The small town was well behind them now as they headed South. He couldn't tell which way South they had been headed as he didn't recognize the road, but he knew it was back towards Equestria; away from the Northern borders he had originally been journeying towards. The rain had not let up in the past hours they had been traveling, ice cold as it fell from the Northern atmosphere. His great coat and the uniform under it was drenched as it had been before, and his pants slogged through the dense mud, his jackboots waterlogged. The waterproof fabric he had wrapped around his head deflected the heavy rain well enough, he had wrapped it many times around his head and neck; the many layers actually doing its job of deflecting and absorbing most of the rainwater, unlike then when he had simply thrown it over his coat, the thin layer being soaked beyond it's limits. So at least his head was dry. He did his best to keep his hands warm by stuffing them into his coat pockets, but they froze anyway. He couldn't feel them at all.

Emil did his best to keep up with the silhouette of the mare he had been following for sometime now, the black figure was barely a few feet in front of him, but she might as well have been a few hundred. He heard her call back to him for a moment, but the shear sounds of the storm in his ears deafened him. He also realized she had stopped for him. He caught up to find they had stopped before multiple forks in the road, two heading South and veering off either left or right, and the other took a hard left. There was a sign post that pointed out the roadways.

"Canterlot, 558 Miles...Manehattan, 1125 Miles...Vanhoover, 198 Miles..." Emil read them off under his voice, then looked down at the pony mare he had been following, "Why are we heading South-east?! What does Vanhoover have to offer us?!" He shouted to her over the rain. The mare shook her head, and motioned them down the road, where she continued on her way. Emil clinched his fists in his pockets, but eased them. What good would it do to converse in this weather? He continued after the mare down the road.

After an hour more of slow travel, the heavy storm had finally blown over; little more than low drifting grey clouds were left scattered about in the sky. The large full moon shone brightly down unto the land below, it's bright rays lighting the night sky past the dark clouds. They had immediately stopped to rest now that the rain was of no concern in a small clearing flattened out from decades of peoples stopping here. There had even been a small fire pit built before, it was mostly wore down, but the stones were quite intact; and a small stream ran strongly towards the ocean, shallow enough not to get swept up by the current, but just deep enough for fish to be caught, and bodies to be bathed.

Emil sat on the dirt ground, his back against a dark pine tree. He was stripped down to his dirty service shirt and his rest shorts. His boots he had washed the mud and dirt off and sat them to dry, where they shined in the moonlight even without polish. His officer's pants and field tunic hung on the low hanging branch of a smaller broad leafed tree, along with his officer's great coat. He always found it strange that they, broadleaf trees that generally thrived in mostly temperate climates, managed to grow this far North. His officer's cap he had laid on the thin blanket he called a bed, along with the few things he could call his own that he was able to carry in his small traveling pack he kept slung over his shoulder on his back, usually covered by his great coat. All he ever carried around were the necessities he needed to survive, few of which were preserved from his time on Earth.

He looked away from his petty display of belongings to the flowing stream to his left, the sound of the soft flowing water was relaxing. If he had to give this world one thing, I would be the sheer beauty it held. When you had come to drift as long as he did, you tend to see many things that many call a privilege to see in their entire lives, both the good and the bad. But nothing was to compare to home, he always told himself. Nothing was above home. He settled his head against the tough bark, and tried to remember; remember his old life back in Germany, for the first time in awhile he had the peace to do so. What came up was a few faded faces and some glimpses of strong memories.

He shook his head and looked down to his Luger, which was dismantled and cleaned, and began to resemble it, as he had hundreds, if not thousands of times. He had to use griffon gun grease, his German oil having run out years ago. He heard a disturbance in the water, the ripples flowing downstream. But paid it no mind, focusing on his pistol.

"Not a man of material are you?"

He looked up to see the still soaking wet mare trotting towards him. Water dripping from her hair as it clamped down to her neck. Her pearl coat shone with the dampness of it all. He took a moment to take her in; he supposed, to a pony, she was probably the pinnacle of beauty, but to him, she was just another mare in this forsaken world. At-least she wasn't a unicorn.

"No." he bluntly replied as he went back to his gun.

She dropped on her haunches before him on the other side of his blanket, ringing out the water in her mane. "Figured as much, wanderers and outcasts don't tend to be."

He harrumphed.

She looked over the items he had laid out, there was not much, it was a basic survival kit, few items were not of some utility or navigational use, maps and the like. She however, caught her eye on the long scabbard that was rested there alongside his bit pouch, which limped over pitifully from being mostly empty. The long, thick black material was rough with ware and was about thirty-six inches in length, but D-shaped knuckle guard of whatever blade was held with-in was in pristine condition however, the almost silver like steel glowed from the polish and the handle wrappings was of little ware. There was alongside it a small knife, that to a pony could almost count as a short sword, the scabbard was of the same black color with steel construction rings. The handle was curved quite strangely, and had a metal stamp on it, one that looked of an eagle. This one though, was of much better condition and had less ware, probably from spending most of its time out of the weather. Her eyes were drawn back to the sword again, how she had not noticed him wearing it before, she didn't know.

"What kind of sword is that?" She asked him.

He looked up form his pistol to gaze at the blade she spoke of, he figured a short story wouldn't hurt; leave out the details, "It was a ceremonial sword, I received it when I graduated from military school. I shouldn't have taken out to the field with me, but I am glad I did that day." He bluntly responded, placing the halfway-reassembled pistol on the mat. He reached for the sword, and slightly brought it out of it's sheath, just enough to see the blade glow in the light of the moon, "It has served me more than just an award sword since then, and served me well it has." He placed it back on its spot next to his service dagger and resumed assembling his pistol for the fourth time in the past half-hour.

She nodded, and reached for it, "May I?"

"No." He almost growled.

She hasty brought her hoof away, "Oh." They sat there, a silent awkwardness in the air. Emil cared not, he was focused on his pistol. Aryanne however, shifted awkwardly.

'So...' She started in German, 'What was life like in your world? Your obviously military, got any war stories?'

Emil said nothing.

'What about your time before you joined the army?'

He continued to assemble his pistol.

'Family?'

Nothing.

Aryanne sighed, 'Look Mr. Schindler, I am just trying to make this easier on both of us. We have a long way to go before we reach Port Royal, and even longer before we reach Vanhoover. And if I were you I would try try make this journey a little less harsh on both of us. Both physically, and mentally. Besides, if we are going to be working together, we need to learn to trust each other, and trust starts with the small things.'

'If you want to talk of trust and, "The small things", perhaps you should inform me on where we are headed overall, what is our objective? And what my role is in anything you have planned.' he responded, 'You said you can get me home, back to Germany, but I know you are not just doing this for me. You said you would explain everything once we left town.'

Aryanne put a hoof to her chin, as if pondering the idea, 'Hmm, I did say that. I suppose at the very least you have the right to know where our final point is. Very well, we are headed South, very far South; to the Bad Lands.'

Emil pulled back the loading mechanism on his Luger; releasing it, it snapped into place with a satisfying click; he said nothing for a moment, his stern face unchanging. But in his mind, he was pondering. He had never been that far South before, he had never been past the Capitol but once sometime ago, and he had never been that far again. 'What is in the Bad Lands?' he asked her.

She chuckled, 'Patience. That will come at a later time, once I know I can trust you more fully Mr. Schindler.' Aryanne replied, 'For now, that is all I can tell you. When we get to Port Royal, depending on whether we get a ship or not, I will unveil more to you, and do not worry, your involvement in my plans with become much more evident once we reach the Badlands.' She yawned and stood up, "I believe it is time for me to turn in. I would recommend you do the same." She trotted over to her side of the fire burning in the middle of camp and laid into her sleeping bag where she had kept it, along with her other belongings she carried in a small set of brown sabblebags. "Oh and one more thing..." She turned over, speaking English once again, "Don't try anything in my sleep, I may be an o-so small, defenseless mare to you, but heed my words when I say, I will make you regret it." She turned back over, away from the fire.

Emil suddenly found himself not liking the smell of whatever was cooking in that mare's head, he couldn't think of anything she would need him for. If she needed protection, there were much tougher, and possibly more loyal, people willing to take such a job. Perhaps it was because he was an officer? A man of tactician. No, no-one in this world he had ever told his rank, or position in the German military; the most anyone knew was that he was military, and he graduated military school, not that he was SS.

He looked over to his officer's cap, the Totenkopf shone brightly in the moonlight. 'You're a walking killing machine...'

He loaded his Luger and stuck it in his holster. Packing up his belongings, he retrieved his clothes and threw his great coat around himself, all having dried in the time by the fire. Aryanne had already drifted into slumber, or at least from what Emil could tell by the light snoring coming from the pony. He reached into his great coat pocket and pulled out his pocket Bible, of which with most of the other things in his pockets, was saved from the rain, for the first time in awhile and flipped to the bookmarked page. '...killing machine.'

The entirety of the rest of their journey had proven to be awkward, uneventful, and nothing less than annoying for Emil. The mare that had accompanied him was no less than any other pony he had encountered. While she had some very cynical, analytical, and mysterious outlooks on the world Emil could relate to; she was however nonetheless as talkative and social as the next pony, even if most of it had been her pegging him for information on his past life. Emil had come to the conclusion long ago that it must be a trait of the species, that social nature, but that didn't make it any-less annoying for him. Especially the topic.

They stood at the crest of a small hill, the road had taken on a more modernized look to it with it's stone pavings. There, in the horizon, the town could be made out about six miles out, tall towers that extended from the walls jutted out towards the sky. Smokestacks exhaled grey smoke into the air, and the sounds of commerce and bells could be heard even this far out. But what truly made up the sight, was the ocean. Sea birds fluttered about in flocks as the circled about in the sky, and rows of ships, both large and small, sail and steam, filled the harbors. The smell of the ocean wafted into their noses as a faint breeze blew inland.

"There it is, Port Royal. The only port you will find this far North on this side of Equestria, least you would have to travel across country to Manehattan. The, while quite debatable, most important port on this side of Equestria."

Emil harrumphed.

Aryanne shook her head, "What more did I expect out of you. Look, let's just go. The sooner we get a ship, the better."

They approached the gates leading into the town, one of three Emil had seen from the crest of the hill. Large stone walls protected it from all sides, ending at the coast; large stone turrets about forty feet in height, and fifteen feet of depth made up the gatehouses, the cast iron gate raised within the arched tunnel leading into the innards of the town. And the parapets were all lined with guards, clad in gold armor and wielding spears. There were a few houses on the outside of the walls, mostly small farmhouses, mills, and small workshops, and fields of wheat that blew in the ocean breeze. Back on earth, the soil here would have surely been too salt stained to grow crops such as wheat, but as with every problem the ponies ran into, magic was the answer.

Emil frowned. He despised magic, just as much, if not more than the many other non-pony races did. Just wish upon an star and it would happen, poof problem solved. No time nor labor needed to innovate, improve, and create solutions. Just magic the problem away and life will be all well. It was a lazy, ignorant culture. And the power of magic breed arrogance in the ponies, even more so than that of the griffons. He had bumped into a unicorn stallion once in a tavern in his early days of being in Equestria. The fool had threatened to implode his heart from within his body for spilling his beer. Emil had a knife to his neck in a second.

What disturbed him more than anything, was the ponies fascination with their Princess rulers, many of whom went to the extreme of calling them living deities, Gods. He had only ever seen them once when he was in Griffonstone, those times had been interesting, and from that time he could tell the sisters were no Gods, even if they did claim to move the sun and moon. He patted the Bible in his coat pocket.

They made it to the entrance to the city, an upon entering into the streets Emil was almost overwhelmed. There had to be hundreds of people in the streets, and of all races; ponies, griffons, diamond dogs, yaks, and few minotaurs. Venders and merchants shouted out to the people as they passed, hoping to gain interest in their wares. It was absolute chaos. Well, at least until the on-goers, least the common townspony, would freeze in place to stare at the tall human marching through the city streets, though with the tarp wrapped around his head to form a makeshift hood, many probably took him for a large minotaur. But for such a fragile race as the ponies, that was enough reason to look away. To his surprise there were sailors or mercs that would glare at him, or stare him down here and there as he passed. He honestly couldn't give less of a shit.

They finally made it out the main entrance market and found the closest to a calm they would likely get in a town such as this. Moving off to the side of the road, they continued, this time side-by-side, towards the harbor. The architecture of this town was of your stereotypical medieval Tudor style, but more of the French or English touch he supposed. The roads either of stone or brick pavings, and there was a stank of fish, salt, and body odor in the air. Least until they passed a bakery, the smell of bread replacing it.

Emil stopped suddenly from the poster he spotted on the wall in an alleyway. It was a wanted poster. A rough descriptive drawing of him was drawn in the center, the large words "Wanted for Murder" along the top, and a hefty reward for the turning of him in, alive. The royal stamp of Celestia was on the bottom, along with the symbol of the guard; and the paper looked pretty new. That surprised him; they wanted him alive.

He heard Aryanne whistle next to him, she had trotted up beside him and was staring at the poster. "That's a lot of zeros..."

Emil grunted, "I've killed many in my time here, but I knew the moment you brought that one up that there had to have been others. I was careless when I killed that stallion, and now I'm suffering for it. If my face is plastered throughout this whole town, then it will be not be long until we're compromised."

Aryanne shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to find a ship in a hurry then." She sighed in annoyance.

Emil ripped down the poster and stomped it into the ground, "Let's go then." He said, his voice filled with annoyance and anger.

They continued on their way towards the harbor once more, though they took more alleyways than streets this time. They made it to the docks where rows of ships were anchored, fishing boats unloading nets full of catch, trade ships, and huge three masted steam ships of the Royal Navy, cannon and all. Impressive, for such a primitive race. Emil thought. But where there was the navy, the army was soon to follow. The docks were littered with golden clad guards, blue uniformed marines, and navy sailors. All mingled in with the crowd.

"There is no fucking way I'm getting through that without getting noticed." Emil said to the white mare.

"I wasn't expecting this many guards here, but we might be in luck, they seem to be preparing to disembark. That's the only reason they would all be here at once." She put down her saddlebags and sifted out a pouch of bits, a pretty hefty one at that. "Here, take this." She said through her clenched teeth.

Emil took it and weighed it in his hand, "What happened to, 'I don't have many bits?'"

"Those are all the bits I have with me, yes. It may seem like a lot, but all of that is going towards the supplies we are going to need for our journey. The other one I have is to overpay for a ship. Here, I have a list." She gave him the piece of paper. He looked it over.

"What makes you think we can carry all this?"

"A couple of sacks worth of supplies. Not much, or is it too much for the big bad German?" She smirked.

He grunted and shoved the bits and paper into his coat pocket.

"Meet me at the Brewing Barrel Inn once your done, I should be waiting for you there. If I'm not, there should be enough bits in there to pay for a room." She re-equipped her saddlebags and trotted off, "And try not to kill anyone!" She shouted back.

He harrumphed and walked off, sticking to the shadows.

She trotted out into the open streets once more, her hood flipped up and her brown coat covered her saddlebags and coat well enough. She made out to the docks with little more than suspicious looks from the guards, whom made up most of the occupied spaces on the roads and on the docks. She needed to find a ship, one that hopefully would take her bribe to keep their mouth shut about the human.

She stopped as she spotted the Dock-master's building on the other end of the walk; the building was smaller than even some of the storage units around on the stone walk the docks were built into. It was mostly built of dark wood and seemed to have plenty of ware to it. The sign of the Dock-master swayed slightly in the breeze on its post. She made her way there and entered through the small, windowless door.

Once inside, she spotted an old, grizzly Earth-pony stallion asleep at his desk, his hind-legs kicked up on his desk as she snored. There was nothing else in the room besides the desk and two chairs, minus the one he was sleeping in. An oil lamp was lit upon the wall, lighting the small room rather well for such a small thing; and behind the stallions desk was a door, likely to his personal quarters.

She shut the door and trotted up to the desk. "Excuse me Sir." She said trying to wake him.

He continued to snore.

"Sir."

Snoring.

"SIR!", she slammed her hoof unto the desk nearly causing the stallion to fly back out of his chair.

"Huh!? Huh!? Wha!?" He shook his head and looked at the hooded pony before him. "Ya' Celestia damned punk, who in Tartarus do you-!?"

"I need a ship. One that is heading South, to Vanhoover preferably." She said bluntly, cutting him off.

The stallion settled himself back in his chair, the glare he was giving Aryanne could have killed a man, "And just who needs a ship ey? I don't deal with ponies that hide themselves mare, you need a ship? Well your gonna have to-"

She flipped off her hood, her long mane breaking free from it's prison. "Happy now." She said with a frown.

The stallion just stared for a moment, taking in the stunning mare before him, he opened his mouth a few times, but no words came.

"So about that ship." Aryanne set him back on track.

The stallion shook his head, "Aye, what was it you said? To Vanhoover?"

"Yes."

He reached under his desk and pulled out a large log book, a pair of spectacles made their way to his face and he flipped to the very back of the book. "Aye, there are a few. A few fishing cogs, a shipping frigate, and two ships taking upwards a' twenty passengers. Was it just you?"

"No, I have another with me, a non-pony."

He shook his head, "The Nautica is taking only pony passengers." He looked up to her, "The other is a griffon frigate, saving a few seats for passengers, of all race and class."

"We'll take the seats."

He blinked, "The entire crew consists of griffons, their not the kindest bunch ya’ know, and meat will be present—”

As he was rambling about the griffons, Aryanne fished out her bag of bits and tossed it unto the table, "That should be enough yes?" She might have lied about not having a lot of bits, but Emil didn’t need to know that.

The Dockmaster's jaw hit the floor, "A-Aye, I'll put you in the books..." He took an ink well and feather and flipped to a different page in the book, "What yer' name be miss?"

"Aryanne."

"And yer' friend?"

"Schindler."

He jotted down the names, "Yer' friend from Germaney?"

"Something like that." She retrieved the change bits and placed the pouch back in her saddlebags, along with the two passage slips the stallion had written out for her and Emil.

"The Talos sets sail at one today. You best get ur' friend and get on her soon. Or she will leave ya' behind."

She nodded, Thank you." Her hood up again, she exited out the door, the natural light shining through and blinding the stallion. Once it was shut he whistled. "Celestia damn, to bad it ain't season..."

The crowd did its best to part, and doing their best to not make it noticeable, for the large hooded being marching down the street; they failed at keeping it inconspicuous. But Emil didn't care, he had places to be, things to find. It was not much in theory, just enough food to last both that mare and himself till the end of their journey, a few essential survival tools, and some other miscellaneous stuff that they would probably need. He already had two sacks thrown over his shoulder, mostly food and their main kit. Now he was on the search for the last few items on the list.

He would restock his own personal provisions, but he hadn't the money for it. He figured they would be sharing whatever he had bought, so he brushed off the idea. That could wait. He continued through the market for sometime, picking up the miscellaneous items that was still needed. Once he had done so, he began trudging along to find the Inn Aryanne had instructed him to meet her. He checked the bit pouch she had given him and counted thirty-two bits left. A room would cost no less than ten.

"Perhaps I could restock my personals while we're here." He thought. He turned his head back towards the marketplace, and caught eye of a squadron of Royal Guards waving around a copy of the wanted poster with his name on it. Most of the ponies they were questioning shrugged in their ignorance, but one mare pointed in his general direction. Not him specifically, but it might as-well have been.

He turned around and picked up his pace, "So much for that idea."

He soon reached the Inn, having cut a few corners and down alleyways, he had gotten lost and turned around a few times, but he eventually just asked a passing towns-pony for directions. He had spoken truth. The building looked as all the others, the strange mix of English and main-land European Tudor. Though a few of the windows seemed of a bit more quality than that of the common houses, and the swinging sign with a barrel with steam lines rising out of it stood over the entrance. Blowing the nose out of his nose, preparing himself for the inevitable stares, drumming his fingers along the grip of his hidden blade, he pushed open the door and entered.

Most of the inhabitants took notice of him immediately as he entered and closed the door, trying to see past his hood and coat. Under the hood, Emil's eyes darted around the room, taking in the people and his surroundings. There was a bar with stools off to his right as soon as he entered, the rest of the area was comprised of tables, and booths hugging the other walls. A hall which led to rent rooms was in the middle of the far wall at the other end of the building. The room was mostly filled with ponies, some common folk, others travelers. But he did notice the small pack of griffons at on of the tables, they all wore a sailor outfit, black with gold trims in the hats and shirts. "Reminds me of our Navy." he thought. He also noticed a small pack of diamond dogs, about seven, occupying a few booths in the back giving him the eye.

He trudged over to the bar where he put his sacks down and sat on a stool chair, one that creaked when he did. He counted about five seconds before a brown earth-pony stallion, the bartender, came by.

"What can I get you stranger." He spoke in a baritone voice, lacking any fear of the hooded figure on the other side of the bar.

Emil opened with his usual question, "Got any wine."

The stallion shook his head, "Nope, can't say that we have any."

"I'll take the strongest Ale you have." The alcohol count in this world was nothing compared to that back home, he had never once got drunk off the strongest whiskey here, even after downing the whole bottle.

The stallion nodded and trotted down the bar towards the taps.

Emil sat there patiently waiting for his drink, and he soon found a mug of foaming beer before him. "Thank you." He told the stallion, who trotted off to service the other bar customers. Emil was there for awhile, enough to be on his fourth glass when he hear the sickliest voice he had heard in a long time speak up from behind him.

"Oy, you wouldn't happen' ta know about this thing?"

A paw soon slammed the wanted poster in front of him on the bar. Emil, having about to raise the glass up to drink, turned his head slightly to see a large, tan diamond dog standing over him, or, at least to his height as he was seated.

"No, can't say I do, Mutt." Emil said.

The diamond dog narrowed his eyes but a dark grin crept across his face, "Ohhh, ya here that lads? This mutant monkey wants ta make himself look like some kinda' badarse." There was hoarse laughter all around him, he was cornered. "But we all know he just a' little piece of shite that had ta' kill a weak little pony since he couldn't grow the balls to kill anything else. Well, I know a certain Princess that's willin' ta' pay a pretty price for ya'. She said alive," The dog at this point was right up against the darkness of the hood, "...but she didn't specify the condition, ey?" He heard a blade get drawn, and through sheer reflex, he smashed the glass mug in his hand against the face of the dog questioning him.

He picked up the stool he was sitting in and smashed it against another dog that was coming in with a knife, he stumbled and fell back into another table. He quickly threw his fist into another on his left. One managed to slice his coat on his right with a sword, he felt the sting of the blade contacting his arm. He could play like that too. The same dog tried to come down for another swing, but Emil rushed him and blocked the arm of the dog holding it, and proceeded to kick him in the gut, making it stagger back.

He looked around, all six dogs, excluding the once bleeding out on the floor with glass in his face, had circled around him on all sides. None of them moved, waiting for the first move by Emil, who chose this opportunity to unbutton his coat, revealing his uniform underneath, and with an, hopefully, intimidating slowness, pulled his service sword free of it's sheath. The steel shimmering in the light of the tavern, the blade itself easily larger than any of the swords and scimitars the dogs wielded. He held it to his side, blade down, as if to tell the dogs to come at him. And they did.

One dog, the one that had scored the lucky hit on his arm, charged him, blade raised, and tried to slice him across the chest. Emil easily parried it and knocked it off to the side, punching the dog in the throat. Another one charged and the same followed, he parried the attack and brought his sword back down, slicing the dog's arm off. He knew dogs had weak bone joints. The dog howled in pain as he fell to the floor, clutching his shoulder as blood pooled out at an alarming rate. The other dogs looked on in fear, then rage as they all charged him at once. Emil pulled his dagger and took a defensive stance. All the dog's attacks were erratic and of little thought, Emil blocked them easily even with his small service knife.

Most of the pony customers had fled the tavern or were taking cover behind the bar or flipped tables. But, the group of griffons looked on with clear amusement. Griffons hated dogs, almost as much as they hated ponies, so watching a gang of seven getting their asses handed to them by one human was rather entertaining.

After throwing a dog into a table, the dog smashing through it, sending wood and splinters everywhere, Emil blocked the overhead swing a dog tried to cheaply get off while he was distracted; he pushed up, staggering the dog, and sunk his knife into it's gut. He let it fall back with the knife in it's stomach as he parried the sword of another dog, slicing it across the chest.

There was a moment of stillness, the last three remaining dogs where battered and beaten, having already tasted Emil's fists or blade, they stopped to catch their breath. Emil had only received the one cut, and a bruise on the leg. He watched them from behind the hood.

Then, in one last desperate attempt to spare themselves...they dropped their weapons and bolted out the door. Whimpering and whining like kicked puppies, which they were.

Emil sighed, finally able to get a moment to catch his breath, he had been out of breath as much as the dogs had, he was just better at concealing it.

He sheathed his sword and looked around at the dead dogs on the ground, blood was splattered across the floor; broken, often bloody tables were scattered around the area they had been fighting, and the occupants of the tavern were just now getting up from behind cover. Well, except for the griffons, who were smiling and golf clapping at the performance.
The door suddenly opened, the outside light pouring in.

Emil turned his head to find Aryanne standing in the doorway of the Inn, a vicious look on her face. She closed the door and marched up to the human. "I thought I told you to try not to get into trouble." She said through clenched teeth.

Emil raised a brow behind the hood, "Trouble? What trouble?" He turned at walked towards the dead dog with a dagger in it's chest, "If you are refering to these mutts", He yanked the dagger out of it place, spraying some blood as he did so, "... they proved to be little of it."

Aryanne looked around at all the dead dogs littering the floor, she lifted her hoof up in mild disgust, it having been in a pool of red blood. "I...can see that."

Emil cleaned his dagger and re-sheathed it. "Did you get a ship?" He asked her simply as he made his way back to the bar, Aryanne following.

"Yes, a griffon ship, the Talos." She said hushed, not wanting anyone to over-hear. "It will depart soon, we should probably get going.”

Emil nodded and retrieved the sacks of supplies, he reached into his pocket and placed the bag of thirty-two bits on the bar. "Sorry for the mess. Hope this will cover it." He looked around at all the ponies and griffons in the room, "And we were never here." He addressed them all, in which they all nodded in response, mostly from fear.

He looked down to the mare besides him,"Let's go. Before the Guard shows up."

They left the bodies to rot.

Author's Note

Finally out of the rewrite stage, it’s all open waters from here on out.

Like the story? Feel free to give me your feedback! It’s very much appreciated.