder broke sharply a short moment later.

The breathtaking pink of a sunset, the bright blue of the sky, the midnight purple (eyes?) of the blackest nights and the radiant silver of starlit clouds.

As the pegasus winged deeper into the thick of the storm, chains of electricity split the sky all around her. The charge in the air was powerful enough to fray her mane as she dashed through the terrible dark raging monster blocking her path.

Even with the powerful thrusts of her wings driving her flight the diminutive pony was still buffeted remorselessly by the fierce busts and gusts driven before the wild gale.

*Forced into the storm by an enemy in pursuit*

A storm that only a mad mare would fly through, the small Pegasus battled onward bravely, despite the risks.

The wild wind tore mercilessly at her mane and tail, whipping strands of her soaking mane into her eyes, nearly cracking through her concentration.

*Silver white flash of lightning??*

Every wing stroke a life and death struggle against the unstoppable might of the merciless storm.

In a bright neon flash of power a bolt of energy struck the Pegasus, blasting her out of the sky. She fell, unconscious, through the storm. As she plummeted earthward lifelessly the Pegasus was carried by the terrific force of the storm off her course, finally thrown headlong into the dense foliage of an insular jungle. The force of the impact would have killed a lesser pony, as it was the pegasus cracked her skull horribly and ripped open several large gashes into her pink flesh. Her very life hung in the balance during the next several hours of the wayward storm.

Given name: Catnip Rosebud

Nick: Catnip/Cyn

Tag Skills: Sneak, Guns, Repair

S.4 P.4 E.4 C.5 I.6-2 A.8 L7:

Talent: Earth pony with freaky cat like silver glowing eyes, agility, luck

Native Perk: Smoking Catnip gives boosted benefits to all special, Skills, and DT. Also adds agility up to eleven!

Cutie Mark: freckled green/silver iris and black eye slit. (possibly a glyph?!?)

Coat: Charcoal red fade into Silver Left Forehoof.

Mane: Silver/Blood red streak

Eyes: Sliver dragon eye slit with hazel iris

Attire: 2 downward eagle feathers in a rainbow colored beaded hairband.

Black leather ECR ranger riot armor (later) start prospector gear.

Head Gear: iPip tactical glasses (later) faded blue/gray Buckton socks ballcap w/w glasses

Weapons: All-Equestrian sniper-carbine, combat knife, .38 Special

Technique: avoids conflict and danger by sneaking and striking from afar. Is meticulous with quality and gear care. Inquisitive and explores a lot. Has behavioral ticks like cats and sometimes bird like head tilting?

Desire/Motivation: wishes to be a Pegasus/

Background: (revise and discuss) Cloned and raised in a mixed zebra culture and skill themed stable. Ponies and zebras alike are trained entirely in the zebra's lifestyle. Banished to outside world at a young age when caught stealing.

Perks taken:

Reloading Fetishes: your knowledge of guns and zebra arts allows you to make unique arcane ammo.

Cateye: Enhanced Low-Light Vision

Silver hoof is called the mark of zecora all banished ponies get one. Poss? Black glyph drawn into it? Aka star hoof. Stable controlled by zebras/sympathizers?

Friends/Party:

Osprey: small cyber pony teal with white/black ceramic plate armor/exoskeleton. Hoof to hoof combat.

Primrose: energy specialist, scared by sight of blood. High society

Slash/Perla brother and sister blades and med.

Dashing Doo: unflappable chap.

! IMPORTANT: This is where chapters get written and reviewed before compiling, editing and finalization!

! As of the 31st of may: Im marking parts of the story that we probably won’t be incorporating into the story at this point in time in green.

! All green sections have been moved to [Archive] /b/

PRE-COMPILATION REDRAFTING CH 1

simplicity in the plot flow

FoE:HotH Chapter 1 [Redux]

“I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or

any kindness that I can show to any pony, let me do it now.

Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

The Southern Seas

A vast, flat expanse of water slashed open by treacherous coral reefs and mountainous islands. At the base of the Southern Seas were several continental shelves rising from amongst the waves, partly sandwiching the vast open water between itself and the Emerald Shores to the north. Ponies beware, here there be monsters.

To the far south adventurous mariners could find a magical frozen land of icy snow guarded by abyssal leviathans and sundry other beasts at very bleeding edge of the world. The Icelands could be found beyond the broken crags of the southlands, and a deadly passage awaits any mare foolhardy enough to seek out its mysteries.

To the west the continent of “predators” formed a forested barricade of land diverting the currents of warm equatorial water into its insular gulf of island chains. Only a handful of civilized outposts called this paradise home. Until recently this land of untold wonders, knowledge and riches was left largely inhabited by Equestrian civilization, however, during the great war the gulf became the site of many naval battles and a island hopping battle for control of its resources. Many cities and port towns burst into existence in a vibrant moment of history.

Project Tinmare Operations “Luna’s Spirit” and “Last Opportunity” Datacard

Putting a pony on the moon was really just for show. The real missons involved putting bots on the moon to tirelessly collect moon rock samples for experimentation with starmetal and general scientific persuits. Three companies were each paid 100 million bits to build a program to collect samples and return them to equestria. They had 5 years to build the program before liftoff. Each company had strong qualifications for heading the atonomous explorations and site construction portion of the lunar colonization effort, that posistion was the reward for most sucessful mission.

Solaris: qualifications included previous experiance with large scale satilites and general energy technologies.

Black Isles Corporate: Pioneered the robotics industry and had previous involvment in a mission to send a stationary telemitry probe to the moon two years earlier.

(unnamed): led the mare on the moon project

Day 1: Black Isle R & D Studios Robotics Division

“Everypony, we have a new project: to build a robotic system for the perpose of exploring the surface of the moon.”

“corporate espianage reports that solaris is planning to use a sattilite waystation and a large number of drones uplinked to the satilites centeral brain to explore  the surface. they will leave the surface and attach to the satilte to deposit their payloads. they are exporling desposible, and reusable lunar drone options.

The MotM dev team is exploring a system with central bases equiped with one way return rockets and syfisticated bots to explore the surface atonomously.”

what are the mission priorities?

“exploration, sample return and fesability of robotic resource development on the surface. they want to build a habitat. we have five years before sample return is mandated.”

We are currently assembling several preperduction andronies for hardware testing and a MK 5.5 AI debug drivers. roaming the moon would be an amazing opertunity for the MK 4 debug AI’s to develop learning skills in a wholy new enviroment.

it would be relitively easy to retrofit two of them for lunar exploration. by then we should have functional assembily line test MK 5.3.3 models. (these 5.3.3 systems are simple in design, and need large central computers for each apendage, resulting in a longer reaction time compared with the planned 5.5.3 microsystems)

Besides, developing a single trip sample return probe would be a synch.

“well, what are you standing there for? get to work on it!”

Day 73

“today we got the go ahead from the MoM. Skyweb is being comissioned full scale. MK  3 & 6 are now the priority projects. MK 4 was canceled outright, we have no need for self atonemous robotic drones. The only reason MK 5 isnt canceled is because of the secondary and subsystem parts of the project. hopefully those systems will form the backdrop for developing the MK 7 hivemind soldier bots. in MK 5 each piece of the bot has its own processor and flash memory, greatly improving agility, reflexes and reducing the processor load. the MK 5 AI core doesnt have nearly the raw AI computing power of MK 4 but it has a much smaller variations in processor load. it hardly ever freezes up. MK 5 takes the advanced “self aware” AI of MK 4 and the lifelike interchangable cybernetics of MK 6 and melds them together into a deep cover capable replica android.

Day 87

We continue to be plagued by problems with MK 5. Between huge programming delays and expensive cost overruns, the whole MK 5 project could be canceled. depite its promise. Fitting a fully functional selfaware AI into a crystilne matix the size of an acorn is no easy task. MK 4 was a mainframe on legs, MK 6 is a mindless, but realistic puppit. MK 7 uses massive servers and skyweb to interconnect its drones. One superadvanced AI to control them all.

Day 91

we have bodies now, but no mind to think for it and now brain for that mind to inhabit. while MK 4 pioneered the replica inteligence AI, MK 5 uses an entirely different base code, the operating systems run off of entirely different kernels.

the MK 5 kernel was written by one of the interns. it runs at three layers, and is very difficult to intergrate. the primary AI runs on its own dedicated core, the boot system runs on background drives and the motivators, drivers and everything else runs on top of that. the AI can still think, albit slowly, even if the entire system crashes and needs to reboot. redundency, it never freezes, quite important for a infiltration unit.

it can upload itself onto a seperate server, but if that crashes the entire AI is at risk of death.

Day 94

The engenieers have the skeletal frames now, just handed them over 20 minutes ago. hopefully they can figureout a way to have the skeleton functional and at home on the moon. *sigh* here comes the custom parts. sonofabitch.

Day 99

We’ve started on the pre-boot programming for the 5.5.2 beta, or stage 2 of the three stage MK 5.5 kernel. Stage 1, or the isolated AI stage, continues to be a total nightmare. it will be working fine then suddenly it crashes out of nowhere. stage one should never crash. period. Over 200 days of testing a completed stage 1 and still its frought with problems.

Day 117

Today we found the dead body of the intern who wrote the MK 5 base kernel. somepony blew his brains out inback of a dumpster. some of our guys immediately raided his appartment. we got there just intime. somepony was in his study and escaped through the window. we did find what they were after. After the intern left us and began working for the ministry of awesome, we stole his work: the MK 5 kernel. turns out the kid was working with MAw to develop that program into something fully functional. He’s written a complete filesystem for stage one. Im going to have the boys get to work testing it. here comes MK a5.10.1 a new alpha codex.

Day 147

We have a huge gap to catch up to whoever the kid was working for. our contact at MAw says the kid never recieved a paycheck from MAw, its possible he did freelance and was paid in cash. ill have the boys contenue to look into it, doesnt matter though. What is important is that the kids code we have was written for a 32 bit kernel, which is what the most advanced terminals run off of. most still use the 16bit system. MK 7.1.8 has been testing a 64bit kernel, if we can get it to work the possibilites are endless.

The new kernel we found in the kids appartment is the same code base language as MK 5.6, but written for the 64bit kernel, we also found among his notes a new spell he has been developing. its what he used to create the new kernel. he call it a micro-spell. it makes writing lines of code superfast compared with what we have been doing. It will make using a 64 bit kernel possible on MK 5 based codex. Also, MK 7 could be opperative within the next couple years, instead of in a decade.

Day 163

The intern gave his micro-spell system to stable-tec. Though the grapevine we heard they will be using that technology to put someponies entire consciousness into a mainframe. someone on our end must of heard wrong. that is impossible.

Day 177

success!! we have a pony who can perform the micro-spell. The pony in question was the interns roommate. Our stallion goes by the name of trottenheimer, says he helped the intern with developing his theory.

Day 186

What the FUCK!!! the whole lab exploaded, trottenheimer just blew the damn thing to hades. something went wrong with the micro-spell. I dont know, trottenheimer says he doesnt want anything to do with the project anymore, says the spell matrix we are working on is too unstable. needs aplifications or a control spell, something. we’ve lost everything

Day 190

while sifting through the wreckage, one of the hazmats found a slightly damaged memory server, our entire code could be stored on it. it will take months to rebuild everything, but over a decade of research could be saved on that server.

Day 207

Word came down from command, they want to build the first MK 7 mainframe now, says that we can use it as a server farm to extrapolate microspells and code our programs, they want to call it “auto-generating” code spells. If it works it could shave years off of developing new software for everything, if the damaged server cannot be recovered.

Day 243

The MK 5.x.2 memory server has been completely recovered, we are beginning to make progress again.

Day 311

MK 5 Say hello to the Marauder Mainframe.

Day 326

We have begun compiling the stage two (5.x.2) kernel using the marauder mainframe. all 2.93 gigaytes of it. Overall that feels like a pretty simple set of code, the MK 5.5/10 project is massive! 5.x.2 alone: 3000Mb of written data, nearly 17 million lines of code. The stage two kernel has to be flawless, any mistakes or errors and everything could crash. with the marauder compiling this whole stage should be scrubbed out in record time.

Day 331

The boys in hardware figured out a way to use micro-spells in making the processors. by the end of next month we will have some experimental moble computing hardware to run MK 5 on.

Day 383

Second Maurader Mainframe stack went online. Its been alocated for MK 7 testing, damn.

Day 384

Its been over a year since the anouncment of the moon mission. And we are just now beginning to test the largest physical componants. The software is coming along with promise, but we havent even started stage 3, the micro and exo-kernels which run drivers and modeivators for the individual hardware processor chip cores. projected to be almost a quarter of a million chips per fully functional replica android. that is almost 4 times as many processors as is in each marauder stack.

Day 400

the boys working the micro-spells just finished duplicating 1 million processors what was supposted to be our first 4 drones... Command used those parts to build 8 new marauder stacks. Marauder: MK 7- M2’s

we didnt get alocated a single new stack. bastards, we are nearly ready to use the “auto-generating” function of the Marauder to begin Stage one. If we had use of all 8 of the new M2 marauders it would take aproximately 128 days to generate the new codex. now using our single M1 mainframe it is projected to take around 179 years. consider the MK 5.10 project canceled.

since the project team hasnt been reasigned to anything, yet im going to have a few of our best guys put together the MK 5.10.1 so that it could be run on our M1 mainframe.

I hear Stable tech is building super-mainframes based on a simular achatecture to the M1 marauders. maybe we could get some server time on one of those bad boys. it could take only a few weeks if what i hear about their designs is correct. no-pony around here really knows what the “crusaider” mainframes are really capable of. All i know is that if we can get the MK 5.10.1 ready for expansion then there is a chance we can keep going.

everypony else on the team will continue work on 5.5.x, that AI is beginning to show promise. and expanding its codex would only take 10ish months on our single mainframe.

Day 413

today command asked me to explain the difference between MK 5.5.1 and MK 5.10.1

basically i told them:

to an outside viewer MK 5.5.1 would appear to act like a normal pony. however inside its brain works like a computer.

MK 5.10.1 actually thinks like a pony as well. if you remove the stage 2 visual interface systems and plug Stage three directly into the 5.10 stage one ports... then just tell it that it is a pony, there would be no way for it to tell what it was without seeing its metal frame.

*Ghost Drive* Day 431

Like i expected. command decided to cancel the MK 5.10.1 project because they see no practical application for a self-aware computer system if it is less “capable” than the non sentient version. given the same opperating resources.

hee, i got one up on them though, i lied to the log. MK 5.10.1 was ready to go for expansion a month ago. I had our best guys build an excutable virus that our M1 could run, infecting all the other systems and forcing them to run expansion for MK 5.10.1

now i just need to wait for command to link every marauder together via Skyweb, like they have been threatening to do for several months now.

Day 432

good bye everyone. ive been reasigned as project lead for a new top secret project. its been good working with all of you. keep up the good work and listen to your new project lead.

Day 437

Miles High has been releaved from his posistion, i am to take over and get this project back on its wheels. No more impossible side projects or any secondary wastes of time. (period)

MK 7 mobile platforms

will be nearly identical to MK 5.5.3 therefore 5.5.3 is now the area we will be focusing all our efforts. We have no need for individual AI systems. but inorder for MK 7 to work the bodies must be able to move independantly of the server.

MK 6 mobile platforms

have been released to the general public. we sold that division off and are focusing our AI R&D into MK 7 Software platforms. Skyweb wireless systems are the future.

MK 5.x.2 Kernel

apparently the 5.10, Miles High’s pet project wasnt a waste after all. the interchangability he built the 5.x.2 kernel means that it can run on both 32 and 64bit archatecture. impressive. anyways, we will be using that code as a base for the MK 7 mainframe and MK 7 Mobile platform “interface.” it is already ready to run off of feedback from microsystems 5.5.3. it will be faster to teach the MK 7 mainframe to use the 5.x.2 kernel than it will be to change the 5.x.2 to be compatable with MK 7. all the “user level” application systems have run on 5.x.2

Running Analytical Applications 5.x.2

Now we begin chewing through over 16 terabites of user applications that will make up all of the opperational programming we need for the AI to understand its world. most of these applications are stolen from other companies or were developed seperately from the robotics division.

Once these are ported and loaded we can begin teaching our AI to learn, think, grow and eventually understand its world.

Day 1394

Luna drones arrived on the moon today. establishing uplink.

NEXT

Day 2081

the first prototype intergrated nano processors arrived today, pretty soon the 5.x.3 dream will become realized. an android made of tens of thounds of tiny robots, each running dozens of proccessors. like a server stack.

stage one uses virtual archatecture to produce an artificial inteligence. using a tether to connect itself perminently to a crystaline starmetal insolated simi-particle based core chip consisting of no less than 8 million bio-electric cells. its the first hybrid quantnium-magical processing chip.

found 5.10.2 in a partition today. turns out it isnt a program. but a spell, written in code so that the mainframe can cast it. it creates a virtual personality that tethers itself to a spell matrix. very interesting.

we are aproaching the 15 year mark for project genesis, its product being the MK series of experimental robotics and programming. the goal, create a replica to emulate a living pony.

Imprenting, now basically the whole genesis project is for naught because using a new spell one can simply upload a ponies consciousness into a mainframe.

we are stuck with the alternitive market. either those who dont have the hardware for imprenting, which takes more resources than our technique. or high security programming where the end user doesnt trust any of the avalible imprents. motivations and memories will carry over on several levels.

Day 2xxx Were are leaving the hoofington genesis facility asap. hoofington has been hit hard, too much risk with all the zebra attacks there. we will be leaving the MK 7 M1 mainframes... the generators running. ironically we just began running the compilation casting spell, in 179 years it will finish and create a fully functioning AI.

____________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________

I awoke, violently blinking back the bright sunlight filtering down through the grating above my head. This was wrong, I should have been on beat over twelve hours ago. Was I dead? Master required that we were kept on strict twenty hour beats. Mine had ended at dusk, now it was past day break with Celestia's star burning high in the azure sky.

I shook the pony chained to me, she didn't move. Another nameless slave worked to death on the bench by my side. I listened to the familiar wooden groans that were clearly audible without the usual steady churning of water and crack of the whip I had grown accustomed to after so long. Wait. Something was sorely wrong, we were dead in the water and the dull clatter of hooves on the above decks was eerily silent.

I carefully studied my surroundings, trying to identify the source of my unease. Starting with myself. As was congruent with the life of an Oar Slave I was chained to my oar. Every movement of my head was causing the heavy iron chain bolted to the collar around my neck to jingle with a quiet but harsh klank. So normal and mundane to me now that I hardly noticed it while I took stock of my current situation, the only reason I did so now was due to it being nearly the only sound audible to me. That realization took much longer than it should have to sink in, in part due to my imminent death from heatstroke and dehydration sickness. Still drawing cognitive blanks I perked my ears and searched out every sound I could latch onto aboard the ship. The steady lap of open ocean rollers breaking steadily against the creaking hull an arms length to my right. I could hear faint hoofsteps on the deck of wooden planks a foot above my ear-tips. Every few seconds one of the slave ponies next to me would interrupt her shallow breathing and yawn or snort, they were all exhausted, sleep automatically taking hold the moment the lash was withdrawn. That’s what was missing: the crack of the whip, cries of the coxswain and the dull monotonous steady boom of the ever present drumbeat.

____________________________________________________________________________

Overall there weren't many acoustic clues to postulate effectively with. I previewed my surroundings more attention to detail, specifically for anything out of the ordinary.

I was sitting on a roughly hewn log bench, my seat worn and polished with wear and time. to my left was my slumbering partner, to my right the ship’s hull, beyond that miles of ocean stretching out in all directions. In front of me several more rows of oars, each with its own bench and a team of two slaves to work it. Past the oar deck were passenger cabins, crew bunks, and finally the stern and rudder. Behind: three more rows of oars leading up to the cook’s galley, gangways, perishable foods, the bow, and finally the forward ram used to smash and sink other sailing vessels. Below was the hold with most of the food stores, water barrels, cargo, treasure, and slave pins. Above: the main deck with the upper oar tier and its respective slaves chained to benches in the waist. Slaves with gangplanks directly above their heads while a grate down the middle allowing fresh air to circulate more freely.

____________________________________________________________________________

A powerful commanding voice broke through my silent thoughts.

"Get that pony with the silver hoof, I think she speaks zebra words."

This was followed by a commotion on deck before somepony lifted the grate away, revealing me and a few others to the full on bright light of the burning midday sun. Two ponies gripped me roughly and hoisted me and my "dead weight" up from the rotting hold. I blinked again in the thousand fold brighter direct sunlight beating upon me now.

"You Speak Zebra words, right?!"

Burly stallion roared into my terrified face. The iron pumping stallion was clearly a newcomer picked up in the last port of call. I nodded sheepishly as they dragged me forward to the bow where several passenger ponies and a few beaten zebras were huddled and chained together. I wall pulled up the gangway that reached down into the sweltering open air slave hold. Only a few torn awnings protected the banks of oar-ponies from the direct sunlight beating down upon the listless galley that had been my home for the past seven months. A faint single breath of wind snapped the broad sail drooping from the main mast, the push of fresh air died moments later and we were again sweltering in the oppressive heat of the murderous doldrums.

____________________________________________________________________________

Moldy approached and unlocked me, saying. “I hear you’re good with locks and stealth. We’re planning an escape, I need your help. sneak down into the hold and look through the newly acquired treasure captured from the last ship the pirates attacked. They haven’t sorted it yet, there should be some weapons down there for you to repair. Can you do this for me?”

“Give me some bobby pins and a screwdriver and I’ll see what I can do.”

Stealthily I weaved my way below decks, avoiding armed guards and drunken sailors on my way below decks. Tonight was the perfect time to mutiny. The starry sky was pitch black, the thin sliver of a crescent moon hardly contributing anything. We had just captured a merchant barq, and the quantity of homemade rum consumed by the crew could knock out a small army. Most were either too drunk to stand or already passed out in their hammocks. Still, I had to move with utmost care, one wrong step, one squeaky board and the whole escape plan would go bunk.

Below decks the air always tastes thick, dank and rancid, stronger now that my senses were on full alert looking for subtle signs of danger. Even without vicious pirates armed to the teeth with a multitude of heavy blades, the bilge still had several dangers namely giant rodents and mobs of radroaches that could easily overcome a unwary mare. Strewn across the rotting fungus covered planking were a veritable plethora of randomly sized and shaped containers. Some were already open and easy looting, others had damaged, rusty locks that I could force successfully. These finds mostly yielded a hopeful bottle caps, damaged pre-war books and an assortment of useless items like ashtrays or scrap metal. However, both the recently captured the weapons locker and clothes dresser required actual lock picking. I broke two bobby pins on the weapons locker before it opened, and one more on the dresser. I found a rusty varmint rifle along with an assortment of damaged blades. The dresser contained some prewar clothes, a few pages of a diary and a key.

With only two bobby pins I had to carefully pick the next container I attempted. Surveying my surroundings I noticed a strange sarcophagus in one corner. The heavy stone lid was chained directly to the body of the coffin preventing it from opening. Inside I heard the sound a scratching, intermittently broken by faint, whimpering sobs. Some terrified and unfortunate pony was trapped inside. The lock looked impossibly difficult to pick but opened when I tried the key I found in the dresser.

Inside I found a small pegasus with six wings and a mechanical spine. Terror was etched upon her wavering but defiant muzzle. I passed her a hooful of potato crisps, which brought a slight smile to her face. The small filly jumped out of her improvised prison and began rubbing the side of her muzzle against my left foreleg, a gesture I interpreted as portraying trust and affection. The six winged pegasus followed me as I explored the rest of the hold, searching for more weapons and ammunition. when I was done, I had three varmint rifles, one even had a scope on it. I also had several blades, including a machete and a blunted combat knife.

I stepped out of my threadbare and pointlessly revealing loincloth and shimmied into a much more respectable, but still grimy and well worn pair of pre-war casual wear I found locked away in a stowage locker beside a overturned cot frame. To complete my outfit I added some badly cracked sunglasses and a scarf I snagged from one of the dead slaves while exploring the hold. Both would hopefully help with the sun and take the edge off my heat stroke. In case my luck turned and I had to fight for my life I slipped a broken machete into the crackling and worm eaten leather saddlebags that now carried everything I had salvaged and "borrowed". The Chain Gangers, as the free thugs had ironically named themselves, didn't have the numbers to post guards at every door. With good timing and a but of sneaking I had easy access to most of the ship. Raiding the stores was easy, and very profitable. ...As long as I didn't get caught. But most of the guards were dumb as bricks and wouldn't bother me if I was walking out of a restricted area. I suppose they assumed I had been granted access by some pony more important.

The rest of my mini-fortune consisted of: three or four caches of scrap metal and junk electronics, a fresh gourd of water, some bobby pins, a few healing potions and leftover turnips that some sneaky devil had stashed in his sea chest. Score! But still, the crew bunk house was not one of the places I expected to find a veritable plethora of useful items.

____________________________________________________________________________

I handed the weapons out to the cluster of already freed slaves hiding in the bilge of the pirate ship. Now we were ready to strike, defeat the pirates and free the rest of the slaves. I hardly knew any of them but that hardly mattered a cap.

The plan was simple, somewhat blunt, but easy to carry out. Sneak on deck, remove the guards and lock the crew and officers in their respective quarters. If everything went according to plan, getting to the companionway hatches undetected would be more than half the battle. But, we had just arrived in port and there was only a skeleton crew on the ship. What few guards that still tried patrolling the deck were hopelessly drunk and would be easily overpowered. The rest of crew was either in the waterfront pub or passed out in their bunks.

As our party snuck on deck I split off with my friend Holiday Tree and to cover the rear gangway hatch and knockout the sternmost pair of guard on the poop deck. We hid behind an overturned dingy, silently waiting for the inebriated guards to pass close to us.

Harlem?? captians cabin.

The Township of New Harmony

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I don’t really like this escape sequence. revise or remove.

Somepony screamed, the element of surprise was lost. Something went wrong and we were in the thick of it before everypony was in position. Think fast I fired off my scoped varment rifle hoping to draw as much attention to myself as possible. Hoping this would give moldy as his gunmares enough time to free some of the other slaves I shouted again and fired my rifle again. Follow me I shouted at the top of my lungs and made a dash for the port side and the gangplank reaching down to the wharf. My two companions thought I was yelling at them and scrambled to chase after me. But pretty soon it was clear that the whole pirateship decided to take my advice. We had a veritable tidal wave of scurvy ridden maggot faced bastards chasing after us, armed to the teeth with rusty guns and blades.

As we raced down the half deserted streets of the port town the three of us emptied out weapons into the pursuing horde of hooven vermin.

“I’m out!” Holiday shouted.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Shes gone insane...” One of them whispered.

I stopped laughing long enough to ask. “Either of you been here before? We need some new weapons, preferably powerful ones. Know where we could find some?”

Holiday spoke up. “I was here once to trade some goods. Most of the shops are closed at this hour and all the residents have at home are as weak as what we already carry. There is the E.C.R. embassy, the soldiers there have good guns... But that is at least half an hour away and we would probably get shot on sight along with the pirates.”

I finished setting up the bottlecap mine I had hidden in the alleyway and we began to move again.

“Anywhere else?”

Holiday continued. “I’ve heard of a place. Brownwing Co. bleeding edge firearms. Their headquarters it atop the hill over there. Not many ponies have scavenged there because Brownwing was paranoid, the place is crawling with bots.”

____________________________________________________________________________

not sure about this part. revise/remove before continuing.

I looked back at our pursuers when my bottlecap mine exploded, turning several of the faster pirates into a gory red paste of torn flesh. I would have smacked flat into the wall hidden at the darkly shadowed back of the alleyway, if I hadn't slammed into Holiday who halted abruptly in front of me. I looked up in despair at the red brick edifice blocking our path.

“Rape me with an alicorn, we’re fucked.” Before I could cuss anymore Harlem opened her curved, pert mouth and whispered softly.

“I don’t want to die, again...”

I hardly heard her, and didn’t even catch the last bit. With the pirates mere paces away from spraying our bodily fluids across the wall behind us, a moonlit flicker to my left caught my swift, darting eyes. A torn pre-war poster of a gorgeous marshmallow with elegantly styled mane and tail. But wasn’t what caught my eye. Somepony tried to, not very cunningly, hide a shoddily built wooden door behind it. Without a second thought I lifted a corner of the poster and tugged at the curved door handle underneath. Sending a momentary prayer up to the goddesses that the door was unlocked. It opened.

Following my lead the others raced inside, closing the door moments before the pirates reached us. We found ourselves inside a rubble strewn hallway, Harlem obliging us with a pale glow from her spiral horn. The latch to the doorway was badly rusted, only Holiday’s better than marginal strength managed to throw it closed. Just a moment before the horde outside smashed into it. The flimsy door had no chance of holding, our only chance was to keep fleeing. The shouts of the pirates made a fitting backdrop to the clop of our hooves on the cobblestone paving beneath us.

Quick follow me... I just hope this is the way to our contacts hideout???qwa?

____________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________

Sil, you could probably sneak in there and snag some good weapons. The bots will keep the pirates at bay for a few minutes, all we have to do is keep our heads down while you’re inside.”

He had me there, although my skill at stealth was somewhat blown out of proportion. Sneaking wasn’t really something I was skilled at, but my natural agility somewhat compensated for a lack of practice.

You are not inside my head!!!!

project Tinmare. android pony replicators...

I’ve never been to equestria...

instead of an escape an attack, pirate fighters

regret, orphan, abandonment. grew up on the street. wishes to apologize. trust issues.

I clung to the broken oar for dear life. I was tossing about helplessly in the nor’westerly gale,  pushing me out of the temperate zone “ice belt” and up into the northern tropics where the sun never sets and the only thing keeping me from drowning was that broken shard of buoyant wood.

I woke up into a blurry gradient haze of glaring lights and muffled sounds. My body felt bloated while my sinuses were clogged and stuffy, totally miserable. After blinking several times my vision began to clear, enough to see that I was in a white painted room full of beaming bright lights which were glaring painfully into my over dilated irises.

“Wha-? Were place am I? What this?”

I tried to sit up before nearly passing out, my dizzy head spinning nauseatingly. The blurry silhouette at my side reached out a mechanical arm over my chest to firmly push me back down. Failing to get the message I continued to squirm feebly.Something sharp pricked my neck as I continued to struggle pathetically. Momentarily my spinning head flopped down onto a pillow, tongue lolling out between my lips as my vision began to flash with bright, rainbow colored fireworks bursting full of dancing, pretty lights. I began to feel slightly better as the spinning steadily slowed.More shiny metallic arms stretched out to pin my body down so that they could effectively administer several syringes filled with a brightly rainbow colored fluid. The horrifyingly long, razor sharp needles stabbed deep into my prone, paralyzed form; injecting the goddesses knew what into me. Screaming in terror at such a volume that it set my ear ringing, I struggled desperately in a futile attempt to break free from their iron grip. After every flask of the solution emptied the burning, paralyzing rainbow jucies into my blood stream, the arms released me.

I was frozen in place, unable to move. Then suddenly my spine and stomach spasmed, exploding bloody, rancid vomit outward spewing across the pillow, over the sweaty bed sheets and onto the floor. My chest spasmed again, this time churning out chunks of a pithy texture along with more congealed acidic fluids. I continued spasming up vomit, blood, pith and rotting chunks until I was sure my entire digestive tract had exploded twice on the way up my throat and out into my mouth. My body contorted wildly thrashing about uncontrollably and the spasms began cycling faster and faster. The powerful jerking spasms drove a continuous fountain of sludge from both my mouth and nostrils. Right then I was certain this would be the most miserable moment of my life. No way on the moon could things get worse.

Then the hard, calcareous fragments began scraping their way up and out. Jagged shards slashing their up through my esophagus steadily carried forward by a continuous flow of phlegm, blood, pith and mucusy slime. The spasms dissipated over the course of several minutes.  I spit out the last of the chalky shards onto the floor, before ineffectually trying to the wipe the last dregs of phlegm as they casually dribbed over my chin and down onto my neck. Weak from exhaustion and the goddesses knew what else, my entire body felt like broken wobbly jello. For a few minutes it all I could do was focus on breathing. Painfully labored, each breath felt as if a fire was flaring up inside my wheezing, shriveled lungs.

The silhouetted machine rolled away, leaving me to marinate in my own revoltingly aromatic bodily juices.The smell was decidedly necrotic, like I was dying on inside.

Seconds later a wild-haired mutant zebra doctor dressed in a blood soaked lab coat approached into the haze that was my field of vision. The mare was clearly insane.  With creepily wide grin plastered on her face the insane apparition began dancing around me in unhindered glee. Soon her piercing, cackle of laughter ricochet off the walls all around me and sent shivers down my spine. The bitch shoved her blood smeared face against mine and with a pleasured sigh began rhythmically humping my face with hers. When she finally stepped away to speak I released the fevered breath I had been holding and began to pray for swift death.

“Vell, ze trhanzfusion vile behgun shortlee. Thiz apears the phurge vuz suczessful. The taint hagent hiz bindhing vith yure hessence. Soon yure live enargy vile powor my spearit machzine az hit destroiz hequestra!”

Next thing i knew i was on a slave ship with a metal spine. original spine crushed by falling spar?

Ok back to the actual story I am writing. with quicksilver and the slave ship and everything else I was doing.

the rest of the trip was uneventful and when we arrived at the port I left on my own to explore town.

Perk Child at heart? No just younger more like a 15-16 year old filly who still sees that magic and joy in the world despite all she has been through. Quicksilver. redux colors. royal blue mane, silver hooves and eyes. coat is tbd. possibly redish and possibly an exposed cybernetic gunmetal grey spine.

Thereby replacing my personal need for robotic main character. (fitting Osprey into the plot and story hasnt worked well at all)  the cyborg parts do NOT give her any major computer/technological advantage. Its mostly for style. especially at the start. she got them from being sold as a slave to a crazy scientist for them to experiment on. Or we could not. she is ashamed of being a cyborg. tries to hide it from others. “I dont want you to see me like this.” etc...

My first step on land sent a thrilling jolt throughout my body. I was my own mare! Freedom at last.

First order of business; caps, food, water and a place to sleep uninterrupted for about a week straight. This meant I needed to get a job, so I was going from one form of slavery to another. At least this time I was working for someone because I choose to and I was going to get paid for it. I wandered around town for a few hours. Meeting ponies, perusing the merchants wares and asking about any odd jobs that needed doing. After so much dull, monotonous rowing I wanted a job with excitement and action. Danger and trials. awesome and more awesome.

The job closest to the bill was playing courier and taking several messages to a settlement on the other side of the island. The only way across cut directly through raider territory out along the old paved road that passed by the geothermal-electric powerplant. Stray too far from the road you will get yourself trapped in the boggy swamps to either side and eaten by radigators or feral lurkmares. If you go at night and are a bit sneaky none of the raiders will see you and take pot shots. The last two couriers went missing. nopony was willing to take up the job, except me of course!

anxiety about cyberspine and braminskin cloak to cover it up.

hellhound companion? Submissive personality developed from years of slavery?

I entered the bar and ordered two pints of rum to steady my landsickness and balance my sealegs.

“Aren’t you at tad young to be drinking this stuff, kid?”

The bartended asked.

“I old enough to toss you the caps...”

I replied whittily.

“Good point.”

She answered.

As I walked up hill to the edge of town I heard two loud voices arguing.

"You fucking bitch!"

I walked closer and put my ear to the shack door. It had been a long time since I'd heard an angry raised voice that wasn't that of a slave master. Domestic arguments are new fare to me.

"Get the fuck out of my house, fucking cunt! I'll kill you!"

Just then there was a loud commotion followed by a thundering crash. I was splayed out on the street with a bleeding unicorn mare and a smashed doorway on top of me. The mare in question struggled to get up as her assailant pulled a rusted 9mm and popped off two shots before the gun jammed. Luckily for the both of us his aim wasas crapy as his gun. One round thumped into the wooden wreckage of  the door, the other pinged harmlessly off my shoddily disguised mechanical spine. Thankfully nopony was paying much attention to me at that moment: the ricochet went unnoticed. (bullet hit cherry red)

With the assistance of hooves as nimble as mine it was only a moment before I was back upright. Not willing to allow anypony mistreat another this way, I began to assist the mare who landed on top of me. Her feeble movements increased frantically as I was lifting her onto my back while the stallion with the gun tried to clear it's chamber. As we escaped the stallion loosed off several more rounds, but thankfully none struck home. The buck didn't follow us. By the time we were safely away the abused mare had begun to recover, supporting most of her own weight and staying upright without much support.

Once we were safe...

"Thank you." The unicorn croaked.

“You can call me Quicksilver, what do you go by?”

“Cherry Red, *caugh* Is he coming?”

I popped my head around the corner, looking for any sign of aproaching ponies.

“Doesn’t look like it. Are you hurt too bad? Where is the nearest doc?”

“I-I think *cough* Im going to die.”

She coughed up bloody sludge mid sentence.

“No! Don’t say that, I will find you a doctor and he will patch you up.”

/// whatever. trying again.

“And I heard, as it were; the roar of thunder. Lo, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked. And behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and all of Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beast of the earth.

-Excerpt from The Book of Revelation

I was there on the day Death rode into equestria on his pale horse, scythe in hand to mediate his will.

Some consider death to be a blessing here in the wasteland, the great escape. To others, a weapon, a tool or a profession. To raiders it is a source of pleasure. For ghouls it is a state of being. Inevitably death should be the last thing anypony sees in this world. But death is not the end of life. spirits live on, the goddesses still travel in spirit amongst the stars. Balefire breathes a second life into rotting corpses.

And I heard, as it were; the roar of thunder. Lo, I heard the voice of the second beast say, Come and see.

And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, that ponies they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

And once again we try and get back to the original story.

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OLDER STUFF: NEEDS TO BE SORTED AND REORGANIZED

The Overview

* start with the escape and work from there.

(description of what she sees in the oar deck)

describe a day in the life of a pirate slave.

pre-compilation note:

fabled city, moving mobile island of tanktuga, ministry of awesome. glorious treasure. dashing doo. QS knows zodiac from before, when she was a island hopper and scavenger (which is really very boring and not the life of adventure she had hoped for). (4 years before slavery). 7 years as zebra’s student, 14 years in slavery. hatch a plan, mutiny backed by freed oar slaves. moldy+zodiac with help from smart pony (the skipper, second to pirate captain.) captured dashing’s cargo hauler?

dashing knows where tanktuga is? supersized mutated ministry mare’s pet. tanktuga is dashing’s secret base? or super evil main badguy’s cult base of evil? or something else? pirate city? story focus friendship and the meaning of family. sees family bonding and decides to return to equestria and back to her own surrogate family.

QS skill at stealth means she can access the weapon stores undetected and army the mutinous party so they can attack without warning.

Meeting Osprey

Moldy approached and unlocked me, saying. “I hear you’re good with locks and stealth. We’re planning an escape, I need your help. sneak down into the hold and look through the newly acquired treasure captured from the last ship the pirates attacked. They haven’t sorted it yet, there should be some weapons down there for you to repair. Can you do this for me?”

“Give me some bobby pins and a screwdriver and I’ll see what I can do.”

Stealthily I weaved my way below decks, avoiding armed guards and drunken sailors on my way below decks. Tonight was the perfect time to mutiny. The starry sky was pitch black, the thin sliver of a crescent moon hardly contributing anything. We had just captured a merchant barq, and the quantity of homemade rum consumed by the crew could knock out a small army. Most were either too drunk to stand or already passed out in their hammocks. Still, I had to move with utmost care, one wrong step, one squeaky board and the whole escape plan would go bunk.

Below decks the air always tastes thick, dank and rancid, stronger now that my senses were on full alert looking for subtle signs of danger. Even without vicious pirates armed to the teeth with a multitude of heavy blades, the bilge still had several dangers namely giant rodents and mobs of radroaches that could easily overcome a unwary mare. Strewn across the rotting fungus covered planking were a veritable plethora of randomly sized and shaped containers. Some were already open and easy looting, others had damaged, rusty locks that I could force successfully. These finds mostly yielded a hoofful bottle caps, damaged prewar books and an assortment of useless items like ashtrays or scrap metal. However, both the recently captured the weapons locker and clothes dresser required actual lock picking. I broke two bobby pins on the weapons locker before it opened, and one more on the dresser. I found a rusty varmint rifle along with an assortment of damaged blades. The dresser contained some prewar clothes, a few pages of a diary and a key.

With only two bobby pins I had to carefully pick the next container I attempted. Surveying my surroundings I noticed a strange sarcophagus in one corner. The heavy stone lid was chained directly to the body of the coffin preventing it from opening. Inside I heard the sound a scratching, intermittently broken by faint, whimpering sobs. Some terrified and unfortunate pony was trapped inside. The lock looked impossibly difficult to pick but opened when I tried the key I found in the dresser.

Inside I found a small pegasus with six wings and a mechanical spine. Terror was etched upon her wavering but defiant muzzle. I passed her a hooful of potato crisps, which brought a slight smile to her face. The small filly jumped out of her improvised prison and began rubbing the side of her muzzle against my left foreleg, a gesture I interpreted as portraying trust and affection. The six winged pegasus followed me as I explored the rest of the hold, searching for more weapons and ammunition. when I was done, I had three varmint rifles, one even had a scope on it. I also had several blades, including a machete and a blunted combat knife.

I stepped out of my threadbare and pointlessly revealing loincloth and shimmied into a much more respectable, but still grimy and well worn pair of pre-war casual wear I found locked away in a stowage locker beside a overturned cot frame. To complete my outfit I added some badly cracked sunglasses and a scarf I snagged from one of the dead slaves while exploring the hold. Both would hopefully help with the sun and take the edge off my heat stroke. In case my luck turned and I had to fight for my life I slipped a broken machete into the crackling and worm eaten leather saddlebags that now carried everything I had salvaged and "borrowed". The Chain Gangers, as the free thugs had ironically named themselves, didn't have the numbers to post guards at every door. With good timing and a but of sneaking I had easy access to most of the ship. Raiding the stores was easy, and very profitable. ...As long as I didn't get caught. But most of the guards were dumb as bricks and wouldn't bother me if I was walking out of a restricted area. I suppose they assumed I had been granted access by some pony more important.

The rest of my mini-fortune consisted of: three or four caches of scrap metal and junk electronics, a fresh gourd of water, some bobby pins, a few healing potions and leftover turnips that some sneaky devil had stashed in his sea chest. Score! But the crew bunk house was not one of the places I expected to find a veritable plethora of useful items.

The Battle

After distributing the weapons I snuck on deck stealthily and made my way into the bow, where I set myself up in a good sniping position. I awaited the signal, my scoped varmint rifle at the ready.

It began. The alarm sounded and within half a minute the crew began pouring on deck in a turbulent mass of confusion.

Wakeup

I awoke, violently blinking back the bright sunlight filtering down through the grating above my head. This was wrong, I should have been on beat over twelve hours ago. Was I dead? Master required that we were kept on strict twenty hour beats. Mine had ended at dusk, now it was past day break with Celestia's star burning high in the azure sky.

I shook the pony chained to me, she didn't move. Another nameless slave worked to death on the bench by my side. I listened to the familiar wooden groans that were clearly audible without the usual steady churning of water and crack of the whip I had grown accustomed to after so long. Wait. Something was sorely wrong, we were dead in the water and the dull clatter of hooves on the above decks was eerily silent.

I carefully studied my surroundings, trying to identify the source of my unease. Starting with myself. As was congruent with the life of an Oar Slave I was chained to my oar. Every movement of my head was causing the heavy iron chain bolted to the collar around my neck to jingle with a quiet but harsh klank. So normal and mundane to me now that I hardly noticed it while I took stock of my current situation, the only reason I did so now was due to it being nearly the only sound audible to me. That realization took much longer than it should have to sink in, in part due to my imminent death from heatstroke and dehydration sickness. Still drawing cognitive blanks I perked my ears and searched out every sound I could latch onto aboard the ship. The steady lap of open ocean rollers breaking steadily against the creaking hull an arms length to my right. I could hear faint hoofsteps on the deck of wooden planks a foot above my ear-tips. Every few seconds one of the slave ponies next to me would interrupt her shallow breathing and yawn or snort, they were all exhausted, sleep automatically taking hold the moment the lash was withdrawn. That’s what was missing: the crack of the whip, cries of the coxswain and the dull monotonous steady boom of the ever present drumbeat.

My current home, if you could call it that, was a  square sail bireme galley smack dab in the middle of the Northern Tropics. By my best guesstimate we were at least 200 miles from the nearest landmass, low on water, food, morale and moving slave-flesh. When the buckaneigh (buccaneer/barbary) pirates get stuck in the doldrums, as we were now, the age old custom is to work the slaves to death rowing towards the nearest land while hardly feeding or watering them. It had been nearly two weeks, I was emaciated, dehydrated to the point where my skin shriveled up like a dried peach, and mind numbingly exhausted. Several of the weaker oarslaves were already slowly rotting in their chains, worked to deaths door and left to die still chained to their oar partner. I was lucky, if any pony could manage and construe it as such. One of the younger whip-snappers had a soft, (or in this case), “hard’ spot for me, namely for my plot. This particular buck managed to sneak me both food and water over the course of the past couple weeks, in exchange for several quite unsavory, let’s say... Favors. Bad hygene is a huge turn off, and zebra raiders turned pirates can’t tell a hydration bag from an enema. Guess which one the water actually came in and which one wasn’t used before he plowed mercilessly into my backside. Lets not elaborate further, especially into gut wretching details of the oral routine.

Overall there weren't many acoustic clues to postulate effectively with. I previewed my surroundings more attention to detail, specifically for anything out of the ordinary.

I was sitting on a roughly hewn log bench, my seat worn and polished with wear and time. to my left was my slumbering partner, to my right the ship’s hull, beyond that miles of ocean stretching out in all directions. In front of me several more rows of oars, each with its own bench and a team of two slaves to work it. Past the oar deck were passenger cabins, crew bunks, and finally the stern and rudder. Behind: three more rows of oars leading up to the cook’s galley, gangways, perishable foods, the bow, and finally the forward ram used to smash and sink other sailing vessels. Below was the hold with most of the food stores, water barrels, cargo, treasure, and slave pins. Above: the main deck with the upper oar tier and its respective slaves chained to benches in the waist. Slaves with gangplanks directly above their heads while a grate down the middle allowing fresh air to circulate more freely.

Tolerance, acceptance, indifference, pacifism,

Chapter 2: Lonely Thorn Storm Dancer

The arousing scent of frying bacon gently drew my voraciously carnivorous companion from a quality of deep, refreshing dreamless sleep few ponies ever truly experience in our treacherous, cold hearted wasteland. Somewhat lethargically she stretched her compact but lithe body and rolled over to face the campfire, blinking back sleep and the bright rays of the midday sun beating down upon us. She shot me a coy smile before wrinkling her snub nose and sneezing d’awwwtasically. Gracefully she rolled onto her nimble hooves, absentmindedly rubbing a forehoof across her itchy muzzle. Idly she approached my right flank, the uneasy apprehension born from years of abuse and neglect visibly apparent on her noticeably avian facial structure. Experimentally the juvenile pegasus spread her tiny wings and flared the bright red primaries growing from the backs of all four legs. Servos running along the length of her dark metallic spine whirred as she arched her back before shaking like a wet dog, a scattering of dew drops flew from her shining cyan coat. Soon after the nonchalant display of comfort and athleticism my faithful companion began bumping into my foreleg, physically begging for the food I was attempting to cook.

“Good morning to you too, little one.” I held a strip of the cure meat above her head with two hooves, forcing her to jump in order to reach it. Even balanced on my hind legs and stretching up towards the sky, the jump was no challenge for my comrade. Even despite her being the runty side of blank flank scale. She soon snuggled up under my right foreleg as I continued to feed her strips of hickory cured, fried radigator bacon. According to the raiders I overheard while sneaking around their camp looting...

“T’isen here Maggot Pie, I ‘mokes ‘his meself. Yesh dam’ rady’gador ye’ kin get!”

The poor bastard’s lips and half a cheek had been torn off, in what I can only hope was a painful and torturous not-so-accident. They were also drunk off their plots, which made robbing them blind that much easier. That had been two days ago, today marking the one week anniversary of my newly established freedom.

(expand)

how I got there...

start transfer?

[Placeholder]

If a mare's got talent and guts to buck society, she's obviously above average. You want to hold on to her. You straighten her out and turn her into a plus value. Why throw her away? Do that enough and all you've got left are the sheep.

It must be, I thought, one of the race's most persistent and comforting hallucinations to trust that "it can't happen here"–that one's own time and place is beyond cataclysm.

Fortune cannot be flattered by such fetish worship. But she can be wooed and won by hard work.

In the 66 years that I have been alive, there has not been one hour, of one day, of one month, of one year, when there has not been a threat aimed at us.

Any nation that thinks more of its ease and comfort than its freedom will soon lose its freedom; and the ironical thing about it is that it will lose its ease and comfort too.

In the world it is called Tolerance, but in hell it is called Despair, the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.

opening/quote #2

Love and Tolerance? The Wasteland is nothing if not pure Despair. Before the war, Love was a powerful virtue, in fact there was an alicorn princess who special talent was spreading love. There is no love in the wasteland. At best one can stumble across a fleeting emotional contact with another living creature, most often while trying to kill each other. The wasteland takes and takes, never giving anything back. The only way to survive is to tolerate life, becoming empty, indifferent and immune before true despair has a chance to set in. The worst thing a pony can do is fight against the lifeless shell that is the wasteland. If you do this the wasteland will tear you to shreds, rip your soul apart and turn you into a insatiable monster. The difference between Tolerance and Despair is the world in which it lives. Hell is hell because there IS that bright light at the end of the tunnel, but like moths drawn to a candle, that mischievous light will mercilessly engulf all those foalish enough to seek it...

---/)(---

Note: Occupation as linguist etc is option. Scrubbing of Fetish and Cult is optional.

Important: raised by ghoul zebra and is naturally super agile and acustom to zebra two hoof postures etc... Something along the lines of what is below could work pretty well. Develop things, but don't obsess over one thing, get as many different leads out ASAP and diversify!

Scooters: waiters wear skates that look like red racer scooters.

Buckthesda: The razor that cutting edge of shaves with.

All-Equestrian prototype by bearrett gun co.

first battle: pirate captain and officers barricaded in the captains cabin... (poss Osprey as well?) (help from primrose?)

Sky tank Boewing flying fortress

I left home seven years ago to travel and see something of the world. before that I had mostly been confined to my books and workbench. Seven years of captivity did nothing to curb my curiosity, it was time to explore, on my way to return home.

*introduction*

All hooves considered, the story of my life, (all the interesting parts anyway) began the day I was bought by Greaser.

But before I tell that story, a bit about how I got there. As far back as I can remember I was cared for by Khalif, a legendarily ancient zebra, even before he turned ghoul. He was more than a father to me and the kindest creature I'd ever met. Each night before bed we

would sit around the orange flickering flames of his dying hearth as he told me wonderful stories of the time from before the bombs.

Each day we worked restoring broken weapons and other junk traded in by traveling scavengers. From him I learned everything I know about the world, and he taught me everything he knew about fixing almost everything there is to fix in the wasteland. Khalif also gave me my first nickname: Quicksilver "Brighteyes"...

That whole week I'd been sick with the Black Hoof. The Taint made for a horrid version of Whooping Hoof that slowly turns your coat charcoal black, along with constant, miserable nausea, vomiting and convulsive hacking coughs. Khalif stayed up three nights caring for me while concocting a gooey, bubbling fetish to hasten my recovery and try to turn my coat back its lustrous silver gray hue. Taint addled diseases are funny though. Instead of turning my coat back it permanently mutated my eyes into silvery, glowing catlike slits. Cool, huh? Beats mutating into a shambling flesh monster. After that I was a shadow but for a single silver hoof and my glowing silvery cat eyes.

The Black Hoof transfers Mutation from one host to another, im my case I got the Black Hoof from one of the Mousers in the barn, Damn cat bit me. The Black Hoof is mutated Whooping Hoof and Rabies and thus nerve damage and transferable only by saliva directly into the bloodstream. Im a carrier but as long as I don’t bite anypony I doubt anypony will get it from me.

We spent the next couple months together without incident. Then it was time for me to leave on my spirit journey, to earn my cutie mark and discover my special talent.

That was the last time we were alive and together.

Or feathers soul jar.

Only a single Forehoof remained silver. Later new fetish silver mane. Changes red layer

Ghoul= hunt for meat to eat.

Slave translator for pony zebra seapony griffin !?!???

Mane gray hoof silver + black glyph charm from beyond equestria sails there in Greek rowing ship as slave?

((Sleep needs to happen now. I’ll pick up more editing later on. Excellent narrative. Please keep writing!))

Opening/quote 1

In the world it is called Tolerance, but in hell it is called Despair, the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.

Despair and desperation are not the same thing, despite having the same old-equestrian root word. Despair is a empty lifeless feeling, desperation brings forth one final energetic last ditch attempt. Seven years ago I could have told you the whole etymology of both words, I would have explained the despair felt by the three monarchs who first discovered equestria drove them apart and brought forth the winter spirits of discord. Even of how princess celestia desperate to save the kingdom banished her younger sister to the moon for a thousand years. But seven years ago I had no experience with either word. Back then, I knew nothing of what real despair felt like. Now? Seven years of hopeless despair in the bonds of slavery had finally built up to one last ditch attempt of desperation, a crazy, insane escape attempt.

Once seven years ago I was a philosophical logically thinking prodigy child, raised by a ancient ghoul zebra shaman. life has gone downhill since then.

---1---

I awoke, violently blinking back the bright sunlight filtering down through the grating above my head. This was wrong, I should have been on beat over twelve hours ago. Was I dead? Master required that we were kept on strict twenty hour beats. Mine had ended at dusk, now it was past day break with Celestia's star burning high in the azure sky.

I shook the pony chained to me, she didn't move. Another nameless slave worked to death on the bench by my side. I listened to the familiar wooden groans that were clearly audible without the usual steady churning of water and crack of the whip I had grown accustomed to after so long. Wait. Something was sorely wrong, we were dead in the water and the dull clatter of hooves on the above decks was eerily silent. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the horror that I had seen happen to slaves of stricken vessels. After a week of starving chained together in a sweaty, sweltering, bilge water infested death trap- I shuddered and tried to think of a better time, a time before the monotonous drudge of an oar slave’s life...

((Hmm, this paragraph is going to need some work.))

Green Pt. 1#

---2---

I carefully studied my surroundings, trying to identify the source of my unease. Starting with myself. As was congruent with the life of an Oar Slave I was chained to my oar. Every movement of my head was causing the heavy iron chain bolted to the collar around my neck to jingle with a quiet but harsh klank. So normal and mundane to me now that I hardly noticed it while I took stock of my current situation, the only reason I did so now was due to it being nearly the only sound audible to me. That realization took much longer than it should have to sink in, in part due to my imminent death from heatstroke and dehydration sickness. Still drawing cognitive blanks I perked my ears and searched out every sound I could latch onto aboard the ship. The steady lap of open ocean rollers breaking steadily against the creaking hull an arms length to my right. I could hear faint hoofsteps on the deck of wooden planks a foot above my ear-tips. Every few seconds one of the slave ponies next to me would interrupt her shallow breathing and yawn or snort, they were all exhausted, sleep automatically taking hold the moment the lash was withdrawn. That’s what was missing: the crack of the whip, cries of the coxswain and the dull monotonous steady boom of the ever present drumbeat.

My current home, if you could call it that, was a  square sail bireme galley smack dab in the middle of the Northern Tropics. By my best guesstimate we were at least 200 miles from the nearest landmass, low on water, food, morale and moving slave-flesh. When the buckaneigh (buccaneer/barbary) pirates get stuck in the doldrums, as we were now, the age old custom is to work the slaves to death rowing towards the nearest land while hardly feeding or watering them. It had been nearly two weeks, I was emaciated, dehydrated to the point where my skin shriveled up like a dried peach, and mind numbingly exhausted. Several of the weaker oarslaves were already slowly rotting in their chains, worked to deaths door and left to die still chained to their oar partner. I was lucky, if any pony could manage and construe it as such. One of the younger whip-snappers had a soft, (or in this case), “hard’ spot for me, namely for my plot. This particular buck managed to sneak me both food and water over the course of the past couple weeks, in exchange for several quite unsavory, let’s say... Favors. Bad hygene is a huge turn off, and zebra raiders turned pirates can’t tell a hydration bag from an enema. Guess which one the water actually came in and which one wasn’t used before he plowed mercilessly into my backside. Lets not elaborate further, especially into gut wretching details of the oral routine.

Overall there weren't many acoustic clues to postulate effectively with. I previewed my surroundings more attention to detail, specifically for anything out of the ordinary.

I was sitting on a roughly hewn log bench, my seat worn and polished with wear and time. to my left was my slumbering partner, to my right the ship’s hull, beyond that miles of ocean stretching out in all directions. In front of me several more rows of oars, each with its own bench and a team of two slaves to work it. Past the oar deck were passenger cabins, crew bunks, and finally the stern and rudder. Behind: three more rows of oars leading up to the cook’s galley, gangways, perishable foods, the bow, and finally the forward ram used to smash and sink other sailing vessels. Below was the hold with most of the food stores, water barrels, cargo, treasure, and slave pins. Above: the main deck with the upper oar tier and its respective slaves chained to benches in the waist. Slaves with gangplanks directly above their heads while a grate down the middle allowing fresh air to circulate more freely.

This I all knew from experience. (description of what she sees in the oar deck)

I knew that it was what was wrong with this picture, I could tell from the pixels and having lived on this slave ship and way too many others in my time. In this neck of the woods, pirates and slavers were the same thing.

Several hushed voices latched onto my short attention span next, they were too quiet and I was far away to make out anything useful. But I didn’t recognize a single of the voices as belonging to any of the usual guards making rounds for the midday watch. They stopped pacing directly above me, their hooves almost within reach bar 6 inches of solid oak planking. I strained to catch a whisper of their clandestine conversation.

*talks about cargo of strange sarcophagus captured only days ago from a merchant ship*

---2.1---

I giggled uncontrollably. This was just too rich, this situation should have just never come about. But it was here and with my state of mind fraying at this rate nothing would ever be the same again.

“Oh, so you want me to break in there, kill everypony with my bare-hooves come out and feel no remorse?”

This was going to be fun. A race to see who could get to the dingy first. fun fun.

After three years of slaving away in the hold of a Oar Galley I had to let loose and feel alive and real again. What the hell, lets do it. Charge that fucking raider camp and butcher those murderous cannibalistic bastards once and for all. We have everything to gain, save those poor ponies and dash a blemish from the majestically miserable land. If we die, its not like we have anything worthwhile to live for. Besides, the odds are always in my favor...

Whining, I complained. “Do I have too?! Its not fair, I never get close to the action!”

“Thats because you are too good as a sniper, besides if something goes wrong we need YOU to cover the retreat, nopony else can do that as good as you can.”

What can I say, he knew my weak spot. Flattery aside, somewhere deep down I kinda knew that he was right, they needed cover fire and I was the pony for the job. Quicksilver. Accept no substitutes!

Building a wooden stockade wasn’t my thing. Hard work is the worst! I’d much rather be frolicing through some medow filled with bloatsprites guns blazing or exploring some dangerous, radioactive deathtrap filled with pre-war treasures. Hell, even running for my life while being chased by a frenzied pack of hellhounds was preferable to digging holes and pounding these roughly hewn trees into a makeshift barrier.

My voice, thrown slightly off pitch by the fear inside my barely lurking below the surface, broke through the silence.

Another valuable wasteland lesson learned by Miss Quicksilver, never accidentally a pony.

Primrose left for town, Osprey and I remained on the merryweather reoutfitting and repairing for damages inured during the storm.

Primrose strode confidently across the rotting, disheveled wharf and made her way into town. With bravado born from years of badassery and a high class tenpony upbringing Primrose wandered through the various shops, food, supply and weapons stands haggling masterfully to pull the best prices. She was a thousand times better at that suff, I could shoot my gun, see in the dark and move like a shadow, but when it came to talking to strange ponies I could be so excruciatingly shy sometimes. As with many of my taint related impulses the time, place and severity of the anxiety attack were completely beyond my control.

---3---

A powerful commanding voice broke through my silent thoughts.

"Get that pony with the silver hoof, I think she speaks zebra words."

This was followed by a commotion on deck before somepony lifted the grate away, revealing me and a few others to the full on bright light of the burning midday sun. Two ponies gripped me roughly and hoisted me and my "dead weight" up from the rotting hold. I blinked again in the thousand fold brighter direct sunlight beating upon me now.

"You Speak Zebra words, right?!"

Burly stallion roared into my terrified face. The iron pumping stallion was clearly a newcomer picked up in the last port of call. I nodded sheepishly as they dragged me forward to the bow where several passenger ponies and a few beaten zebras were huddled and chained together. I wall pulled up the gangway that reached down into the sweltering open air slave hold. Only a few torn awnings protected the banks of oar-ponies from the direct sunlight beating down upon the listless galley that had been my home for the past seven months. A faint single breath of wind snapped the broad sail drooping from the main mast, the push of fresh air died moments later and we were again sweltering in the oppressive heat of the murderous doldrums.

"Speak to this thing."

---4---

I approached the strange sarcophagus with utmost care and caution. Once I reached the oblong onyx box I noticed something resembling runic calligraphy on the dusty lid. Silent as a whisper I scattered the dust particulates with a gentle breath of my lungs. Beneath I found a faintly familiar arrangement of glyphs twisting in complex circles, polygons and assorted symbolic shapes. Slowly, as if by some arcane magic the shapes shimmered and imperceptibly formed into a single word that I could understand. Sesame.

Well that was helpful. I knew that sesame was a plant, native to zebrica that was valued as both food and oil for cooking. Taking a wild leap of logic I guessed that the pony, or maybe zebra, inside was named Sesame. Sesame must have been excruciatingly wealthy with all the ornate decorations and intricate carvings painstakingly hoofcrafted into the sarcophagus with precision and care. As with cradle robbing, grave robbing just wasn’t my thing. But I was desperate and now was not the time for upstanding morality, still I did my best to respect the sanctity of the dead. Sanctity of the dead my plot, in my life I had seen more rotting corpses, both lifeless and otherwise, and bleached bones than actual real living ponies. The wasteland was one sick twisted and fucked up place. Only hours ago I had been chained next to a pony who had died at least a day before, and not a single pony noticed until I was given my freedom. Even then she was just tossed aside and ignored like a now worthless bag of flour dumped on somepony’s head as a joke.

Still, I had to open it. My reputation as a pony who could think with not only her head, but mouth and hoof as well had earned me respect among the other oar slaves. Zodiac and his gang we throwing a fit over a treasure chest that refused to open. The idiots were thinking of trying to blow the thing open with dynamite, on a already stricken ship smashed against a coral reef. This broken hulk really couldn’t take any more punishment. So I fast-talked my way into a chance to look at the treasure chest. Damn thing was some kind of archaic burial coffin.

First I tried prying, then pushing followed by double searching for a non existent keyhole. Still nothing, Sesame’s coffin might just be her final resting place after all. I was frustrated, and bucked the thing as hard as I could, a dull thud echoed throughout the murky hold. Nothing happened. Cursing at the unwavering black obelisk lying in front of me I shouted.

“By the shine of molestia’s love juices! Open discord’s black box of frustration! What in Hadies do I need to do inorder to make you Open Sesame!??”

At my last words a faint but deep rumble pulsed from deep within the sarcophagus, so deep in fact I felt it instead of heard it. After several seconds the rumble was joined by the lonesome wail of a lone trumpet, slow bleeding out the single tone melodies of the angels. At the blaring peak of the soul wrenching corus 2001 things happened all at once! It felt like a whole orchestia was pressing down upon my ears. The strange thing was, I felt the music, but heard only silence. Like the music was inside my head. That couldn’t be right, I waited but nopony came to check in on me. Surely sompony must have heard something. Maybe they just didnt care?

when the dust settled I saw a small, almost foal size miniature statue of a very strange looking pegasus, if you could truly call it that. After several seconds of inspection I did the most logical thing and touched the glowing red talisman on its forehead. within seconds tendrils of red smoke engulfed my whole silvery hoof in sticky, magical goop. then everything started getting REALLY strange. over the course of a minute the film of pink smoke merged with my hoof and turned a silvery sheen of red. soon I saw characters of a foreign language I that felt eerily familiar but too remote to pin down sliding across the band of red smoke and energy. Then silvery white light burst into my vision, filling it full of runes, glyphs and random characters that flashed across my field of vision much like code on a terminal. As things began to slow down terrifying whispering voices began to invade my mind. Suddenly they stopped. Then disappeared, replaced moments later with a much more comforting and comprehensible Equestrian. A silver-white interface, much like a terminal but with beautifully designed graphics retna quality resolution and intracate interweaving complexity appeared. Soon text was rolling across my field of vision

uplink with Luna’s Dawn successful. Compiling subject data. please wait. Mare, age 21, earth pony, Medical: Serious malnutrition and advanced stages of fragmenting taint mutation. Risk: serious risk of starvation. Mutation currently stable, low risk. etc.

talisman in forehead casts spell that binds a living energy matix to my hoof. a pipb2ck made of glowing red light. the pipbuck is made of a form of the pink cloud, and is the intelligence that powers Osprey.

---5---

perk: dexterity: your natural dexterity allows you to manipulate weapons much to heavy for you to handle other wise +5 to weapons handling. (does not affect big guns skill weapons)

((*end of Email editing*))

The stallion commanded. Several more oar-ponies dragged forward a small, bedraggled, struggling and quite strange looking pegasus filly. She had six wings, two in the normal location plus more cyan flight feathers extending from the backs of each of her four legs. Her coat was a shimmering mix of cyan, maroon and lavender, each fading into the other as the colours crossed her compact, elfin body. Her spine consisted of exposed interlocking gunmetal black cybernetic implants that whirred clicked, and whispered as she moved. Extended from each of her hooves were four scythe blade-claws that she tried to slash at her captors with. Every appendage of her body was tightly chained to limit her range of motion as much as possible. The torn remnants of a makeshift sail-canvas straight-jacket hung from her narrow, quivering shoulders.

I tried to shake the stupor that months of mind numbing labor had tightly gripping my dulled wit and sleeping intellect. My body might be half dead, but I needed my mind to survive in this world much longer. I turned to face the burly stallion and blinked lethargically, chains rattling as I moved.

"What did you want me to do again?"

I asked, My thoughts moving as slowly as syrupy dehydrated blood pumped through my flushing veins.

"You speak other languages, right? Like zeb-ran and rhymesa? I need you to find out what in the Goddesses cunt-sweat that thing is!!"

I sighed and blinked slowly, again. I needed some water really, really bad.

"Give me a gourd of clean water and I'll see what I can do."

I could tell by the way the rage flushed brightly on his face that we were going to have some difficulty seeing eye to eye on a vast expanse of issues. I had only asked for just a day's ration of water and this overly built stallion was about to flip his lid.

"No you flabby fuck! You're the walking dead already. We can't waste water on worthless cunts like you. Just do it or I will rip you apart right here!"

He turned to buck me in the ribs, I tried to dodge his kick but I was too slow my: weary, ravaged muscles moved slower than frozen honey. Searing pain burst in my side when his hooves made contact with my side, popping several ribs in the process and sending me sliding across the deck. I jerked to a choking halt when the chain that bound my neck collar to the body of my dead oar mate pulled taught. I crawled to my hooves while trying to block the stomping, crushing blows raining down upon my throbbing head. Behind my parched, swollen stupor was a childhood of archaic zebra martial training that should have given me a edge, but not in my current state. Still, I might be half dead, but that did not mean I should be left for it without giving the best fight I could. As he rose up again I pulled all the slack out of my collar chain. As he came down I used the tension as a pivot and sent my left fore-hoof directly into his throat. Sadly my neck-jab was far from fatal, but it did put a sharp end to the mindless bludgeoning thrown wildly down upon me.

I really was in a sorry state now, for that short fight alone left me bleeding, staggering and short of breath. Swaying a bit as I stood up I shook myself like a dog trying to clear the dense fog clinging to my thoughts. Another buck spoke up, he was clearly a oar pony but had managed to de collar himself somehow, smart pony.

"Zodiac, we need her... Alive. Just get the gourd and lets be done with it."

~/)(~

! Note: Osprey starts out locked in the bilge. QS goes down there to talk to her. Osprey is left down in the hold...

I choked on the sweet life giving nectar as it burned down my parched, swollen throat. I sputtered trying to keep the mouthful of water down. Far from being a whole gourd, the mouthful "smart pony" had procured for me was at least taking the first step towards keeping me alive. One hoof forward is still progress in my book.

The small group of healthy and freed convicts were moving the masses of starving and dying from the depths of the hold. A successful slave revolt was rare but not unheard of on the barbary coast. The surviving crew and passengers were then herded below. I was gathering my wits and tried to remember remedial zeb-ran, a language I had studied with Arkaenos nearly seven years ago, when I was still just a blank flank little filly.

A bald and completely maneless unicorn with a distinctive neon orange coat stepped up to me and tapped his horn to the keyhole of my collar, after a few seconds of clicking tumblers my collar popped open. My nigh on three years of bondage and slavery were ending. I should have felt emotions akin to jubilation or relief, but right then all I felt was the sticky humid air pressing down upon my and dizziness from standing upright for too long.

As I stepped in front of the diminutive pegasus my thoughts began to clear. My mind tracing itself back to a happier time when life revolved around reading aging textbooks and testing my developing repair skills. That was a time without the crack of a whip constantly reminding me of my captivity. The six wing little filly looked frightened half to death. The sudden loss of freedom and recently violent events were as new to her as my newfound mobility felt to me. I found this revelation slightly disturbing given her deadly armament of hoof scythes.

I sat down in front of the helplessly struggling child, pinned down so taught and secure that she looked like a flayed hide stretched out to tan in the sun. Game time. Reached out a hoof to lift her chin up to my face, putting on my most charming smile in the process. The bitch tried to bite my hoof off! With her sharp fanglet pointed incisors she probably could've done some serious damage. It looks like I had to do this the hard way.

/Skip/

Next step: politics (make more powerful argumentative and intriguing)

"I want in. You take my counsel and we survive. Don't, every single pony on this ship is good as dead."

Zodiac looked shocked. I must have hurt his pride or something. Not that I cared, all I wanted was to get off this ship alive. For that to happen this ship had to get organized in order for us to make land-side in one piece. A feat more dificult than any here knew.

"What could you possibly do to make me believe you have anything to bring to my table."

"I know a zebra fetish to fill the sails. We work together and we live. A ship need sailors, and a captain. You have the muscle to get everypony to work together, without that my fetish will be useless. This will be mutually beneficial... Assuming any of you want to live."

"Fine, I might just consider what you have to say. But don't get your hopes up."

Step One: Survey Surroundings. “Im on a boat...”

location: lat/long

Time: of season and of day

Detailed description of the ship

Step Two: Talk to Ponies, Get Quests, ????, Profit!

Parties: Captured pirates, Escaped Convicts, Oar Ponies and Sick slaves, Passengers

Factions: Zodiac Gangers, Barbary Pirates

Characters: Zodiac, Cunningham (Smart pony) (Zodiacs Right “Hoof”), Moldy Orange, Osprey, Keelhaul (Carpenter), Stowage (Quartermaster), Oarlock (Ringleader of Oar Slaves),

Ponies to talk to:

Step Three: Supplies (massive extension to end)

I told Zodiac that I had to go through all the stores and search the ship to collect the items I needed to form the fetish. He told his freed thugs to give me freedom to move about the ship unhindered. I made my way to the galley and slapped together some half rotten vegetables. I choked the aromatic connection down and  felt only slightly better, but this was a start. hunger pains assuaged for the moment I began my search for the items needed, assuming I could remember them all.

Down in the lower hold the only available light came from my silvery glowing Catslit eyes. A taint mutation I received early in my childhood, so long ago I can't even remember how it happened. Taint is generally pretty nasty stuff, but rarely it can be more docile. This wasn't one of those times. Taint also hit my entire nervous system, and occasionally and without warning my entire body spasms in a uncontrollable seizure coupled with excruciating jolts of agony. Thankfully the bursts last less than a second. All things considered I probably got off easy, but so far those momentary seizures have been the most painful and terrifying experiences of my life.

Deciding it would be a good idea to find out how much food and water remained on our vessel while I was down here anyways. Now that we had been stricken for almost a month out here in these endless doldrums.

Step Four: Choosing sides

"So, I hear you've gotten yourself a comfy spot in Zodiac's 'pecking order' care to lend an ear and help out some of those not blessed by fortune and the goddesses?"

The bald neon orange buck grinned a crooked, bucktoothed and cavity riddled grin at me, a hopeless attempt at charm. Still without his special talent I would still be dying a slow and miserable death. It makes a mare wonder though, maybe a unicorn with a key for a cutie-mark isn't the best choice as a slave?

"I enabled this revolt to save everypony, not break only the most barbaric and brutal criminals out of a fate they arguably deserved in the first place."

I eyed him cautiously, I had known a few paranoid leaders and masters in my time. It was not unlikely that Zodiac sent one of his minions to gauge how threatening I was to his top spot on this little chain of hierarchy. Being something of a respected member of the slaves aboard the ship, I could theoretically cause a second revolt and assume the leadership roll. Other ponies could pick the simple locks on the slave collars given a bobby pin or two. Then again, I didn't expect Zodiac or his current right and left hoof ponies to be the kind to plan more than a hoof step ahead. Except Smart Pony, but I was pretty sure that won wouldn't be a direct danger to me as long as the little pegasus had wings to fly with. Yet again on the third hoof, it would be wise to stay in the good graces of everypony aboard. Me and Zodiac aren't the only ones able-bodied and minded to head a revolt. A vague and diplomatic answer was in order.

"I always want to help ponies, but right now my hooves are full with acquiring supplies for this wind fetish I'm mixing, it needs to be finished before nightfall or it will not work."

Now I was just improving with the first thing that came to mind. In not too long some pony besides me would notice the smudge on the horizon and my efforts to procure survival would be for not. One of the zebra's had assisted with the escape and now had the ear of the higher ups. If she didn't buy my fetish ruse then I had major problems.

"What are you looking for, I can free the quartermaster and chain him to you if he could be of help in your quest."

Step Five: Weapons and Armor (this point onward no wind fetish. instead she sneaks he way around. most doors aren't locked. even if she isn't supposed to be there.)

work back from this!!!

I stepped out of my threadbare and pointlessly revealing loincloth and shimmied into a much more respectable, but still grimy and well warn pair of pre-war casual wear I found locked away in a stowage locker beside a overturned cot frame. To complete my outfit I added some badly cracked sunglasses and a scarf i snagged from one of the dead slaves while exploring the hold. Both would hopefully help with the sun and take the edge off my heat stroke. In case my luck turned and I had to fight for my life I slipped a broken machete into the crackling and worm eaten leather saddlebags that now carried everything I had salvaged and "borrowed". The Chain Gangers, as the free thugs had ironically named themselves, didn't have the numbers to post guards at every door. With good timing and a but of sneaking i had easy access to most of the ship. Raiding the stores was easy, and very profitable. ...As long as I didn't get caught. But most of the guards were dumb as bricks and wouldn't bother me if I was walking out of a restricted area. I suppose they assumed I had been granted access by some pony more important.

The rest of my mini-fortune consisted of: three or four caches of scrap metal and junk electronics, a fresh gourd of water, some bobby pins, a few healing potions and leftover turnips that some sneaky devil had stashed in his sea chest. Score! But the crew bunk house was not one of the places I expected to find a veritable plethora of useful items. I wanted into the captain's cabin, I wanted into the armory but I would have to wait for the cover of nightfall before making a move. So to the bilge!

Brainstorm/Cramming

! The brainstorm/cramming is what happens when I can’t make anything coherent. I need to scrub through this and pull out the good bits to get evaluated.

Primrose

*Note: This isn’t told from QS: prospective because Im too lazy... This is because QS doesn’t know who or what osprey and Primrose actually are... for the actual story I plan on writing entirely from Quicksilver's point of view.

Primrose, an elegant mare who, having been born in a different time, could have gone head to head with Rarity in a contest of Social decorum. her faded yellow coat contrasting beautifully with a shining green mane with bright yellow highlights curled elegantly around her carefully arched neck. She grew up in tenpony tower but, (like most of Dashing’s compatriots) she was born near trottingham.

“Oh how horrid, Slave ponies? Dashing I will NOT sail aboard that abomination. Priceless sarcophagus or not!”

Step Six: Below Decks

I half crawled half pushed my way through the cramped, reeking and moaning crowd of slaves chained into the walls of the death hold.  Eyes begging for a sip from the desalinating contents of my freshly refilled goard, croaking voices whispering, pleading for me to save them from the creeping fatal misery that I had shared with them only hours ago. Looking down with pitty at a filly whom I had watched earn her cutie mark only two months, knowing I couldn’t save anypony down here made the guilt gripping my laboring heart no easier swallow. I must keep moving. A solitary tear rolled down my cheek as I reached the trap door opening to the bilge. I knew all these helpless ponies. Most were too weak to even reach out hooves out in a futile attempt at stopping me.

It was dark, dank and dirty in the leaky bulge. My hooves crunched over the sand, broken bottles and dried radroach husks. Within seconds the whole cave like length of the bilge glowed with a shimmering silvery hue. Stuck at top pilings driven into the sand and refuse at regular intervals were ornately decorated skulls taken from the unlucky captain’s of ships defeated, sunk or captured by this vessel and its once cut throat crew. Most of what counted as decorations had half rotten away by now: hooves, scalped manes, sawn off horns and even a pegasus wing. The stench of death bit at my nostrils in brightly flavored bursts, growing stronger each careful step I took forward.

Soon I could hear the rasping snotty ragged breathing of the feral ghoul that called the bulge home. With a deep breath pressed up against the closest pile of empty rotten crates strewn haphazardly throughout the bilge. Stealthily slipping my tongue around the handle of the bolt-gun that Zodiac had given me to kill this monster with I readied myself for the rush.

Take 2: from the sky meeting a strange pegasus!

Several more oar ponies dragged forward a small, bedraggled, struggling and quite strange looking pegasus filly. She had six wings, two in the normal location plus more cyan flight feathers extending from the backs of each of her four legs. Her coat was a shimmering mix of cyan, maroon and lavender, each fading into the other as the colours crossed her compact, elfin body. Her spine consisted of exposed interlocking gunmetal black cybernetic implants that whirred clicked, and whispered as she moved. Extended from each of her hooves were four scythe blade-claws that she tried to slash at her captors with. Every appendage of her body was tightly chained to limit her range of motion as much as possible. The torn remnants of a makeshift sail-canvas strait jacket hung from her narrow, quivering shoulders.

I tried to shake the stupor that months of mind numbing labor had tightly gripping my dulled whit and sleeping intellect. My body might be half dead, but I needed my mind to survive in this world much longer. I turned to face the burly stallion and blinked lethargically, chains rattling as I moved.

"What did you want me to do again?"

I asked, My thoughts moving as slowly as the syrupy dehydrated blood pumped through my flushing vains.

"You speak other languages, right? Like zeb-ran and rhymesa? I need you to find out what in the Goddesses cunt-sweat that thing is!!"

I sighed and blinked slowly, again. I needed some water really, really bad.

---1---

“Hi, what is your name? My name is quicksilver. A pretty pony like you must have a pretty name, why dont you tell me?”

All I got in response was a glare followed by a overly sarcastic eye roll. So much for doing things the easy way. Although the hard way was so much more fun, beating a helpless filly to a pulp fell far short on my to do list. I needed a third option. hmmm.

“Hey, Zodiac is it. I have an idea. Can you rope her wings tightly to her sides and chain her all her hooves together? I want to take this one down into the bilge, to talk in privacy. We can lock her neck collar to the masthead.”

~

The near total darkness of the hold conformed closely to my version of comfort zone. The cool air felt refreshing against my foam flecked flanks. Goddesses it was blazing hot in direct sunlight.

I pretended to follow the others out before sneaking back into the bilge. It smelled like manure and dead radroaches, in fact the stench was so bad that my eyes felt like watering. As I aproached I could hear the muffled sobs of the filly pegasus and I could even make out the faint splash of tears dropping onto the rough floor.

Poor girl, I had forgotten what it was like to be taken into slavery. Torn away from friends and family, hope torn from your grasp as some cruel pony made you into his property. Maybe beating her to a pulp would have been a kinder course of action? Oh well what’s done is done. Thankfully this was working as planned. Sneak in and try and figure her out from a more passive angle. avoiding direct interrogation can sometimes do wonders in the info gathering department. Its a point of fact that scared children have a tendency to talk to themselves when in these kind of situations, that is what I was waiting for.

I wasnt to be disapointed.

“It will be ok, they promised to get me when I finished the mission. I know they will come. promised”

another sob as the filly rattled her heavy chains in a futile attempt at trying to hack her way free with the scythes protruding from her four hooves.

“oh who am i kidding, they left to me to die here. nopony loves me.”

Zebra politics one o one. Manipulation time.

Before I could begin the actual interrogation I heard voices from above. Ponies shouting at each other. A conundrum of commotion and argument ensued. Quicksilver, defuse the situation before somepony does something stupid.

--- Raiding the Cabin ---

Note: perhaps it is her technical skill, she repairs/activates Osprey. not speaks to her. at first Osprey opperates under basic companion mode. over the course of their quest, more personality and consciousness are unlocked.

Osprey is speaking in a strange language. QS speaks to her, the language is asking for a pass code of some kind. QS guesses the first part of it and activates basic social protocols. Robot companion... out of the box Osprey can suffer, feel pain, fear and other emotions. over time she can access memories and skill sets. (possibly uploaded/relayed from the single pony project towers.)

She finds the fragment of the code in Dashing’s Console. to unlock Osprey from her mental imprisonment she must trace Dashing’s steps and find the bits of the passphrase as he decodes it. something like that.

Osprey has something of a rational disconnect like puppysmiles and possibly like pinkie pie. harsh reality doesn’t phase her.

! Note: the captain has documents that are important for beginning the main quest. something to grab QS attention and direct her towards the center of conflict.

! Im going to write up a demo for the letter she finds in the captains cabin. It has to do with "Osprey" and the "Houses of the Holy" main quest. (both are related) the voicing for the letter is all wrong but I don't have a completed voice for Dashing Doo yet. So I'm going with the first thing that came to mind..

Dearest Reginald,

I Found the most astonishing and wonderful artifact entombed at the northern temple dig site. When you see it I believe you will agree that this specimen is the most valuable pre-equestrian find we have ever made. The Lead ballast management apparatus on the Zepplin broke down again, McTavish, Charlette and I have decided to stay behind and make repairs.

I sent my butler Hubert and the hired muscle with the artifact in an environmentally conditioned transportantaion crate.

While removing the artifact we identified particulate organic matter on the metalic skeleton. This is the first evidence of advanced preservation of any specimens at these older sites. It is imperative that this specimen reach the laboratory before degradation sets in, therefore I have decided to break protocol by shipping this one on ahead.

Because of the absolute necessity of transferring the specimen to stable containment I wasn't allowed much time to make more than a cursory inspection. These are my findings.

When uncovering the access shaft to the tomb I was shocked to find the entrance facade entirely undisturbed. Inside the sacrificial burial chamber perfectly preserved. I'm sending the unopened sarcophagus to you, hopefully with well preserved mummified remains inside. The rest of the ceremonial jewelry and other sundry ornaments are with me on the Zeppelin.

Something interesting I thought you should know about the temple, the entire internal structure seems to be constructed of a dense and extremely hard obsidian like translucent black rock. The workmanship is so delicate and precise I couldn’t find the seams between blocks. It appears that the rock was too hard for the builders to carve into it, because instead of the customary hieroglyphic carvings the builders magically imbued luminescent pictograms into the heart of the rock itself. We hardly need torches even deep into the final burial chamber.

Yours ever truly,

Dr. Dashing Doo 3rd Esq

---Smart pony mini-quest ---

! Note: I like the idea of writing snubs then filling them out during compiling. especially if i cannot focus effectively on writing the actual story part. (like right now)

my saddle bags comfortably loaded down with supplies and valuables from the captain's cabin i made my way below decks to find Moldy. I had plenty to think about, but no time to think about it. Moldy was where i left him, attending to the slaves still chained to their oars. after a short discussion i lead him above decks. he wretched over the side on the way to the bow. once we got there it only took a few minutes to release the sailors willing to help keep the ship sailing. i sent moldy back below decks with the passenger who knew medical things. wadeing back through the veritable lake of water between me and the poopdeck i returned to SMP. Just as i reached him some of the rigging tore loose and began whipping around wildly, rope flying around everywhere with enough force to pulp a careless ponies head.

“Get down there and cut those snapped ropes free before the wind swings them around and takes a pony's head off. there should be an axe or machete in the mess hall below, use that.”

description -

A forest of whitecaps flashed around us the full force of the storm screeching through the rigging. The telltale chatter of vibrating ropes giving a foreboding indication of just how savage the force of the storm could be. Any second one of those waterlogged ropes could snap and shoot through the air with enough velocity to cut a pony clean in half. My mane fluttered in the wind. Seconds after each wave poured over me the gale force winds would tear at my mane with such force that they would suck all the moisture from the locks. And my mane was dry again except for the steady trickle of warm blood from my torn left ear.

cut -

Wading through the slough of stormwater raging around in the waist of the ship I made my way forward till I reached the front of the ship where the prisoner were being held. My current mission was to find the carpenter. Supposedly a unicorn who knew a spell that could seal holes and tears in the hull and prevent damaged sections from leaking.

I took her to the stoven ribs in the hold. with her magic and the assistance of some muscle that Zodiac had lent me we pushed the planks back together and sealed the whole thing water tight. Next we tacked the torn rigging, stablizing the mast the best we could with the supples we had on hoof. After that i took her to the missing hatch cover and she went to work creating a two way seal that allowed everything but water to travel through it. it was amazing to watch her work. I didnt know much about magic but i knew that a bypass spell of that complexity was no easy task.

* she needs to go around the ship and tie things down, tighten ropes and cut off damaged rigging. also down time freezing and waiting for something to go wrong. shifts working the sails and rudder etc...

---2---

--- Cutscenes ---

“shoo bee doo”

Me, Moldy and the Quartermaster, Stowage, broke into the weapons locker and began distributing weapons to any pony able-bodied enough to fight. the island we had washed up upon during the storm was home to mudskips, amphibian mutated faral seaponies infesting the decimated cove town. Most of Zodiac’s crew were bottled up in a cave in the cliffs rising to the right of the sun baked hulk that brought us here.

more ponies aboard the ship survived than i originally expected. zodiac and his party of healthy pirates, freeslaves and a few passengers all made it out of the storm alive. most of the pirates not killed during the mutiny/escape now traveled with him. all the officers were dead making Zodiac leader by default, being the only experienced navigator left alive. the frightened passengers mostly remained where they were locked up, underneath the awning at the bow of the ship. after opening the locker moldy broken those who hadnt drowned free. the healthy slaves all went with Zodiac. but a good portion of the still fit older batch that had been on the ship as long as i had survived the storm chained to their oars. moldy broke them out too. allmost all the ponies too weak to row had drowned in the hold. like i would have if circumstances had been different. then there was Osprey. the pony that I had locked in the bilge to die. now she was loyally trotting at my side.

Moldy had been alot like me. too valuable to kill, not healthy enough to tag along. so we coagulated together by default. soon we would be fighting for our lives together.

--- Combat ---

One of the mudskips hopped up the side of the ship, finding purchase on the railing for a moment before screeching at us. grabbing a winchester from the locker I spun on my right rear hoof and dropped instantly into a shooting stance. balanced expertly on my rear hooves, spread wide to give me the stability and balance to aim down the sights of the rifle held dexterously in both forehooves. Years practicing my gun handling side by side with an ex zebra sniper giving me a natural knack for shooting tongueless. The first shot winged the fucker on the right side, way out of practice. Just to add insult to injury the gun jammed as I worked the action in preparation for a second shot. I cleared the breached but before I could take sights for a second shot the creature was on me.

In a hurry to push the creature out of my face i dropped the rifle. A quick right hook cleared my vision long enough to spot a second one crawling over the railing. rolling to my left I pinned my assailant to the deck, holding it down with all four hooves. In a slapdash series of motions I could only ever see an earth pony pull off I snatched up a empty revolver from the cluttered floor of the locker next to me. cupping a hoof full of the rifle rounds i had collected for my self I basically threw them at the breach of the revolver. Without time to think of how stupid it was to load a gun with the barrel pointing directly into my mouth I managed to slam a single cartridge into the pistol. I dropped 5 bullets in the process but the whole sequence only took a split second. a moment later I spun the revolver around in my mouth and dispatched the mudskip beneith me with the single shot. exacution style to the head. whipping my head around I threw the empty and useless weapon at the nearest mudskip as the slid over the railing. the dazed creature stumbled backwards, giving me a moment to clench a lead pip im my teeth and prepare to go on a bloody killing spree.

My teeth rattled as I smashed the blunt pip against the slimy skull of the nearest mudskip. I watched from the corner of my eye as one of the survivors I had armed denigrated the skull of the mudskip I had dazed with my revolver toss. Two shotgun shells per customer, at this range beginners look would do the rest.

The whole ship fell into chaos as the assault spread to all sides. My whole world descended into a red haze: gulping mutated fish head, swing, smash mame, glance up; repeat. gore spattered in all directions while my crazed rampage batted these mutated abominations into a pulp of blood and crushed bone.

Then as soon as it started the battle was over. my whole body tingled and shook with all the adrenaline pumping around in my vains. I felt more alive than i had during the past three years of slavery. It had been so long, it felt good to be back in the action.

--- Aftermath ---

three dead and two more who were going to very soon. several more wounded bad enough that they would be out of action for a while. what i wouldnt give for a healing potion or two.

as for the asaliants we had killed six, the rest retreating to lick their wounds and call for backup with eerily anthropomorphic cries. their calls sounded almost equine. I picked up my rifle and strapped on a holster and found a new revolver in case the battle got close and personal again. after loading up both and pocketing another dozen rounds i took up a sniping blind on the rear of the elevated poopdeck.

we had a few revolvers spread out between the 9 of us still able to fight. one shotgun providing close support. the rest had pipes and other blunt objects to hammer away with. ready as we would ever be. Now all we had to do was survive.

the mudskips had been driven off for now, but we all knew they would be back. single file to hide their greater numbers ;)

chapter 3 stub

The arousing scent of frying bacon gently drew my voraciously carnivorous companion from a quality of deep, refreshing dreamless sleep few ponies ever truly experience in our treacherous, cold-hearted wasteland. Somewhat lethargically, she stretched her compact but lithe body and rolled over to face the campfire, blinking back sleep and the bright rays of the midday sun beating down upon us. She shot me a coy smile before wrinkling her snub nose and sneezing d’awwwtasically. Gracefully she rolled onto her nimble hooves, absentmindedly rubbing a forehoof across her itchy muzzle. Idly she approached my right flank, the uneasy apprehension born from years of abuse and neglect visibly apparent on her noticeably avian facial structure. Experimentally the juvenile pegasus spread her tiny wings and flared the bright red primaries growing from the backs of all four legs. Servos running along the length of her dark metallic spine whirred as she arched her back before shaking like a wet dog; scattering dew drops that flew from her shining purple and cyan coat. Soon after the nonchalant feline display of comfort and athleticism my silent companion began bumping into my foreleg, physically begging for the food I was attempting to cook.

         “Good morning to you too, little one.”

I held a strip of the cure meat above her head with two hooves, forcing her to jump in order to reach it. Even balanced on my hind legs and stretching up towards the sky, the jump was no challenge for my comrade. Even despite her being the runty side of blank flank scale. She soon snuggled up under my right foreleg as I continued to feed her strips of hickory cured pan-fried radigator bacon. Damn, it smelt good. A Zebra Ghoul Shaman raised me; I couldn’t help but have at least some affinity for eating the flesh of certain wild beasties.

Suddenly Zombies! Several of the rotting undead mindless corpses exploded into view and exploded again down range of my caravan shotgun. The cannibalistic ghouls, weak due to a lack of local radiation, went down rather easily and well, messily. Apparently the juvenile’s predatory instincts spread to ghouls as well, the deadly pegasus tore several of the undead asunder with her retractable hoof scythes. Tainted, congealed ghoul blood splattered onto the ground and across our whole campsite bringing with it the rotten stench of 200-year-old cadavers. Barely a minute later, I began regurgitating partially digested slabs of radigator, the horrific situation way too gruesome for my sensitive digestive track to handle. On top of that, the ghouls struck in the middle of camp; our clothes and supplies wound up thoroughly coated in slimy red gunk.

The limp remains of one even fell across the fire pit, toxic smoke and ash filling the air around us. Chocking and sputtering I dashed into black cloud to recover the saddle bags containing all my worldly possessions. Unwholesomely disgusted I managed to wipe off what measure of the filth I could as we set out for the next destination.

As we went trotting along, I chatted up the cybernetic pegasus frolicking at my side. It soon became clear that the juvenile understood some of the basics of the language, some basic commands and questions. I saw the flicker of intelligence in her eyes, but I could sense a vapid, empty void between her sentience and the world. When we stopped for lunch I tried to teach her how to use the sawed-off caravan I had been carrying. Watching the struggle on her face as she fumbled with the simple weapon turn to joy as she mastered the tongue trigger mouth-grip stirred something in my heart.

factions: locals and islander pirates/zebra pirates/tribals(painted ones)/escaped convicts/freed slaves

Characters: [Chapter 3] Backstay (Aging Captain of the Merryweather),

The pirate galley is grounded on a reef and the keel-spine is broken. the bilge is almost completely flooded.

I volunteer to take Osprey and find the party that went inland and bring back reinforcements. during one of the lulls we dash inland through the underbrush.

locals: mini missions building up to getting access to the trapped land party.

the town was destroyed but most of the population is still alive.

gain the locals help getting the ship ready to sail and back on the water.

the galley was grounded a mile from shore they went ashore in the middle of mudskip territory. QS needs to take out the central den/nest before the locals help. also she needs to defuse a feud and run errands across the island.

Zodiac is fighting zebra pirates to free more convicts

in order to get the ship back to sea and back on route to mainland equestria QS must:

1) resolve problems between different factions

2) obtain needed items. (repair supplies, food water, weapons, crew replacement etc.)

3) Find a new ship: the merryweather, and reoutfit and supply it.

Cascade effect. to get something relatively simple requires quite a lot of running around and doing tasks and favors for other ponies. for example, she needs a new mainsail spar for the ship.

the zebra pirates know what part she needs. to get that knowledge she has to do them a favor. (break them out and get them a smaller sailboat/ or torture them)

Now she knows that the islander pirates have the piece she needs. she talks to them and finds out that the spar was stolen by the tribals during the attack on the town. she goes to the tribal village and discovers they are using the spar as a bridge between tree houses to get the spar from them she must kill them or find a replacement. the original tribal item was destroyed by mudskips. an islander pony can make a replacement. she finds that pony and discovers that the islander’s crops are being eaten by the mudskips. to get them item QS must clear out the den of mudskips. this is also required to get the ship off the beach. before that can happen however QS must obtain the sundry supplies that are needed to make the tribal’s item. the item finding quest takes her back to the ship, into the burnt out town, on a search through the islander cabins, and into the tribal village. A pony in each of these locations has a mini quest to be filled. (shoot radroaches, get some xander root, collect outstanding debt. stuff like that) now it is time to made the item, exchange it with the tribals and then raid the mudskips den. before raiding the den, QS must round up a group of ponies to help with the raid because she isnt yet strong enough to defeat them on her own. for each pony she gets to help she has to do another small mini-quest.

(such as clearing radroaches out of someponies cellar (remember to describe the cellar and what items are in there etc.) or hunting wild winged boars (pigs ;) )

several more mini-side quests to gain cash or more valuable items. plus one unique weapon or item that is on the island. the unique item is tied into the prewar history of the island that is revealed through letters, orbs, and locations throughout this quest.

im thinking of maybe doing this island segment as a treasure island parody.

chapter 4 Stub

Main quest start-up possibility: tribals (painted ones) tell stories of a Alicorn who shared love every place she went. (cadence) and she gave many wonderful gifts to them during the war. painted ones never develop cutie marks, they paint on their own. as such they are extremely resourceful. even if uneducated.

Chapter 5 stub

Painted ones (islanders) give QS the beaded-hair-band (+1 Charisma +1 Perception)  as a sign of gratitude and respect.

As I left, he gave me a beaded mane-band with two albino Phoenix feathers, his most prized possession. The only memento from his sire, given the day he left to earn his own glyph, over 300 years ago...(Put a comma after “As I left” to smooth out the distinction between the pronouns “I” and “he.” I put a period after “his most prized possession” to let the connection between the feather and the meaning of the gift be more poignant.)

Khalif lived with the painted ones for about 20 years shortly after the war. the language they speak is one of three that Khalif taught QS (equestrian, Rhymisa (A rhythmic language which is the basis for most equestrian zebra dialects), and whailah)

Chapter 8 stub

Sailing: Random things that happen on a sailing ship. Stub

flying fish, dolphins jumping out of the water next to the bow of the ship. beautiful sunsets. etc.

The storm is relocated to here in the chronology...

--- The Storm ---

a roiling black cloud of rain laden storm clouds pressing down around us, in moments we would be in the thick if this maelstrom of nature's unbridled deadly wrath.

I raced down the rows of oars, some with ponies still chained next to them. There was so much to do and so little time to do it in. In mere minutes the thick of the storm would be swirling around us, after that it was up to luck if we made it through the storm intact. After donning sealskins in the forward equipment locker I was battling my way back onto the poop deck to assist Zodiac control the rudder. I might not be the strongest pony but I wasn’t needed elsewhere and where the wily rudder was concerned, every hoof helps.

Most of those who could were up in the rigging keeping us on wide reach  with the storm blowing from the stirn. I watched in horror as one buck lost his grip on the mainsail spar and fell screaming into the boiling foamy wash below.

a second later a powerful gust snatched a loosely battened down hatch and ripped the whole thing off its hinges. the heavy wooden panel whisked past my face a corner of the thing snagging my left ear on its blitz past my head. Then that too was lost to the storm. The whole vessel was in dire trouble, soon each passing wave would breach the bulwark and pour onto the deck, with the hatch cover torn loose all that water would go pouring into the hold. that would weigh down the whole ship and drown those unlucky enough to be trapped down there. the ship they were chained to would become their grave.

Zodiac and two other were struggling to keep the rudder straight, strain apparent as their muscles rippled with each seesaw motion of the ship riding between the crest and valley of a new wave. The ship we were on was an extremely old model, from long before the great war. no reduction gears on the steering apparatus.

Then the rain hit, battering ineffectually against my oll slickers. in afterthought taking the time to change into them had been a wise choice. As warm and dry as a pony could be in this weather I reached the aftermost stretch of the main deck, now strewn with debris from a several barrels smashed in a particularly forceful sweep of water across the deck. with no time to pick my way through the slurry of splinters and foam i dashed through the mess, collecting several splinters with to bottoms of my hooves in the process. At the moment though I could barely feel them, ice cold water already numbing the skin of every exposed appendage.

As the next wave broke i took a mouthful of salty spray that would have knocked me over if I hadn’t been already holding onto the bulwark for dear life. in the lull between that and the next cascade of freezing, salty rain to blast me with its worst I scrambled my way to the base of the poopdeck. water poured down the gap where the access latter was and splashed into deck next to me. the flow was nearly continuous, the only way i could climb up there was through that waterfall of seawater.

I nerved up and hooked my shivering hooves around the lower rungs of the latter and dove into the cascade with all the climbing force i could muster. half way up i began to slip, moments before the next wave swept me overboard i felt a hoof grip my own and pulled me to safety. I looked up to see smart pony hand me the end of a secure rope to wrap around my waist to keep me tied off.

“one hell of a storm.” he shouted into my face, his words barely audible above the roar of the storm.

“no kidding, we already lost one from the rigging.” I shouted in return. “Need any help here?” I asked.

“Not really, but we need somepony steady on their hooves to carry orders around. No pony can hear a thing in this screaming gale.”

“Got it, what orders? Also anything else I should know about?”

“Find moldy and tell him to untie the zebra sailors willing to help out. we need every hoof aloft that we can muster. After you do that talk to the passengers and find out if anypony is a doctor. we will have plenty of injuries needing treatment after this storm is over. Its getting pretty ugly out there, here is the key to the captains cabin. when you get a chance go in there and put some oilskins on. that will help keep you from contracting hypothermia.”

“on my way!”

“oh and report back to me after you finish, by then i should have something more for you to do.”

thankfully the captains cabin was directly below the poopdeck, getting into it was easy.

wadeing back through the veritable lake of water between me and the poopdeck i returned to SMP. Just as i reached him some of the rigging tore loose and began whipping around wildly, rope flying around everywhere with enough force to pulp a careless ponies head.

“Get down there and cut those snapped ropes free before the wind swings them around and takes a pony's head off. there should be an axe or machete in the mess hall below, use that.”

description -

A forest of whitecaps flashed around us the full force of the storm screeching through the rigging. The telltale chatter of vibrating ropes giving a foreboding indication of just how savage the force of the storm could be. Any second one of those waterlogged ropes could snap and shoot through the air with enough velocity to cut a pony clean in half. My mane fluttered in the wind. Seconds after each wave poured over me the gale force winds would tear at my mane with such force that they would suck all the moisture from the locks. And my mane was dry again except for the steady trickle of warm blood from my torn left ear.

cut -

Wading through the slough of stormwater raging around in the waist of the ship I made my way forward till I reached the front of the ship where the prisoner were being held. My current mission was to find the carpenter. Supposedly a unicorn who knew a spell that could seal holes and tears in the hull and prevent damaged sections from leaking.

I took her to the stoven ribs in the hold. with her magic and the assistance of some muscle that Zodiac had lent me we pushed the planks back together and sealed the whole thing water tight. Next we tacked the torn rigging, stablizing the mast the best we could with the supples we had on hoof. After that i took her to the missing hatch cover and she went to work creating a two way seal that allowed everything but water to travel through it. it was amazing to watch her work. I didnt know much about magic but i knew that a bypass spell of that complexity was no easy task.

* she needs to go around the ship and tie things down, tighten ropes and cut off damaged rigging. also down time freezing and waiting for something to go wrong. shifts working the sails and rudder etc...

with a storm on the horizon I spent most of the day practicing furling and unfurling the mainsail and other nautical skill we would need in the coming heavy weather. the few of us who had real experiance tried their best to bring everypony else up to snuff. Being too weak myself, I was acting as unable bodied seapony before the mast. What little nautical knowledge i could share wasnt going to help much, we were woefully unprepared for this storm. lucky if we even survived.

deluge after deluge broke over me as i fought my way to the bow of the vessel. every few seconds a wave would brake over the fore-prong of the ship and wash over the slippery deck. what failed to escape through the hull made its way down the main hatch way into the cavernous black interior. Whitle yellow flashes of lighting set as a backdrop to the wind screaming through the torn rigging that still remained tattering aloft.

we were alive, although I dont think the ship was going to remain floating much longer... seeing that the now calm ocean was lapping against the deck of the horribly tilted and battered vessel listing to the point of no return. the only thing that kept the ship out of davy jones locker was a couple feet of air slowly bubbling pathetically from the slowly flooding bowles below me. give it a few hours and we would be unequivocally in the drink. I made an effort to lift my bruised and aching head from its comfy rest on the corpse of one of the ponies tied to the mast next to me. the rest had either broken loose or were floating just out of reach. Somehow I was a survivor, it didnt make sense given my pathetically weak state but by the cruel graces of the goddesses I was still alive and suffering after all of that.

I heared the sounds of weeping from the hold and went to investigate, untying myself and trotting along the angled deck to the hatchway reaching into the hold. everypony below should should have drowned. most of the ship was flooded, the rest was bashed appart or becoming so.

It was the six winged pegasus, of all the ponies. this was taking the “play the hero” plan a bit too far. I should have killed her with my incomptent forgetfulness. Goddesses only knew how she survived down here with the entire ships cargo constantly battering against her with the force of a hundred ponies. a few bobby pins and some soothing words later she was free. I had spent my life walking away from my mistakes, time to make up for at least one before I died.

“Go on, fly away. You are free, go home!”

“I can’t.”

“What?! You have wings, I know you have to have a home or friends or something... Go away!”

“I can’t fly. both my wings are broken.”

“You have six wings. fly away damn it!”

well this was going to be awkward... I found a soft pile of rope to lie down apon. My guardian pegasus filly curled up on my mane and passed out from a combination of stress, pain and relief. she was treating me like a big sister, looks like im going to be stuck with her for a while. The other survivors were huddled up in the captains cabin with Zodiac trying to win a futile shouting match.

I woke again to the gentle rocking of the ship beached softly against a sandy shore, each wave causing us to rise and fall rythmically. The others were gathered around a fire light upon the beach, trying to scavenge supplies from the wreckage. They must have missed the two of us hidden in the mess of corpses hanging from the mast not five paces from us. I hadnt even realized how morbid this situation was when a lay down the first time. I should probably move before the filly on my head woke up too. carfully i made my way down to the sandy shore and into the shade the hull provided against the sun, my prowess with stealth keeping me hidden from the crowd of survivors on the beach. This gave me time to ponder a plan of action before making my presence known, or not...

I watched as two scouts returned to Zodiac.

“Sir we checked out the source of the fire and smoke like you asked. A pony down was burned down to the not too far from here. It was horrible, rotting bodies strewn everywhere. Somepony must be burning it out of compassion or something. Everything there has been dead for over a week, tortured to death we think.”

well, that was even more morbid that the ponies battered to death while tied to the mast i’d been sleeping next to. why was it so difficult to get away from the multitide horrors of the wasteland? I just wanted to find someplace clean to curl up and die undisturbed at. That wasn’t going to happen sadly, my bum luck.

One [Rough Draft]

more extensive rough draft

Fallout Equestria: Houses of the Holy

Chapter One: Aftermath

“I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to Anypony, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

[make less choppy]

That is my philosophy, the directive of my life. In the abbey we devote ourselves to learning the best way to save and help others. From early on in my life I’ve desired little more than to help the forsaken ponies of the tortured wasteland. But I am too young, only a novice in our order, not ready, not prepared for the tasks I would be given. Taken in light of recent tragedy, today is the day I begin my own journey in the service of others.

“Hey Sunset!” A voice from outside Grease the Mechanic’s shop called out to me.

“You coming or what? It’s time to go!”

While lining up the fatigued rifle barrel with the reboring screw, I made my reply. “One minute Radiance.” Distracted, I accidently let the barrel drop out of alignment. The sudden change in torque nearly sent the barrel flying out of control. “Just give me a minute. Grease wants me to finish repairing these broken hunting rifles before I leave.”

The coppery dust red earthpony stallion who fondly considered himself my uncle, was out making maintenance rounds across the island. Grease, with a cutiemark of what else but a grease-can, left before the break of dawn, but he made sure to pull me out of bed as he left, so I had enough time to finish my chores before leaving on the stormchaser.

It took two days of persistent convincing before the Abbess would allow me to join the party heading to the irradiated mainland. There was no way I, or Grease would even let me, was going to be missing the trip. Most definitely not because I couldn’t finish a days worth of chores before the tide broke.

Only one last barrel to repair, then I could leave.

My friend’s voice became drowned out by the whir of the grindstone as I retooled the barrel. In a few moments the rebored rifle was back together and ready for use, not that I condone killing in any form, but even our island has dangers we must protect ourselves from. I would have to test fire it to realign the sights later, but we were already running late.

“On my way!” I called as I tossed my supply-laden saddlebags across my flank, covering my cutiemark of bandaged-wings superimposed into a sunset. Whatever magic decides the substance of cutiemarks has a darker, cruel streak. I am a Pegasus with flight magic that is distorted and broken, ironically I got my cutiemark after coming out of a coma induced by a terrible flying accident. Radiance found me and brought me back to the monastery. Both my wings were broken horribly in the crash.

The only reason I am still alive is because Grease the Mechanic, Radiance’s uncle, had been working on a autodoc in his shop at the time. But enough reminiscing, I have a race to win.

I turned from the high walls and trotted down the road, meeting my friend Radiance. During my entire life, Radiance is, hooves down, by far the most magnificent pony I had ever met. From her exquisitely trimmed and curled bright golden and maroon mane and tail to the soft white gold of her coat, Radiance was magnificence incarnate. A mischievous half smile crept into her normally reserved demeanor.

With a glance and a nod, we began our informal race to the docks. Shops, shed and homes flew past; we turned down manestreet and into the abbey through the wide open double doors of the gate. Turning again we sprinted neck and neck past the greenhouse, pond and cloister within the abbey walls, heading for the rear postern gate. Scaring the waterfowl, I took the corner of the pond breathlessly, splashing through shallows and nearly face-planting in the soft, slippery mud.

With Radiance a good two body lengths ahead of me I decided to take a shortcut through the whitewashed chapel.  I dashed swiftly into the medieval styled building, flashing past the black and white form of Father Fiery Chaplin. Angrily, he shouting at me for tracking mud through the vestibule. Angry and scowling, just like his scowling podium-with-eyes cutiemark.

“Crazy filly! What do you think you’re doing trac-”

Bursting out through the far side of the vestibule l at the same moment that Radiance came around the outside of the chapel we closed in on the postern gate. I had a slight lead, my wings aiding in agility as we dodged around the foals playing in the back courtyard. I dove for the postern gate, flightless wings outspread in a hard glide, attempting to reach the gate before Radiance could pass through it, only to slam face first into the heavy wooden, and very much closed gate. I forgot, (not really) Radiance was a unicorn...

“No fair!” I shouted at Radiance as shot past me reopening the door with her magic. “You used your magic, cheeeeatteeer!!!!”

“You have wings.” Her snarky reply.

“You know they don’t work!” I shouted back breathlessly, catching up again, my wings aiding me in navigating the narrow forest trail that we used as a shortcut to get down to the dock.

“Still have them.” She called back tauntingly, now panting in her effort to stay in the lead.

Sprinting at breakneck speed, we  reached the woodland trail near the shore and passed our local mechanical guardian, Mr.-The-Protectapony, which wasn't moving.  The accursed machine was broken down again.

Luna why!

I’d fixed the accursed contraption not more than a week ago. Even replacing the practically porous inner tubes with sand and towels so the wheels wouldn’t go flat constantly.

… Something else I’d have to fix with Grease when we got back.

The two of us arrived at the bustling chaos of the dock. Abbey ponies tarried about carrying crates of supplies, food and water. We raced across the dock alongside the mighty brig Stormchaser. Ok, maybe not mighty. Nevertheless, she floated and had sails. After dashing up the gangplank my unicorn friend and I dropped into the cabin, breathless and giggling. Despite her complaints I clearly won- the giggling stopped.

A scowl from the swarthy pastel blue pegasus cut our merriment short. “You’re late!” Sighing, the captain continued, “Oh well, no use crying over spilt apple cider. Now, Radiance, since you are piloting this trip, I want you to go over the route one more time.” The captain stated dispassionately.

“There is no pony better suited to sail the stormy seas than one born in the wind,” so The Captain (I’ve never heard him called by any other title) would say. Then he would brag about how he lost his “starboard” wing (or right for you no seafaring ponies) fighting for the Enclave. That had been so long ago that is was before I was born. Not an impossible feat, seeing as I only earned my cutiemark a mere six years ago.

“Alright. We are here, Shawl Island. In Blind Bay.” Radiance paused for a moment. She tapped a hoof on the roughly drawn map on the captain’s table.

“First,  we head out and round daggerhead point and head for the Salish Sea. After rounding shoal point and passing Chauncey Island  before passing through the Strait of Daring Doo Fuchsia. Before we round Owlowiscious Point and pass the marine research center there. Then we land at the Anacortes Ferry Terminal.”

She paused for a moment considering the map carefully, checking several coordinates, and made a quick calculation.

“That should put us about 2-6 miles from where the megaspell went off two nights ago.”

I licked my lips nervously, ever since we had seen the bright flash and roiling cloud of radiation it left behind; we’ve been preparing for this trip. Most of the meagre medical supplies we had with us were leftover from  pre-war emergency cabinets from the abbey. However, we did have plenty of home brewed RadAway, sadly almost everything else was very scarce.

The dock and the entire ship became an even more intense hive of activity, sailors shouting, families saying their farewells, heavy rigging chafing and thick canvas snapping, this was a veritable symphony of chaos. However, only a mere minute after the last line was cast off and we began to head out into the strait, nary (as the sailors say) a sound could be heard as we slid into the thick, foggy ocean mist.

Soon we were surrounded by a frigid white blanket, so thick that I had to be careful how I stepped lest I tripped, hooves caught on a stray wisp of swirling water vapor. Phantoms loomed dark and eerie in the impenetrable blanket of thick, empty nothingness that filled every crack and crevice in the watery world surrounding me.

My heart began to race, unconscious fears screaming in the repressed, but not forgotten recesses of my fertile mind. Part of me that I couldn’t control believes that these doppelgangers in the mist could only be out to devour my soul. Even with every ounce of courage my rational mind could conjure up, all I could see were demonic beasts lurking, waiting for me to come within striking distance. The shadows wanted to destroy me, I had to hide. Terror took hold, panic blasting adrenaline into my system with every thudding heatbeat. I could literally feel the fear creep into my chest with every breath and heartbeat.

Moments before the upwelling of subconscious phobias morphed into a shattering scream of terror the magnificent glow of Radiances’ magical horn solidified into a haven of rationality and refuge from the demonic, isolating shadows within and without my mind.

The moment I was by Radiance side my world shifted out of the surreal and back into the rational and concrete. Once my pulse and breathing were back under conscious control I spoke up, hopefully I could talk the remaining vestiges of fear out of my thunderously beating heart...

“Ready? Because I am... Just so nervous, but also excited, it’s an adventure! We’re going across the bay into the wasteland! Even better than that, we have an opportunity to help ponies!”

“You betcha, I’m ready.” Radiance replied. “But remember to be careful, as I won’t be able to look out for you the entire time. There are lots of dangers in the Wasteland; radiation not being the only thing that can really mess you up or kill you.”

“I’ll be fine. A big, strong pony like me? Monsters have no chance.” I replied dismissively.

“You are a lot of things Sunny, but big and strong are traits I would not use to describe you. Try pipsqueak and annoying.” Radiance laughingly teased at me.

“Hey, don’t call me Sunny!” I complained before fondly nuzzling my surrogate big sister.

/)(\

[this is top of the list for rewriting. Please, your thoughts on what should be done.]

As we prepared to come alongside the dock, I pulled the suit’s cowl over my head. It wasn't a full blown Haz-Mat helmet, but I did have automatic air filtration and goggles. Under the expert control of our stearpony, we slid effortlessly up against the ancient rotting and rusting ferry pier. We were here, at a pier from before the war, built to dock ferries the size of small ocean liners designed to carry hundreds of carts during each trip.

Before I could disembark, our brothers on the dock had to tie the ship off and lash down the wobbling gangway. During the wait, I took a good look around the pier. The pier, now turned into a improvised emergency aid station through the diligent persistence of our religous order, had once been used as a ferry loading station for passengers and their carts. At the end of the pier sat the once lumbering carcass of the long abandoned mega-ferry that had once traversed these waterways. The starboard side of the ship was lashed to the pier. The position we were docked in dropped our stern even with the gaping mouth of the behemoth derelict ferry.  In front of the boat, the durably constructed pier reached out on hefty metal pilings nearly fifty yards for the shore.

Now that we were closer to the shore the fog was not as thick and was slowly dissipating into nothing, only flowing around the pilings, wafted gently by the rhythmic motion of the waves. My view of the shore was only obstructed by a large three-story building built onto the far side of the pier. A walkway reaching out from the top level of the building swayed slowly over our heads, the past two centuries weakening its structure to the point that it was only held up by the upper levels of the rusting ferry hulk. Originally, the walkway was probably flush with loading terminal built into the superstructure of the ferry. But now the ancient walkway had fallen away, and rested on the forward promenade deck, one level below.

I looked around the pier, noticing that we were only using half the ferry terminal complex. On the far side of the Terminal Building, a second ferry dock stretched out from the shore, nearly completely destroyed, collapsing from age and neglect. The terminal building had once connected the two piers, but when the far branch colapsed, it took half the building with it, leaving only the section of the terminal supported by our pier standing.

Near the mouth of the derelict ferry to our left, awnings setup to shelter marketday produce from the elements had been commandeered and converted into a makeshift, L-shaped medical pavilion. The open air space between the Terminal Building and the derelict ferry had been acting as a improvised foyer for the overcrowded medical pavilion.

Sick, disheveled and dying refugees were clumped in groups all across the pier, finding shelter where they could from the soft just mist beginning to fall from the ever-present cloud layer above.

[Expand and describe, describe several individuals and build a strong feeling for how bad it really is.]

My eyes met with one of the refugees on the pier, the despair in her eyes nearly broke my now racing heart. Lying next to here on an improvised bedroll made from pineneedles and old rags lay a colt, most likely her son, dying. The improvised bedding half soaked with a sickly green and orange mixture of nearly gelatinous bodily fluids. His emerald coat lay in tufts on the bedding and firm concrete around him and his mother. I could see beneath the cracked skin of his hide, blood vessels and even muscle tissue visible beneath the translucent paper his body painfully degenerated down to.

There were many others, a few even worse. As my ears perked up all on their own in response to the sounds of the pier, I was met with the oppressive audible cacophony of coughing invalids and weeping mothers.Under the helmet of my radiation suit the muffled shriek of the dying as they screamed in agony took on a strangely peaceful reverberation.  From the gasps of shock and even revulsion, I knew that we had been prepared to aid ponies tarnished by radiation, but none of us were prepared for this level of devastation. Fiery tears of rage and pain crept into my silver eyes, this... I couldn’t imagine it. I couldn’t believe anything could be this... horrible.

The words were stuck in my throat and I felt lost; loss of my thoughts, loss of my innocence and for only an instant, I even lost faith.

[interconnect these two segments so there is no transition, just a smooth flow.]

As soon as I disembarked I went straight to the forlorn mother I had locked eyes with as we arrived. I was assigned to transport and distribute supplies to the aid workers, who had been stationed on the peer since the bomb went off, but I just knew that I had to help this colt and his mother before they died of radiation poisoning. Some of the original aid workers were almost in as bad a condition as the patients they cared for.

I pushed every thought but the desire to do my best for these ponies to the furthest most recesses of my mind, focusing only on the task at hoof. My best wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t keep the last vestiges of revulsion and horror out of my voice as I did my best to administer healing salves directly to the bubbling, oozing pores breaking open through the dying colt skin.

[this segment needs to be heavily rewritten as well.]

With my voice still shuddering uncontrollably, I did my best to be soothing. “I’m h-here to help.” My first patient shied away as I reached out with a hoof coated in white cream to his crumbling cutiemark.

“I’m here to h-help. I’m here to help... I-”

I consciously stopped myself, the phrase becoming almost like a mantra. For a minute, as my hoof finally touched his pus-filled bubbling skin, I was sure I was going to puke. Judging from the sounds around me, I wasn’t the only one. Even through the thick latex of my radiation suit the gooey flesh felt sickly and alien, the layer between us only making it feel more horrid. He screamed in agonizing pain as I began smearing the salve. To my utter shock and disgust, chunks of flesh ripped from his flank as even my gentle touch was enough to shred his putrid flesh.

Not many of the ponies on the pier were as horribly disfigured by the radiation as the colt crumpled up helplessly in my trembling hooves. But the utter devastation from the bomb had touched everypony here. Plenty of ponies were dying, including the colt I held in a pathetic attempt at comfort.

[This is where I began writing the next section, pre-readers please review starting here. All the material after this still needs to be reviewed and rewritten to include active tense and more characters/detail.]

I watched in helpless horror as the colt I tried to save began to pass into the hereafter. Together with his mother I held the dying colt as the last shuddering breath of life left his body in a shuddering sigh. I failed. I couldn’t turn and face the tear streaked face of the stricken mother, I knew if I saw the mask of despair etched there I could not go on. Automatically I stood up and walked away. There was nothing I could do, for that colt, his mother, or any of the ponies suffering on the pier. As I left, the final spark of emotion died within me. I was within an inch of joining the ocean of despair to all sides of me, I couldn’t stay here a second longer.

Our crew, having arrived on the pier only minutes before, spread out to relieve the monastery aid workers that had been stationed on the pier since before the bomb went off. Unable to bear crossing the pier again and passing all those devastated by the megaspell blast, I set out to find Radiance.

I joined Radiance who, with several others from both the ship and the pier, were preparing to venture out into the blast zone in search of survivors. It didn’t take me long to hand out the gear and supplies, except for a few packets of Radaway, that had been in my saddlebags. Instead of returning for more supplies I nudged Radiance with my moistened muzzle.

“Radiance?” I begged. “I can’t bear to stay here. I know I was supposed to carry supplies from the ship ashore, but I cannot cross that pier again. It would break my heart. Please, can I just tag along with the rest of you? I promise I won’t get in the way. Beside, you know I have the sharpest ears in the abbey, I might be able to help you locate survivors.”

Radiance listened patiently, and took her time before making reply.

“I’m not in charge here...” I turned away in broken defeat. “But.” My ears perked up and the forces rending my heart paused for a moment. “I know several ponies in our group who are pretty sick from the radiation. Wait here and I will ask if you can trade duties with one of the sicker ponies.”

/)(\

As soon they were properly equipped, the search party left for the blast zone, with me in tow.

At the shoreward end of the pier stood the cupcake cafe, heavily fortified with a makeshift barrier made from broken down prewar carts, slabs of concrete and rusted sheet metal. Cut into the barricade wall was a rough hewn wooden gate guarded by several ponies armed with hunting rifles and wearing metal armor. The guards looked like they hadn’t gotten a moment of rest in two days, which wasn’t hard to believe with the steady stream of refugees stumbling onto the pier.

Providing protection, I understood, was important, but I wasn’t prepared for what lay just outside the gate. A small army of ponies lay in pools of blood, shot dead as they approached within gunshot. In my mind I knew they were bad ponies who were planning to steal all the medicine for themselves, but my heart couldn’t accept that ponies who came to help those devastated by the bomb had shot and killed ponies solely because of how they looked and because of the gore splattered makeshift armor they wore.

I gingerly stepped over the corpses and dried pools of blood in the hoofsteps of the ponies ahead of my as we forged into the wasteland, intent of breaching the yellow haze of the blast zone. After four miles of threading through the branchless spires of long dead pine trees, we stepped into the thin mist of the radioactive cloud. Thanks to the gear aboard our vessel the entire search party was decked out in radiation suits and had a good supply of radaway stashed away in their saddlebags. With a tap of my hoof I activated the respirator function of my suit's face cowl and continued onward into the blast zone.

Inside the blast zone there were no tall spires obscuring our view. Only radioactive dust and dark smoke. The once proud trees were nothing but smoking charred hulks, and the only sound we heard was the steady, frantic clicking of the rad-counter Radiance carried.

FIXXXXXXXXXXX

2nd FIXXXXXXXX

[This needs a new sequence, have them explore the empty wastes, inspecting buildings before the attack sequence]

[Is the blast zone in a city, woodlands, a small town surounded by farmhouse’s? playthough the FNV territories, choose either NCR or Legion or make something up. Advice welcome!]

[Do this: It might be a better sequence if Sunset goes off on her own after hearing the sounds from the shelter. Radiance could be with others exploring another basement and asked sunset to stay back because she is afraid of the dark. ]

As Radiance and i entered the building, did she decided to climb up to the roofless second story of the building and took a look around. The ground smog from the blast still hung pretty low in the air, and from the raised position Radiance would have a better chance of seeing into the distance. Therefore, she also a better chance of finding locations we could search for survivors.

She went up, and I followed in her hoofprints, knowing that maybe sometime in the future I would have the confidence to set out on my own, but I knew as I was with Radiance in the ruins, nothing could go wrong as long she was there with me.

From atop the roofless second story structure, we could see out a fair distance over the sea of deadly orange-gold smog roiling close to the ground.

[describe the area with focus on foreshadowing her trip through the cloud during the escape and also other things that will be important in later chapters while the explore the area a second time with the other ghouls, trying to figure out what happened and why the bomb went off.]

Of all the various structures that were noticeable landmarks, one that was both very close and very noticeable had a technicolor glow emanating from it's base not 200 yards from where we stood. Just outside the thinner smog outlining the town. I made a mental note of it, I had never heard or seen anything like that before. Rainbows are rare when there is never any true sunlight to make them in the ever present water vapor in the air.

After we took a good look around, Radiance and I devoted ourselves to properly exploring the rest of the building.

[describe their search of the building, its design and her finding items in dressers etc. normal canon fallout stuff. before finding the doorway to the basement. Begin basement sequence. She also finds a radio and that can be used to introduce world building related stuff]

“Radiance! Come here, I found a stairwell. There might be survivors in the basement!”

I called to Radiance while descending the stairway into the basement shelter. With hope in my heart, I tapped my hoof on the thick metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. To my excitement I heard several muffled metallic thuds issue from the other side. Survivors!

It took a minute of struggling with the grimy lock before it groaned into place and the lock opened. The inside of the room was dark, too dark for me to make out anything at all, but there would be enough light from Radiance’s light spell for the others in our rescue party once they got to us. My ears picked out the faint rise and fall of somepony breathing beyond where the blinding darkness consumed the room.

“Hey everypony!” Radiance called. “Come down here. We’ve found a basement and there are ponies in here!”

Radiance and I exchanged a knowing look. As the others arrived Radiance slyly assigned me guard duty outside, while giving a few others guard duty within the building. Without the glow from her horn, she knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the relative darkness of the first floor. The sun was getting low in the sky, and although it was still light outside, the inside was getting pretty dark.

This was going to take a while, the basement underneath the building was a labyrinth, and there were stricken ponies all throughout it, unable to get out when the power died and all the doors locked themselves from the outside. With nothing better to do, I became bored and decided to explore the area a bit before it got dark outside.

Little did I know that choosing to explore just a little further would have changed the course of my life forever. FOREVEEEEEERRRRR.

{Geographical note: Although I said we were in the blast zone, we hadn’t entered the thick of the cloud when we found the bombed out little town. The cloud had actually floated south since the bomb went off, leaving the majority of the actual blast zone relatively free of radioactive smog... (compared with the smog cloud actually produced by the dirty nuke) Thus we were in the blast zone but not within the thick of the cloud yet. This is one of the reasons we found several survivors who were relatively unaffected by radiation. The ponies on the pier had been breathing the dirty, radioactive tainted air of the yellow cloud, that is why some of them fared so much worse}

/)(\

After several minutes of deliberation, I decided to explore the strange technicolor glow I had seen while exploring the half destroyed second story building with Radiance earlier. It was the closest landmark of interest and I was really intrigued by the spectrum of colors emanating proudly from the base of the nearby building.

After only a minute or two of brisk trotting I arrived at my destination. What I found only begged more questions I couldn’t answer. The building itself was one of the still standing over-engineered wartime buildings I was learning were scattered across the face of the wasteland. The rainbow glow came from a gooey multi colored slime slowly pouring down in a shifting waterfall from one of the upper balconies.

After passing through the waterfall of rainbow slime I entered the building via the giant hole torn in the wall beneath the slimefall balcony. Once inside it didn’t take long before my sensitive ears picked up the scuffle of hooves on concrete. I followed the sounds until a shut door blocked my path. I could tell from the volume of the scuffling that the ponies I was searching for were just on the other side of the door. I called out to them, when I got no response except louder scuffling, I decided to force the lock, but it would not give in to my attempts to do so. Not being one to be easily stumped I made the decision to explore the rest of the building and find the basement key that I knew had to be lying somewhere around here.

[A bit of research-building history (to be revealed during exploration from notes, discovery and unlocked terminals) the building was built by solaris, and became part of BIC when it separated. She finds a pipBRNY/bronco 2000, a pipbuck knockoff by solaris, running solOS. which is why it interfaces with Sunsets operating system. BIC dropped the solOS early on and replaced it with a modified version of cerberOS or one of their own internal systems like the Autokernel OS. due to the need for intersystem compatability with legacy systems their cerberOS was modified with a virtual machine system for running sol basic compatability.]

The upper level appeared to be some kind of control room, whatever they were using it to control was beyond me. I hopped over, intent on raiding the lockers, and to my never-ending glee I found a pipbronco 2000 still in its original packaging. Like many systems developed by Solaris the pipbronco was a knockoff of Stable-Tec technology. In this case the pipbuck. Situated this close to emerald shores and the long 52, there was plenty of broken-down solaris tech lying around. finding something from solaris that might still work was really a stupendous discovery.

For a moment I was torn as to what to do, in the packaging it would have better collectors value, but what with the lack of solaris tech collectors coming to Grease’s shop making sure the thing worked would be the better long term choice. this PB 2000 was very heavy, not being much more than a portable terminal with a biomagical interface so users did not have to constantly press buttons to make imputs. I knew a little about pipbucks from playing around with the one Grease had in the shop. Grease only used it for resetting terminals and the like, the biomagical interface was broken, so systems like EFS did not work. But the screen was only half cracked so he could still use it to reset crashed spell matrices.

I decided to boot it up, so I removed the packaging and flipped the power switch. careful to attach the wireless hoofcollar interface to my foreleg before hitting the power. For a minute nothing happened. Then a loading bar appeared in the center of my vision. No matter where I looked the bar remained smack in the center of my field of vision.

//----------------------------- Initializing

//----------------------------- 17% complete

//----------------------------- FATAL ERROR

//----------------------------- System Reset

//----------------------------- New User Detected

Welcome new user.

Text scrolled across my field of vision, starting by explaining basic use of the system and asking questions about me.

Please state your name for unit recall and records.

“My name is Sunset Hymn.” More text then scrolled across my vision.

Thank you, Sunset Hymn Your new Pipbronco 2000 is a state of the art Pony Information Processor. The Pipbronco 2000 can even take voice commands and recognizes your voice. Because the Pipbronco 2000 runs the latest version of SolOS it cannot be voice hacked like earlier version of CerberOS and even the Stable-Tec Operating System.

I chuckled, “State-of-the-art my plot.” The Solaris Pipbronco 2000 was actually put out of production three years before the bombs fell because it was so outclassed by other PiPs. But it was still advanced prewar arcane tech as far as the wasteland was concerned.

//----------------------------- Interface Complete. Awaiting host system reboot.

Suddenly everything in my vision went dark. For a moment I couldn’t hear, see, feel or move. Nothing. Then just as suddenly everything came back to me in a chaotic moment of vertigo.

“That was weird.” I said outloud to nopony in particular. I continued to look around. I chuckled a bit when I found a button labeled, I kid you not. “unlock basement access.”

“Well that was easy.” I turned to make my way downstairs when I heard a dark growl from the floor below me. I turned and peered down through a hole in the floor to find a veritable army of small, horribly disfigured, pony shaped rotting corpses staring right back at me. Suddenly the creatures began to jump in the air, easily reaching the level of my floor. I felt sharp pain as one of the creatures sunk its razor blade teeth into my shoulder.

/)(\

[She is at the edge of the blast zone with the others, gets attacked and is forced into the blast zone with ghoul children on her hooves. She loses them in the the cloud while getting lost herself. She eventually makes it to the other side and finds the cave.]

The ghoul’s jump attack took me by surprise, the pain shockingly sharp and terrifying as blade-like, crooked teeth sunk deep into my right shoulder. Panic and instincts took over and I bucked wildly and lashed out with my earth-bound wings trying desperately to shake my vicious attacker. Finally, I managed to shake loose by rolling over the mid sized colt, crushing him beneath my bloody shoulder, I broke free. My attacker was far from dead but momentarily dazed, giving me a chance to roll away and back onto my stumbling hooves.

It was then that I noticed the pack of rotting children closing around me, growling and gnashing decaying pointed teeth. Without a moments pause instincts kicked in again and life animated my hooves, my wings adding agility I tore off through a closing gap in the crouched, stalking, murderous crowd. The foals jumped at me, catching my saddlebags with their sheer-teeth. I shook them off easily. Fear adding adrenaline and desperation to my rapidly hammering hooves. I escaped before taking many more injuries, but when the agony finally stopped my mad dash into the dying forest, I was good and lost. My limping shoulder screaming with every step and I was very much alone. I fell to my haunches and surveyed my newly acquired location.

This is where I continue writing from.

I was in a small clearing, a haphazard, thin trail of blood stretched out behind me from the wound in my shoulder. I took some time and bandaged the wound to the best of my ability, staunching the blood flow.

Because the wound was on my shoulder and not my flank it wasn't until now that I checked my flank and saddlebags. To my shock and surprise my saddlebags were as badly shredded as my shoulder. The supply of Radaway, that I hadn’t given to the exploration team when I gave out supplies, had been torn open and most of it had poured wastefully onto the thirsty, bomb-blasted ground as I ran. At least a few non-oversized worms would be safe from further contamination by the radiation of the bomb, but other than that, it was a total waste of precious orangy goodness.

[more radiation and some more exploring before she find the cave.]

(forest clearing, top of hill, thick tangle of thorns, old building, lakeside, old mansion, deserted highschool, edge of ghoul raider camp, abandoned airfield, bombed out military base, roadside motel, vacation resort, trailer park, small strip mall,

[need expand the atmosphere and everything that Sunset feels physically and emotionally while in the blast zone. Also, Radiation sickness]

Injured and alone, slowly becoming soaked in deadly rads I had no choice but to continue on desperately in hopes of finding shelter and protection from the growing storm and cloud of radiation.

/)(\

Within minutes, it began to rain with a cruel, mindless passion. By rain I mean a steady heavy burning acidic downpour that made my skin burn and tingle and itch painfully. I made a mad limping dash for the nearest shelter from the storm, the ominous looking mouth to a dark, shadowy deep cave. Once I was deep enough into the cave to be away from the steady pounding of water droplets against brush, trees and the ground my ears perked up carefully surveying the cave for any lifelike sounds. Not hearing anything except the faint staccato of raindrops and gurgling of water trundling across the cave floor, I decided to follow the narrow bubbling stream. Trotting along its course; deeper, following the steady downward slope of the tunnel.

When the darkness began to creep up around me I began to panic subconsciously, sweat dripped into my eyes and my heart began to beat thunderously. As much as I hate to admit it I have Sciaphobia, I’ve always been scared of the dark, and deathly afraid of shadows, including my own. I would like to say that I’m old enough to get over such things, but the truth is that as I limped deeper into the cave the irrational need to stop and escape pounded my consciousness with anxiety and fear. I stopped and lay down on a pile of shale and sticks that kept me out of the flowing water. Sobbing softly, I closed my eyes and tried to force away the terror eating away at the back of my mind.

/)(\

At first, I hardly noticed the soft squelch of light hoof steps at the lake of mud near the cave entrance. When my ears shot up recognizing the sound I jerked out of my glaze eyed stupor and energetically catapulted to attention. There was somepony at the mouth of the cave, probably coming my way. The night terror I’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance. Only the excruciating pain in my shoulder reminded me of the courage I needed to retreat to hiding within the shadows, crawling into bleak darkness and my own worst fears. I hoped that the bloodthirsty colt at the mouth of the cave wasn’t going to follow me into the gloom. Only other ponies’ hope springs eternal...

From within the near total darkness of the shadows I watched, heart pounding loudly, as an small, nearly amorphous silhouette passed me heading deeper into the cave. With my almost complete lack of night vision, it was hard to make out even the roughest of details from my location within the cave. Even if beyond the bounds of the cave it were moonlit instead of pouring rain and I was standing in the open air I would have trouble finding my way in the darkness. But here? Between the rain outside and the natural gloom within, I was just as blind as if I closed my eyes, which I did immediately. It was too dark to see and I was too horrified to move, so I did what I could and listened with wide-open ears for the sound of approaching hoofsteps warning me of his return.

None came.

However, after a minute or two I did hear several soft clanging thuds. More silence. Minutes pass before I hear the quiet sobbing wafting through the air and into my attentive ears. A filly’s tearful sobbing, that was strange. The sobbing continued on, into the territory of despairing tears as I gathered the courage to forge deeper into the dank gloom below. Cautiously I made my way into the blinding darkness. Despite the added stability and balance my flightless wings provided I still went stumbling and squelching in the rock studded cave mud.

I limped downward until the echoes of my hoofsteps told me that the tunnel had widened into some sort of cavern. The same cavern where the sobbing had come from. The wailing sobs quickly silenced during my noisy approach, a terrified filly at the tunnel’s end doubtlessly choking them back in fear of the possibility of danger closing in. But I meant no harm to the tearful filly, I needed a way to prove to her I was a good pony here to help her. When nothing practical came to mind, I started to sing one of my favorite lullabies from Psalmday School. My voice was a little hoarse from lack of use, but swiftly returned to normal as my words picked up volume and tone.

So young and so naive

I wish I could give you the eyes to see

The world around us and what it holds for you

I know you're not fond of making friends

But I'll be yours until the end

And I can promise that what I say is true

I heard whimpers issue from behind what I. in the darkness, guessed had to be a rock. I continued with the next stanza in the lullaby.

Close your eyes to the darkened sky

We're here together you and I

I'll hold you when you're scared of the thunder

I'll always protect you, I'll never leave

I'll watch you grow into who you're meant to be

With you I'll watch the world in wonder

I heard hoofsteps indicating that she was coming out from behind her hiding place and nearing me. Then the filly began to sing the third stanza. I stopped in surprise, how would anypony not from the abbey know any of our Psalmday lullabies?

I see you changing every day

Sometimes I wish that I could stop and say

Don't grow up to fast, or you'll trip and fall

Even though things are going to change

In my heart they will stay the same

I will always be here, through it all

I could hear the tension and fear fade out of her voice as she sang. She had a pretty voice and if she hadn’t been so choke up with tears moments ago I could have said it was beautiful. As she finished the stanza, I picked up the lullaby again and we finished together.

Do you know how much you mean to me?

Do you know that I really care?

Do you know that I will always be there?

I hope you'll always remember Those short-lived times

When it was just you and I

I felt warm fur and mane brush up against my wounded foreleg, adding a thin twinge of sharp pain to the steady dull throb. I didn't mind. I was here with a filly that had accepted and probably needed my help more than anypony I had so far met on the peninsula; like a little pain would prevent me from comforting her. Shifting my weight onto my haunches, I pulled her into a close embrace while soothing her with a soft nuzzle. Sobbing into the bandages on my torn shoulder she broke down again. With no idea what to say I just held her close, rocking back and forth gently. I reminded myself to ask her how she knew the lullaby later when she felt better.

“M-y My-”

For some reason my throat hurt after the short pause between singing and speaking. After swallowing several times I continued.

“My name is Sunset, what’s your name little one? Is something wrong? Can I help you with something?”

There much better, no scratching or pain deep in my throat, consonants rolling smoothly off my tongue.

“I-I’m s-Splish-Splash.”

She didn’t seem have much of a lisp or stutter, but I felt her still shaking as I held her, sometimes life is too rough to keep composure and control in your voice. Especially when you’re alone and young.

“Nice to meet you Splish-Splash. Could you maybe tell me what you are crying about? Maybe I can help, and if I cannot, I know talking about it will make you feel better.”

We didn’t have much to read at the abbey but after reading our scattering old medical and psychology journals I had some knowledge of what to say and how to act in a situation like this one.

“T-this is my home... I can’t get in, and I’m scared and alone and I thought you were going to eat me and, and...”

After a few seconds of indecision, the entire situation flew unhindered from her mouth.

“Sshhhhh, I’m not going to eat you. I’m here to help ponies. Your home?” I asked quizzically.

“Yes, see that big metal wheel thing over there?”

My eyes shot open and my heart fluttered as she reminded me of the empty darkness all around us. It took all my composure to remain seated and not run for the cave entrance. I whimpered a little before stomping down my fear and driving away the urge to escape. Not being in anyway claustrophobic the openness of the large cavern actually made it harder to remain still. It was easier to face down the ominous shadows when I could reach out and feel everything around me with my wings and tail.

“I can’t see in the dark.” I admitted sheepishly.

“Here.” She took my hoof and levitated it with magic, nudging it closer until it thudded against a thick metal wall.

Although I couldn’t see her, in my mind’s eye I felt her smiling. Little successes like showing the blinded pony the wall can sometimes help more than all the psychology in equestria.

“Its... A heavy metal door?” I asked slightly confused.

“Exactly, a machine opens it, but now the machine won’t open it and i'm trapped outside and its cold and rainy and there are bad ponies that hurt me, like I thought you were, and I want back in but I can’t get back in.”

All that in one rushed breath.

“How did a big heavy metal door get all the way down at the end of this cave.”

I asked questioningly.

“You don’t know?” She tittered a little; my confusion must be funny somehow. “ HeHe. Its a stable door silly. Stables are like big underground houses that ponies have been living in since the beginning of time. All the surface ponies came from stables originally.”

Now, if I had to guess I would have to say that I knew that wasn’t all true. Heavy metal doors opened by machines were clearly prewar tech and I knew from the tapestries back at the abbey that ponies had been living in equestria for a very long time before the Great War. Beyond that, I knew the abbey had been populated continuously since before the megaspells hit. But I kept all that to myself.

“The door is broken? Maybe if I could see it I might fix it. You’re a unicorn right? Can you make a light spell?”

In a few moments I saw a ruddy purple glow from behind my clenched shut eyelids. I opened them immediately, relieved to be out of the total darkness. Her spell was by no means bright but it was enough so that the terror wasn't constantly battling my courage for supremacy. The tension spring loaded within every muscle of my body relaxed slightly and my heart rate slowed drastically. Heaving a great sigh of relief I looked around the still gloomy cavern.

The glistening lavender coat of the filly reflected the silvery blue glow from her horn directly into my blinking eyes. After so long in the dark, it took me a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting. What should have been bouncing curls of sea green and teal drooped dejectedly, her mane and tail soaked from the storm.

The chamber was about forty feet square, the metal wall-door in front of me was actually a cog shaped wheel with a large 73 painted onto its center. I noticed that the “boulder” she had been hiding behind was actually the rusting corpse of metallic armor. From the burn scars and melted slag, it was pretty clear to even my inexperienced eyes that this chamber had been the site of an epic battle between metal armored warriors and metal machines.

My gaze stopped roaming when I saw the amount of damage taken by the door controls and mechanism. There was absolutely no way to get in; the door was completely sealed shut.

“I don’t think this door is...” Faltering, I paused, trying to come up with the easiest way to break the finality to her.

“...Is ever going to open.” I finished dejectedly. “But, if you don’t have a home you could come live at the abbey with me.”

“You would let me come with you? Thank you!” The filly jumped onto me with a giant hug. Freshly renewed pain seared through the torn flesh of my wounded shoulder forcing me to gasp and whimper.

“What’s the matter?” The instantly concerned filly asked.

“Some kind of monsterpony attacked me and tore open my shoulder, it still hurts really bad. I couldn’t bandage it properly by myself.”

The little filly spoke up brightly. “Let me look, my healing spell might take the pain away.”

/)(\

After patching up my wounds with her healing magic, Splash and I set out for the rundown marina at daybreak.

Footnote: You do not buy property, you do not pass go, nor collect 200 bucks: Go directly to the abbey.

New Perk:? You don’t get one because that is the worst possible thing.