Golden Age Comics! Issue 1: You Never Say Good Luck on Opening Night!

[Bramble Rose]

Morning Glory looked down into the pit with her eyes wide and her mane and tail sticking straight out for a moment. She'd never seen ... she never imagined ...

Ohmigosh. There has to be something we can do to help!

Morning Glory's horntip sparked brightly.

No, Captain Nightguard is the expert. Wait here, Bravado, and do as he says.

"Right, Captain!" Morning Glory cried, her horn sparking and then glowing like a young teenaged unicorn just learning to use her magic. "Don't worry, no danger shall get past me! Let me know if you need help with first aid! I can do chest compressions or something!" She stood stride the trap door, one hoof at each corner, firmly resolute as she glared around at the indistinct laughter, tossing her mane. "This is it for you, you ... foul ... whatever you are! Don't think you can get away from us after ... after ... "

This atrocity.

"After this atrocity! You have no idea who you're dealing with! I have been sent by ... well, I have been sent to bring you to justice!"

Oh, smooth. I'm sure the shadows are quaking. I thought you pegasus ponies were all about the trash talking?

Shut up! That's for fun, this is ... serious! I've never seen... have you?

Kid, when you're my age, death is less a shocking sight and more somepony who drops by for tea every few months and chats about old times.

​

Holding my action to wait for a physical threat to appear. Like the mystery laughter showing its face. Then it's probably getting half a trap door flung at it or something.

Notice +6

[Blueblood]

The intellect that could hunt a malefactor through a well-hidden trail of yellow copies, figure columns, and carelessly dropped business cards was no mean force, and Pagemaster had full confidence that no theatre workings could be as difficult to unravel as the sort of things he faced every day.

And, it would seem, he was right. The panels behind the curtain were in something of a state; he wouldn't have touched them for fear of accidentally setting the building on fire. It would take something of more applied leverage to open a stage trapdoor, though... "Aha!" The unicorn exclaimed softly as he located the lever. The culprit had left traces, too. Taking a slip of paper, he rubbed the stain a little to bring the substance closer to his eyes. Iron oxide, or he was a diamond dog!

A little more quick work detected the traces of the stuff on the panel, and hoofprints on the floor. "Hm, old rusty horseshoes. Three of them, it looks like. Remind you of anything?" He asked his hobo ally. Pagemaster remembered the old ghost story, about the old mare with the missing shoe. Was it done for the stage, though? He couldn't remember. "Odd, though. I didn't notice any rust on the way in..."

This wasn't making much sense, so the only thing to do was look into the matter further. "We'll follow these tracks. Keep your eyes out for... hm, not sure, just watch your back." Lighting up his horn, he followed the trail of rusty hoofprints further into the depths of the old theater, drawing the cloud of paper close by him.

Another search roll, if needed. I don't think Pagemaster can take a stance if he's still working on tracing clues like that.

[RazorWind]

Dusty's ears flicked at the sound of voices speaking behind them, the guard and the 'princess' but his focus remained on the pagemaster and their investigation. Or rather, the unicorn's investigation and HIS standing there keeping watch.. hey, at least he was leaving the searching to the experts! Keeping his Twin-Iron in its defensive position Dusty turned to examine the signs of horeshoe marks upon the floor.. hmm'ing softly..

"That ol' ghost story.. thas what they remind me of.. " hummed softly in thought, "Seems this 'ere 'phantom' be usin' ghost stories as his tactic or somethin'.. unless, y'know, it's real." he said completely straight-faced.. not one to through out superstition when clearly something was not at all right with this place. Ghostly laughter, sudden trap doors dragging down ponies to their demise... windows and doors slamming shut all at once.. yeah he was not throwing out any possibilities, no matter how ridiculous.

"M' way ahead uh'ya, partner," he said in response to being told to be on his guard. He followed the paper mainpulator.. down, down deeper into the abandoned theatre.

[Kirby Krackle]

(( First, Acrobatics. (1d20)+12 = 16+12. Total is 28. Wow, never mind. ))

It is with an unearthly grace that you hit the ground, your hooves hitting absolutely nothing that would disturb the scene of the crime. Be it natural gift or years of practice, it's like you never lost a wing.

(( Next comes Notice. Because reasons. (1d20)+10 = 7+10. Total:17. Not enough. On to Investigation. (1d20)+6: 9+6. Total:15 ))

Speaking of years of practice, you do well not to disturb the body. You certainly don't have the medical training to do a full examination, nor the time, as there is no doubt the perpetrator is still on premises. You make a note to have the ones with horns do some delicate lifting later. The police will want to see this. In the meantime though, your eyes' nocturnal nature adapt to the poor lighting and you begin to poke around, starting with the mattress. The first thing you notice, aside from the dust, are stains on the white bedding. It's red, but not red enough to be blood. Nor is it a wet stain. Whatever it is, it's all over every last swatch and scrap of cloth you see.

For the life of you, you cannot place what this color is, though you know you've seen it before. It's right on the tip of your tongue. But you ignore the sneaking suspicions for now and continue poking about. For the most part, everything else seems normal. There's a narrow set of stairs leading upward. There are framed posters of old shows, some going very far back, well before you were born. There's a fully stocked clothing rack, which you assume are for spare-the-moment costume changes. There's an old sink, which you see still has running water despite how junky it looks. The faucet itself is so rusted that-

Wait.

Grabbing a clean piece of fabric, you give the faucet a good wipe down. Next, you compare the two stains. Identical. But okay, sure, the killer has rusty horse shoes. Why is that significant?

(( The Pagemaster rolls (1d20)+6: 16,+6. Total: 22 on Search. Continuing to be a smartypants. ))

The great detective and his staff-wielding bodyguard continue their own sleuthing, pushing back curtain after curtain (did theatres always have this many?) until the genuine backstage area begins. You ignore the vast and colorful array of props, costumes and similar distractions, your eyes never waving from the trail of hoofprints leading you deeper within.

The problem, however, is that you run out of hoofprints. The trail just stops prematurely, which you find odd, considering it ends against a solid brick wall. Against. As in, were the wall not there, you would see a full hoofprint instead of just half of one.

(( Something rolls a 15 on something. This is bad, as it only needed an 11. ))

The fair Princess meanwhile stands vigilant against danger, as her new comrades fan out and attempt to solve this mystery and bring the guilty party to justice. As previously stated, this is bad. The girl, while a mighty Alicorn, is now alone and easy pickings. She's unaware of how or why, but there is a sudden and shocking pain. There is a chill that seeps right to the bones. The source is her horn, now encased in a jagged block of ice.

(( Rolling (1d20)+10: 19+10=29. This is opposed to the Princess rolling to counter with (1d20)+14. 16+14=30. The Princess wins. May the odds ever be in your favor. ))

You'll need a nice mug of hot cocoa and a thick blanket soon, but near as you can figure, your magic is unaffected by this sudden attack. And the laughing stopped.

[Bramble Rose]

Morning Glory let out a yelp, her hooves going up to her horn, encountering the icy encasement. The cold chilled into her head, like eating ice cream too fast, and her face scrunched up - and then the feel of her hooves' pressure upon the ice, and perforce upon her horn, made her feel woozy, and staggered.

She used to being immune to everything in this form - it had never occurred to her that gaining a unicorn's horn would bring some sort of vulnerability with it. Rapidly, she gathered up her will, and formed the framework she'd been training in for the last couple of weeks - a bubble shield to protect her from any future assult.

No, wait!

I'm not going to fire blind, I'm just putting up a shield!

No, that's not it, you can't -

The magic built up and pushed into the mental framework, then pressed out into the horn... and got caught. Morning Glory had a brief moment of bewildered panic, and then the golden light shattered into an explosion with her head at dead center. She staggered back again, and fell onto her rump with a cry of pain and fear. "What ... what the ... I did it right!"

You can't cast magic if your horn is covered or trapped, or wounded, or anything like that! It'll backfire on you!

Morning Glory scrambled quickly back to her feet, lifting up one forehoof near her alicorn, trying to protect it from further harm. "Oh, you're gonna get it now, you jerk! Where are you?! Get out here so I can thump you but good!"

​

[AzalR75]

At the yelp, Captain Nightguard looks up in time to see flash of light and the alicorn fall back onto her rump. He turns to jump, his wings spreading as the jetpack blasts off to get back through the hole in the ceiling, tucking his wings in as he flies through the hole to land back up with Morning Glory trying to calm her "It might have been better to have stayed close while watching over. Don't split up too far. Now let me see it." He takes her cheek in his hoof to hold her still, his voice a almost having more of a chiding click of his tongue to it. Though all he seems to be paying close attention to the alicorns horn, Morning Glory as close as she is can plainly see through the bat-winged ponies helmet that he has his eyes closed.

_______________

When Star Flight had joined the Night Guard, he had found there were nights when they were out in nights and places so dark that only the Mistress of the Night could see, her bat-winged ponies had sight like a normal pony when it was night. Of course, all of the Guard were trained to move in nights like this, to be able to navigate so they didn't just blunder into everything. However, just a month after Star Flight was in the Guard, there was a warning of a cockatrice close to a village. The Guard had moved in to find and deal with the threat... however for its danger, the captain of this mission reminded them not to look at it, stating blindfolded was better than being turned to stone. Many of the rookies including Star Flight did that option. As luck would have it, Star Flight was the first to find the cockatrice... or... it found him. So many fights amongst bigger monsters later, he still looks with humiliation realizing how small a monster the cockatrice was how hard he fought it before his captain dispatched it. When Star Flight removed his blindfold, he noticed the captain was still wearing his, and had taken to notice in many training fights, this captain kept the blindfold on under the helmet. When asked, the captain stated "We resemble the bats, our partners in the sky at night. The bat can see with his ears... and does not worry how dark his surroundings are. Why should we be any different?" From that day, for over a month Star Flight had taken to wearing the blind fold until he could move and fight without fearing his sight being taken away.

_______________

When Captain Nightguard landed, he had taken note of the direction the other two of the new companions had went, remembering how they sounded before he started "looking over" the alicorns horn and closing his eyes. They stood on a stage, built to project sound to the audience, which sometimes had the frustration of catching coughs and noises from the audience as well. Each harsh click of his tongue giving a bit more of an echo to the theater listening for something not right when the echo returns. His ears twitching alright whoever you are. So you can hide, lets see if you know how to be quiet too.

((I know this may be a bit wonky, but I'm using Blind Fight with the notice now, hoping the enemy won't think to hide from someone who has that))

[Blueblood]

Ignorant of the dramatic events proceeding below the stage, Pagemaster continued his relentless investigations of the rusty hoofprints... until he near-literally ran slap-bang into a brick wall. He jerked backward, nearly bumping into Dusty as he brought himself up short. "Hum..." The unicorn scratched his chin with the corner of one of the theater programs as he tried to think through this situation. He did so aloud, talking at a rapid clip.

"Whether or not we're chasing a ghost story, the shoes that made these prints were obviously corporeal. One of them being cut off, therefore, leaves three logical hypotheses. One," He ticked off by tapping the wall, "This is a regular brick wall built after the hoofprints were left. Improbable to the point of dismissal, leaving us with two: there is a secret switch somewhere that opens a secret door right here, and three: this wall is not as substantial as it seems."

For the first time in a while, he looked back at his new companion, now appearing as a shadowy bulk in the half-light of backstage. One thing was certain, though; anypony that could lift that iron pole was beyond normal strength. "I don't suppose that you could oblige me by making a, hm, whacking good test at hypothesis three?" He smiled thinly at his own thin pun. He didn't know why, but he'd developed more of a taste for them since donning his mask.

He stood back, to give Dusty room to work, readying himself for whatever would come of it. The reams of programs hovered around him, arranged to block any debris... or attack.

Readying my shield of paper for this turn.

[RazorWind]

Dusty's back had been turned to watch the rear flank of their.. flanks, as he and the Pagemaster made their way deeper into the backstages of the theater. His hind hooves continued to carry him as his forehooves held the staff with its tip pointed downward in front of him at an angle, positioned in his defensive stance as they moved. The slight bump of the enigmatic paper manipulator made the sturdy stallion jump slightly; were he any jumpier, he may have taken a swing with that iron pole, which obviously would've not been pleasant for the poor magus. At his mewlings the pole wielding stallion would listen carefully to their remaining options.. which ended with most of them being singled out in favor of trickery being ahoof.

Dusty cast one look toward the looming brick wall before them, hmm'ing silently and pushing the brim of his cowcolt hat up, then turning back to the cloaked unicorn, "Ah reckon ah I can do that.. ya'll might wanna.. step back though. Can't be too careful." he spoke drly and nodded, hoisting that ungodly heavy weapon over his shoulder... just how anypony could wield that let alone use it as a weapon was up to imagination. Taking a step forward and gripping that great weapon in his forehooves once again, Dusty lifted it from his shoulder, and lunged forward in a mighty blow against the brick wall!

Switching off Shield Defense: Defense reverts to +0

attacking with Twin-Iron: Strike 6 against the Brick wall.

[Kirby Krackle]

(( I love wonky. Let's see what happens against a Notice DC of 30. 10 for your base Notice, which I'm adding another 10 for flavorful circumstances. You roll... 19! A resounding success! Once the PL gets raised, you should totally add super-hearing of some kind to the character sheet. ))

The Captain's years of training in places where no light could reach him combined with the frankly glorious acoustics of the Scenes Songs & Steps Theatre. The results were, in a word, perfect. His ears pointed him up to the balcony seating, specifically the fifth of six luxury boxes. There was something there. His eyes meanwhile assured him that no, those seats, like all the others in the house were deserted. But he's learned by now that the eyes can be tricked.

(( The Staff is a Mighty Strike 6, with your Strength modifier as +5. That's +11. I don't think I need to roll. ))

Dusty Rhodes' years of training, meanwhile, have taught him how to knock down everything from iron doors to stone walls to other ponies. So, with absolutely no expectations surrounding this theatre and its mysteries, he swings his Twin Iron with all his might. Bricks crumble like soggy cookies. When was the last time Dusty had a cookie? Nevermind.

(( Rolling for Pagemaster's search again. Result is 12. ))

The Unicorn's combing through the crime scene seems to be hindered. It's as if big honking rocks and stone dust have littered an otherwise sensitive area. Somehow. It's a few minutes with a spade made from calendars before the impromptu doorway is clear enough to step into.

What's found is a dimly lit hallway. There's a corner turn to the left and stairs leading downward to the left. A difficult decision, no? No. More time and more care are taken examining the scene. Downstairs is the payoff, with hoofprints moving upward.

[AzalR75]

There you are. Follow. That is what Morning Glory hears before the Captain pivots, his wings opening as the jetpack whirrs to life. The concentrated liquid aurora is converted into thrust propelling Star Flight straight into the air before arcing down to face the luxury box, leaving a shimmering aurora trail behind him as exhaust. The way his wings are flared allows the twin cannons to show perfectly. Captain Nightguard takes barely a breath in his movements as he looks over the box from this new angle for the enemy . If not instantly visible he closes his eyes, listening again for the opposition to aim before unleashing both barrels of his cannons into the box.

Immediately he opens his eyes, angling to get to the door to the box, cutting the engines to kill momentum and tucking his wings, metal one in front to shield for anything that might get in his path for the skidding landing.

[Kirby Krackle]

(( Rolling a Miss chance of 11 or higher. You rolled a 4. Lucky sunova... Anyway. Your attack is a D20 + 6. 9 + 6=15. The target you hope to hit has a Defense of 10 + 6. That was FAR closer than I hoped it would be. ))

The Captain's less graceful but much more fun equipment hums to life finally. And, once he's in visual rage of absolutely nothing, their fury is unleashed upon the poor unsuspecting furnature. Puffy and dark balls of water vapor laced with jitterbugging electrons launch from his apparatus. The wooden framework, while sturdy in construction and having lasted years, doesn't stand a chance against lightning. There's a clap of thunder which everyone in the theatre can hear. Splinters go flying. Some very expensive chairs looking chairs are nothing more than tooth picks. Some decorative curtains are singed and soggy.

As you enter the no longer luxurious private box, knocking over anything still standing in the process, you manage to find...

Nothing. A goose egg. Again.

Except the door leading out to the rest of the balconies is open.

[Bramble Rose]

Morning Glory blinked in confusion as Captain Nightguard bent in to 'look' closely at her chilled and numb horn, a gentle hoof on her cheek, though ... his eyes were closed ... he moved a little closer ...

Ohmigoshohmigoshohmigosh! He's gonna kiss us!

Oh, stop it, Doc, I really sincerely doubt that. Especially not with his faceplate down like that.

All the same, Glory felt her cheeks heat up with Doc's imagination. "Um, what are you-" she started to ask, when Nightguard barked an order and took off through the air.

"Yessir!" she called enthusiastically, and her own broad wingspan spread. A few quick flaps propelled her to the edge of the box, where she perched and looked around at the damage his strange contraption had done to the innocent furniture. "WOW! What ARE those things?! I recognize the liquid aurora, of course, but the mixture with the clouds for propellent? Inspired! Are you using a passive mix or some sort of measured injection? Are you using a isosmotic or hypoosmotic solution? And these! I've never heard of storing a storm in a bottle before! How do you do it?!"

Ask him what the store/use ratio is! Does it have a variable propellent mixture? What does the control mechanism look like?

The open door squeaked as it swayed a little closed and then open again, from the pegasus' movement.

"Ah... ah-heh... um, I mean ... after we settle this ..." She ducked her head a little abashedly, then barreled through the open doorway to the hallway beyond, looking first away from the door, using the old oak as a makeshift shield, then swirling around further into the hallway to look past the swinging door, ready to leap out of the way of any attack.

​

[Blueblood]

Well, in one way, the experiment was a success. The wall was no longer in their way, and after a little work on shoving the debris aside, Pagemaster was able to make a definite pronouncement upon hypothesis three. "Well, these bricks and mortar are genuine enough." He gave out a low whistle and respectful nod towards Dusty as he finished clearing a path through the rubble. "Paper beats rock, but iron seems to be more efficient. You're a useful fellow to have around; stick close, now, I think we're on the trail to the scoundrel's lair."

A half-minute of searching later, and the trail was picked up again, leading downstairs. Pagemaster led the way in following it, taking more care to keep his horn-glow only as bright as it absolutely had to be. He wasn't an old hand at stealth, and probably his companion wasn't either, but if they could sequester themselves in the villain's hideout before he or she finished with the other two out in the house, then they could lay a trap for the fellow.

Such was the plan, at any rate. The unicorn knew only too well the proverbial lifespan of plans in contact with the enemy....

[RazorWind]

Dusty's hooves spun the Twin-Iron staff back around to his side, the iron endowed ends singing through the air as he did. The wall was certainly dealt with, as was the floor as the bricks were easily smashed into it.. thankfully only the former of those two victims actually broke apart. The earth stallion tipped his hat slightly toward the enigmatic Pagemaster with a bit of a grin, "S'just what I do." indeed it was... of all the folks he'd known he couldn't rightfully say any could wield Twin-Iron and use it's weight and shape to it's full effectiveness as he could.

He nodded to the unicorn's suggestion to keep close and returned to his defensive posture; ready to parry and attack the first hostile thing that jumped out at them.. if any did at all.

"So then... mister Pen and Paper, what might ya'll be thinkin' we're dealin' with? Can't rightly say ah've seen anything as strange as what's been goin' on in this place.." he commented, still keeping his stance on a swivel.

Returning to Defensive Stance: +6 to Defense

[Kirby Krackle]

The sound of a gentle rapping, wood against metal, rings out through the theatre, breaking up the silence that settled once things were done exploding. It's a conductor's baton. Held by nopony. It merely floats there by its stand and music book, held by nothing. There is no hoof. There is no distinct glow of Unicorn magic. For a moment or two, it remains aloft, before clattering to the floor as lifeless as it was a moment ago. There's silence again, briefly. The stillness is shattered once again, now by the explosive power of the theatre's pipe organ. Sitting as its horseshoe console is, again, no one. But the keys compress on their own and the music plays on. Higher on the scale, there is the crashing of cymbals. As the notes descend, there is the rumble of the timpani. Played masterfully. By no one.

The air in the house begins to chill, unseasonably so, as if the onset of winter has come early. The gas lamps surrounding all aspects of the house all flicker, clinging to what life they have left, desperate for their fuel. For only the briefest of moments, they cut, plunging the theatre into total darkness, but only for a moment. They're on again just as quickly, albeit weaker, rising as the music does. Once the team can see again, standing center stage is a single pony that you don't recognize.

His, assuming it's male, coat is an alabaster white, glowing softly and slightly transparent. His mane is the same, slicked flat and tied in the back. He wears an extravagant formal tuxedo, full of frills and lace that were the peak of fashion back in the days of the Three Tribes. Covering the black of his suit is a deep red opera cape, high collared, with sparkling gold trim and fringe. A gold and silver Comedy and Tragedy brooch hold it together. Covering the smooth face that's devoid of features is a carnival mask, decorated in a white and red duality motif. There is nothing but more white behind the eyes.

“The Scenes Songs and Steps Theatre”, he says, though the unearthly voice comes from everywhere, “is now a no talking zone. If management receives a complaint, you will receive a warning. If the disturbance continues, you will be ejected from the theatre without a refund. In addition, Unicorns should keep their horns dark and silent. Guests will not be seated once the performance has begun. In short; do not talk, do not cast, do not arrive late. Thank you. And enjoy the show.”

(( Rolling for Will saves as follows. Dusty Roads rolls a 17. With his +2, it's one heck of a success. You ain't afraid of no ghosts. Captain Nightguard rolls 4, for a total of 8. Failure means the Frightened status. Suffer a -2 on attack rolls, defense and checks. In addition, you'll be wanting to flee the source of the fear. The Pagemaster rolls 6, for a total of 14. Admirable but not enough. Only a minor failure though, just the Shaken status. Aside from the -2s, you're right as rain. Dr. Stein, the voice inside the Princess's head gets to roll too. 11, for a total of 20. Success. Bustin' makes you feel good. Finally, Bravado, rolls a 1. The worst kind of failure. The -2s are yours as well, and you're Panicked. Drop everything. Flee. Flee for your life. ))

(( And now, for those three little words that strike terror in the hearts of tabletop players everywhere... roll for initiative. Going first, with 27, is the Princess. Next, at 24, is the Captain. Third, at 12 [a three way tie, so highest Dex claims the prize] is Dusty. Fourth is our new friend. Fifth is the Paper. Finally, a pony yet unseen, at 9. Will you fight? Will you run? Will you talk? The show is about to begin! ))

[Bramble Rose]

Morning Glory turned from the hallway to the main stage, upon hearing that soft tapping. She grinned at seeing that little trick with the conductor's wand. "Heh ... that's kinda neat. I wonder-" Whatever she wondered was left quiet as the organ started playing, and her head drew up, staring over at the organ seat. Nopony there. A quiet, unsettled nervousness started in her belly and started growing.

Bravado, take control of yourself. I can think of three different ways this effect could be managed, including a simple invisibility spell.

I know, I know! Um... ways to test, uh ... set hypothesis, and.... no, other way around ... augh! What's wrong with me?!

The nervousness was growing in weight as the darkness flickers around Morning Glory, sending tremors into her limbs, her breath getting shaky and fast, the alicorn nearly hyperventilating. Her horn flickered and sparked, flickered and sparked, the pale jade alicorn still not used to controlling it during her emotional states. Even with the return of the lights, the walls seemed to be closing in on her, constricting...

Then the figure appeared on stage.

There! That's your target! Get him! He's doing this! Bravado, don't be ridiculous! You're an alicorn! You're a Princess! You're insanely powerful! You can tear through walls and alter the very fabric of the world!

I know! I know! There's no reason to be scared! I just gotta... gotta... uh ... I should ...

Morning Glory hesitated, her eyes showing more white than anything else, her pupils dialated, barely heard little tiny whimpers coming as she hyperventilated. Then the voice spoke, and her head whipped around, trying to figure out where it was coming from. but it came from everywhere and nowhere, not just from the figure on the stage.

The voice ended in a creshendo of music from the organ, blasting the theatre with its deep, reverberating tones. And the poor alicorn let out an embarassingly little-filly shriek and turned to flee. And thanks to Doc Stein's reminder, she didn't even bother with finding a door or window - she just charged straight away from the stage, shoulder first, to smash through the outside wall and out into the night beyond, her wings immediately flaring out to carry her from the theatre with every last bit of her impressive speed.

​

[AzalR75]

The Captain glances at the alicorn asking so many questions about his pack and weapons, about to gesture for her to be quiet, yet she stopped. He creeps up as she did, looking through the door, his metal wing acting as a shield from the other direction. The tapping makes him whip back around, watching the baton move, then drop. That's... weird. The blast of music though makes him jump back in the hallway. Listening so closely trying to find where the enemy was it caught him off guard as the noise of the music hit. The chill creeping in, the lights changing faster than his eyes can adjust, the voices and music creating a sensory overload that he finds a panic starting to form.

Stop it. You've faced worse than this. This isn't something to be scared of.

Holding the fear back, he started to move back to get a shot lined up on that pony on the stage. The words it spoke seemed... to not make sense with the situation, but hopefully it would stop this overload so he can get back to finding the killer. Then the alicorn next to him screamed. He turned in time to see her break through a wall into the night...

When the Nightguard flew with Luna, their presence was almost just a formality. The alicorn was so strong in magic and strength that there wasn't matching up against it. The Nightguard almost became cleanup crew, dealing with any small thing beneath her attention after... but she only came when things were really bad.

Star Flight had never seen an alicorn lose her nerve... until now.

Captain Nightguard finally couldn't hold back this fear, retreating away from the stage. He didn't know where the enemy was, and it apparently could hide better than a timber wolf in a forest. Old training running through his head Get to a defencive point, make sure that you can't be caught unawares. He retreats not far from the hole in the wall to a corner, his back to it to protect from an approach, his head whipping back and forward for fear of an unexpected attack as he keeps his metal wing in front of himself as a shield.

[RazorWind]

Dusty decided to take the intiative.. taking the long, dark staircase down to the lower levels. Down, down he went into a darker room illuminated only by the shaft of light escaping through a (recently smashed in) trap door above.. the very some one that the show-stallion, Curtain Call, fell through a moment ago.

There he was... laying limp in the dim light, a still warm pool of blood surrounding his head. To say the sight was troubling to the worker stallion would be an understatement... he'd fought and smashed his fair number of baddies, but... death was never something he'd been used to, much less seeing somepony go so suddenly. He sighed, taking his hat and holding it against the barrel of his chest, his messy mane falling to the sides of his head as he did.

"...M'sorry, pardner..." he muttered softly, returning his hat to his head. He sighed as he figured he should inform Pagemaster of the situation and turned on his hind hooves to make his way back up.

...and then it began.

Dusty's eyes shot open as the loud, heavy music of the pipe organ began to fill the theater, blaring to life a scene of utmost horror and terror as the chill of winter began to settle in. The music seemed to signal for the 'show' to begin as an ethereal figure, unseen to Dusty and Pagemaster whom resided below stage, appeared center stage. Below stage the worker stallion spun on his hooves, looking in every direction for an ambush, Twin-Iron's heavy adornments singing through the air as he masterfully spun it this way and that... and then, above him, the figured began to speak.

It was introducing a.. show? Starting the production? What in the hay was going on? The stallion turned on a swivel as the ghostly voice echoed and blared from around the entire building, engulfing the group of unlikely alliances in it's introduction. The lights began to dim, then relight in time with the rising of the music that continued to play on and on under the ghostly forces at work. Only now did it become clear to Dusty; they weren't dealing with a simple thief anymore... whether or not this was a true supernatural occurrence however was far more left up to imagination. Real ghosts or not, the Staff Fighter couldn't let himself be dissuaded now.

And dissuaded he was not as he let out a huffing breath through his snout. "Well if'en this is the main event... lets get the show on the road, hm?" he said. He cast his gaze up to the stage above him; if this was to be show, why not make a real entrance? The worker stallion knelt down, summoning his immense strenghth once more, and launching himself upward through the air. Twin-Iron's great form was guided through the air before it came crashing into the weakened wood of the platform, and as if from the depths of the world itself, Dusty Roads emerged from the darkness.

He stood back facing the apparition, staff held over his shoulder as he turned. His eyes met the back of the Phantom, a look of curiosity of his face.. but shrugging off the cautionary and fearful feeling arising from within him, the staff-wielder took his hind-leg stance and held his weapon up in defiance. His ears pulled back in caution however.. before they were assaulted with the shriek of the alicorn princess just before he beheld her form running off in the distance toward the nearest wall to smash down and run away. The Nightguard as well, one whom Dusty was sure could hold off panic like this, was pressed into the wall, head on a rapid swivel and a look of pure terror on his face.

... looks like it was up to him and Pagemaster now.

Dusty huffed a challenging breath, raised a hoof to pull the rim of his hat down to give his gaze a glare, and stepped forward onto the stage, into the lime light, iron-adorned staff at the ready and hind hooves carrying his every step. The show had begun, and he was first on stage.. directing his attention to the ghostly figure before them. "C'mon... I got your opening act right here, pardner.."

Dunno if I can attack after that, or if I need to roll anything, but if I -can- attack then Dusty will make a Mighty Strike attack against the ghost before him.

[Kirby Krackle]

Frantic and desperate and fueled by adrenaline, Morning Glory bursts through the second story wall of the theatre like so much cardboard. The rubble of her passing smashes down into the street below, but fortunately for her, there aren't any police left down there to get hit. They're all fleeing as she is, as if their lives depended on it. The streets are completely empty, their lanterns scattered and broken on the cobblestones, the oil caught on flames in little pools on the pavement. Their legs were churning to propel them away with all the speed they could muster, yet the Princess flashed past them with barely the time to notice them. She's a mile away, perched on a web of exposed steel girders amidst a building still in construction, before she could draw three shuddering breaths. There she realized that the blind and primal panic had completely disappeared, as if blowing out a candle, leaving only a residual memory of terror churning in her stomach.

Meanwhile, back on stage, there was an explosion of shrapnel as the workhorse launched himself upward through the floorboards. Dusty's entry, dynamic as it was, did nothing to gather the attention of the spectral figure before him. There wasn't even a twitch of the ear when such a crash would, excuse the pun, wake the dead. Awkward seconds tick by before the creature even turned its head, which meant plenty of time for the hero to both boast and back up his words. Incoming was a blow that has in the past, this very night even, leveled masonry. The enemy was too sluggish to react and the Twin Iron swung true. But it only passed through, as if the creature being fought against was nothing more than a puff of smoke.

(( Dusty rolls a 7 on his Will save this time, a failure. ))

An insubstantial enemy? Perhaps it's time to start believing in ghost stories.

“An amateur performance. 'Tis appreciated but not impressive. For your viewing pleasure then, the work of a maestro!”

The phantom finally turns, meeting Dusty face to face, its hooves noticeably floating an inch or two above the floor. He's officially gotten the closest to this thing, to see the details on its face, of which there are none. There only hint that it even has eyes is a faint yellow glow, like a sunset, behind that mask it wears. It speaks to Dusty with that same reverberating echo as before, every word accentuated with a dramatic flourish of the cape.

“BEHOLD!”

The elements bend to this creature's commands and in a flash, the entire stage is frosted over. Slick patches of ice dot the area while the rest is packed down with thick snow.

(( Hamper movement effect. Anyone moving through will have their speed reduced to one quarter the original. ))

“Lord, what fools these mortals be! They do not comprehend the power which stands before them! So a warning then! Leave this place! Keep sacred the stage! Or else fear no more the heat o' the sun; nor the furious winter's rages, Thou thy worldly task hast done; home art gone, and ta'en thy wages; golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers come to dust.”

[Blueblood]

Quill Pusher remembered reading, once, that certain sounds in music, particularly those just beyond the pitch at which the ear can register, played havoc with the equine nervous system. Even before he saw the apparition through the hole in the stage, therefore, the music from that weird conductor set him on edge and shook his resolve. *Steady on, now. True, it all looks like a ghost story, but that is no reason to panic!*

To tell the truth, of course, panic was an entirely reasonable response to the situation, but two things kept the Pagemaster from diving head-first over that mental precipice. First was his conviction that there might still be a somewhat rational explanation for the whole business, but it was mostly the presence of the entirely unafraid Dusty. As the hobo pony possessed less fear, the bureaucrat ceded the initiative him, only poking his bowler-hatted head up through the stage trapdoor after the other had made his spectacular entrance.

The sight that greeted him was not encouraging. His comrade's attack had neither hit nor phazed the apparition, and the other two in the house had beat a hasty retreat. Also, there was a burst of powerful freezing magic spread across the stage. Always discouraging, that.

Force was not going to work, so the matter would have to be approached indirectly. His nerves still twanging like frayed violin-strings, the Pagemaster decided on a plan. poking his head above the snowdrifts, he quoted the same play back, in the voice of an excited but jittery amateur player, "The best in this kind are but shadows... as are you!" And with that, he sent a stream of paper upwards to snag, not the ghosts, but one of the limelights above, with the aim of wrenching it from its holdings. If this phantom was a mere trick of the light, this would disturb it. If not, the Pagemaster could always threaten to set the theater on fire. That might wipe the smugness from this player's face.

I think this would be rolling the Snare ability; probably would be an auto-success if I wasn't shaken, but then there's trouble of not only grabbing, but securing the thing.

[Kirby Krackle]

(( Awarding a success to the gentleman with the long train of clever thinking! ))

A hapless pile of random papers strewn across the basement floor catch but a bit of lift from Pagemaster's willpower, but nothing comes of it. The implications upstairs are... what are they? Only when the master of this medium digs deep within himself, finding the logic and reason behind it all can he overcome this great fear and give the collection of scraps form and function. The would-be garbage becomes a swarm of sheets, rising up from the entrance Dusty graciously left behind. They're applied to the cans and strips providing illumination, adding layer after layer as a foal would with mache. Then, with but a single jerk of his horn, the papers clamp down with as much pressure as a griffin's grip. The aluminum warps. The glass cracks, nearly shattering. The steel bends. Pagemaster successfully broke the array, the lights cutting and the stage darkening. The specter does not seem to mind.

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

To demonstrate, the creature cast his gaze upward, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter, warping again the laws of nature. The players still in this farce witness the impossible; storm clouds gathering. The darkness starts at the crystal chandelier at the center of the ceiling, blotting out its light and spreading outward until it looks like the wrath of Cloudsdale indoors. They see the flashes of lightning, hear the rumble of thunder and feel splashes of water on their fur. It isn't long before this new sky opens up, unleashing a monstrous torrent of wind and rain. Ponies are soaked to the bone, blood is washed away, upholstery is ruined and any paper becomes a soggy mess splattered on the floor.

“I give thee one final warning. Leave this place. Share in the wisdom of thy comrades! Preserve yourselves!

OUT, DARNED SPOT!”

(( Good news, everyone! I found the rules on powers with Lasting durations! Rollings Will saves again for those who failed, previously! The good Captain rolls a 14, with his +4 bonus AND a +1 for pain and suffering. Enjoy not being terrified anymore! The Pagemaster rolls... a 1. Oy. ))

[Bramble Rose]

Bravado, stop!

I'm stopped, I'm stopped!

What happened?

Morning Glory perched atop the girders of the construction site, eyes wide, heart palpitating, even as the fear eased away into only the nervous memory of fear.

I don't know ... it just ... stopped being scary.

Of course, it wasn't real fear. Did you see those Police?

Um ... in ... passing?

They were all fleeing the place. They were terrified, too.

Well, they don't have our powers.

Bravado! They didn't see anything that we saw! They didn't see flickering lights or ghostly anything! They couldn't feel a chill. The only sense they had available was hearing!

Of course! The organ! Subharmonics!

Exactly! But don't hit the organ itself - I wanna see how it does it!

Right. Take out the pipes - wrecks the effect -

- keeps the mechanism and pipe measurements intact for future study.

Of one mind for once, Glory braced her hooves against the girder, drew upon the strength and calmness of the earth below, drawing it up through the metal structure. "Right." Her helmet glinted, and flashed with light, and when the light cleared the helmet was gone, and her sword was clenched in her teeth instead. Nemesis, the Sword of Justice. She pushed off, rocketing back across the path she'd just taken, faster than before. The mists she'd plowed through in her hasty retreat had just been startin to settle when she flung through them in the opposite direction, her great wings flapping, her eyes narrowed, darting through the air with incredible speed. Not all pebbles had finished bouncing, and the dust had certainly not settled, when her skillful maneuvering sent her in through the opening in the wall. Dust spiraled after her from the ruined bricks, tracing her path as she went through the box seat doors, the doors tearing themselves from their hinges, the burnt wreckage of the chairs pulling after her wake. The green-and-orange living missile hurtled across the space of the theatre and plowed right into the great pipes of the organ, the doors and burnt chairs and remnants of rubble splashing around her point of impact to dent the pipes around her. As if that wasn't enough, the alicorn planted her hooves and swung the sword first one way, then the other, clashing the flat of the great blade against the pipes to crush them, distorting the sound coming from them so that they could no longer affect any living thing.

She then landed at the base of the organ, jabbed the sword into the ground, and grinned fiercely at the strange vista before her. One hoof up on the blade's guard, she quoted the great unicorn who had helped guide the struggling ponies early in Equestria's founding, Free Dreamer Rally. She still couldn't pull off a Royal Canterlot Voice, but in these magnificent accoustics, it was really close. "THE ONLY THING WE HAVE TO FEAR IS ... FEAR ITSELF!"

​

[AzalR75]

The captain stays up top, his fear keeping a cold creep in his bones, but he starts rallying himself, trying to grasp what's happening. To stop being frightened as he watches Stone Heart and Pagemaster attempt to stop the ghost, neither of which even slows it down. There's something important... something he's not noticing...

The crash, and even more clattering noise of the return of Morning Glory, tearing into the organ and calming the loud music. She's back! And what's more... the cacophony is no longer in control of the enemy again... a bit of calm comes to him as he starts to think again. Right... She and him were up here chasing some... thing... before the "show" began. Willy the Whisp? An old folklore that spoke of a lantern light in the woods that lead ponies astray, One of the explanations he knew of to be an Angler, a creature that was more jaws than beast, with a glowing antenna on top its head The ghost could be a distraction. However Star Flight also remembered the "Weird Ponies" that came after the Sombra incident, unicorns and other ponies that worked alongside the Night Guard sometimes, but never a part, always in missions that involved ponies using strange magics and dangerous artifacts. There were many stories about these ponies, some dealing with ghosts... maybe there's something to those too... However... only one thing to do.

Captain Nightguard calls out "Stone! Page! There was something up here before this started, I'll find it and take it down! Ignore the apparition, even if it is real, magic is what may be necessary to deal with it, make sure it's not a distraction." He takes a moment to assume with an alicorn on their side... "Glory! Unless Pagemaster has magic we don't know, you're our magic support. If the ghost is real, it's up to you to take it down!"

Then he looks about, drawing his own sword, and a strange cylinder. Captain pulls the pin on this cylinder, this as his sister called it laughingly, "Tempest in a teapot" and throws it down the hall slightly, giving a moment before a dark stormcloud starts to fill the entire upstairs, blocking all sight as a slight grin comes under his helmet "Okay whatever you are... you like hiding from us... lets see how well you do when -you- can't see."

[Kirby Krackle]

Destruction is easier than creation. To create, to make something from nothing requires sharp minds and skilled hooves with years of study and decades of experience behind them. Raw materials need to be mined and refined and sculpted and quality controls. This can only be born in the fire of the forge and the roar of the lumber mill, with mighty swings of the hammer and all the sweat that drips from a workhorse's brow. Testing and testing and yet more testing must be performed to ensure each individual component works in conjunction with the others, for only in this delicate balance can true beauty be achieved. To create takes time and money and, most importantly, the love to invest said resources before anything can even begin.

Destruction meanwhile, needs only one Alicorn brute swinging blindly with a sword that more closely resembles a surfboard.

The music, despite its intentions, was a treat for the ears. It was a beautifully composed piece, performed by lovers of the art, and a proud tribute to Equestria's classical era. Now, once the damage was done to the organ, it sounds instead like somepony is blowing their nose into a flugelhorn.

The phantom is less than pleased. Every pony in the house gets to hear an earsplitting scream. A thousand of them at once, crying out in ultimate suffering. Did Glory hurt it? Maybe. Or maybe she just made it mad. It lurched forward, reaching out to the Alicorn, looking clumsy and weak, both its voice and its physical form beginning to fade.

“I am disgraced, impeach'd and

baffled here,

Pierced to the soul with slander's

venom'd spear,

The which no balm can cure but

his heart-blood

Which breathed this poison...”

As it raises an ethereal hoof to the Princess, finally in reach, it flickers, nearly gone. The legion of voices all speaking as one suffered similarly. From old stallions to schoolyard fillies could be heard, individually now, before leaving the choir entirely. In the time it took to recite one last verse, it was gone from the stage. The rain stopped. The clouds cleared. Aside from the collateral damage to the building's structure and the sudden need for a snow shovel, everything was back to as it should be.

Except it was getting colder.

[RazorWind]

Dusty's earth shattering strike hit air as his weapon faded into the ethereal being's hide without so much as a bit of resistance. Thinking back on it now, perhaps he -should- have seen that one coming... and now more then ever believed whatever he was fighting was not of this world. While still not deterred it did leave him somewhat useless when it came to actually felling this ghostly apparition.

As it went on with it's speeches (Which.. Dusty was -fairly- certain involved some fancy way of saying "Na-na-nana-na!") it began to work it's otherworldly forces once more, freezing the stage below his hooves and causing him to stumble with each step. This... may be a fight that would require more then just brute forcing his way through, which wouldn't be -too- bad of a problem if he knew -anything- about fighting something that isn't even corporeal. Even the efforts of Pagemaster didn't seem to faze this creature... that is, until a familiar crashing sound was once again heard.

Morning Glory finally summoned up her resolve to return to the battle and do what she had been doing since Dusty ever laid eyes on her; smash stuff.

He felt he really connected with her on that part.

It also seemed to cause quite the disturbance with their Phantom friend as it let out a legion of voices all screaming in a blood curtling manner that left the work-stallion stunned and barely able to see straight. As the creature spoke on and on in an ever fading voice it soon vanished from view entirely.. and the screaching choir vanished along with him. Seemed that wanton destruction once again solved the problem, though also left the no doubt extremely antique pipe organ in broken shambles.

The stallion lowered himself from his defensive stance as the atmosphere slowly returned to a more quiet state.. but shivered and brought his forelegs around himself as the temperature was beginning to drop.. rapidly.

"Well... that certainly solved one problem, miss Glory but..." he looked up to her, "...Ah can't be the only one feelin' things get a bit chillier, right?"