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Dio

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Everything posted by Dio

  1. Dio

    Deleted

    The goat has a QR code for a cutie mark, doesn't he?
  2. Diomedes BRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!! The grating noise of the alarm clock's bells rang coldly in Dio's ears. The Pegasus groaned and rolled over in bed, throwing the comforters over his head with a flick of his front hooves, burying himself in the sheets. The sound didn't get any softer or less jarring and the sunlight peeking in through the window of his Rhinestone Quarry guest room didn't get any weaker. There was no getting around it; it was a weekday. Dio sighed and gingerly pushed the sheets off his body, grudgingly rolling out of bed. The big Pegasus smacked the alarm clock with a hoof, silencing it at the expense of knocking it flat on its face. He quickly propped it back up with a nudge of his muzzle to read the time. 8:00am on the dot. Just enough time to clean up and get ready to fly back out to Ponyville. Dio suppressed a shiver as he walked to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. The morning after was never good. The Pegasus was not nearly as awake as he wanted to be and the aftereffects of hammering down drink after drink last night didn't help at all. He swore that he had gone through half Martini Paradise's drink repertoire by the time he'd turned in for the night. Really, that wasn't the way Diomedes had planned his evening. Last night had been a blur. One package delivered and the night had pretty much exploded. Magician unicorns, Griffons with mechanical arms, talk of flying cacti, and cute bartenders had floated through his head all night long, though mostly the last bit. Diomedes sighed and shook his head. It definitely wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had, but he still wasn't as focused as he liked to be. Maybe breakfast would help. He took the time to preen his feathers and refill his canteens before grabbing his saddlebags with his teeth. Dio threw them over his shoulder with practiced precision and fastened the harness to his flanks and back with one fluid motion. The material was familiar, well-worn over many flights, but still durable and waterproof. He'd picked up the bags in the Griffon lands; their materials science was far in advance of anything the Equines had to offer. Diomedes, was above all, a practical pony. The big Pegasus made his way down the stairs, taking in the smell of freshly baked fruit muffins. That smells delicious! When he was halfway down the stairs, the doors to the saloon flew open and a certain pink unicorn rushed into the Quarry, her green and yellow mane and tail streaming out behind her. She was obviously in a hurry. Martini? In his moment of distraction, Diomedes missed a step on the stairway, causing his foot to fall to the step below it. What followed could best be described as a comedy of errors; stumbling, skidding, and overcorrecting, the red Pegasus bumbled his way down the stairs. The end result was an intact but displaced table and an unhurt but rather embarrassed Diomedes Ironwing. Glancing at the pink unicorn sheepishly, Diomedes offered, 'Mornin' Martini.'
  3. Added a little more material on his motivations and personality. Relationship with his wife and Dio will be forthcoming.
  4. Knight Takes Pawn It was dusk as Rook stepped off the train and started for the plant. Razorclaw Ironworks loomed large in the distance, a black mass of smokestacks and blast furnaces jabbing into the red and purple twilight. Even from this far away, Rook could smell the peculiar sting of sulfur smoke from the coal-fired blast furnaces. Though he had not visited the Ironworks in weeks, he had paced the grounds often enough to know exactly what he was doing. Argent Rook normally had laser-like focus, dissecting his doubts, flaying his concerns, and laying out new plans with a surgeon's precision. Why worry about something when you have the solutions all laid out in front of you? But sometimes, things still bothered him, nagged at the back of his brain, clouded and occluded that laser-intellect of his. Alana had become one of those things as of late. The minute the Griffonness had even mentioned Tal-Abir, Rook became suspicious. Tal-Abir was a social movement that made its home deep in inner city Talonopolis. While its roots were based in collective bargaining and laborer's rights, it soon became embroiled in sociopolitical violence that saw it labeled as a terrorist organization. That Alana would go anywhere near it was greatly disconcerting to Rook. Alana had given him speech after speech about the plight of lower-class Griffons working in the mines and factories in the greater Talonopolis area, to the point where Rook was sick of it. The follow-up was always the same, too: Tal-Abir was a movement by the Griffons, for the Griffons. She always denied direct connections, but it was obvious to Rook that his confidence was being tested by her sympathies; sympathies that could potentially inspire defection. Rook had known Alana long enough to know that the Griffon favored action over idle fantasy. It wasn't that Rook was against unionization. He was all for fair treatment and reasonable wages. However, his employer—Alana Razorclaw's own family—had made clear its stance against Tal-Abir. There had already been attacks against other Razorclaw assets and personnel; the last thing Rook wanted was for Alana to get involved on the wrong side of the war that seemed to be brewing in the streets of Talonopolis. Rook shrugged as he walked. On the other hoof, what did he know about the socioeconomic situation in the Griffon lands? It was a Griffon problem and he was but one lucky pony. He was also getting preferential treatment from the Razorclaw family themselves; who was he to ruin a good thing over some idealistic nonsense? Before he could answer that question, Rook found himself at the gates to the Valdus furnace at Razorclaw Ironworks. He flashed his Razorclaw broach insignia at the Griffon guard, who waved him on through. The blast furnace was a massive brick and metal structure that rose hundreds of feet into the sky. Copper tubing and steel ductwork wound around the furnace like so many metallic snakes and steel grating catwalks intersected the ductwork at regular intervals along the outside of the furnace. One catwalk ran straight from the furnace to the second floor of a cubic, concrete building with a steel roof. This was his work space. The concrete 'bunker' held both a security office with telephone links to the rest of the facility and failsafe controls for the blast furnace in the event of primary control failure... or sabotage. In spite of what Brandis Razorclaw had said, Rook knew why he was really here. Lately, Tal-Abir had been hitting closer and closer to home. Rumors had reached the Razorclaws that the Ironworks was a potential target. Valdus wasn't the most valuable of the four Razorclaw furnaces, but Rook supposed Brandis needed an eye on everything. Rook clocked in and immediately headed into the security office, giving the orange-feathered Griffon at the desk a quick nod of acknowledgement. 'Mornin' Roland.' Roland snorted, bringing down the book he was reading. 'It's nine o'clock at night, Rook!' 'It's morning somewhere!' Rook chuckled. 'You're early.' 'I thought I'd try being punctual for a change,' The Griffon joked. 'That can't hurt any, can it?' 'I suppose not. Where are the rest of the boys?' 'The rest of the shift hit the locker room as soon as Galen and I showed up. Lazy pukes,' The Griffon spat. Rook facehoofed at the lackadaisical nature of the shift change. How were they supposed to guard their plant sector with half their staff watching only the clock? He'd have to have a word with the sergeant the next day; not that anything could be done about it. Brandis may have run a tight ship at home with his personal security detail, but the plant security staff was hardly as... motivated. 'I'll have a word with the sergeant tomorrow.' 'It's not like they'll do anything,' Roland said, not without a hint of disdain. The Griffon decided to change the subject. 'Galen's out patrolling the catwalks already. You can go ahead and make your ground sweep. I'll be manning the phones.' 'Funny, I never pictured you as a switchboard operator Griffonness, Roland,' Rook laughed. 'If you weren't so bad at cards, I'd have a mind to punch you in the face, Rook!' Roland retorted with a mock scowl. Rook merely chuckled as he stepped out the door and into the night air. The smell of carbon and sulfur was thickest nearest to the blast furnace. Automated conveyor belts driven by steam from the heat exchangers on the furnace perpetually delivered bituminous coal to the furnace, which ran continuously, lest the melted metal solidify inside the furnace shell. The base of the furnace was encased in a massive metal warehouse where the Griffons labored in shifts to extract steel from the molten metal that collected at the bottom of the furnace. The thrum of the blast furnace flame had a mild hypnotic effect; Rook found himself fighting distraction as he rounded the warehouse corner. Suddenly, the unicorn stopped dead. Lying on the ground was the crumpled form of a Griffon. The black cloak and gold insignia broach of Razorclaw security staff was unmistakable. Rook sprinted to the body to find the lifeless form of Galen laying in a puddle of blood. No pulse. He's a gone. Rook noted two fine incisions on the body; one in Galen's chest, piercing his heart, and the other through his throat, destroying his windpipe. Whoever had done this was exceptionally clever. The Griffon guard didn't even have time to scream before his life was snuffed. He'd also been targeted when he was on the far side of the furnace and near the end of the first watch round. That gave the killer a one-hour window before Galen was due to report back to the desk and a 20-minute window before Galen was due to run into Roland coming out from patrol. Rook burst through the security office doors at full gallop, startling Roland, who almost fell out of his chair in shock. The book flipped out of his claws, snapping closed as it hit the tiled floor of the office. 'Rook what the hell is g—' 'Roland,' Rook panted. 'Galen's dead.' 'What—' 'There's no time!' Rook blasted. 'I need you to get on the line to the main security office and get reinforcements down here ON THE DOUBLE.' 'What then?' 'You stay here. Lock down the security bunker and keep the secondary control room safe. I'm going to run a sweep for our little saboteur.' Roland looked hurt for a moment, as if being relegated to holding down the fort and taking orders from a pony had wounded his pride. A glare from Rook quickly spurred him into action. But as Rook was about to leave, Roland dropped the phone. 'The telephone lines have been cut.' Rook muttered a curse under his breath in native Equine. The saboteur or saboteurs were one step ahead of them. But Rook didn't have time to waste fuming. He had to act immediately or the entire plant was in danger. 'Roland, change of plans. I need you to fly to the main office. I'll lock down the bunker and make a sweep of the furnace.' The Griffon nodded and quickly sprinted out the door, taking wing as soon as there was space to do so. Rook snorted and mashed the red button on the console, actuating the pistons which would seal the control room above them with heavy bolts, preventing access to all but the most determined of attackers. He charged out of the security office, locking the door behind him and headed up the stairs to the control room. Argent Rook stopped as he crested the metal grate of the stairwell, his eyes coming to rest upon a shadowy figure just outside the control room door.
  5. So many artists! It makes me jealous that my artistic skill is limited to the written word. Welcome to the forums!
  6. Dio

    Deleted

    Good morning, good morning. Even if it isn't morning where I am (which it actually is), it's morning somewhere; just like it's happy hour somewhere and evening somewhere. Somewhere, a right geographic oddity it is; always some time in somewhere! Also, hi.
  7. Rook (( OOC: A SONG? YOU WROTE US A SONG? XD )) "Wow! That was... nice," Rook said, smiling awkwardly. The grey unicorn wasn't particularly fond of Pinkie's brand of song, but he wasn't about to be inhospitable. No one else even seemed to notice, suggesting that this was a regular occurrence. Nothing at all like being out west. The denizens of the Painted Pinto Desert and the lands beyond were hardly as, how to put it, forward or as talkative as the inhabitants of Ponyville. Rook shook his head. There was no reasoning with that filly. 'Believe what you like, Cinnamon. I'm sticking with my story.' Turning to Bluebelle, Rook attempted to strike up conversation; all the talk of Gibberkin, Martians, and Nightmare was starting to put a damper on the otherwise cheery mood of the day. 'So where were you headed, Miss Bluebelle? Or is Ponyville your final destination?'
  8. I'm kind of hoping that the four stars will become a plot hook in later episodes; stopping the ruinous powers that unleashed Nightmare Moon upon Equestria. LOL AWESOME.
  9. Rook 'Yes, like that,' Rook said to Stagelight, gently nudging her hooves into place via telekinesis. Star Chaser had gotten it right the first time, and Angelcake was now providing white light, providing for more natural color balance and brighter illumination than the soft purple glow of Rook's diagnosis spell. He chuckled lightly at Angel's remark. 'I already apologized ahead of time for not knowing your names. I'll be sure to keep Angelcake in mind from now on, though. Feel free to tell me your real name as well, Miss Mask. I'm not particularly creative with the nicknames I dispense.' His extra hooves in place, Rook began his work. He chose a deep laceration on Cinnamon's left front leg, and gingerly touched his horn to it. A soft blue glow enveloped both his horn and the wound. Bits of gravel, a few splinters, and thin wisps of dust worked their way out of the wound, impelled by magical force. The cut now cleaned, Rook gently nudged the torn skin and soft tissue back together with telekinesis. Though the wound still oozed blood from the removal of the splinters, Rook quickly staunched it by adjusting the spell. He pressed the two halves of the wound together and focused his spell, stitching it together with glowing strands of aether. Applying one final flash of magic, Rook delivered a burst of vitae at a cellular level, sealing the wound and forcing rapid regeneration of the damaged tissue. One by one, Rook addressed the deep gashes, cleaning, sealing, and regenerating each one until a pony could hardly tell that Cinnamon had been sliced up. He gently nudged Stagelight's and Star Chaser's hooves out of the way as he moved from leg to leg. The minor scrapes, Rook cleaned, but purposely left untreated, as they would heal better without accelerated regeneration. The cosmetic damage, Rook wouldn't be able to fix; he was a doctor, not a plastic surgeon. You're going to itch like hell tomorrow, but it's better than bleeding out. Itching was an unfortunate side effect of the regeneration process that Rook had not yet managed to overcome. Barring minor discomfort, however, he was certain Cinnamon would be fine with a bit of rest and proper hydration. The blood loss had not been in a fatal quantity and with the wounds cleaned and sealed, risk of infection was practically nonexistent. He finished by removing all of the blood-stained gauze and placing it in a biohazard bag. His work complete, Rook sat back on his haunches and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Swiping a fetlock across his forehead, Rook realized that he'd worked up a sweat, even in the chill of the night. The unicorn shivered against the temperature differential. Rook felt a tug at his eyelids and smiled at the exhaustion that came with a job well-done. 'Thank you, everypony,' he said. 'You've all been a huge help. Now we just have to get Cinnamon out of here.' Using telekinesis, Rook reached into his first aid kit and withdrew a small capsule. Seeing odd looks from the other ponies, Rook explained. "Ammonium Carbonate; you might know it as smelling salts." He held the capsule under Cinnamon's nose and snapped it in half, releasing a tiny wisp of white powder which proceeded to drift into Cinnamon's nostrils. 'C'mon, Cinnamon. Rise and shine!'
  10. Colonel Aristotle They want strength? We’ll give it to them. Strength of arms, strength of character, and strength of resolve! Name: Colonel Aristotle Ironwing, Alpha Squadron, IV Order, Her Majesty’s Honor Guard (Ret.), aka Dio's dad. Sex: Male Age: Older stallion, late 50s or early 60s by human years. Species: Pegasus RP Color: #804000 Pelt Color: Brown pelt, white fetlocks Mane/Tail Color & Style: Salt and pepper mane and forelock, longer, but trimmed and taken care of. Black tail with streaks of grey beginning to appear with age. Wings are also brown, with white pinion feathers. Eye Color: Brown Cutie Mark: Crossed longsword and maul (hammer) in silhouette, in gold. The hammer symbolizes strength of character and body while the sword symbolizes sharpness of tongue and intellect. Physique: While not in prime athletic condition, Aristotle is fit and healthy for his age. Carries himself like he’s still in the Honor Guard. Origin: Born in Cloudsdale. Currently living in Canterlot. Occasional trips to Cloudsdale and Trottingham to visit old Army friends. Occupation: Officially retired. Remains in Canterlot as a negotiator and advisor on Griffon politics. Formerly commander of Alpha Squadron, IV Order, Her Majesty's Honor Guard. Motivation: A strong family and a strong legacy. Making sure his successors don’t screw up the work he did. Maintaining strength of moral character in spite of temptation otherwise. Likes: Swapping stories about his military days, a good debate, Rockwington Scotch, Hoofington Pale Ale, chai, watching Wonderbolt aerobatics performances, thunderstorms, good company, Portobello mushrooms Dislikes: Military-bashing ponies, poor-quality alcohol, bureaucratic red tape, cherries, sky pirates, obstinate parties in negotiation, cowards Character History If there ever was a stallion’s stallion, it would be Aristotle Ironwing. One look at him will tell you exactly which side of the family Diomedes’ size comes from. The big Pegasus is the veteran of years of service in the Royal Equestrian Army as an Honor Guard commander. In his day, Aristotle reported directly to Princess Celestia, serving as her envoy to the Griffon lands. In the early days of Griffon-Pony political relations, the Griffons respected might and charisma over concession and diplomacy, necessitating the use of a military unit to represent Equestria diplomatically. Despite his rough outward appearances, Aristotle is neither a cold-blooded killer nor a brawny jingoist. He is highly intelligent and team-oriented, as well as a family stallion, making him one of the most capable, professional, and motivated commanders the Honor Guard has ever had. Still, time has caught up with Aristotle and he is not as strong or as quick as he used to be. He is currently retired and living in Canterlot on government pension. However, since Aristotle is still an expert negotiator and subject matter expert on Griffon politics, he is regularly called in to advise the current bureaucrats and the princesses. Aristotle is still a proud pegasus. He sometimes forgets that he has limits both in physical strength and authority. He runs and flies every day to keep himself fit, but does not know when to quit at times. He lives alone and refuses to hire help. Aristotle is not a fan of the new breed of Equestrian military bureaucrats, seeing them more as scheming, short-sighted cowards than intelligent strategists. In spite of the "changing of the guard," Aristotle still holds deep respect for the Princesses, even Luna, as he knows they hold more knowledge in their millenia of existence than he'll probably have by the end of his lifetime. Aristotle’s late wife Nausicaa Cloudrunner was a Wonderbolt (Generation 2). Nausicaa was famous for her elegant choreography and technical virtuosity. However, she was killed in a tragic training accident when Diomedes was still very young. Aristotle raised his son alone, enrolling him at Cloudsdale Academy when he was of age. Even with his busy career, he made every effort to visit his son when possible, forging a strong relationship with his only child. Even after the incidents at Academy, Aristotle reinforced the need for Diomedes to stand up for himself and find his own place in the world, regardless of how long it took or how many obstacles stood in the way. When Diomedes failed to qualify for the weather team, Aristotle did his best to help his son out, using his connections to help Diomedes find a job with Pony Mail. Even though he no longer lives with his father, Diomedes still writes home to Canterlot regularly. Aristotle sees the letters as one of the little joys in his life.
  11. (( Do you think there's any way we could split the thread into its sub-stories? There seem to be several sub-plots going on simultaneously at the Quarry right now that aren't directly interacting with one another. Like Brian, I'm having fun, but the pacing got a little out of control with so many ponies competing for "airtime." ))
  12. Rook "I thought you were supposed to eat the sandwich?" Rook raised an eyebrow. 'You realize I can hear everything you're saying, right? For the record, I'm a pony, just like you are. Martian, definitely not.' The unicorn smirked as he rebutted Cinnamon's narrative line by line. 'Though Nightmare? Perhaps. Depends on how much you hate needles and medication. I'm just a doctor, but like any doctor, I'm absolutely vilified by little foals. Also, the only thing funny about me you'll find will be my jokes.' 'By the way, pleased to meet you, Cinnamon.' Rook chuckled. 'Funny, I thought it was just fine. That's what I get for living out west, I suppose. I'm probably going to regret that when night falls on Ponyville. I haven't been in a temperate area in a while.' 'No hard feelings, ma'am. I'll let Bramble lead the way to the café, since he seems to know where he's going. 'I… party? I was just in the mood for a quiet evening, Pinkie Pie. But I guess we can all talk about this over brunch.' Rook did his best to juggle the conversations as he followed Bramble's cart. So five ponies and a mule walk into a bar. This is beginning to sound like the start of a really bad joke. Still, the company he had met seemed friendly and welcoming enough, even if Pinkie Pie was a motormouth and Cinnamon talked to herself about everypony else. Ponyville was a charming town and Rook had a feeling this wouldn't be his only trip there in the future. Maybe the trip out would be enough to get his mind off more recent events...
  13. Rook Rook jerked his head to face the black Pegasus. She was obviously nervous, very nervous. Probably squeamish. This one had quite the build to her as well, though she was conditioned for endurance in contrast to the unicorn's raw strength. Probably an athlete, judging by the amount of lean muscle she possesses and her large volumetric breath intake. Rook couldn't help but feel that he had seen her before; the recognition wasn't quite there and would probably bother him the rest of the night. Star Chaser. Like a puzzle piece, the memory clicked into place. It was then that Rook registered the Pegasus mare's broken, bandaged wing for the first time. As if she knew his thoughts, the Pegasus hastily folded her good wing down, somewhat masking her one-winged profile. 'Star Chaser. I know that name. You're a Wonderbolt,' Rook spoke softly, doing his best to gain her confidence. 'And I'm glad you're willing to offer assistance. Good help is hard to find these days. Now to see what I can do about our friend Cinnamon, here.' Rook looked back to Cinnamon. The wounds were still bleeding, though it wasn't nearly as bad as he had expected from the present company's behavior. Most of the wounds appeared to be superficial scrapes, but there were a few deeper tears that were disconcerting. Rook frowned. How could one filly possibly do this to herself? He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. 'Cinnamon? Cinnamon! Are you okay?' No response. She's out cold. Using telekinesis, Rook lifted his first-aid kit out of his saddlebag and set it gently aside. Furrowing his brow, Rook cast a purple glow around his cloak and saddlebags, floating them off his body, being careful to leave his headwrap in place. He tucked the saddlebags under Cinnamon's head and shoulders, placing her in recovery position, and utilized telekinesis to ensure that her tongue was not obstructing her airway. He maneuvered his cloak to cover her flanks, leaving only her legs exposed so he could work on them. The unicorn doctor shivered against the night air, still unacclimated to cold weather. Vitals. Rook knelt down and touched his horn to Cinnamon's left front leg first. Faintly glowing blue lines traced themselves over Cinnamon's body, forming a luminous grid that hummed with magical energy. Pulse is elevated, but still fairly strong. Looks like Class II hemorrhaging; substantial blood loss, but not fatal. BP is lower than normal, but comparatively stable. She's still breathing. If I work quickly, she'll be up and about by tomorrow morning. Rook adjusted the spell, its glow shifting color from blue to purple. A purple pulse traveled up Cinnamon's leg to the shoulder, making the bone fluoresce before Rook's eyes, in spite of intervening skin and muscle. Good. No fractures. This will make my life a lot easier. Another pulse followed the same route, this time highlighting veins and arteries for Rook. The final pulse highlighted the deeper wounds, all of which seemed accessible from where he was kneeling. Rook repeated the process with her other three legs, getting similar results. Satisfied with his diagnosis, Rook cancelled the spell, causing the purple grid to dissipate into thin air, but leaving the fluorescent markers in place for the deep wounds. 'I'm going to need some extra hooves. Star Chaser!' he said, looking to the black Pegasus, 'The first aid kit; there's sterile gauze in it. I need you to apply direct pressure to the big cuts on Cinnamon's rear legs. They're marked with glowing tags. It'll stop the bleeding until I can fix it.' Rook chose his intonation carefully; the last thing he needed was a hostile pony heckling him while he was treating a patient. 'I'm going to apologize for this ahead of time; I'm not normally this rude, but I don't know your names and I need your help. 'Miss Mask, drop the bag and get over here,' he said, motioning to Stagelight. 'I've got the supplies, but I require extra horsepower. I need you to apply direct pressure these wounds on this front leg while I get the other one.' 'Radar,' he said, motioning to Angelcake, 'I need illumination. I can't play surgeon and flashlight at the same time.' The unicorn doctor took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 'Okay, everypony, you know your places. Let's get to work.'
  14. Diomedes As Satchel blinked at his error, Dio laughed. 'You sure know how to snag 'em, chief.' The Pegasus savored the last few drops of bourbon before putting his glass down and sliding it down the bar to the bussing bin. The bar was starting to fill up now. The saloon doors swung open again, admitting another earth pony and a griffon. It was the Griffon who caught Dio's eye, as she sported a prosthetic arm. The machine clicked, ticked, and whirred as she moved, but seemed to match her movements as if it were organic; Dio had never seen anything like it. Well, this is a night of firsts, now isn't it? He smiled at the bartender's mention of Gallopocous. 'Ah Gallopocous, that's the place to be. I haven't been out there in a while; I can't exactly choose where Pony Mail wants me to deliver packages. I wish I could make more trips down; their papaya is simply the best.' Dio shifted his weight, leaning into the bar and making eye contact with the barkeep. 'And you grew up there? You are one lucky filly, Martini.'
  15. Rook The mare spoke with an airy, almost ethereal quality, like the air itself was speaking rather than her vocal chords. In fact, her voice was quite delicate; a strange disconnect from her obvious martial training and stolid disposition. It's oddly calming considering she was probably ready to dismantle me molecule by molecule… Cinnamon? The same Cinnamon from the train station? Rook held his facial expression steady. If it was, then this would be quite the coincidence indeed. He slowly stepped forward, giving Angelcake a quick once-over as he slipped past. 'I may be able to do you one better,' Rook replied. 'I think it would be much easier for all of us if Cinnamon can walk out of here on her own.' As Rook approached, he lit his horn to provide illumination amongst the trees. He was sure to charge his magic slowly so that Angel's warrior senses wouldn't see it as a threat. As he sized up the ponies, he continued, 'Name's Argent Rook, but you can just call me Rook. I'm a doctor.' In the dim light of his magic, he could see that quite a few ponies had gathered; a green Pegasus with uniquely colored plumage, a black Pegasus standing over a brown earth pony, and finally the brown earth pony herself. Well, well, what have we here? 'You… I remember you. You were at the train station!' Rook said with a chuckle. 'Now what kind of trouble have you managed to talk your way into this time?'
  16. Poor Fluttershy. That face at the end could melt the coldest heart. Also, Twilight should never be allowed to handle anything living.
  17. DEAR HEAVEN THIS IS THE BEST INTRO THREAD I'VE SEEN YET WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU LURK WHEN YOU CAN MAKE BEAUTIFUL THINGS LIKE THIS HAPPEN Because lurking makes it all complete! My Little Brony... I used to wonder what forums could be...
  18. LURK MOAR. Actually, don't. Go post first. Then you can lurk. After you've lurked enough, I'm sure you'll be driven to post again. Then comes the RP. But you already knew that, didn't you?
  19. It's kind of difficult for me to get out of the tactical mindset of Dungeons and Dragons, so forgive me if I'm a little bit trigger-happy with my creations. I originally envisioned Rook specifically as a bouncer for Bareback Gulch, but that seems to be directly conflicting with what the character evolved into as a wrote him. I want to keep his history working for a Griffon family, where he picked up his observation skills and the "offensive" spell variants. I'm retuning to better mesh with the social aspect of the RP. As I said before, the intent was to have a former security guard who made a terrible mistake and is trying to make up for it any way he can. I've trimmed the character substantially, making psychometabolism his primary talent, though he can still do the normal unicorn stuff like moving small objects with telekinesis and lighting up his horn to provide illumination. Psychometabolism involves altering the body using mind and magic, be it to close wounds or enhance his own physical abilities. Of course, the ability comes at a price. Making the body rapidly grow and ungrow in ways it shouldn't is disruptive to his physiology, so he prefers not to use his power offensively. Healing is different, as it is slower and generally takes place under more controlled circumstances. See the 'talent' description for further details. Perhaps Rook would do better as an itinerant doctor than hard security for the Rhinestone Quarry. Sterling and her crew seem to have that place on lockdown. If you want, I can place the WIP tag back in the title.
  20. Additional tweaks, put down some hard numbers for his spells. Limited teleport to line of sight. Limited telekinesis to extreme exertion level. Limited psychometabolism to first aid and the occasional emergency.
  21. Dio: Can't fly any higher than 10 feet off the ground. Rook: All of his teleports end with him being upside down. When he uses telekinesis, the object picks him up instead.
  22. Revised a little, updated with final name. Consider this my application. I figured if I didn't draw the line somewhere, I'd never be able to get him into the RP!
  23. Since this will be conducted remotely, how will you verify that the cards are being drawn without fudging the numbers? Not saying that the community is a bunch of cheaters, but peace of mind is always a good thing...
  24. Thanks for looking it over. His affinity for teleportation was why I initially wanted to go with the name "Quantum," although the analogy for board control by the rook didn't strike me until you mentioned it. I'm envisioning his teleportation limits to be a function of distance; the farther the teleport distance, the less accurately the teleport can be placed and the more tiring it is to do so. So on the sliding scale of example, teleporting across the room to break up a fight would be almost effortless, but teleporting all the way across the town of Bareback Gulch would be a major undertaking, not to mention a very risky endeavor. Teleportation is ordinarily a line of sight affair, but in a pinch, he can teleport to a location within the local space that he's familiar with, like blinking between the upper and lower floors of the saloon, or blinking through to the other side of a door. Of course, this has its risks since he doesn't know what's on the other side. Let me get one thing straight, he's not "more powerful" than Twilight, who has shown that she is an exceptional magic user. But teleportation, telekinetics, and psychometabolism are Quantum's specialties; the talent and skills he has in those fields are balanced by the fact that he's not too great at other types of magic. Whereas Twilight is a generalist, Quantum is very much a specialist. I'll take your physical suggestions into consideration, especially considering I want to add psychometabolism (the ability to alter his body or those of others with his powers) to his short list of powers. This stems from studying to be a doctor; in the absence of hands and dedicated pharmacy practices, he learned to heal with magic. By extension, this includes performance enhancements like minor boosts to endurance or strength or toughening the skin to better withstand a blow or fall. Updates to follow.
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