Jump to content

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


Kirby Krackle

Recommended Posts

There is nothing to fear but fear itself!

Morning Glory's resounding speech echoed throughout the house, breaking the silence and the eerie tranquility. Except echoes instantly chime in, whereas this had maybe a minute of delay.

There is nothing to fear but fear itself!

There it was again, louder this time. This was not an echo.

TheRe iS noTHinG to FeaR bUt FEAr iTSelf!

At first, it was a perfect replica. But as this voice continued to repeat, it was beginning to warp in pitch and cadence, ranging from high pitched squeal to guttural growl. Soon, there was only a sick parody of her inspiring words left being blasted into everypony's ears. The taunting was too loud in no time, causing the occasional chunk of rubble to shake in place from the reflected noises.

THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF!

Meanwhile, the air of the theatre was dropping lower and lower. Pounding bitter winds threw soaked manes and bitter chills. Frost quickly collected on every surface, starting from each of the windows and spreading slowly outward. This included coats of fur, having all been thoroughly soaked from the impromptu rain storm earlier. Breath could be seen as white puffs. Taking a step would cause a crunch underhoof, from carpet now crusted over in ice. There was no snow but a quick look overhead reveals it's on its way, swirling white clouds expanding outward as the black ones did before. In no time at all there was a deathly cold not experienced by ponies in over two hundred years.

(( Everyone makes their Fort save this round except for Pagemaster, who suffers a point of temporary damage to his Constitution and now gets to carry the Fatigued debuff, -2 to Str and Dex, -1 to Atk and Def and you can't move all out. The DC will be raised by 1 every round. Congratulations, Ponies. You might actually die here. ))

At first, you think it's just another trick of the eyes. But no, there's a twinkling in the clouds above. Two shining blue lights, circling within the clouds. Two hooves at a full gallop, guiding the winds. The phantom's same white mane as before, now out of the restrictions of grooming and blowing wild. But the suit is gone now, with its body laid bare, the back half not even solid, only a trail of icy blue mists.

GAZE THEN, PONIES, UPON FEAR ITSELF!

You see it charge down from the clouds, running on nothing, swooping in low and coming in a little too close. You see it inhale deep, then roar out diamond daggers from its empty maw. The target was the Princess again, finding her wings frozen solid now. It's agony, now combined with the frozen wasteland that was once a much happier place.

You didn't think they still existed.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • Replies 163
  • Created
  • Last Reply

Whatever capers a pony pulls underneath a mask and cape, at the end of the day, they have to revert to their true identity, whatever it may be. And Pagemaster was, at the end of his day, Quill Pusher, dedicated civil servant; i.e. someone who spent more time behind a desk than fighting anyone over the course of his life. For all his new-granted powers, the unicorn was unused to the actual business of super-heroism, and this protracted investigation-turned battle was taking its toll upon him.

First, there was the atmosphere of panic. Since the phantom on the stage was most certainly not a trick of the light, the Pagemaster had to amdit his nerves temporarily failed him, and he ducked back down behind the stage after sending the lighting fixture crashing down. Fortunately, this fear had little time to disturb his thoughts, as Morning Glory had the same idea he had about the organ, and after the sub-harmonics were stopped in their evil work upon him!

Unfortunately, the sight that greeted him upon looking at the stage again was far from encouraging. There was still a very powerful magical being up on there, which had by no means lost its cool, as it were. Pagemaster's teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, and the magical hold over his paper began to waver. And it was still getting colder.

It was doubtful how much use he'd prove in the fight right now, but with the atmosphere of fear dissipated, he could still think clearly. *None of us are dressed for winter; if it keeps getting colder, we're all going to succumb. We need to heat this place, quickly.* He called out to the other heroes present, forcing words through indepedently-moving teeth, "G-gg-e-t-t t-t-to v-vent-ts!"

This theater had done winter performances before; therefore there must be some kind of heating system. Pagemaster had just come through a utility corridor of some kind, so the furnace must be nearby, and he had the magical ability to create great quantities of flammable material.

Oh yes. It was all coming together now.

"F-f-fanc-cy m-m-ma-gg-g-g-ic, h-ha!" Sometimes the ordinary solution was the best, he thought, clenching his teeth together in a rictus of a grin as he searched frantically for the source of the theater's heating system, trailed by a wavering cloud of papers...

Taking a retreat movement, and rolling search for a furnace/boiler.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

(( Lateral thinking will get you everywhere. That's a roll of 19, not including your +6. Might as well give you the whole thing. ))

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night nor abomination from the nation's founding stays a pony and his rapier mind from the swift completion of his appointed rounds. You glance around, ignoring the gathering frost and the dead body, making reasonable assumptions about where a plumber would leave his work. Off to the side somewhere so as to disallow a pony to trip in the dark? Check. Out in the open, as there was no audience to hide from down here? Check. The answer lies, strangely, in the coldest part of the room.

But wait, why are the pipes the coldest part of the room? That doesn't make any sense. These should be the last to...

Unless...

You follow the pipe. Ignoring the 'Employees only' sign, you barge through an unlocked door in your way, heading further downstairs into the bowels of the theatre. It's becoming a struggle to move, the air getting colder the deeper you descend. But the source of the cold is upstairs, isn't it? Rampaging against the other heroes? It should not be coming from the iced over door to the boiler room. Nor should this door be braced open with a snow shovel, with a dark brown parka (which is probably extra warm and cozy) draped upon it. You sneak a peek inside, throwing away all expectations.

What you see is the boiler, a pot-bellied cast-iron behemoth probably made long before you were born. It's massive, nearly three times as high as the Princess and colored a perfect oily black. Either it's the most loved piece of equipment in the building or it's so sturdy no amount of neglect would ever dent it. You also see it working overtime. Almost every pressure gauge is near maximum, if not already there. The single massive grate in the middle of the gut of the machine is blazing blue, providing all the light in the room on its own with no need for a lantern.

There are empty cardboard boxes with inner linings of foam littered everywhere. Some are in nicely stacked piles, ready to be taken out for the morning garbage pick-up, where others are just thrown in haphazard piles. A minority of them are just smashed, soggy and ripped with their insides crumbled. But all of them are labeled 'Cloudsdale Overnight Delivery', 'Handle with care' and 'Extremely cold: Do not touch'. Closer to the boiler, you see several stacked proper on a dolly. The cardboard does as you command, ripping itself open to reveal its secrets: snowflakes. Snowflakes, hundreds of them packed inside, each about the size of a bit, each with an inherently unique crystal structure.

The theatre must have ordered a pallet's worth of these boxes from the Pegasi capital city. Why?

Link to comment
Share on other sites


MorningGlory.png

Morning Glory was feeling pretty darn good about that showing. The fear effect wasn't taking hold of her at all, and what's more, it seemed Captain Nightguard was trusting her now, enough to deal with the ghost on her own! She grinned and pulled her sword free of the floor, readying herself ...

And then ... it faded away.

She frowned, peering around, as the chill set in deeper and deeper... she gave Stone Heart a nod as she took a step back, not quite sure how to take this ... unseen threat of winter's chill.

She blinked to hear her own voice echoing, far too late, across the theatre. And again. And again. Wait, that wasn't the words she had used! The echo was ... misquoting both her and Free Dreamer! She stood firm, but even so, the creepy, repeating voice gave a tiny little quiver to her stomach. What was going on? This was all so ... WEIRD. She gripped the hilt of the long, narrow blade in her teeth, preparing herself carefully for whatever might come. Whatever it was, she could take it!

A WENDIGO!?

Morning Glory just stared upwards for a moment, hardly even noticing the chill in her wings. The chill in her heart was much more pressing, the alicorn transfixed at the horrific visage of pure evil.

Well, that explains why were summoned by the Powers That Be, that's for sure.

Quick, quick! Um... here's how you do a fire spell!

Right, Doc, we'll put 'learning a fire spell on the spot' as plan B.

Oh, right, good thinking! Quick, go hug Captain Nightguard! A big hug! Maybe a nuzzle...

And we have a new plan B.

Aw, comon! If that doesn't work, I have some other ideas on how we could light a fire!

Doc, cut it out.

Well, what else are we going to do?!

Well, I was figuring, I have this magic sword against evil ... might as well give it a try, huh?

Morning Glory couldn't fly, but the Wendigo had been considerate enough to come down to her level all the same. She ducked her head, planted one hind hoof against the brick wall, and pushed off hard. The wall cracked around her hoof as she sped forward like a rock from a sling. The stage was slick, but no worse than an early-winter game of hoofball ... Heck, Bravado had played some junior league ice hockey, and this was definitely about to be a high sticking penalty. Even without her wings, she was very quick on her hooves, and she had plenty of power behind her blade...


Melee: +1
Accurate Attack: +2 to hit, -2 to DC
Strike: Accurate

Total:
+4 to hit. DC: 19


Link to comment
Share on other sites

( +4 to hit and rolling a 15. That's 19 in total versus 16 defense. A hit! )

There is an increasingly small number of ponies left alive today who have ever seen the likes of a Windigo. Each pony would describe them as nasty, hungry things. Absolute vileness given form, knowing only how to feast and feast and feast, with the welfare of Equestria on the menu. Their faces have always been described as “off”, if generous or “revolting and unhinged, an abomination” if matter of fact. Oh, they looked like ponies, to be sure. But it's the traits they share that make the oblong and twisted features that much more alien. They are an unsettling breed of parasite. And none of the ponies who can still describe a Windigo would ever say they've seen such a creature flinch. So the mortals (and Princesses) in the audience these evening are clearly in for a treat. The monster whose kind once spelled doom for all civilization was seen trying to back-peddle, flailing its fore-hooves in an attempt to halt its forward momentum. Its eyes clamped shut, bracing itself for a blow from...

The sword of Morning Glory is a shimmering masterpiece of metalwork, gifted to her with the express purpose of punishing the guilty. With her magic at its sapphire studded hilt, the Princess swung with a supernatural grace, its keen silver edge landing square on the brow of her target.

Expectations all around were that the beast would succumb to justice and its steely resolve. Instead, the weapon shattered on impact. Shards of the magical metal clattered helplessly to the floor, leaving the Windigo unharmed and floating about without aim. There was disbelief on the faces of everyone who bore witness, but none more-so than the monster itself. For a split second, its jaw was on the floor. The second afterward, it was roaring with laughter.

I'M INVINCIBLE!

It's lost its mind.

( Behold, copying the numbers into this post to make it official. I am adding that +4 modifier to your Notice check, making a total of +14 before the roll of... 10. 24 total. A failure. But only a minor one.)

The good Captain saw all of this and he could not help but recall the years at the academy, pouring over the many many volumes of the Monster Manuals. The books described Windigos as something that you retreated from, immediately signaling for backup from whichever Princess was on duty. As a cadet, he prayed he would never have to hear the phrase “Code White”. Now a seasoned veteran of the guard, having seen things far beyond a worst case scenario, Star Flight could look down at this creature and see its... far too normal behavior and realize that this is most certainly not a Windigo. That's some good news.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Oh... that's bad. That's really bad. Standing on the ruined balcony with the roiling storm cloud in the hall behind him, he can see the Windigo. This ranked in the absolute worst situations. He hasn't desired to actually to seek out Princess Celestia after the disbanding of the Night Guard but this, he had to find her somehow and... what the hay? Is it really flailing before her? No, no legends said that this thing should have acted like this. Even before the princesses, they were pure malevolence.

Oh how the princess landed the blow. Honestly he was surprised how well she swung the sword. But even more surprised at the shattering of the sword. He is tempted to continue to the plan of finding the remaining Princess, but then the final, biggest surprise. The Windigo's look of shock, then gloating. That was far too normal... no... not normal for a Windigo, but normal for a pony. That means...

"Morning Glory! That is not a Windigo! He's acting like a pony!" he mutters to himself "Which means, something is helping him... maybe it's our friend who's up here?" he turns his attention back to the hall for a moment before lashing out with his rear hooves to strike the storm cloud he released into the hall to unleash the lightning to anything that might be hiding in it or lost in it. "Might as well come out and play! I know you're up here!"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dusty's forehoof left his staff to hold tight onto his hat as the frigid winds gusted around him. His dark eyes lifted just enough to see the amalgamation of their struggles flying and galloping through the air; shouting and roaring as it rained icy death upon the unlikely group of heroes.. striking out with an icy strike on the alicorn it seemed. The 'princess' seemed to hold her resolve however, and braced back for a strike against the frozen menace.

In that moment Dusty caught sight of their foe's sudden.. odd behavior. It seemed he attempted to skid to a stop in his rampant assault, before the sword of Morning Glory came down in a burst of alicorn strength, shards of the blade scattering everywhere at the-

Wait, what?!

The sword lost out, and the icy being was left with a similar expression that the work stallion had. This.. this was not good.

At least they were secure in the fact that this creature was in fact not a mystical Windigo... but that sadly did not help their overall situation much. Seeing his comrades in danger however.. Dusty decided to take a risky maneuver. He was certain his own weapon would not do much against the flying menace.. and so he felt his only use was to be a target while those with the true power and ability to help did their work.

"Hey! Ya frigid loudmouth!" he shouted tauntingly, "Iffin yer so invincible how 'bout you come over here and smack me down instead? You're pretty fancy there with yer magics and ice.. but I bet bits to blankets you ain't nothin' without 'em." he spun his staff about to its defensive stance.. if he couldn't hit it, he would have to rely on his avoidance and fancy hoofwork to keep this foe distracted..

He was more then just a bulking stallion with a big stick; he had more then a few tricks up his sleeve.

This was LITERALLY the only thing I could think to do. Can't hit it, dunno where its power is and I'm certainly not the one to figure it out... what other way can this stallion help then by using his secondary strength; being a dodgy, hard-to-hit nuisance?

also dunno if I have to roll for taunting to draw its attention, so.. uh.. yeah.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

If the bulking stallion's strategy was to taunt the beast before him off its high horse, well, it certainly worked. Its eyes returned from berserk with newly found power to cold and emotionless, now aimed squarely at the Earth Pony with the gall to directly challenge it. It trotted down to the stage, circling Dusty and staying just out of striking range from that giant iron rod. The grin on its face was two long rows of pearly whites, jagged, like they could rip the flesh from his bones and scrape the bones dry.

Little foal”, it said, condescending, “If we had but a single bit for each of the times such a thing has been said to us.” It laughed again, clearly at Dusty's expense. “The Chancellor would have simply adored thou. Such fire. Such spirit. Such resolve. Especially when standing before ponies of a caliber far beyond thine own. Oh. But thou has no horn to unlock the secrets of the arcane, nor wings to soar overhead and master the skies. Instead, you Ponies of the Earth are stuck in the dirt. Destined to till the soil and break the rocks and bring food to their masters. This is what I have seen thou's kind do for centuries! And it is why, had it not been for the Fire, we would have seen your kind die out in the cold first. So tell us again, foal, if we were to step onto the stage you have defiled and challenge thou, just what would-

The monologue was interrupted by an unscheduled crash of thunder. The creature certainly wasn't expecting it. Nor was the scream of pain that immediately followed it. And it came from up in the balconies, from a pony yet seen, where the Captain was making his own bad weather to share with the class. The monster's face lost any look of pride it had previously, its eyes wide as they can go and any semblance of an iris shrunk to pin pricks.

No.

(( Rolling that toughness save. Which is 10, with the Toughness of the target actually a -2, making it 8. He fails by 12. Staggered and Stunned. ))

And just like that, he's gone again. Dusty is left snarling at a puff of smoke and a familiar scent of something burning.

The Captain, meanwhile, can hear the sounds of hitting a target clear as day. With the promise of a job well done and a mystery solved getting closer and closer, he begins stalking forward. But, amidst the cloud cover he's thrown up around him for protection, is the smell again. Even through the wind and ice, brimstone is hard to miss. Then, he sees a pair of shimmering white eyes staring right at him, obviously unhindered by the darkness that surrounds them both. And that's all he sees.

GET. OUT. OF. THE. THEATRE. WHILE YOU CAN STILL FLY, LITTLE BLACKBIRD.

(( It's using Fearsome Presence. Another fear effect, DC 11. The Captain rolls... 12! 16 in total with his save! That's a success! ))

Apparently, Nightgaurd considered that a challenge. Accepted.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Even in a land that was literally full of magic, there were considerable advantages to betting upon the prosaic. After all, Earth Ponies had managed to hold their own among the Three Tribes almost from that fact alone! Pagemaster may have been a unicorn, and one with access to a powerful and specialized form of magic, at that, but there was in his brain a preference for the reasonable over the fantastic.

And what did a reasonable person do when the building was too cold? Turn up the heat, of course!

Oddly enough the furnace room seemed to be the coldest in all the theater, which didn't make sense, and was therefore a clue of significance. There was also a parka by the door, which the beleaguered pony gratefully donned, forging ahead through the arctic temperatures.

The door may have been frozen shut, but paper was thin, and he could push as much as he liked through a gap wide enough to see through! "H-mph! I m-might-t h-have expected th-that! All a t-trick set-t-tup." Already his chattering teeth were beginning to slam together less rapidly underneath the fur parka.

Shoving a stream of sheets through the gap, he went to snare the valves of the furnace, to stop it pumping this blue flame of cold to every part of the building. Possibly the snowflakes were it's fuel. In any case, the first order of business was to shut down the furnace, and smother that flame. Next, to see if there were actually any coals or wood for a real fire... Yep, there they were.

It was but the work of a moment to shovel out the heretic flame with conjured theater programs, and shovel in actual coals. With plenty of paper to kindle a normal flame, it was blazing merrily in not time! That should surely deal a blow to the winter wickedness above!

Taking 10 on the relevant rolls.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The first shovelful of coal brought some color back into the Unicorn's cheeks, but did little in defrosting the theatre. The second shovelful heated up the iron potbelly to the point where it was unsafe to touch, but the pipes still had a long way to go before they would stop pumping arctic air. Abandoning restraint in favor of a quick solution, Pagemaster began moving shovelfuls three and four and five. Within moments, there was a raging inferno within those cast iron walls and boy, did the boiler not appreciate the drastic and sudden shift in temperature. Billowing clouds of steam whistled out from every crack not air tight, being spat like dragon's breath. In no time at all, the parka needed to come off before the boiler room became a sauna.

It was no easy task and it took a moment or two to really get going, but successfully Pagemaster wrapped up winter. And on time, too. It was comfortable now. Maybe not cape weather, but definitely warmer than the outside. Heck, it could stand to be a few degrees cooler. Which, of course, made no sense, as ponies still saw a thick December haze dotted with snowflakes. And, while on the subject of losing cool...

What? No. NO! How could you possibly- How dare you! How DARE you all tamper with the...” He was beginning to stutter. “...the majesty of my frozen wasteland! Your ancestors escaped their fate but NONE of you tonight will be so lucky!” He forgot to add the accent. “I AM A GRIM BLOODY FABLE WITH AN UNHAPPY BLOODY END!” But he was going out with a roar, not a whimper.

(( Doc's profession check grand total is 18. Bravado's knowledge check is... a natural 20. Dang. The two minds of Morning Glory agree. For once. The speech given by this would-be Windigo is NOT Old Equestrian. It is, in fact, the type of Old Equestrian heard in every single Hearth's Warming pageant. It's fake. It's theatre. ))

Link to comment
Share on other sites


MorningGlory.png

Morning Glory froze in shock at the shattering of her blade, staring down at the little bits of metal bouncing off the stage with tinkling noises. A cold fear at the pit of her stomach, a sickly queasiness. The Nemesis Blade. The Sword of Judgement. But ... but ...

Bravado, what did you DO?! We only just GOT that! We've had a rare, incredibly powerful Equestrian artifact for only a couple of weeks, and you BROKE it already?!

Ohmigosh. How powerful is this thing? This sword is supposed to be proof against all those judged guilty! There shouldn't BE anything nasty enough to do that, once the sword has deemed them guilty!

... Bravado ... what if ...

No. No. There was a corpse. A murder. Who else could have ... in a theatre ...

Distantly, through the shock and haze, they heard the Wendigo ranting and raging with its anachronistic tongue.

Bravado ... that's not Old Equestrian.

It sure sounds like the Old Equestrian I hear ... every ... Hearth's Warming Eve ... Oh my gosh. I got it. I need a Parlor Scene. I know whodunnit.

With a casual flex, Morning Glory broke the ice off of her wings like nothing. Her wings were still numbed, and she wouldn't be winning any races, but she only needed to go a few feet to get to center stage. Here - here the acoustics were the finest in all the theatre. It felt familiar, just like when she'd played the lead in secondaries school. She had to stop them before anyone made a serious mistake that could not be undone. She drew a deep breath, threw out her chest, lifted her head, and opened her mouth.

"CEASE THIS BRAWLING AT ONCE!"

The Royal Canterlot Voice blasted across the theatre, the accoustics magnifying it, bringing it to every corner at top volume. The wind that came with the blast of noise blasted back the stormclouds, caught up all the stray dust and debris and programmes and schedues and blew them back against the far wall, leaving the stage clear of mist and fog as the heat from the boiler blasted away the frost and cold.


One level of 'null flight' would have worn off, allowing Morning Glory to have Flight 1.

Royal Canterlot Voice is Sonic Control (an audio dazzle effect) linked to Air Control which is a wind blowback from her voice. Both of these are at level 1.

And while we're at it: Diplomacy is +7 and Intimidate is +9



Whoah. How did I do that?!

I don't know, just keep going! Captain Nightguard isn't going to stop - he thinks the Wendifaux committed murder!

At a slightly less bellowing voice, Morning Glory continued. While not the Royal Canterlot Voice, it was nonetheless confident and from the diaphram, and in this place, carried easily to the far corners of the theatre.

"We battle tonight because we sought to bring a thief and murderer to justice. I struck with the Nemesis Sword, the Blade of Judgement, because I believed I had found that murderer. But the blade broke, shattered on the floor, as well it should! Its breaking was no fault of the beast I struck, but rather, the fault of my own hasty decision! I did not take the time to step back and review the situation, and in doing, I used the blade for foul purposes, all unknowing! This blade can only be broken ... if it strikes an innocent pony!"

Pause, one breath, dramatic timing...

"Which brings me to the truth of this murder. I have figured it out. The culprit who engineered that scene below us stands among us, true, but it is not as we expected. The culprit was a master of his craft, of misdirection and confusion. He played our fears, our expectations, and our very senses. It's fitting this is a theatre, because he set up a play, and we fell into our roles as if scripted. What he did not expect, though, was that our sense of justice would not allow us to flee the scene of a murder no matter how imposing our opposition. That we would rise to any challenge, and surpass our own normal level of violence, in the name of bringing a murderer to justice. What sort of director managed this evening? A showpony nonpareil - a quadruple threat. That's singing, dancing, acting, AND The Masquerade, spectre of the night! The Wendigo did not commit murder ... because no murder has been committed! Fillies and Gentlecolts, I give you ... Curtain Call!"

And with that, she quit the center stage, stepping to the side and gesturing to the empty space she had just been standing in, ceding the space to the showpony she truly, truly hoped could not stand to miss his cue.

I sure hope I guessed right!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

There, standing in the last vestiges of rolling fog, stood the phantom that had been plaguing our heroes this whole evening. He was once again in his full opera regalia but the spirit had been drained from him. No more aggression, no more grandstanding. In fact, despite the fact that he didn't have a face at the moment, he looked downright sullen. Nervous even, and dead silent as he stood before a Pegasus probably still intend on kicking his head in. His forehooves fidgeted, like a young foal who had wandered on stage with the curtains up. Chances are, he would be making a run for it.

Easy there, tiger.

The voice was hoarse and muffled and had to carry over the sounds of broken furniture being shuffled about. One more crash and a couple curses and a pony unseen this entire night was finally on his feet. He was old. Not codger material yet, but certainly had more white in his mane than any other color. His coat, revealed once a half melted rubber mask was removed, was a dark cream and tainted black by recent sudden electrical discharges and it was clear (once he took out the beet red contacts) where Curtain Call got his green eyes from. He tried to get the rest of the Olden Pony costume off as well, but, yeah, lightning. It was time to lie down again.

Yer caught. I'm caught. Git on down there and take yer curtain with a bow. Me, I'mma... imma gon take a nap right quick, kay?” His grin, sans a few teeth, was the widest in the house. Before he started snoring. Still silent, the Masquerade did as requested and vanished again. A puff of smoke and brimstone. He reappeared on stage next to the Alicorn Princess, took one deep breath and...

All the world's a stage. And all the mares and stallions merely players. They have their entrances and their exists, and one pony in his lifetime plays many parts.

As he spoke, the guttural growl faced away, leaving a familiar sweet baritone. The soft white glow and slight transparency dissolved as fog would, showing the gray coat and purple pompadour underneath. It was indeed Curtain Call behind the smoke and mirrors, removing his special mask and bowing before the house, lifting his cape in a little curtsy.

The actor forced a smile as he sat down, presenting his forehooves in anticipation of cuffs.

So. What finally gave me away?

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Star Flight nods a bit when he hears the scream of pain. Clouds are best when you want to smoke something out was always the phrase in the guard. He enters the cloud cover with his sword drawn, fully intent on finding this... well he's sure it's a pony at this stage, whether to secure or continue the fight depending how much they're standing after the lightning bolt. He finds the glowing eyes before him all of a sudden. Yup. That was correct, and now I made it angry. Good. His stance lowers when it challenges him ready to fight, his brass wing moving in front of himself defensively as a shield "I see no birds up here. Only you and me." While the warm was coming and the Windigo started his rant it certainly wasn't seeing the muscles in his wings tensing up, whirring the jet pack up ready soon to fire and turn the Captain and his solid wall of a wing into a projectile.

That's when -EVERYTHING- cleared away with the shout. Oh hey, I can see the target easier now. But now Morning Glory's voice carries explaining the realization. He watches the ghostly figure intently. One sudden move he was going to put it into the opposite wall, right until a second voice comes. Up comes this other pony after a time, that's the one who got hit by lightning. The Captain feels a twinge bad if all this is true and the ponies are innocents. The main ghost vanishing right in front of him is making the Captain -REALLY- wish he zapped this apparition though.

As Curtain Call takes his stand, Nightguard moves the old sleeping pony to one of the boxes that isn't blasted apart, pulling a curtain down, as pretty much plenty of damage has already happened in this theater, and wraps the old pony up on one of soft seats so he can continue his sleep, and turning back to the stage. He speaks up his thoughts on the answer "Well. I'm guessing it helped realizing you weren't some mythical monster. I mean... there are no reports of a windigo showing fear... even from flame. Nor have I read any on them hamming it up. 'I'm invincible'? I've yet to see a monster declare that." As Captain Nightguard speaks, he's leaned over the rail a little, seeming to be relaxed, but those twin cannons are aimed at Curtain Call, showing a great lack of trust in this pony. "Also a bit odd that we come chasing a shadow here that's stealing papers to find a windigo is what's at it. So tell us. What is with the papers you were stealing?"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

*Of course it was all stage magic,* Pagemaster thought to himself as he dropped off the parka on the way back to the stage. Excitement had given way to irritation, and when he took a closer look at the corpse below the stage to see that it was fake, his feelings were less relief that a pony was alive than annoyance that they'd been put to all this trouble.

His mask (slightly worse for the wear), only half-hid his exasperated expression as he poked his head back up above the stage. Sure enough, there was Curtain Call, just now shedding his Masquerade gear. Pagemaster snorted, dropping the last of the programmes in a heap among the debris onstage. "I'm very much interested in knowing your intentions regarding those papers myself. Or for that matter, what in the name of Celestia's beard you hoped to accomplish altogether. I hope, for your sake, that this wasn't all to advertise this theater." As harsh and sarcastic as his tone was, he had borne much the worst of the fight, in terms of its effects upon him. He could bear such things for the sake of stopping nefarious schemes, but to simply be drafted as a player in an advert was just a little too much.

Link to comment
Share on other sites


MorningGlory.png

Morning Glory sighed down at the shards of her sword, still feeling a deep pang of guilt at its shattering, then waved her hoof over the shards, hoping. Thank goodness. The shards glowed, the light flowed together, and reappeared upon her head as the helm once more. She looked up as the other ponies gathered around Curtain Call demanding explanations, then put a hoof on Pagemaster's shoulder. She hadn't quite been playing up her role very well tonight - to make ponies feel safe now that Luna was no longer protecting the night. And besides, it felt nice being on the stage again. Quietly she reassured the unicorn, "The Forces of Justice summoned me forth this even, which means foul matters are ahoof. I doubt the Powers That Be engineered this evening's events for the purpose of removing from my possession the most powerful weapon I have against the dark forces that plague our land. Perhaps he has indeed been breaking Equestria's law, but every one of us here do so whenever we go about our Vigilante work. I am sure that whatever secrets these papers hold, they are of more import than first appearance would suggest."

She looked over at Curtain Call, then, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, put your hooves down, you look ridiculous. But after you assauge our general curiosity ... can I take a look at that mask? The layered ethereal matrices must be of equisite craftsponyship to generate variable illusions of that quality!"

Talk about giving magic to ponies which have none!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"Peace of mind, Dusty Roads. Lose it, and you lose your self."

"Peace of mind..."

"Peace of mind..."

"Peace of mind..."

The words of the stallion's late tutor and mentor echoed in his mind as the phantasmal creature taunted and berated the earthly kind and their lack of phenomenal power... an act that was very nearly rewarded with a rage filled fury from the staff warrior. The stallion stood at odds with the spectral magician and narrowed his eyes under that encompassing hat; grip on his staff tightening. He had to keep his composure otherwise his plan would fail.. but this creature seemed to know how to get inside his head and attack the one thing he felt strongest about. His hooves stood firmly on the rotting wood of the stage, keeping his sights on the specter.

Until, everything went awry once again.

A thunderous crash from above and a pained scream followed, drawing Dusty's attention upward to the upper floor of the stage house, before hearing the sudden disappearance of the phantom.

"What in the hay-?" he nearly asked before things were finally answered. Morning Glory taking the reigns of the situation once again as she spoke in a manner most fitting to the current setting; overly dramatic and a little bit ham-hooved. The performance, however, payed off as the cover on the entire charade was seemingly blown, and out from the shadows of the stage strode the called upon Curtain Call... alive and well, much to Dusty's confusion. The worker stallion stared at the collection of ponies upon the stage before realizing what was going on; the entire event was a ruse. There was never any phantasmal creature haunting and freezing the theatre, it was all a machination by the thespian stallion before them... Dusty's eyes narrowed again as he felt both cheated and still cross; cross about words uttered earlier.

The farmer stallion strode on hind hooves towards the seated actor, staring down at the surrendering culprit with a look of pure distaste. He spoke finally, after what felt like a few minutes of staring daggers into the unicorn,

"...'stuck in the dirt, feeding your masters' huh, mister Phantom?" the calm, country-raised tone of the stallion was gone; replaced by a deep, threatening, and slow tone.

As he stood staring down at the unicorn, the words of Stone Heart echoed through his mind once again, "Peace of Mind, Dusty Roads... Peace of Mind."

He took a deep breathe and let out a soft sigh; calming that burning in his chest, "Y'all can start by tellin' us what the hay this foolin' around was all 'bout."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I suppose an explaination is in order, isn’t it?” Completely robbed of his enthusiasm, the actor got to his feet and began to walk backstage, well aware of the distrustful glares. He did his best to accommodate. It was the least he could do. “If you’ll follow me, then. It’s easier if I show you. No tricks, I promise. At this point, I’m fresh out anyway.

To Morning Glory, he handed over the mask he prized. “I don’t know much about how it works. Just that I can work it. My Uncle designed the thing way back when. And he’s…” The snoring upstairs was becoming a distraction. “Yeah.

To you”, he said to the Stetson, “I want to say I’m sorry. In character or otherwise, what I said was rotten. And… well, I guess it’s method acting. No horn, no wings. Just four hooves and guts. It’s hard for us, right? To feel like we matter. Maybe that’s a reason why I’m on stage. So I can be what I want to be, if only for an hour or two. To make ponies feel how I want them to feel.” He sighed, ashamed, unable to even look the other Earth Pony in the eye anymore. “I’m sorry.”

Curtain Call lead his colorful captors to the employee break room first, bobbing and weaving around the layers of theatre drapery and piles of rubble left behind by the four destructive saviors. His eyes were downcast and his head hanging low, weighted with guilt and the assumption of a future behind bars. Despite his not-at-all looking where he stepped, the actor gracefully maneuvered around every obstacle. His hooves made no sound.

Aside from a wall off to the side reserved specifically for crew lockers, the rest of this room was an art museum condensed. A love letter to Comedy and Tragedy. A grand piano stands proud in the center of the floor, currently acting as a humble dinner table. Only the house popcorn was on the menu. The walls were covered end to end in framed artwork; be they portraits, illustrations, blown up newspaper clippings or promotional posters, to the point that there was little actual wall visible. There stood a mannequin wearing ceremonial armor that, if real (it certainly looked the part) could be dated back to the days of the Three Tribes. The sword that accessorized it was definitely live steel. Any flat surface that had room had a bust of the Bard himself, be it large or small. It was in here that he pulled up a large, decorative area rug, revealing the hidden door underneath.

Down here”, he said, muffled by the key between his teeth. “It was our storeroom for cider before we lost the license. Now it’s… well, you’ll see.

Hoofprints are clearly made in the dust on each rickety wooden stair. This secret place only recently saw use again after nearly being forgotten. He took each step fine, perfectly comfortable in the minimal lighting he could get from both upstairs and downstairs.

The sub-basement was, to put it politely, was a room full of crazy. But there were the stolen documents, every last one. In piles recently studied or tacked against a wall, or part of a web of yarn leading to annotated maps. There was also popcorn everywhere, like it’s all the stallion eats anymore.

Something is rotten in the city of Thoroughbred. I first got wind of it a few weeks back. A few thugs- no, mobsters, were trying to muscle into my theatre. They wanted to buy the property. I declined every time but every night, they just showed up again with more hired goons. It came to the point where my home wasn’t safe anymore. That’s when Uncle and I came up with the idea for the Masqurade. We gathered some stuff from the prop room, invented a persona and I went out there, among a hitsquad twenty strong or so, and scared them off. Same tricks I used on you, though they never got to the Windigo. Anyway, as they ran off, they left behind a quota. A big list of buildings on Central Avenue that apparently needed to go, mine included. And they were my neighbors. I knew them. Some ponies took the money. Others, well, it’s not a coincidence that the candy store three blocks down burnt up and was on this list. I tried talking to the police! Of course I did! I told them everything that didn’t involve a mask and a cape, but not a darn one would listen to me!

Curtain Call took to a chair, one hoof planted on his face and the other digging into yet another bowl of popcorn. The frustration was killing him.

Oh. Sorry. Manners.” He slid the bowl to the four as an offering, insisting on at least being a good host. “Everything I’ve collected though. It doesn’t make sense. Police payrolls that don’t match bank statements. Shipping mandates for LOTS of fertilizer. Lists of companies that don’t exist. Piles and piles of deeds of little Mom and Pop stores that were either bought out or seized by the city or burnt to the ground. I know I’m close to puzzling it all out but… Ah, who am I kidding. I know I’m not clever enough. And I don’t even know who I can ask for help. Unless one of you can navigate through months worth of paperwork in one night.

Link to comment
Share on other sites


MorningGlory.png

Morning Glory let out a soft *ooo* as she caught the mask with her magic, floating it up before her, eyes shining with excitement. "He designed it himself? That's impressive!"

Use the spell I taught you! Use it, use it!

Yes, yes. I know, I'm doing it! Don't rush me!

Morning Glory followed along, listening with only half an ear as she was distracted by the magical contraption. Her horn, then her eyes glowed, so that she could examine the intricate etheric matrices.

Oooo, do you see that interface? So intricate! I bet it could-

Yes, I think you're right! But look at the mana sink! It could never-

Unless it drew from the latent field in order to-

Oh, you're right! And it does! Look at those redundancies!

Now that's a piece of work! I wish I'd thought of that when I was putting the helm together! If I had my old body back, I'd love to spend a few days in the workshop with that old pony back there! What a mind!

Morning Glory absentmindedly took a few hooffulls of popcorn, munching down on the free food like any good college student would, Bravado mostly listening to Curtain Call, leaving Doc Stein's superior mind to examine the mask further. "Well, I don't know about one night," Morning Glory said, "But I'm no stranger to paperwork. I bet if we all chipped in for the next week, we could plow through this all and figure something out."
Link to comment
Share on other sites

With all the vigilant suspicion of a tax auditor come on an unexpected visit to Al Capony's record's office, Pagemaster followed Curtain Call for the promised explanation. While his expression was still hidden, as he had yet to discard his own mask, one could feel his expression being projected a full yard out from his face. It was not a happy face. While he enjoyed a good show as much as anypony else, to be drafted into an improv show against one's will, and with much too realistic props was not his idea of a good evening out. As such, the stage properties, as intricate as they were, failed to interest or distract him as he listened to 'Masquerade's' motives.

He was not slow in pronouncing his own opinion. At length. "All the same, your actions were quite ill-considered. Altogether, you have not improved the reputation of the so-called mask and cape crowd, which in turn not only has made your own investigations progressively more difficult, but I will stake that for all of us as well. Although, I have something of an advantage in City Hall, which leads me to my second point. You never did, of course, think of contacting the Civil Service. Most of us are glad enough to listen to the public, if only because we're too glad to know that at least somepony cares, and thinks enough of us to consult. Particularly..." With a glow of magic, he lifted the papers that 'Masquerade' had filched. "When one is dealing with an issue of this quality and magnitude." He did finish with a smile, though the irony behind it was drier than Nebbiolo wine.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dusty's eyes never left the stallion that led them along, even as the seemingly heartfelt apology met his ears. He was right, what he said -was- rotten, and touched on a subject that Dusty happened to feel very strong about given his history with his late mentor.. still, the worker stallion let out a sigh as they continued on.

"I guess.. I c'n understand." he spoke simply, just following along for the moment.

How this old theater was still standing was a mystery to the staff-wielding warrior but however it was this Curtain Call fellow seemed intent on keeping it intact.. and against odds stacked entirely against it from how it sounded. The documents they were looking for where all right there before them, but even after their encounter Dusty couldn't bring himself to simply take what they needed and leave. Curtain was alone in a dark room, malnourished from the look of the only source of food he'd had for the longest time, and trying to piece together a puzzle that was leading to several parts of the city going under in a time of economical crisis.. it stung a feeling of pity in the stallion's heart.

Stone Heart, the true Stone Heart not the alias the current wielder of Twin-Iron used, was a believer in delivering justice to those who had done wrong, no matter the cost. If one's actions ultimately resulted in the greatest possible good then the actions taken are worth the outcome, no matter what they might have been. Stealing was a crime, but to steal clues to a puzzle that was tearing a city apart from the inside out could possibly be forgiven.

"Ah'm not gonna pretend Ah understand most of this.. Ah'm a farmer, not a banker, but what Ah do know is that when somepony does wrong that pony gets a whoopin back home," he commented bluntly, "..and iffin you're tellin' us the truth, mister Call, then Ah reckon I can provide the beatin' to whoever is behind this. The only things Ah really know are spice farmin' and tradin', and how to use this thing here," he hefted the immense weapon over his shoulder once more.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

It would have been nice to see Civil Service actually catch something like this before it spills into the streets for the workhorses to deal with.” The actor growled that out between clenched teeth, his snark barely audible. Before he said something aloud he would regret, he quickly shoved a hoofful of popcorn into his mouth. Crunching was all he could do as, helplessly, he let the bureaucrat confiscated the illegally obtained goods. What's worse, the Unicorn who was proving to be far too stuff for Curtain's liking was actually editing his work! The absolute nerve!

And, while Curtain Call was not going to be winning any awards for a magnificent brain any time soon, he certainly wasn't an idiot. He only acted like one sometimes. Pagemaster could not help but notice the effort that went into sorting out these names and dates and locations. It was not entirely un-clever but goodness, some spots in his elaborate tale definitely needed a good proofreader. And while he thanked the Princess for her good intentions, a week simply wouldn't do. Goodness no, not while he was here. His horn lit brighter and with it, all the legalwork was up in the air. He created neat and tidy and unbroken rows for inspection, rotating everything nice and slow in his magical grasp, speed-reading the lot. To his surprise, little went into a pile he mentally labeled 'Coincidental' (mostly police physicals and prescriptions. Why take these?) and much went back to where the junior detective had originally placed it. Merely a few names and dates needed to be changed.

As it turns out, these were crucial changes.

There were indeed dealings under the table. They have been happening for weeks now. Right under the noses of City Hall. Maybe even because of City Hall. But this is all inconclusive. Tangible evidence is needed before ponies in masks can start flinging around wild allegations. Maybe a confession or two. But that scenario seems unlikely. Not unless these evil doers were caught red hooved. And there seems to be no telling when or where the next deal would be taking place.

But hold on just a minute.

That other pile, seemingly irrelevant. There are no coincidences. Only the illusion of such. Each visit is chalked up to a pesky strain of the common cold and then ignored. And all the visits ending the same way: the many doctors recommending some spiced tea blend the Pagemaster has never heard of. Preposterous. Moreso, each visit is exactly two days apart from the next. The most recently collected papers read this previous Sunday.

Aw heck, today is Tuesday, isn't it?

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Star Flight follows the actor, his wings out of the way of his cannons watching Curtain Call, waiting for one last trick, but it's when brought downstairs to the papers, he finally relaxes and tucks his wings, the metallic plates of the one wing scraping against each other. He looks about the room, so much of it different, yet familiar in a way to him Remind Moonlit Forge to straighten up... and ugh... not leave junk food around. I swear... how do ponies let things go like this? Military training has put him at a bit of a distaste for this kind of disorder. He listens to everyone talk about, looking a bit at the papers. A pony who's had to fill out far too many reports, he understands some paperwork, but all this is far more than anything he's used to, rather investigating out on the beat, the paper master seems to have it under control. "You know, the problem with the entire strategy, while good against thugs... kill someone in front of us and we'll figure out what's doing the killing and stop it. And the windigo... that's just calling the biggest monster out, and I've trained in plans for that..." While this pony and the elder pony didn't seem to be the monsters he's charged with fighting, no in fact actually fighting another type of monster...

earth pony... and earth pony with an enchanted mask. But I didn't see the older one have that kind of mask... Captain Nightguard turns to Curtain Call "So, you were down on the stage, and the older one was up top... and you had the magic mask. How did he catch Glory here with the ice blasts?"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

As the crew was speaking and conversing, Dusty decided to quench his curiosity.. but not before turning to the earth pony actor again, "Oh, and uh.. by the by, ah'm no doctor, but ah'm pretty sure an all popcorn diet ain't good for yuh."

With that said, the worker stallion went about inspecting the collection of documents.. lords there were so many. Everything under the Princess's Sun was on display along the walls of this store room.. it was a shame Dusty didn't understand most of it. Not that he could not read, but bank statements, invoices and other such business transaction records were like a seperate language.. so much jargin and odd wordings for what seemed like simple exchanges of money and goods; why did high-up ponies have to speak in some made up, ten-bit version of the Equestrian language just to sound important?

Either way his eyes finally landed on the pile of not-so-much coincidence files about medical visits and common colds... two days apart each. If the stallion could understand anything it was that patterns were to be recognized, just as the pattern of an opponent's fighting style was to be; finding the pattern will allow you to plan for the future. This, however, was an odd sort of pattern to be recognized.. why would doctors visits be on the priority of whoever was behind this? There was something else that caught Dusty's eyes... a spiced tea, one that looked.. familiar..

Kind leaping ahead of Pagemaster but I wanted to make this post. Sorry!

Anyway, doing a Knowledge: Spice check; the first time I've ever gotten to use my purely rp-based skill! Woo! I assume that because he has plenty of time to concentrate he can take a ten? Or just know it off the top of his head?

Either way, it'd be a +4 to the Knowledge roll.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Funny you should mention”, he said to the Captain. “My Uncle”, which he emphasized. His elder's screams were still fresh in his mind and he was feeling pretty bitter about the whole affair. In fact, would it not extend his prison sentence, the pony pretending to be a ghost would whip out one of those tricks he was out of and put a horseshoe up the Captain's nose. “was in a little control booth up in the balcony the whole time. He was doing the lighting and music and temperature and such. You were never supposed to notice him. I, meanwhile, was everywhere.” The showpony demonstrated. He scooped up some popcorn and tossed it at an unoccupied chair to his left. Then came that familiar burning smell before he was gone, reappearing just in time to catch the snack in his mouth. All that flourish to teleport a foot and a half. All that glamor but still deadpan.

He stood, making no movement sudden, and removed that red and gold cloak still draped around him. The brooch that held it in place was a metal casting of his cutie mark, which he pocketed. The cape meanwhile was folded neatly, becoming a fluffy cube, placing it before the Princess. “Uncle sewed some magical hoodoo into the inner lining. It can carry me, and maybe one other pony if they're not too heavy, from backstage to the balcony.

Continuing with disarming himself, the stage magician rolled up one sleeve revealing... nothing but gray fur. He rolled up the other one. Also nothing. Rolling back that first sleeve again, solely for the double-take, was an iron bracer strapped to his leg. Welded to it was a mass of gears and springs and a cable spool and, most importantly, an ice dart. The kind that you see as an event in the Equestria Games.

And here's where the ice came from. You'd be surprised what you can do with sporting goods if you ignore all the warning labels”, he said flatly. He unclasped the device and set it before the Captain, still loaded. This pony was armed the whole time.

(( Plus 4, huh? You roll a 6, grand total 10. Could be worse. ))

The name “Kaffa” rings absolutely no bells to the spice farmer. Heck, you're not even sure the word is Equestrian. But the good news is, a lot of spices follow the same rules for growth and care. If grown locally, there would only be a few places in the city actually capable of meeting a temperamental plant's demands.

I can feed a hundred ponies on the bit with popcorn. If un-popped, the kernels will keep until Discord comes back. And it's all I can really give to the foals who come around back every other night or so looking for a meal. Popcorn is cheap, brother. So what if I haven't been able to put apples... at my stand... in months...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Cape and mask aside, Pagemaster did not normally exude the air of a sorcerer. After all, his costume was merely the exaggerated portrayal of a clerk, with the mask, suit, and bowler hat. And yet... watching him sift through the papers expertly, the sheets forming a continuous circle around them as his eyes cycled through and sorted them must have looked uncanny to those unused to dealing with the printed word in large volume. But, to anypony who had to run one of the 10-year audits ordered from Canterlot...

It came easily enough that Quill Pusher could even spare attention to the conversations around him. He nodded along with the captain, but added, "The windingo was not an inappropriate symbol. According to the legend, anyhow, they arise when particular tribal grievances," And here he peered over the top of the page towards the earth pony impresario, "Took mental precedence over common needs and cooperation." He didn't think that he was being unfair, considering how much effort Curtain Call had put into hurting ponies that, by all rights, he should have been trying to ally with. "Sports gear, pfeh. And snow stuffed in the ventilation. How much did you have to stretch your food budget to cover shipping? I know it's not cheap, I've had to audit the weather..."

It was done soon enough, and he looked over the piles with a kind of grim satisfaction. "Well, I will say this: you're not crazy. I don't think I could gent a conviction based on the evidence, but it would be grounds for an audit. The real handle, though, will probably come through these." He tapped the pile which had, up until now, been coincidental. "For some reason, the police physicals are marking a string of common colds, each with a prescription for... Kaffa tea, whatever that is. It must be singularly effective, since there have not been any corresponding increases in sick leave taken." An ironic smile again flashed beneath his mask. "The next meeting seems to be tonight. Perhaps we should begin there."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Archived

This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.


×
×
  • Create New...