Chapter 1 - The Soldier and the Seaman
Tempest Shadow—a mare not yet used to using her real name—stood at the bow of the airship, listening to the creak of the thick, sturdy rigging and the rush of wind past her ears, and watched the distant Klugetown slowly approaching. She could just make out the little dashes of black hanging from flagpoles and windows. Either word hadn’t reached them of the Storm King’s defeat, or it hadn’t yet sunk in.
Either way suited her purpose.
“Bit for your thoughts, Commander?”
Tempest tensed up, then shut her eyes and groaned internally.
“I’m not thinking anything, Capper,” she responded curtly. “And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
“Oh come now, Commander, surely you’re not ashamed of your old title? After all, it’s something you worked so very hard for,” the tom purred mockingly. Tempest whirled on him.
“Capper, I-”
But the victorious smirk on his stupid, handsome face told her all she needed to know. Ever since the Festival of Friendship, every moment he spent around her was another chance to throw her off her game. Not that she could blame him. She had put him on a sinking airship and left him and those parrots for dead, after all. It was no small wonder that he was even talking to her.
She looked away, hiding her shame under the same stoic expression she’d been practicing for the majority of her adult life.
“Never mind. Was there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess there was,” he mused, holding his chin as though he had just remembered. “The Captain wanted to touch bases since we’re almost there. Make sure you really understood the plan. Wouldn’t want to sink the ship before it’s even hit the water, you know.”
With that parting shot, Capper wandered off back towards the others. When he was out of earshot, Tempest let out a relieved sigh. If Capper had harbored any inkling of a fighting spirit, she’d have had it out with him days ago, consequences be damned. She would almost rather be labeled a colt-beater than have to deal with his stereotype-affirmingly catty remarks. Almost. Still, his knowledge of the inner workings of Klugetown was an indispensable asset to her mission. Even when he was constantly trying to get her worked up.
Of course, it didn’t help that she hadn’t gotten laid in years.
Tempest put the thought out of her head. Now was not the time to dwell on her pitiful sex life. She had more important matters at hoof.
She made her way across the deck and down into the hold, not sparing a glance at the sailors. Not that there was much to see besides their distrustful glares. Princess Twilight and her friends may have given her a second chance, and she may have been appointed as Twilight’s personal guard, but that didn’t mean the rest of the Equestrians had forgotten her still very recent transgressions.
As she descended down into the hold, the impromptu war room came into view. Capper sat atop a crate of something or other off to one side, idly filing his claws. A score of soldiers stood around the large table in the center, adjusting their armor and checking their weapons. Tempest caught herself fiddling absently with the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit, and forced herself to stop. True, she felt naked without her own armor, but that had all been confiscated after her surrender. Which was only proper, of course. She felt lucky that she had been allowed to even keep the jumpsuit.
Captain Cold Snap—distinguishable from the rest of the glamered pegasus mares only by the captain’s insignia and colors on her armor—looked up from the rudimentary map splayed out on the table. She caught Tempest’s eye, then turned to the rest of her detachment.
“Alright, fillies, now that Miss Berrytwist has deigned to grace us with her presence, we can begin the pre-mission briefing.”
Tempest grimaced at the use of her true name, but held her tongue. She was in no position to rebuke the captain, and Cold Snap knew it. She might have held an equal rank, but that didn’t give her authority over an Equestrian Royal Guard. Instead, she trained her eye on the simple map, and the rest of the squad followed suit.
“Before you jokers say anything,” the captain continued, “yes, this is the best map of Klugetown we have. Our information specialists are still mapping out the streets, so this is what we’re stuck with.”
“Now then, our insertion point is here,” she explained, pointing at the section of the maps marked ‘Docks.’ “We’ll leave the ship wearing cloaks, so as to not draw too much attention to ourselves, then make our way directly to the slaver’s compound here, in the southeastern Warehouse District. Mr. Dapperpaws has been kind enough to provide us with the location and description of Verko’s warehouse. He has graciously volunteered to be our guide through town, but, for his safety, we’re on our own once we get to the warehouse.
“That’s where Miss Berrytwist comes in. She’ll be entering the compound ahead of us, posing as a prospective buyer. She’s reassured us that, although Verko knows who she is, that will only pose an issue if Verko has received word that she has been reintroduced into Equestrian society. It’s only been two days since the Storm King’s defeat and the Friendship Festival, so chances of that are slim. But, we should be prepared for a fight anyways. If things do go well, then here’s the plan:
“Miss Berrytwist will enter the warehouse, wearing this hidden communicator. Once inside, she’ll make her way to the slave pens. From there, she’ll determine whether or not Verko has any Equestrians held captive and then signal us with the code phrase: ‘He-slash-she-slash-they look fit for a Princess.’ At the signal, we infiltrate, following her communicator’s signal location, exfil the prisoners, and make our way to the extraction point here,” she finished, pointing at the southern part of the Warehouse District. “The airship will relocate during our mission and meet us there.”
“Now, officially, we’ve only been sent to recover any Equestrian citizens that Verko might be holding. Buuut, Princesses Celestia and Luna have made it abundantly clear, off the record, that they won’t mind terribly if, while we’re at it, we just so happen to shut down Verko’s operation with extreme prejudice. Lethal force is discouraged—we want them to answer for their crimes, after all—but don’t worry about being too rough. They did try to kidnap a princess, after all.”
A round of hearty chuckles filled the room. Tempest couldn’t help but quietly join in. She was no fan of this Verko, herself. She’d seen the disgusting mole rat up close and personal. It seemed that the more physically unfortunate males of any species all had the same idea for making themselves more attractive to potential herds: amass wealth and act the sophisticate. Too bad he was just as vile on the inside as he was outside.
“I know we’re all feeling a might sore about our recent defeats at the hands of the Storm King, but we won the war,” she added, with a pointed look at Tempest. “So, let’s all show the Princesses that we still got it, that his victories were just a fluke. Let’s show these slavers what Equestrians can really do!”
This garnered a spirited “oo-rah” from the troops. Capper merely rolled his eyes. Tempest would have snorted at his exasperation, but she kept it to herself. Morale was important in battle, and there were more important things to fight over than little displays of femme pride. Instead, she took up the miniature communicator and inserted it into her ear canal, out of sight. She would have nothing but that and her years of combat training to assist her during the mission. Her heart beat a little faster, and she grinned, muttering to herself.
“Let the games begin.”
“Come on now, stud, you’re only making this harder on yourself.”
Sigurd ignored the raspy, honeyed words being tossed at him in favor of trying to make himself as difficult a target to hit as possible. The shackles cut into his wrists and ankles, rubbing them raw. His shoulders burned and ached as the chains at the top of the cage prevented him from lowering his elbows past his armpits. The chains at his feet kept him from closing his legs any further than shoulder-width. But he couldn’t relax, couldn’t rest, even for a moment. If he gave this giant mole-rat creep a single opening, it would all be over.
Another needle-like dart sliced through the air as Sigurd twisted away, missing his side by a finger-width.
“Aye!” Came the brief, but vocal support from the cage on the right corner of the aisle leading away from his own.
Sigurd’s gaze shot up, catching the one good eye of the grizzled, portly, Scotsman-esque stallion in the cage. Captain Rolling Wake fixed him with a watery, quivering smile, fearful tears dripping down into his bushy white beard. The aging, khaki-colored earth pony clutched at the bars of his own cage with his forehooves, which had also been bound in shackles. At least, until he was beaten back by what looked not entirely unlike a squat bear in a vest. Rolling Wake noticed Sigurd’s gaze locked on him, and frantically nodded back at the mob-boss mole-rat, Verko. Sigurd took the hint and returned his attention to the immediate threat.
“Tch. I’m telling you, boy,” Verko tutted, “this would’ve all been much simpler if you’d only cooperated in the first place.”
“Fuck you!” Sigurd shouted. “My body’s not for sale!”
He could feel the eyes of the other prisoners in the torch-lit warehouse on him. No creature had dared stand up to Verko in the week he’d been there. Not until Sigurd had kneed one of Verko’s customers right in her sodden box. He almost felt sorry for the weird she-wombat-thing, but it served her right. He was no one’s sex slave.
Verko’s cronies jabbed angrily at Sigurd through the bars of the cage with sticks and poles, all of their jowls, fins, scales, and claws made even more nightmarish by the flickering red torchlight. Still, they were only trying to keep him from moving around so much, so none of them put much force into it. Damaged goods didn’t sell very well, after all.
“Kiddo, you’ve got it all wrong,” Verko wheedled, even as he was reloading the blowgun. “A rare specimen like you? I put you up for auction and you’ll make me a fortune. And if we’re dealing big money, then wherever you end up you’ll be living in the lap of luxury for the rest of your life! What guy wouldn’t want to be pampered like that?”
“Anyone with a shred of self-respect!”
A wave of murmurs washed over the warehouse. Apparently, word of Sigurd’s defiance was spreading. Verko adjusted his ridiculous, floppy top hat, a dangerous glower darkening his features.
“Shut those wretches up!” He barked, sending a few of his minions scrambling. “I’ll teach you to talk back to Verko…”
But then, just as Verko was lining up another shot, a skinny little fishman scurried up to his side, begging his attention.
“B- boss! Boss!”
“What?!”
“Th- the scary unicorn is here again!”
“And? What does she want?”
“To buy,” he whispered ominously.
Sigurd caught a flurry of movement at the end of the warehouse. A group of creatures he guessed were supposed to be guards scrambled to get away from a rather brutal-looking unicorn. She was a dusty purple, with a rosy, mohawked mane. She was taller than other ponies he’d met by half a head, and her lidded, opal stare was only made sharper by the deep scar over her right eye. She walked down the aisle with the air of someone shopping for groceries. But the most metal thing had to be her broken, sparking horn.
A sharp bite in his thigh tore his attention away from the unicorn. He looked down, and his blood iced over. A needle, slick with some unidentifiable liquid, was sticking out of his leg.
“Lad, nae!”
As they beat the Captain back again, the chill under his skin was slowly burned away, heat radiating through his body from where he’d been shot. His skin prickled against the rough cloth of his pants, suddenly hypersensitive to touch. To his horror, he felt himself getting hard, while his brain suddenly felt like it was made of cotton.
An aphrodisiac, he realized, though much too late.
“Yeh’ve gotta fight it, lad!” Captain Rolling Wake cried, heedless of the poles jabbing at him.
“Shut it, you old crowbait,” Verko growled, then turned back to murmur to the fishman, just as Tempest approached. “Well, she got here just in time. Commander Tempest, so good to see you again!”
“Is it, Verko?” She called out, the dusky tones of her voice invading Sigurd’s mind with velvet caresses. “As I recall, last time we met, I left you in a smoldering heap on the floor.”
“And I do so apologize, my dear Lady. At the time, I had no idea I was in the presence of the Storm King’s Commander. But, now, hopefully, I might make it up to you. I hear tell you’re looking to buy?”
“Indeed,” she hummed, looking over the prisoners. Then her eyes fell on Sigurd. He struggled to keep his eyes on hers, tried to snarl, to give her the impression that he could snap her neck if he wanted. But he could manage no more than a sneer and a weak groan. He caught her glancing downward and for some reason, he could make out a blush through her fur.
“And… what is he?”
“Ah, this one? To be frank, I haven’t the foggiest. But he does certainly seem to be… well endowed, doesn’t he?”
Sigurd flinched away from the mole-rat’s greasy, almost envious gaze, trying fruitlessly to hide the involuntary tent he was pitching.
“I got him in last week, and I’ve only just now begun to process him. Tantalizing, though, isn’t he? A rare creature, and in such immaculate condition, too. Such a healthy and virile specimen would be able to sire a whole brood, I’d wager. And he could be all yours.”
Sigurd felt disgust crawling down his spine as Tempest’s gaze wandered all over him. She was having trouble tearing her eyes away, he could tell. He’d never understood what it meant to feel like a piece of meat until he came to this godforsaken world, however he’d managed that. Now more than ever.
“Ahem, yes, that is… tempting. And the other ponies here? Are they also for sale?”
“Well, I doubt any of them will compare to the enjoyment you might get out of this one here. But, yes, every creature here is primed and ready to bend to your whim. For the right price.”
The unicorn looked around, something unidentifiable in her eyes. Then she spoke again, slowly and deliberately.
“Certainly, they all seem fit for a Princess.”
Before anyone could react, Tempest reared back and bucked Verko in the gut with all her might. Verko, taken entirely by surprise, flew back and slammed into a nearby support beam hard enough to knock his breath out. Tempest was on him in a split-second, swinging a chain she had picked up from who-knows-where at him. The chain whipped around and around both Verko and the pole until he was strung up like a glazed ham. Then, in the same spinning move, she kicked a loose padlock up from the floor and slapped it perfectly through the loose links, closing the loop. Verko slumped down, dazed, and she skidded to a halt facing the rest of his gang.
“Who’s next?”
For an age, no one dared breathe. Then, some moron let out a battle cry, and a handful of the thugs charged at once. What followed was one of the strangest, most awesome sights he’d ever witnessed.
Tempest struck out with a flurry of kicks and throws in an odd kind of hybrid of capoeira, judo, and northern-style kung-fu. It was a beautiful, vicious sight, watching her drop these alien mobsters with her strangely fluid, pony-style martial arts. Sigurd could barely keep up with all the spinning kicks, leg locks, and throws—some of which required a terrifying amount of jaw strength. The goons went down almost as quickly as they arrived. What seemed like ages dragged on, and Tempest’s moves were becoming slower, more blurry.
Suddenly, the warehouse exploded in a cacophony of shattered glass and light. Stunned, Sigurd closed his eyes against the relatively blinding evening sun reflecting into the warehouse. Shouts and the beating of more than a dozen sets of wings followed the sound of glass falling down into the warehouse. From what his feverish mind could put together, it sounded like a platoon of angels had just busted through the skylights, and were now engaging his captors in battle. A small, suppressed part of his brain deduced that it was probably pegasi, not angels, given his environment, but the advice went unheeded by his drug-addled mind.
Everything’s too fuzzy, he decided, trying to spit out all of the cotton that was suddenly growing in his mouth.
Tempest patrolled the edges of the refugee groups as they were loaded onto the waiting sky barges. After the Royal Guard had made their spectacular entrance, the battle ended swiftly. Tempest had some choice words for the Captain about punctuality, but they went mostly unheeded.
Their mission had been a success. Verko and his crew were currently aboard a prison ship bound for Equestrian waters. Meanwhile, she and a few of the remaining guardsmares were making sure that the rescued captives were accounted for and put on airships bound for their respective countries. The praise and gratitude for the Equestrian Royal Guard nearly deafened her from all directions.
“Get yer hooves off o’ him, yeh scabby meat beaver!”
And then there’s this asshole.
The old stallion that had been in one of the cages across from the strange ape-creature had stuck to him like a tick the moment they were free from their shackles. The ape-thing seemed not to mind, though, and perhaps even appreciated the support. There was history there. She could see it in their eyes. Not to mention the fact that the stallion would take a swing at any creature that came within arms reach, even other ponies.
“Sir, I just need your names an-”
“Aye, I know what you and all the rest o’ yer kind need! Always rootin’ around, lookin’ fer the biggest logs yeh can stuff in yer slatherin’ maws! Well, yeh can take tha’ there silver tongue o’ yers and shove it up yer own gut locker! I’ve half a mind tae tell yer mother, but she’s prob’ly twice the knob goblin!”
The tirade would have been humorous, especially given the elder stallion’s thick Gaellowayan accent. But they had a job to do. The sooner they got back to Equestria, the sooner she could go drown herself in the nearest pub.
“What’s the hold-up, soldier?” She interrupted.
“Er… Pardon, Miss, but I’m not sure that-”
Tempest grimaced at the informal appellation but chose to ignore it. “Spare me the clearance spiel, Private. I’m sure you want to get home as quickly as I do.”
“R- right… Well…”
“Oh, I’ll tell yeh what’s what!” The stallion interrupted. “You oooh-so-professional soldiers o’ the Equestrian Royal Guard can’t take ‘get lost’ fer an answer! The lad’s in my care, and I’ll wrestle a kraken afore I let even a one o’ you stallionizers lay a hoof on him!”
Tempest eyed the very obviously male ape-thing. His skin was still flushed and sweating profusely, and his eyes seemed unfocused and bleary. The creature’s erection stood defiantly against the short, burlap pants confining it, and the poor guy winced every time the rough cloth shifted against it. She felt herself grow more flushed the longer she looked at it, so she tore her gaze away with a shake. Whatever had been on that dart they found in his leg, it obviously had potent aphrodisiac qualities. Despite that, she could still see intelligence in the creature’s eyes, struggling to keep control of a body actively betraying itself. No wonder, then, that the stallion was so fiercely guarding him.
The biggest problem, though—not to discount the sizable one in his pants, hoo filly—was that neither she, nor the refugees, nor anyone in the platoon, had ever seen a creature like him. Granted, there were many lands beyond Equestria that had yet to be explored, but that didn’t change the fact that they had a possible first-contact situation on their hooves. And Equestria had strict regulations when it came to diplomatic introductions.
“Right, I’ll take it from here, Private.”
“But, Miss, I-”
“Private, do I need to remind you who was recently appointed as Captain of the Princess of Friendship’s Royal Guard?”
“M- Ma’am, no ma’am.”
“Then you are dismissed, soldier.”
The soldier looked down at her clipboard, then back up at Tempest, and gave her an awkward half-salute before walking away.
“Now then, mister…”
“Captain! Captain Rollin’ Wake! O’ the clipper-... Well, formerly o’ the clipper Eye o’ the Storm.”
“Formerly?”
“Aye. Some rat bastard pirates captured my crew an’ sank my ship. S’ how the lad an’ I ended up enjoyin’ the hospitality o’ that lavvy-heided wankstain of a meat monger, Verko.”
Wake’s near descent into a tongue-lashing almost caused Tempest to raise an eyebrow, but, knowing Verko, he deserved it.
“And what is his name?” She prompted, gesturing at the ape-creature.
Rolling Wake’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it tae you?”
Tempest sighed in frustration. “Look, I know you mean well, but Equestria has certain standards that we must hold ourselves to when it comes to meeting new races. Personally, I would love to just say ‘hello’ and be on my merry way, but the Princesses-”
“Tae Tartarus with th’ Princesses!”
The sudden oath took Tempest completely by surprise.
“I… excu-?”
“Och aye, excuse you! Ah ken all about yer ‘Equestrian ‘ospitality!’ Ah’ll nae be trusting me bairn tae th’ likes of those glaikit, clatty-tailed kelpies! Got mair dreams of gobblin’ knobs an’ gettin’ pumped than thoughts for th’ wee folk! Yellae from teats to oxters! And Ah’ll be keelhauled afore Ah let my kin trot in gobbin’ distance o’ those sleekit, lowpin’, colt coarsin’-”
The sudden descent into a full-on onslaught of Gaellowayan abuse left Tempest speechless; partially because of the sheer venom he harbored towards the Princesses, partially because she couldn’t understand half the words he was saying. But the rage in his eyes and the volume of his rant left no doubt in her mind as to their meaning. If it were any other soldier standing in her place, this old stallion might have already been slapped in irons for “disorderly conduct,” even outside of Equestrian soil. But she had only recently returned to Equestrian citizenship, and her old opinions of the Princesses hadn’t reversed entirely. They still had a lot to answer for, in her eyes.
So, she would have been perfectly content to let Rolling Wake shout until he was hoarse. But he halted his rant when the hand on his withers squeezed gently.
“Roll, don’t…”
Instantly, the rage in the stallion’s eyes dissipated, leaving behind only concern.
“Laddie! Are ye a’right? Don’ ye fash yersel’! I’ll keep ye from these-”
“Roll, Equestrian, please,” the creature said with a wince.
“Och, sorry, lad. I’m a wee crabbit … I mean… I got me balls in a twist. Sorry,” the old stallion sputtered. “Anyway, we best be off-”
“Roll…”
“-if’n we’re gonna get tae lookin’ fer another ship.”
“Roll.”
“But don’ you worry yer pretty little head ‘bout a thing! Yer uncle Rollin’ Wake’ll take care o’ yeh.”
“Roll.”
“We’ll be back on the seas afore the week’s out.”
“Roll!”
“What?!”
“Do you have… another ship?” He managed to gasp out between labored breaths.
“Well, no.”
“Do you have… the money… to buy… another ship?”
“... No.”
“Then you’re willing… to work under… another captain?”
“I should bloody well think not.”
“Well then… I think… we should humor… Captain… uh…”
Tempest had been so engrossed by their back-and-forth that she almost missed the cue for her to introduce herself.
“Ah! Uh, Tempest. Tempest Shadow.”
“Captain Tempest… here. At least… until we… can get back… on our feet… hooves… whatever.”
By the stars, hearing him pant her name like that lit a fire in her furnace like no other. But she had to stay professional and fight back the rising heat in her cheeks. All four of them. Thankfully, Roll only grumbled something unflattering under his breath, then acquiesced. She wasn’t sure he noticed through the growing mental haze, but she shot the non-pony stallion a grateful look before continuing.
“I promise it will be quick. Just tell me where your homeland is, and I’ll make sure we send you back with a diplomatic envoy as soon as possible.”
Roll snorted, then spoke up again.
“Were it so easy. The lad here dinnae know where home lies. Long story short, when we plucked him out o’ stormy waters, he’d ne’er seen a pony afore, let alone griffons an’ the like. He dinnae know if this even be his own world. Adrift in more ways n’ one, seems.”
Tempest blinked owlishly. An alien… an actual alien. Well, it would certainly explain a few things. She sighed.
“Then it’s all the more important that we bring him back to Equestria. Many of the best thaumaturgical minds in all of Equus live in Canterlot. I’m sure we can-”
“Ohhh no! Don’ yeh even say it! We’re not settin’ one hoof in that blasted-”
“Roll, please,” the creature preempted.
“But, lad-”
“Please?”
Rolling Wake stared up at the young stallion-thing’s weary, strained expression with his one good eye. He gritted his teeth, shifted on his hooves, and rolled his head about like he was preparing for a fight.
“Och, fine! Yeh fuckin’ bampot! But dinnae say I didnae warn yeh. We’ll be up our bawbags in it afore the weeks out, mark me words.”
With that, the crotchety old stallion stomped the two of them off towards the Equestria-bound airship. Tempest, realizing she forgot one very important detail, called out to the apparent alien.
“Ah, um, I never got your name!”
They paused for a moment while he struggled to look back over his support stallion.
“Sigurd,” he muttered woozily, before slumping more fully onto his self-proclaimed patron. Tempest could only watch as Rolling Wake whispered gruff encouragement to the drugged alien and helped him board the airship. She doubted any offers of help would be well received, anyway. Capper slinked up next to her from wherever he had been hiding.
“Well, you certainly know how to pick them, Commander.”
“Shut up, Capper.”
