Celestia’s sun began its final descent along the distant horizon. Both sand and sky were set ablaze by its fury one final time before the sphere shifted from yellow to orange, orange to red, and finally sank to reveal the deep violent tapestry of nighttime. So far from the city, and most of civilization, the stars above Appleloosa shined with exceptional brilliance. Ponies who looked to the sky breathed a sigh of relief at their comforting twinkle as they worked to remove as much debris as possible. Lamplight was absent, save for one building closer to the town’s railway station.

Beyond the open window sat a table of weary warriors. The inside of the sheriff’s office was hardly presentable, with chips of wood lodged into the walls and a pile of glass swept into the corner, but there a meeting took place amongst the wreckage. Sheriff Silverstar took a long swig from a cracked bottle.

“That’s all fine and dandy,” he blurted out. “But we’re gonna need real solutions if we want these damned creeps done in for good.”

“But we ain’t got any, sheriff. Every time we try and pin the buggers we’re the ones takin’ the licks.” The light gold pony threw his brown hat onto the table in a huff.

“It’s like they know what we’re doin’ before we do it.” The sheriff took another, longer swig and shot his eyes towards the dark figure at the end of the table. “You been a might quiet, stranger.”

“I’m thinking of a plan. Ultimately, though, we have to know where the bandits make camp before we can do anything.” The Ghost remained unmoving from his seat. He kept his hoof against his chin and hummed to himself while Steelhorn, beside him, moved to address the other two ponies.

“We have to wait for Little Strongheart to return before we do anything. If we send ponies into the desert now they’ll be picked off one by one.”

“But those varmints are on the run!” Silverstar hurled his bottle across the room, kissing the wall with a brutal crash beside the slowly opening door. A young bison stood at the threshold and carried saddlebags along her flanks..

“Is it safe to come in?” She nervously asked.

“Y-Yes, of course,” the gold pony stammered, rising from his seat in a rush. “Sheriff, put yer damn scamper juice away! Did you find anythin’?”

“There are a lot of tracks leading west, deeper into the desert, “ Little Strongheart said, carefully stepping around the broken glass. “Beyond the cliff face there is some kind of structure. Large and round, with camps surrounding it. If the bandits went anywhere it has to be there.”

“Yer not hurt, right?” The gold pony made his way to the buffalo and brushed the glass from her path.

“I’m fine, Braeburn, but my people are concerned. There hasn’t been an enemy like this since the days of Chief Cloudsplitter. Will your... new friends be able to help?”

“‘Bout as good as dirt, ya ask me,” Silverstar said under his tainted breath, earning a firm glare from Braeburn who intervened.

“Sheriff, why don’t you get some shuteye? Been a rough day for us all, I reckon.” He helped the lethargic pony from his chair, stumbling as he did, and led him to the front door. It wasn’t until he passed the threshold did Braeburn let the sheriff find his own bearings as he staggered out into the town. “Please excuse him. The sheriff’s sound on the goose, yes sir, just sweet on the hooch.”

“That much was obvious,” the Ghost said plainly. “But, please, can you tell us any more of what you found?”

“I wasn’t able to get close enough to see more. There are more than just the bandits you fought at the encampment, and their leader seemed furious at the loss.”

“What’s chompin’ at that minotaur’s bit, anyhow?” Braeburn asked, prompting Steelhorn to clear his throat.

“Stoneheart, my brother, has never been one for calm. Since we were young he’s done nothing but pick fights and lash out at anyone who stood up to him. It was a problem back home and seems it still is today.”

“Family reunions must be a peach,” Braeburn chided.

“We fought at the last one, actually,” Steelhorn said with an empty chuckle. “Minotaur clans are unspoken bonds of brotherhood. Nothing, not war or crime or even death can remove that bond. My brother, though, never respected the old ways. When he challenged the clan’s ideals I stepped in, and…”

“You took his sight,” the Ghost stated.

“We were still calves, barely old enough to fight, but they exiled him all the same. I think I’m the only one who still looked for him, afterwards.”

“But now he’s out here sowing havoc everywhere he goes,” Little Strongheart said. “Is he really so cruel?”

“It would seem so.” Steelhorn went silent at that, and the room followed suit. Eventually, the Ghost stood from his seat and walked to Braeburn and Little Strongheart.

“Would you be able to show us where, exactly, this camp is?” The Ghost requested.

“Of course,” Little Strongheart replied, drawing a map from within her bag and passing it to the Ghost, who studied it intently.

“You’ve risked much finding this for us, and I thank you. In the meantime, you should make sure Braeburn get’s home safely.”

“But I wanna come with y’all,” Braeburn interjected.

“The less of us going means more will be here to defend the town should another wave come. Besides,” the Ghost grinned. “You wouldn’t leave her unprotected right now, would you?”

Both the earth pony and buffalo blushed at his statement, bashfully turning from each other and stammered their oppositions before yielding to the Ghost’s request. One after the other, with Braeburn holding open the door, the two made their way out into town, allowing the door to close with a tap against the wood.

“What was that?” Steelhorn asked with a curious smirk.

“I was a love-struck colt once, Steel, I know what being smitten looks like.” The Ghost returned to the table and spread the map across it. “But we need to have a plan of attack. I suggest we take this ridge along the northeast side of the encampment. It’s only a few miles away and will make great cover against any patrols they’ll have.”

“What if the Maestro suspects us? If she’s really out here then we won’t be able to get too close, at least not enough to snatch your artifact.”

“I agree,” the Ghost replied pensively. “The best we’re going to get is some reconnaissance, and we’ll have to move quickly. I’d hate to think what they have planned now that they have the cube. Are you ready to head out?”

Steelhorn gave a firm snort and rose from the table. His horns nearly scraped the already damaged ceiling as the two made their way carefully out the back door and across the desert plains. Together, with the map and moonlight to guide them, they strode out into the night.

The flickering lights of Appleloosa were lost to the ever retreating horizon behind the duo as they galloped across the desert. In the day, the sweltering sands were a scorching wasteland, bearable only by the hardiest of travelers, but by night the plain was alive with the chittering and chirping of wildlife and blanketed by a soothing breeze. The peace and fresh air brought a smile forth from the Ghost as his hooves drummed against the ground. Even with memories of the horrific raid from earlier, this was the first time he had been on the offensive against his new masked enemy, and the memories of Manehatten weeks before only fueled his determination.

Off in the distance another light arose. The duo slowed their gallop to a crouched trot as they came upon the ridge. Slowly they peered over the edge, laying prone, to bear witness to the camp Little Strongheart spoke of. Her words did it little justice.

It was a massive encampment, comparable only to the military forward guard bases from the Ghost’s EUP service. Rows of tents were seen behind a rudimentary wooden wall and on all sides the two could spot dedicated patrols. In the center, as Little Strongheart alluded, was a large structure that was to blame for most of the camp’s light. The formidable column stood four stories tall and was made from sturdy wood and stone. A few banners were hung from its walls, displaying a blackened minotaur head as a logo, and fluttered in the nighttime breeze.

“Whoa,” both the Ghost and Steelhorn said in unison. Together they moved along the ridge to get as close as they could. The landmass jutted out into a natural canopy, hanging high over the rows of illuminated tents below and almost parallel with the top of the center structure. From here, they could see its roof had a massive hole in the center.

“Keep a lookout,” the Ghost ordered before lunging off the ridge into a graceful glide. His cloak fluttered in the breeze before he tucked, curled into a ball, and latched his gloved hooves onto the structure and pulled himself up. He prepared to fling his cloak across the distance before his minotaur companion launched himself on mighty hindlegs across the gap, softening his landing with a roll.

“Not bad,” the Ghost said.

“Same to you,” Steelhorn replied with a huff. “Now what do you think of this place?”

“They seem somewhat militarized. I’m counting forty, maybe fifty tents, fitting two to three ponies, tops.”

“How long have they been out here? To build all of this must’ve taken weeks.”

“Or maybe days. Who knows what sort of resources the Maestro has given to your brother. The “why” is what troubles me.”

“What do you mean,” Steelhorn said, cocking his brow.

“The Maestro has the cube, now, and your brother has this gang. The question is why attack Appleloosa? It was nearly a full-scale siege on a town with no strategic value.”

“Maybe they want to hold it for ransom?” Steelhorn suggested, looking over his shoulder. “Appaloosa, alone, is responsible for most of the food in southern Equestria.”

“A good thought, but with the Maestro it seems it’s never so simple.”

“Stoneheart wants to own it?” Again, Steelhorn peered behind him. “I never thought of him as the dictator type, though.”

“Maybe not, but I suspect…” The Ghost trailed off and swiveled his ears on his head. “Oh no.”

On cue, bandits clad in black came up from the roof’s center ring. Before the duo had time to react they were ensnared by ropes and pulled from their hooves, dragged along the coarse wood and into the structure. They toppled over the edge and into a free fall. The Ghost squirmed out of the rope enough to launch his cloak out, slicing both of their bindings and snagging Steelhorn in its tendrils. What slack remained of the cloak bloomed behind the Ghost in a parachute as the two floated to the dusty floor of their new confines.

A wave of raucous cheering echoed around them. They stood, back to back, as the magenta pony from before took her place on an elevated podium and addressed the ravenous crowd.

“Murderers and miscreants, welcome to the Bloodbowl!”

Author's Note

Would've had these up earlier if FimFiction weren't down. Freaked me out thinking some of the stories here might've gotten lost in the host migration But thankfully the story continues!