Kobold King

Nah, Inquisitor Epic Ponies are the best. I don't watch a lot of Disney movies, but even I can see the awesome perfection of these choices. I'm going to start humming "Be Prepared" when I write Lightwards' scenes.

You don't have to. It just makes you 20% cooler if you do. EDIT: TwiLyght ninja'd me, but we both independently quoted the 20% cooler part.

The way I've planned it, Thomas Cardinal actually did have an acquaintance and later friend who was a brony. Thomas was far too uptight to ever watch the show himself, however, and thus its friendship magic was unable to save him. He was always far more interested in writing research papers on the probable behavior of the Styracosaurus. Any notes or commentary on the Bone Burglars so far? (I've used that name three times now without being contradicted, so that's their official name now. ) I fear that I may have written Hotwire as a thinly veiled knock-off of Funtimes. I also took a bit of initiative with the "PORTLAND MUSEUM OF NATURAL AWESOMENESS" thing, and if that seems too ridiculous it can always be un-awesomeized with the power of post edits.

Surgebinder 7 Mistborn 4 Feruchemist 15 Smedry Talents 20 Purelaker fish 20 Epics 20 Twinborn 20

Posted in "What Happened in Oregon." I may be getting entirely too carried away while writing these. If you think I should shorten the average length of my segments, merely say the word.

Lightwards threw open the museum doors, striding into the place with an air of determination. He hadn't been to a proper museum since Calamity first appeared, and he was rather excited to be back in one of the wonderful places. There was of course, the typical entrance desk where a clerk would ordinarily prevent any unpaid visitors from entering the main museum. Lightwards was pleased to note that the admittance doors were already wide open... actually, they seemed to be screwed open. He warily stepped through them and strode into the main body of the museum. He smiled wide as he passed the hopefully arranged gift shop signs and took in the first major museum attractions. Visitors, of course, were always dazzled with particularly large exhibits set up near the entrance, promising grander wonders deeper within. The Field Museum in Chicago--or rather, Newcago--displayed Sue the T-rex at the earliest possible point in the museum. Here in the Portland museum, the first sight to meet his eyes was a massive taxidermied elephant standing proud in the middle of the hall, its trunk dramatically raised towards the ceiling. High above the elephant were mounted skeletons of pterodactyls, which Lightwards immediately recognized as Quetzalcoatylus, Pteranodon, and Tapejara. The jaws of Megalodon, the enormous fossil shark, were contained within a clear glass case with a finely written plaque describing the piece. Already he was impressed by the museum's diversity--it was surprising that an average-seeming museum in downtown Portland would have so many unique species on display. His head jerkily turned away from the exhibits as the faint sound of footsteps echoed from further in the museum. "Doctor Funtimes?" Lightwards called somewhat edgily. "Nighthound?" There was no response. He shrugged and continued his observations. After all, he could easily have imagined the noise, and it wasn't as if he'd seen anything. Besides, there were far more interesting things to look at. He had an extensive experience with museums in general, and something was slightly off about this one. The exhibits were crammed together as if there were a shortage of space. But surely a museum with the funds to afford such rare fossils could afford a bigger building, or perhaps an exension-- Then his mind began to take notice of several things at once. He recognized one of the Pteranodon mounts from when he was a graduate student. The skeleton had been on display in New York, and he recognized it from the distinct posture it was mounted in and the fact that one of the vertebrae had been misplaced (a younger Thomas Cardinal had nearly been thrown out of the museum for accosting a museum employee concerning the mistake.) As he stepped to the side of the stuffed elephant, it came to his attention that he'd been remarkably unobservant in several other fields. The left side of the elephant was emblazoned with a large, spray-painted target sign with throwing knives stabbing around a central bull's eye. A literal bull's eye. Stepping aside from the work of vandalism, he began to notice peculiar wall art. Instead of fine tapestries, or plaques describing extinct or extant species, posters of NASCAR races and other sporting events lined the sides of the museum. Calamity, Lightwards cursed inwardly. Someone else had gotten here first. His first thought was that Funtimes had caused the re-decorations, but that simply didn't ring true. From his brief period of experience with her, she seemed more likely to put a party hat or a sombrero on a stuffed elephant than a target and knives. In all likelihood the wall would be less NASCAR and more "My Little Pony." Then he saw it. Hanging above the main entrance was a huge banner that rippled in the faint draft. A large, flaming font proclaimed a message to all visitors. "Mr. Headshot, Mr. Blindside, Mr. Quickslide, and Ms. Hotwire are proud to operate and present--" "THE PORTLAND MUSEUM OF NATURAL AWESOMENESS" Lightwards stared up at the banner for what seemed to be several minutes. "Sparks," he said finally. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blindside entered the quartet's impromptu mess hall and uncloaked himself. Headshot choked on a piece of barbecue and reflexively reached for his pistol, glaring when he saw his ally grinning at him from the doorway. "Quit doing that, man," the bigger Epic growled menacingly. "No roaming the museum while you're invisible." "I didn't have a choice," Blindside explained cheekily. "We have patrons." Quickslide looked up from the pre-Calamity comic book he was flipping through and eyed his fellow Epic with a raised eyebrow. "Someone came in? I thought the neighbors knew to stay away by now." "At least two of them are Epics," Blindside said, drawing himself a chair. "There's an extremely cocky looking professor type admiring our target elephant, and there's a purple schizophreniac whispering to himself on the dumpster outside." Quickslide listened attentively while Headshot continued chewing on his barbecue. Blindside continued. "The professor's got a dog and some guy with a rifle with him." "Did you notice any powers?" Quickslide asked curiously. Blindside thought for a moment. "I didn't see the professor do anything Epic-like, but the purple guy had a glowing pebble or something. Probably an energy Epic." Headshot wiped his hands on the tablecloth and stood up from his chair. "Don't touch the barbecue, guys. I'm gonna go get Hotwire. I'd rather the four of us take on these clowns then get picked off one by one." "Clever man, you," Blindside said, nonchalantly taking a bite from Headshot's barbecue. Headshot pretended he didn't notice and left the mess hall. He walked down a carpeted hall with walls lined with luxury sports car posters, reaching an office that once belonged to the museum curator. "Come on out, Hotwire," he said through the door, knocking loudly. "The museum's got guests." After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a scowling young woman. She was wearing a tank top and shorts that clashed horribly with the Indian headdress she insisted on wearing everywhere. "Took them long enough," she grunted. "We've been waiting ages for Altermind or CorpseMaker to stop by. I was beginning to think we awesomeized this museum just for the four of us." Ignoring the fact that 'awesomeized' wasn't a real word, Headshot interrupted. "Don't think it's either of those two. Blindside's descriptions didn't sound like anyone we know about." "Hmm." Hotwire threw on a pair of sneakers and pocketed a key chain decorated with a number of dinosaur teeth. The keys were just as decorative as the velociraptor teeth--Hotwire had far more direct ways of dealing with cars. She smiled at her associate. "Let's go get to know them."

I think it would make sense. None of them appear to have particularly deep characterization to adhere to. They're really just here to be eaten by dinosaurs.

So shall I go next, writing a brief scene introducing our four Epics? I'm guessing that as they're NPCs, we're all allowed to write for them, right?

I was there; I was there when those implications were pondered. Maybe someday my sanity will come to terms with that. And thanks. His special destiny is pulling Sausage McMuffins out of his pockets. Even if he's a pony and doesn't have pockets, he can still pull out Sausage McMuffins.

* scribbles note on his "To Upvote When My Quota Refills" list * As a probably unsuccessful attempt to defuse the shipping madness, here's Big Al as a pony.

YOU DARE CHALLENGE US? WE COULD SEND PORTLAND FLYING INTO THE SUN WITH YOU IN IT, BUSTER. (Have fun on your trip. See you when you get back. )

Möbius Because I can't type that accented "o."

The Night That Never Ends, a Möhound story: Is Edgedancer thoroughly distracted yet? If not we might have to draw straws to see who writes the Bone Burglars first.

Every time I think of Lucentia, I think of this song. (I like her, by the way. ) Here's Möbius as an alicorn. I might edit her at some point--it's hard getting her normal-looking + supervillainish. And TwiLyght penned shipping fics in 3, 2, 1 ...

I regret nothing. * scurries back to the online generator to complete the Möbius pony *

Surgebinder 14 Mistborn 7 Feruchemist 13 Smedry Talents 20 Purelaker fish 20 Epics 20 Twinborn 20

That sounds like him. Also, I took the liberty of making a Purple Phoenix pony. Hope you don't mind.

Cool. Can't wait to see it. I guess Nighthound will find Lightwards missing and head to the museum, and someone--perhaps Edgedancer or Voidus--can write up a quick scene detailing the Bone Burglar's morning activities. Also, quickly thrown together Blindside pony.

I knew I was forgetting something. Maybe you should be the executive writer for the NPC Epics, and then Nighthound can show up towards the end of the fight and heroically save the day?

He plans on waiting for Nighthound and the Ludicrous Duo to show up, surprising them with an Allosaurus when they arrive. In all likelihood though, all of his team mates are faster than he is. Nighthound and the Duo may have gotten there ahead of him.

Choosy Reckoners choose anthrax.

Posted the new segment. Current Warriors of Light count: Three Ronson-Clarkes, an elderly couple and a thirty year-old grandson. Two Regways, Frank and Simon. Alice Regway is missing in action--Lightwards assumes Funtimes let her get killed during the street fight. The newest Warrior is Jack the salvage man, whose truck Lightwards currently occupies. And then there's the two animals, Miffy Tartarus the Rottweiler and the vulture whose name will eventually be Claudius. Who wants to go next?

Surgebinder 13 Mistborn 12 Feruchemist 12 Smedry Talents 20 Purelaker fish 20 Epics 20 Twinborn 20

Sorry for the double post, but this winded up longer than I'd expected. 'Tis the start of a new day, everyone! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Early the next morning, the sun's rays illuminated a weary Oregon. Curtains were cautiously peered out of across the city before being opened to the daylight, and the first hesitant pedestrians walked out of their homes to attend their morning activities. Somewhere in southwest Portland, a usually quiet suburb was met with nervous whispers and hestitant approaches from passerby. A few of the neat, orderly homes had apparently been demolished wholesale, and the center of the street was dominated by a huge mass of rubble doused with a strange syrup and dotted with charred pieces of oak wood. A strange-looking jeep stood at one end of the street, and a flamboyant pink tank lay on its side at the other. The people scratched their heads at the unusual battlefield, but ultimately knew the cause of the carnage. Undoubtedly Epics had carried out one of their turf wars here. This was normal, and proceedures for dealing with it were already arranged. Families left homeless by the disaster were quickly offered shelter from their friends and neighbors across the city, and the casulties were quietly gathered and mourned. According to some accounts, a pretty young woman with red hair was found wandering aimlessly through the wreckage. Recognized as Alice Regway, she was assumed to be suffering from some form of shock, and a number of people attempted to help her. She blankly rebuffed their efforts, merely muttering "All right" in a monotone to anyone who tried to assist her. As the crowd began to disperse, eager to leave the site before the responsible Epics returned, Alice Regway slipped from the scene and disappeared. In a remarkably non-damaged house not far from the wreckage, the smell of frying spam and toasted bagels drifted from the windows, reaching the nose of a large Rottweiler that stood vacantly on the front porch. As the smell of cooked meat floated through its nose, involuntary instincts began to kick in and it let out a low whine. The front door opened, revealing an immaculately dressed, middle-aged man with glasses. He was thin, and despite the neatness of his attire, he sported a touch of facial stubble and a few bagel crumbs on his face. "I suppose you'll want food," speculated Lightwards. "Very well. I can supply." He snapped his fingers, and the dog trotted into the house. Inside was laid out a map of Portland, a large pile of spam and bagels, and a small plastic T-rex that had inexplicably been set up beside a cup of orange juice. Lightwards absent-mindedly fed the dog a small slice of spam and continued staring at the map. "I think I've absorbed all the information out of this that I can," he told the dog with a hint of weariness. He gave the trace of a smile. "This is the kind of day I've dreamed about since I was small. I used to have an imaginary friend who was a saber-toothed cat." He looked thoughtfully into space. "I'm procrastinating, aren't I? But there's no need for that. It's finally time." He smiled toothily. "Time for my old imaginary friend to become very, very real." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jack the salvage man struggled to tear off a few chunks of the pink metal. This tank thing, whoever built it, was crafted entirely out of the highest-quality metal he'd seen in years. The guns alone would sell for a big buttload of money in the right parts of town. He had no idea who had driven such a high-quality combat vehicle into the suburb. He had even less of an idea who had the bright idea of painting it flamboyant pink with gummy bears attatched to the sides. Finally, he neither knew nor cared to know who had trashed the thing and rolled it onto its side. For Jack the salvage man, the only important thing was that it was here now, and just begging to be carried away in strips and sold at extortionist prices. Standing straight for a moment, Jack the salvage man paused to wipe his brow. This was tough work; the tank was a very well-built vehicle. He took a large gulp of water out of his canteen before turning to face a vulture perched on the vehicle, staring directly into his eyes. "Calamity," he yelped, taking a step back. "What the sparks are you doing?" The vulture simply stared at him. Jack had never seen a vulture that was so tame. It's mannerisms were a little more vacant than he'd expected. Vacant, unthinking... yet somehow locked on him entirely. "All right, you're freaking me the sparks out of me," he said edgily. Jack turned around to enter his own truck, a large one built to accomadate him and his brothers on big salvage jobs. Turning around was a mistake. With a curse, he felt the vulture collide with his, claws and a beak digging into the back of his neck. He screamed for a moment before the force of the blow knocked him down. His head hit the front of the truck with a sickening crunch. The last thing his barely conscious mind registered was a scholarly-looking man walking towards him with an appraising look on his face. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fortunately, Portland was not a city of heavy traffic. Lightwards' new truck met little resistance as it plowed through the streets to his destination. In the back of the exceptionally large truck, six human Warriors of Light sat patiently with an undead dog and vulture. Lightwards smiled as the museum came into view. It was a large building, built around a large marble dome. It had a wide parking lot, which for some reason was almost entirely filled up with expensive sports cars armed with spikes on the front ends. Lightwards climbed out of the car, instructing his Warriors to follow him until he reached the entrance. For a moment, he felt the strange feeling that he was being watched. He wearily turned his head around the surround downtown, surveying for suspicious passerby. For a moment, he thought he saw a man in purple clothes and a bowler hat standing nearby. He felt the man's gaze penetrating him. Surveying him. Lightwards blinked, and the man seemed to be gone. Whether the man had vanished into thin air or simply stepped behind a wall was open to debate. "Epics in the area," Lightwards warned his Warriors, gingerly prodding a metal spike mounted on a yellow Ferrari. "Be on your guard." He took Tartarus and Frank Regway, the latter armed with a rifle, and approached the museum. The very center of the parking lot was dominated by the massive sculpture of a Brachiosaurus, looming over the lot and street with thought-provoking majesty. Though its bones were cast in bronze, completely useless to him, Lightwards smiled in a rare moment of child-like delight. With a feeling of joy, anticipation, and a healthy dose of confidence, Lightwards swung open the museum doors and stepped inside.