Dio

Captain Sturmovik

Someday, we will all pay for our sins. I can only hope that day comes for me after I retire.

Name: Captain Sturmovik. Formerly known as "the Osprey" (Stallian: Skopa)

Sex: Male

Age: Stallion, nearing the end of his prime

Species: Pegasus

Coat Color: Ruddy red with white fetlock "boots." Gold and white pinion feathers.

Eye Color: Green

Mane/Tail Color and Style: White mane, longer, but trimmed and kept under his black watch cap. Tail is also white and is usually tied off to keep it out of the way when working. Watch cap has a sewn-on patch with the crest of Stalliongrad on it.

Cutie Mark: A sextant overlapping a six-pointed star, symbolizing his love of sailing and astronomy as well as his knack for navigation.

Physique: Burly and muscular. Years of working on airship decks have given him an impressive physique that bears the marks of hard labor. A few scars from combat are hidden by his watch cap, telnyashka, and flight jacket. Has a “Russian cross” branded on his left shoulder.

Occupation: Airship captain/merchant mariner, former sky pirate. He is registered as a contractor for the Stallian Guard and regularly transports military personnel and materiel during non-combat operations.

Motivation: Make enough bits to comfortably retire. Keep his crew safe. Keep the past from catching up with him.

Origin: Stalliongrad, Kuznitza district. Currently operating a merchant marine vessel; modified Horizon-class, called the Artorius.

Likes: A job well-done, Stallianoya Vodka, astronomy, classical music, starry nights, thunderstorms, oranges, his balalaika

Dislikes: Cowardice, appearing weak in front of others, deals gone bad, his past catching up with him

Character History

Sturmovik was born the eldest son of two factory workers, a mother making textiles in Veya and a father who worked as an airship loader for a Kuznitza factory. Sturmovik grew up working the loading docks at the factory, fascinated with the airships that came and went and soaking up every story of pirates, fantastic battles in the sky, and sailing among the stars. After some coaxing, he convinced his father to allow him to sail on one of the very ships that hauled cargo from the factory.

A young Sturmovik loved every minute of it; the open sky, the wind in his mane, the steady rhythm of work on an airship deck. However, one day his ship was attacked by an Aquellian raider. What was supposed to be a smash and grab operation turned very messy very quickly, as the Stallian crew were not willing to give up their cargo very easily. The battle ended with the ship crippled and all of the crew either wounded or captured. A young Sturmovik was dragged across the deck and dumped at the talons of a Griffon captain.

The Griffon pirate captain, impressed with the colt’s tenacity, gave him the opportunity of a lifetime: join his crew, sail the winds, and sleep among the stars. Convinced that he would never see his home again, Sturmovik reluctantly agreed. The years that Sturmovik spent aboard the pirate vessel forced him to grow strong, battling for respect as a pony on a ship that was mostly Griffon.

One day, the Captain, in planning a raid decided to bring Sturmovik into the fold. The raid called for an ambush to be executed along the Aquellia-Stalliongrad Trade Spine near Roughrider Ridge. However, the aerial terrain was hazardous, requiring meticulous attention to detail and a strong ability to navigate in order to traverse it. Sturmovik turned out to be a natural at aeronautical navigation. With pencil in mouth and plotting tools on hoof, he plotted out a course in an hour what had continued to perplex far more experienced airmen. It was with this that he earned his cutie mark.

With Stumovik as his navigator, the Griffon captain gained wealth and infamy, as he could always be counted upon to appear from nowhere, strike like lightning, and abscond with a substantial haul before vanishing again. However, not all went according to plan. Eventually, his luck ran out and the captain suffered grievous wounds during a raid. Before passing, however, he gave command of the ship to Sturmovik. While many of the crew were shocked, Sturmovik proved himself a capable leader, navigator, and tactician, keeping his crew together through thick and thin and upholding the legacy of the old Griffon.

Adopting the namesake of his former patron, Sturmovik began calling himself Skopa, or “The Osprey” in native Stallian. To conceal his identity, he wore a signature beaked mask and red and gold armor into battle. In all the years of pirating the Trade Spine, Sturmovik was never once umasked. Because of his speed, precision, and hardworking crew, Sturmovik acquired considerable plunder by attacking commercial shipping at the cost of putting heavy strain on Griffon-Equine relations during the time period.

The thrill of the hunt and the glory of close combat motivated him to continue until a joint operation targeting pirates by ISU-143 of the Stallian Guard and I Order of Her Majesty’s Honor Guard resulted in the destruction of his ship and the death or capture of most of his crew. Sturmovik and a handful of crew managed to escape, but decided to part ways, hoping to throw off potential tails by the REA and SGU looking for them. The experience was humbling for him, showing that even a stallion at the top of his game could be beaten.

The loss of his ship and his crew proved to be a watershed moment for Sturmovik. His entire operation was splintered and his fortune gone, leaving him with a blank slate as it were. It was here that he realized he was perpetuating someone else's legacy rather than forging his own path. Sturmovik decided to start anew, returning to Stalliongrad and signing on with the local merchant marine; "going straight" and leaving the mask and armor of Skopa behind. Several years later, the Captain found himself in charge of a new airship, and with legitimate business interests on hoof. He mostly keeps to himself, preferring not to ruin the good thing he has going for him. He currently operates the Artorius as a fast cargo hauler and naval auxiliary vessel.

Sturmovik runs a tight ship. While he allows his crew substantial leeway while on shore leave, he demands discipline while sailing. His gruff, no-nonsense manner are quite offputting to the upper crust of Equine society, but any working-class pony will quickly appreciate his straightforwardness. Like many Stallian ships, the Artorius is racially integrated, capitalizing on the strengths of each species that works within her hull. The crew both fears and respects him, the former because of his imposing physique and intimidating glower; the latter because of his skills and experience. Still, the Captain cares deeply for his crew and is fiercely loyal to them, not wanting another disaster like the loss of his last ship.

In spite of his adamantine exterior and gruff disposition, Sturmovik still has his softer side. He enjoys stargazing, seeing the sky as a work of art rather than merely a navigational tool and a traveler’s aide. He also retains his love of music, keeping a balalaika in his cabin and often attending musical performances while on shore leave. Sturmovik can often be heard strumming a tune and singing along in his spare time.

The Airship Artorius

Originally a rusting scrap heap in a Beakbreak City ship-breaking yard, the Artorius was acquired and rebuilt and recommissioned for use by Sturmovik. Based upon the Horizon-class airframe, the Artorius is a small ship optimized for speed over comfort. Though its exterior is beaten and scarred from weather and wear, its internals rival the sophistication of the newest Victory-class Griffon warships. The Artorius’ refit substantially upgraded its engines, giving the Artorius superior aerodynamic performance at the expense of being high maintenance. In crisis-time, the Artorius’ internal hardware has hookups for Aquellian pneumatic cannons that are standard armament on military airships.

Crew of the Artorius

Sturmovik surrounds himself with the most capable sailors and crewmen he can find. Of these, there are very few that he trusts with his past.

Master Sergeant Alastair “Goldy” Goldmane: Griffon. Sturmovik’s first mate is a former Griffon marine who served with the infamous 13th Regiment ("Bloody Thirteen"). In spite of his former profession, he is amicable and gregarious.

Demetrius: Green Dragon. Demetrius is a wheeler, dealer, and all-round scumbag, or so the locals say. Demetrius prefers to refer to himself as shrewd, cunning, and above all else, preeminently pragmatic. He has a head for numbers, a penchant for cards, and a a silver (if forked) tongue. He serves as the ship’s supercargo, cataloging, trading, and selling the ship’s wares and acquisitions. He also serves as a conduit for less than legal jobs, though Sturmovik has kept him in check in recent days.

Tonic: Unicorn. Experienced healer, herbalist, and endless fountain of snark, Tonic provides a foil for Sturmovik's more serious nature as well as fufilling the need for a ship's corpsmare.

Skill Set

Street fighting. Despite his age, he still throws a mean left hook and is faster than his burly exterior would suggest. It’s always helpful to be able to fight when you sail and often frequent the haunts that sailors do.

Command. Sturmovik hasn’t lost his edge from his pirate days, still knowing how to motivate his crew and get things done in adverse circumstances.

Aeronautical Navigation. As his cutie mark suggests, Sturmovik is an excellent navigator and avid astronomer.

Balalaika. Sturmovik is quite good at balalaika and has a repertoire of folk songs to both strum and sing.

Pieces of Kit

Telnyashka. Originally exclusively military wear, the telnyashka has filtered into mainstream Stalliongrad society as a symbol of Equestrian pride and masculinity, especially among the mariners and working class. Sturmovik's telnyashka bears the dark blue stripes of 10th Battalion's naval infantry.

Watch cap. Due to the cold of the north and at altitude, Sturmovik and his crew often wear watch caps to keep warm. Sturmovik's particular cap has the crest of Stalliongrad sewn onto it. While in port, he often wears a forage cap with the emblem of Stalliongrad's merchant marine.

Flight jacket. Canvas flight jacket with wool liner for protection from cold and the wear and tear of day to day work.

Legacy Application will remain behind spoiler tags for records:

Name: Captain Sturmovik, real name Sturmovik, or Sky to those who are very close.

Sex: Male

Age: Stallion in his prime, about 30-35 by human years.

Species: Pegasus

RP Color: #C90016

Coat Color: Crimson (#C90016) coat, auburn/brown (#932724) fetlocks with coloration extending around his legs like “boots.” Wings are crimson as well, with a layer of white feathers between his red wing feathers and gold (#FFD700) flight feathers.

Mane/Tail Color & Style: White with a single gold streak in his forelock. Mane and tail are wild and unkempt.

Eye Color: Green

Cutie Mark: Crossed warhammer and sickle in gold, representing both his ferocity in battle and his habit of reaping that which he has not sown.

Physique: Slightly taller than average height. Thick, muscular build toned from fighting and flying. A single distinctive diagonal scar across his face tracing a line from just above his right eye to the left edge of his mouth. “Russian cross” tattoo on his right shoulder.

Origin: Born in Stalliongrad. Currently lives on and travels aboard the heavily-modified Horizon-class airship Artorius. Travels all over Griffon airspace, hitting targets of opportunity, but also does planned jobs based on available intelligence and contracts. Currently roaming the region around the Painted Pinto Desert.

Occupation: Mercenary, pirate. Operates on his own most of the time, but has been known to accept payment for services from individuals willing to deal with him and his crew. Most of his contracts are picked up by Demetrius.

Motivation: Coin. The fury of battle. The thrill of victory. Living on the wind and sailing among the stars.

Likes: Coin, winning, crushing his enemies, a job well-done, fillies, Stalliongrad Vodka, astronomy, classical music, starry nights, thunderstorms, oranges, Princess Luna

Dislikes: Being defeated in personal combat, cowardice, appearing weak in front of others, traditional Equestrian governmental institutions

Character History

Hailing from Stalliongrad, Sturmovik earned his nickname "Sturmovik" in a series of daring raids on Griffon airships 10 years ago. Loosely translating to "stallion of storm" in the native dialect, Sturmovik acquired considerable plunder by attacking commercial shipping at the cost of putting heavy strain on Griffon-Equine relations during the time period. The establishment of regional antipiracy patrols led to a drawdown of his raids shortly after the end of the last Equestrian-Griffon border conflict.

Sturmovik harbors an extreme disrespect for institutional authority. His upbringing in the poorer sections of Stalliongrad led to his distrust of anypony who would rather hide behind a wall of red tape and subordinates than get his hooves dirty. Sturmovik had always admired the proud Griffon mentality and their commitment to achieving victory even if it meant fighting their way to the top. Further cementing this inherent hatred is the perception that the bureaucracy sent his father to die in a poorly planned mission during the beginning of the last border war.

Sturmovik is a proud leader and ferocious warrior. His no-nonsense disposition and blunt and unreserved nature make him abrasive in the eyes of a more "cultured" pony. He prefers to lead from the front, setting an example and inspiring his men to win great victories. Despite his revelry in the violent joy of battle, Sturmovik is far from a bloodthirsty brute. He shows mastery of combat tactics and unit discipline and knows not only when to press his advantage, but when to pull back and regroup.

Sturmovik runs a tight ship. While he allows his men substantial leeway on shore leave, he demands discipline while deployed. His use of a mixed crew of Griffons, Ponies, and Dragons capitalizes on the strength of each, relying on his charisma and reputation to maintain unit cohesion in the face of vast differences between the crewmen. He is well-respected by his crew and feared by all who travel through his territory.

In spite of his adamantine exterior and gruff disposition, Sturmovik still has his softer side. When he was young, his father taught him stellar navigation and the science of astronomy, as well as instilling for him a love of music by teaching him to play the balalaika. As such, Sturmovik loathes bringing harm to creatures who make music or art their profession.

He took substantial interest in the tale of the Mare in the Moon, consuming all the lore on the subject he could acquire, even putting out feelers in Canterlot for fact-checking when rumors spread of the return of Princess Luna. Though he lets very few see it, he is often found on deck after hours, carefully studying the stars, seemingly in deep conversation with the Goddess of the Night.

The Airship Artorius

Originally a rusting scrap heap in a Beakbreak City ship-breaking yard, the Artorius was acquired and rebuilt and recommissioned for use for Sturmovik by Demetrius. Based upon the Horizon-class airframe, the Artorius is a small, fast ship optimized for blockade running and hit and run operations. Though its exterior is beaten and scarred from countless battles, its internals rival the sophistication of the newest Victory-class Griffon warships. The Artorius’ refit substantially upgraded its engines and ordnance reservoirs, giving the Artorius superior aerodynamic performance and firepower. In spite of this advantage however, the Artorius is still built on the Horizon airframe and thus is not designed to fight protracted battles against heavily armed and armored opponents.

Crew of the Artorius

Sturmovik surrounds himself with the most capable adventurers and specialists that he can recruit.

Master Sergeant Alastair “Goldy” Goldmane: Griffon. Sturmovik’s first mate is a former Griffon marine who served with the infamous 13th Regiment ("Bloody Thirteen"). Though he’s a dead shot with his crossbow, he’s actually a friendly guy and serves as Sturmovik’s reminder to lighten up and live a little sometimes.

Lavi: Blue Dragon. Lavi is an outcast from dragonkind. His aristocratic parents loathed his propensity for questioning everything, which eventually led to an extreme falling out; directly contributing to his throwing his lot in with Sturmovik and company. Lavi is the Artorius’ ship gunner.

Demetrius: Green Dragon. Demetrius is a wheeler, dealer, and all-round scumbag, or so the locals say. Demetrius prefers to refer to himself as shrewd, cunning, and above all else, preeminently pragmatic. He serves as the ship’s supercargo, cataloging, trading, and selling the ship’s plunder and any artifacts they happen to come across.

Odu: Zebra. Odu is the Artorius’s chief engineer, directing the dragons, griffons, and unicorns working the boilers, oiling the turbines, or maintaining the gun reservoirs. The big burly zebra knows his way around the new systems and is surprisingly good with a wrench. His brawniness belies his intelligence; when new parts come through or jerry-rigging needs to be done, Odu is the first to have a plan.

Skills

Melee Combat. Years of tough ground and deck battles and combat flying have honed Sturmovik’s melee combat skills to a fine edge. His strength and inherent toughness give him an edge over most fliers in hoof to hoof combat.

Aerobatics. Like his melee skills, Sturmovik’s flying skills are finely honed by years of experience. Sturmovik often spearheads attacks himself after his reconnaissance teams have reported back to the ship.

Command. Sturmovik is a skilled commander, implementing tactics based on 13th Regiment combat training and inspiring his men in battle with his ferocity and cunning.

Here we are again. Wouldn't have it any other way.

'Flesh wounds, chief— nothing a little time and antibiotic won't fix,' he said to Braeburn, his breath forming little clouds of condensation in the chill air. 'But I won't say no to a helping hoof. C'mon.'

Diomedes folded his wings back from his face, letting them hang loosely at his sides, lest any cactus needles become lodged in his own flanks or those of the rest of the company. Thus far, the nonliving portions of his wings were the only ones that had taken hits. His flight feathers were ruffled, but otherwise none the worse for wear. As long as the needles weren't in contact with anything alive, they couldn't cause any harm… at least that's what Dio hoped. He glanced back at his wings as he helped push Willow up onto Braeburn's back. Those were a lot of needles…

As the small herd of ponies made their way to the Doctor's cart, it was already beginning to inch its way forward. Dio picked up his pace, urging Braeburn to do the same. A cart moving without being drawn by other ponies? Dio had never seen anything like it before, but he supposed there was some magic that could make it go. He'd have to ask about it later; there were more pressing issues to attend to at the moment.

Bluebelle was already on board, frantically waving to the rest of them as they approached. Without hesitation, Dio leaped into the strange vehicle, quickly whirling around to grab Willow under her front legs and ease her into the cart. The whistling noise had returned and he glanced out the door to see that the cacti had finished off the decoy and were rapidly closing on their position. He extended a hoof to Braeburn, planning to close the door as soon as he was able to drag the earth pony on board. 'Now would be a good time to leave, Doc!'

Razr v3m. I'm looking to upgrade to an Atrix. Yes, I know that's like going from a handgun to a Death Star. Don't judge me!

0_o

Inkwell wasn't all bad. He looked like he was barely out of high school, just of age; still looking for his place in the world. That he would go to see Rarity as a fellow artist rather than a patron was most interesting. Diomedes didn't know Rarity personally; he'd never had a reason to visit Carousel Boutique, but he'd heard plenty from the townsfolk of Ponyville. Without any semblance of personal connection, he considered her much more an entrepreneur chasing the elusive bit rather than a visual artist in it for the craft. Dio shrugged. What did he know about such things? He was just a simple mail pony.

"Heh. Just enjoy m'self, yeah. I will, Theo! But I'm not much of a drinkerrrrrrrrr, so I'm a little w-worried about that headachy thing you get," Inkwell slurred. "How do we get rid of that? Can't go into tomorrow with a fresh mind other...way."

"That, my friend, is what you call a hangover!" Diomedes laughed. Inkwell was more of a lightweight than he thought he'd be! "But it shouldn't be a problem so long as you stop when you hit your limit."

Giving Inkwell a quick once-over, Diomedes was quick to add, "Though it looks like you're already on top of it. Only water from here on out, kid. You've got a lot to learn."

Without delay, two glasses of water slid down the bar, one stopping in front of each of the two patrons. Dio gave the barekeep a nod of approval before turning back to Inkwell. "So what flavor artist are you? I'm going to presume visual artist, since Rarity doesn't seem the type to sing, dance, or write; though she definitely seems the type to indulge in trashy romance novels. You're not one of those writers, are you?"

I see spellcasting as visualizing what you want to accomplish in your mind and then "tapping the aether" in order to accomplish what you want. Equestria is a magical land, after all, and aetheric energy pervades every corner, just waiting to be tapped. Casters who are very good at what they do like Twilight can "grab" large amounts of ambient aether to make their vision of what they want to alter in their world happen, even in spite of the laws of physics. Less accomplished casters like Rarity or Trixie would merely be limited to "plucking" strands of aether or "collecting" small bunches to do things like Rarity's fine manipulation of sewing tools and her passive ability to locate gems or Trixie's pyrotechnics and illusion spells.

In contrast, Earth ponies, Pegasus and Griffons have the ability to manipulate aether not with their minds, but with their bodies, which allows them to stand on clouds or in the case of Pegasi manipulate them to do their bidding. Earth ponies seem to have the ability to make plants grow better or animals healthier just by virtue of proximity (according to word of Faust anyways). Thus, we see that while most unicorns are fairly intellectual or given to more indoor pursuits, pegasi and earth ponies seem predisposed to athleticism and physical activity. There are always exceptions, of course (Fluttershy pretty much breaks all the rules).

Diomedes smiled as he ascended, the warmth of the sun's rays enveloping him in ribbons of radiance that flowed through his mane and over his body like gentle rain. He loved the feeling of high altitude flight, the joy of sailing far above and beyond everything on the ground, the rush of wind over his wings, the excitement of diving down to the deck from above. After all, it was what gave him his cutie mark in the first place.

Laughing as he went, the red pegasus banked hard and swooped down, zooming past Knightly in a steep dive before flaring his wings and looping back around. Dio steered toward a cloud bank on his way back up, puncturing it as he continued to ascend. He rolled a full rotation as he tunneled through the cloud, dragging it out behind him in the vortex he created and leaving a trail of white cloud on which rings were strung-- "donuts on a string." Dio completed his run by rising up and matching speed and altitude with his companions, coming up between Tempest and Knightly while flashing a goofy grin.

"I'm no Wonderbolt or weather captain, Miss Tempest, but I know how to manipulate my clouds," he said with a wink. "Mind putting a word in for me with the weather team?"

Diomedes turned to Knightly. "Relax, chief. If we stay high enough there's no worries."

Turning his head to face straight forward, he addressed both of them. "Like I said, stay in formation and follow my lead and we'll be fine."

Aqellia is the unofficial name that I've been using for the Griffon lands for Heart of Equestria.

Pickpocketing and sleight of hand is a skill set that's not tied to being a street urchin. Magicians and professional thieves also use it to accomplish their ends.

It appears that the only problems you've mentioned are simple issues with wording, which I will have clarified in short order.

'You're in Trouble,' the brown earth pony said.

'Thank you, Captain Obvious,' Diomedes mumbled a response to the Doctor. 'Now— WHOA WHOA, easy there, chief!'

The red Pegasus jerked his head away from Braeburn's pursed lips in surprise. The other stallion's eyes were glazed over and the edges of his mouth were twisted in a sort of delirious smile, indicating his less than coherent mental state. Dio made a face of disgust and rolled away, standing up to face the odd whistling noise that was now emanating from the ridge that he had just cleared.

The sky was aglow. Dio's eyes grew wide as the glowing blue forms crested the ridge. The whistling noise intensified and Dio took a step back as he realized that it was the sound of hundreds of tiny needles embedding themselves in the ground near the group of ponies.

Fire. Needles. Greenery. They were cacti… flying cacti. A spark of recognition flashed in Dio's eyes. Suddenly, he was back at the bar at the Rhinestone Quarry. That same brown earth pony was chatting up a big Griffon over drinks. He normally didn't eavesdrop, but the bits of conversation that wafted over were so unusual that Diomedes couldn't help but catalog it.

'You haven't happened to have seen anything... *weird* around here, have you? Like... weird weird? Unbelievable weird? Like, for instance, just pulling some random weird thing out of weird air... flying cactusses?'

'I'm the Doctor, by the way. Doctor Whooves.'

'You!' Dio said, jabbing a hoof at Doctor Whooves. 'You were at the Rhinestone! What—'

'I knew it!' the dark unicorn exclaimed, far more excitedly than Dio had expected from her. She galloped straight past him, making a beeline for the rapidly approaching forms instead of following the Doctor's advice to run.

'Are you crazy, lady?!' Dio shouted after her. The unicorn seemed to ignore him, running straight into the middle of the cactus swarm. Her horn began to glow blue, the same shade as the magical fire that surrounded the floating desert plants. All around her, cacti began dropping, their flames dissipating and reforming in a ghostly halo around Willow's head. Diomedes was struck dumb by the surreal joy with which the unicorn mare seemed to prance through the flames, which floated around her as if bewitched by her magic. Can she really stop them?

Suddenly, Willow crumpled in pain, hit by a spray of needles from other possessed cacti not yet charmed by her abilities. Guess not. Time for plan B!

As if on cue, the third pony he had seen stepped into the glow of fire's light, revealing her to be a mule. She dove into Braeburn's dismounted saddlebags coming back up with waterskin in mouth. She bashed away one of the floating cacti before throwing the waterskin to the ground. The rapidly pooling water attracted the floating forms like a magnet, clearing a hole in the swarm big enough for a pony to get through and thinning the horde of cacti and fire around Willow Wisp.

'Come on! Let's get 'er away from here!' the molly shouted.

'I'm on it!' Diomedes sprang into action, leaping forward and closing the distance with lightning speed. He unfurled his massive wings and covered his head and neck with them, using his flight feathers as a shield against the inevitable rain of needles. Though he was charging into the middle of an inferno, there was a palpable chill that pervaded the air; whether it was a product of the magical flames that now surrounded him or merely the sudden realization of the chill of desert night, Diomedes didn't know; nor did he care. Willow was dead unless he got her out of there!

Finally, the red Pegasus closed the gap, arriving by Willow's side. 'Sorry miss, normally I'm more polite about these things, but we don't exactly have time for chatting over drinks. We've got to get out of here!'

He hooked his front legs under Willow's, using his teeth to grip her mane and repositioning her head so that he could drag her backwards without snapping her neck. He kept his wings extended, using them as a feathered umbrella to shelter both his head and Willow's body against the rain of needles. It had to have been quick, or they would have both been dead, but that walk back to the other ponies was the longest walk Diomedes had ever taken.

Dio could hear needles whistling past him and impacting the ground and getting stuck in his feathers. He could feel the pounding of his pulse inside his veins. He could taste the soapy flavor of adrenaline in his mouth. He barely registered that he had arrived, nearly backing into Braeburn. Dio gingerly laid Willow down on the ground.

'Somepony help put her on my back so we can move her. We need to get out of here.'

I want to say that the fully-grown dragons shown in FiM could be centuries old, if not older. I'd think it reasonable to assume that a dragon would reach full size within perhaps a century or two of birth, with their growth rate slowing down significantly after their second century. Dragons grow slowly compared to other species in Equestria, only reaching breeding age after they've reached their full size, leading to long life cycles and low birth rates.

I can post additional information I typed up for Heart of Equestria if anypony thinks it would be relevant.

Okay, ready for evaluation.

Dio whirled around as he heard footsteps and skittering behind him. Someone was behind him? Why hadn't he heard it before? Was it dangerous? Diomedes dropped his head low, his legs set to launch him at a potential assailant and wings half open in case he needed to attempt a hasty escape. As big as Dio was, he wasn't willing to risk a direct confrontation with a nocturnal predator like a mountain lion.

The interloper crested the ridge, backlit by the faint glimmer of moonlight. Dio relaxed as the silhouette revealed itself not to be feline, but equine. As the other pony came down the hill, the Pegasus breathed a sigh of relief. 'Oh thank goodness. I thought you were a mountain lion or something worse. Do you happen to know—'

'What are you doing in a place like this, calling out like that, for?!' The other pony cried out.

Dio was taken aback. 'Listen, chief, I crashed and—'

'You're bringing them right to us!' He said as he dashed past. 'Hurry! They're right behind me, but I can see my cart up ahead!'

'What?' Dio shouted after him. 'Bringing who to us?'

Is he out of his mind? Seeing his last hope of escaping dashing away from him at full speed, Diomedes did the only thing he could: he gave chase. The other stallion scrambled over the low rise and down the hill, slipping and sliding as he went. Dio's hooves pounded the rocky ground as he pursued his quarry, throwing up plumes of sand and gravel. As he crested the rise, Dio could just make out the tan pony skidding to a halt in the midst of 3 other roughly equine forms, one of which glowed brightly enough to dimly light the depression they were in and render Diomedes' chem light obsolete.

'Now isn't that a neat tr—' Dio was cut short as his hoof slipped, sending him sprawling down the loose gravel and sand the composed the hillside. In an effort to right himself, he flapped his wings madly, which only served to aggravate the situation. Instead of slowing his descent as he'd hoped, his antics kicked up a huge cloud of dust around him and aerated the sand beneath, in the end creating an even slicker sliding surface.

'Ponyfeathers!' Diomedes grunted as he fumbled with his hooves and wings. At the bottom of the hill, the big Pegasus collided handily with Dr. Whooves, sending them both tumbling into Braeburn, the final result being a comically stacked pony pile on the desert floor. Dio groaned as he rolled over, off the good doctor and the certainly less-than-thrilled Braeburn.

'Uh, hi... can anyone tell me where I am?'

Linked Dio's profile to that of his father Captain Aristotle and added a note about his parents.

Eliminated some redundant description, added personality traits.

'Great to finally have some company!' Diomedes said with a grin. The big Pegasus leaped from his cloud and began to slowly circle the square. 'Now form up on me. Over the forest it's not so bad, but if you slip over to the lee side of the mountain, there are some ugly rotor winds that can get you. But that's not a problem as long as you stay close. Now let's go!'

Dio mentally reviewed his flight plan as he did before all long-haul flights. West over Everfree, turning north at the glade, drift northwest before making a slow orbit around the great tree, and a final dash to the summit. He gave his mighty wings a few flaps, leveling out and climbing to a better cruise altitude before they left town. He glanced behind him to ensure that his companions were in tow.

Inkwell stared not so much at Diomedes as straight through him. The red Pegasus cocked his head quizzically, waving a hoof in front of Inkwell's face. The unicorn jumped a little at the gesture as he snapped back into reality. 'What? Right, sorry. I don't think I'll be trying any more of whatever that just was. Tasted like... something. Got anything sweeter?'

'Bartender, see about getting this stallion a Vesper,' Diomedes laughed. He sipped at his bourbon before addressing inkwell again. 'Should taste like lemon water, but has enough kick to get you feeling happy in no time.'

Diomedes finished off his drink and rapped on the bar with a hoof for another one as Inkwell began recounting his adventure at the Carousel Boutique. His first few words come out slurred, as if his tongue were slightly too big for his mouth. Diomedes did his best to hide a smirk. The kid was a lightweight, wasn't he? The unicorn continued, absorbed in telling his own story; so absorbed in fact that he was probably reliving it in his head.

Inkwell sniffled at the mention of being chewed out by the Boutique's proprietor. Dio looked on bemusedly; Inkwell was like a child after he'd been scolded by his mother. The red pegasus didn't know whether to laugh or commiserate, but Inkwell was practically pouring his heart out. The poor unicorn looked like he was going to cry. Dio sighed. Everyone needed a pick-me-up now and then, didn't they?

'We all have days like that, kid,' Dio said, more sympathetically this time. 'But you know what? You can deal with that tomorrow with a fresh mind. Right now, put down a couple drinks with your bro, and stop thinking about Rarity.'

As if on cue, the bar-mare slid Inkwell's drink down the bar to him. It was clear liquid in a martini glass, garnished with a twist of lemon. The drink smelled faintly of juniper berries, but otherwise gave off no olfactory indication of its alcohol content. Dio knew from experience that this was one that would sneak up on you; tasted like water, took you out like a champion fighter.

'Your drink, sir,' the bartender said.

White Feather

You want the best in Equestria? You'll have to catch him first!

Name: White Feather, "The Wind Walker"

Sex: Male

Age: Young stallion

Species: Earth pony

RP Color: #00BFFF

Pelt Color: Ice blue, white fetlocks. Has a navy blue ring around his front left leg just below the knee. The leg and fetlock below the ring are completely white.

Mane/Tail Color & Style: Navy blue mane, with a single white streak in his forelock. Tail is also navy, trimmed to keep it from dragging or catching.

Eye Color: Green

Cutie Mark: White eagle feather with red tip on the feathered end. Represents his light step and his unnatural grace, almost that of a flier.

Physique: Short, about the height of the main cast, though he is male. Toned musculature from athletics training, but not bulky. Lithe and agile build. His movements have a sort of unnatural grace to them, more akin to a feline than an equine.

Origin: Streets of Manehattan. Currently on the run from Aquellian law enforcement.

Occupation: “Retrieval specialist.” Or as local police like to call it, a thief. Usually he works alone, as his unorthodox methods of breaking and entering preclude the use of a team. However that does not mean his is unwilling to cooperate. During more complex jobs, White Feather often works with others to make scores he wouldn’t otherwise be able to accomplish alone.

Motivation: White Feather doesn’t steal for the money; he enjoys testing his skills against the best that Equestria has to offer, though cash isn’t a bad deal, either.

Likes: Carousing, drinking, making an epic getaway, gambling, free running, contests of speed and agility, adventure, the thrill of a big score, humiliating his enemies, talking (he likes running his mouth), spicy foods

Dislikes: Losing, hurting anypony unnecessarily, being injured or rendered unable to run, being caught, being trapped, being outmaneuvered or outsmarted, snakes

Personality

Having acquired his skill set on the mean streets of Manehattan by himself and thrived in spite of inauspicious circumstances, White Feather is overconfident almost to a fault. If there's a job that requires his skill set that looks dangerous-- or perhaps even fun-- White Feather wants it. As much as he loves seeing the bits drop, he gets his rush from running, jumping, climbing, and flipping; the sheer visceral joy of overcoming physical challenges.

White Feather's level of energy is infectious; you'd think he's actually a pegasus that hides his wings very well. He loves to talk and seems to have an anecdote for every situation in spite of his youth. While he does make an occasional pass at a pretty mare, he doesn't go out of his way to find or keep fillyfriends, insisting that they'll just slow him down. He prefers the company of his current crew at taverns, though he's not above settling at the bar with a few chums he just met.

White Feather is actually a very amicable stallion in spite of his past and his current profession. He's easy to approach and never lacks anything to talk about. Though many who have met him think him to be shallow and flighty, he can be calmed down by someone who takes sufficient time to befriend him and peel back the layers that he's built over the years to keep him alive and well.

Character History

The quintessential adrenaline junkie, White Feather tests his skills against the best that Equestria has to offer. White Feather is not the typical cutpurse or pickpocket; rather he is a highly trained professional thief that normally hits well-protected houses, companies, or vaults. He has worked for mercenaries, corporate heads, and even sky pirates. His high-flying aerialist talents and free running skills have often resulted in him being confused for a pegasus, earning him the nickname "The Wind Walker."

After growing up in an orphanage, White Feather made a name for himself as a street urchin, using his experience as a stepping stone for his later high-flying aerialist heists. He jumped around from misfit gang to misfit gang, offering his unique talents in exchange for places to stay the night.

One day, he was recruited by an old stallion to break into a bank and recover something very valuable to him. The job was the hardest one he'd ever undertaken in his life; the security was tight and the vault was nigh unbreakable, but with careful movement and a few close calls, White Feather and the old stallion's team were able to get into the vault and get what they needed. Unfortunately, the operation turned out to be a double cross. Knowing that White Feather was simply a street urchin that was expendable, the old stallion attempted to kill him to cover his tracks. Fortunately, White Feather was much lighter on his feet than the old stallion expected, allowing him to make good on his escape and in the process earn his cutie mark.

His first brush with what seemed like certain death has given him a healthy fear of harming anypony, even if they stand directly in his way. White Feather knows all kinds of tricks and traps to incapacitate and trip up enemies, but he refuses to kill on principle. To date, no pony has ever been killed or suffered more than a minor injury during any of the operations that The Wind Walker has participated in.

White Feather has since graduated to bigger jobs, developing a network of contacts across Equestria that he visits to find potential jobs and other like-minded individuals to train and work with.

Skill Summary

Acrobatics. White Feather is skilled in parkour, utilizing his superior athletic conditioning and superb flexibility and balance to traverse terrain that even fliers would be hesitant to navigate. Further augmenting his abilities is White Feather’s absurdly high risk threshold and his knowledge of the limits of his own body and just how far he can push himself.

Athletics. He runs. A lot. He can keep running for much longer than most ponies are willing to chase him.

Stealth. After years of being on the run, White Feather knows how to evade pursuit and disappear into crowds and in all types of terrain. Without magic, he relies on misdirection and fast talking to throw off a tail.

Melee Combat. While not a fighter by trade, White Feather can hold his own against the average soldier or thug by using his superior mobility and balance to trip up his opponents. White Feather never uses lethal force if it can be avoided, preferring to embarrass those he thinks can catch him than injuring or killing them.

Sleight of Hoof. A simple extension of misdirection and fast talking, White Feather can pick pockets, snatch important items, and slip away before he’s caught.

Smell. White Feather has an exceptional sense of smell, particularly enjoying the smells of spicy foods like curry.

Equipment

Saddlebags. Specially made from synthetic materials from the Griffon lands, these bags are tough and lightweight, hugging his body for maximum mobility even when loaded.

Grappling Hook/Line. As good as he is, White Feather can’t fly, so sometimes he needs a little help.

Headwrap and tunic. Dark navy blue like his mane, these lightweight garments protect against abrasion and fire and aid in concealment in the dark.

MURDERSHY. That is all.

I've read Worlds Apart and to be honest I'm torn.

When I first started reading, I wanted to murder the author for crimes against the English language, but there was just enough interesting description in the world for me to keep reading. The world building is rock-solid and the fact that the author successfully bridged G1 and G2 and somehow wove a complex plot line together into the MLP universe is truly something to behold. Still the Grammar Nazi in me rages against the atrocious spelling, strange wording, and lack of complex sentences, which really mar what would otherwise be an awesome story.

My favorite is still A Ponies' history of the Dragon War. It's a long read and has quite a few grimdark elements in it, but the writing is brilliant, the world-building is sound, and the twist will blow your mind.

Diomedes Ironwing awoke with a start, banging his head against something hard with a resounding THUNK. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed the bump that was sure to be forming with a hoof. 'Who put that tree here—TREE???'

He found himself gripped by panic as he realized that it was dark and he hadn't a clue where 'here' was. Where was he? What happened? Was he late to work? The Pegasus gripped his head with both front hooves as he memory came rushing back on a wave of pain.

Flight. He was flying, flying back to Ponyville. There was something loud, something that howled. Wind; that must have been it. He remembered clouds, lots of clouds. He must have hit one of the rotor wind pockets during one of the storms that often rolled through the mountains. There was more pain, pain all over his body. A crash; there must have been a crash, that's why he hurt all over.

The headache slowly subsided into a dull throbbing, which gradually coalesced into coherent thoughts. He would worry about being late to work later. Right now it was more important to stay alive. First order of business: triage.

He was functional. As he gingerly moved his limbs and wings, he was able to determine that nothing was broken, though there were quite a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Entire sections of his coat were missing from where he had skidded in the dirt and rock. Flesh wounds would heal in time, but mangled limbs wouldn't. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was hope after all.

But it was still night, the blackest night he'd ever seen. There were no lights for miles around; only the feeble glow of ambient starlight allowed him to make out the shapes of trees and rocks around him. The only sound was the gentle baying of the wind between the rocks above him. Dio shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the bleak reality of being blown off course, stuck on a mountain, in the dark, with no obvious way out. He put a hoof to his head.

'C'mon, Dio, get a hold of yourself!'

Diomedes fumbled for his saddlebags with his hooves. Good, they were still serviceable. The Griffon synthetic material had scuffs and was dirty and dingy, but showed no signs of tearing. The big Pegasus couldn't help but chuckle. He'd been incredibly lucky to get away with only scuffs and bruises with his equipment none too worse for wear; almost too lucky.

Now he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to extricate himself from his rather precarious position. Dio had no idea where he actually was and even if he did, the mountains would be impossible to navigate in the dark. To get anywhere he'd have to wait until morning—if something didn't get him before then. He'd have to take shelter soon to ensure a mountain lion didn't decide to pounce while he dozed off.

Diomedes stood up slowly and prepared to work his way around the little hollow when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. His ears perked up as he heard voices to go along with the shifting shadows and intermittent flashes of lantern light on the far side of the hollow. Dio strained to make out the sounds wafting his way. While he couldn't discern individual words, he heard enough rhythm from it to determine that it wasn't a feral creature. Ponies? This far out? At night?

As unlikely as it seemed, whoever was coming was probably Diomedes' best hope of surviving the night. He reached into one of his saddlebags and withdrew a chemical light stick, cracking it with his teeth and tossing the lanyard around his neck. The sickly yellow light of the glow stick provided enough illumination to navigate short distances and would highlight him to any would be rescuers. Hopefully he could reach them before a wild animal reached him.

'Helllllllllllllloooooooooooo?' Dio called to the night, his voice echoing throughout the hollow.

This makes me laugh so hard. I love it.

'Well there, Inkwell, first one's on me, but you're on your own after that,' Dio said, shaking the kid's hoof. 'So having had no prior experience with alcohol, you just walk into a bar with the saddest face you could muster and try to order a drink?'

Dio's thoughts echoed his rhetoric. Inkwell wasn't a very tough-looking pony. His unassuming build and large glasses suggested that he was an indoors kind of guy. A student or an artist maybe? Whatever he was, something was definitely eating at him; what else would put him so far out of his element? Diomedes sipped his drink gingerly, enjoying the faint notes of coffee and allspice before the slow burn of alcohol set in.

'Must have been one hay of a day, kid. What's eatin' you?'

"Don't worry, Knightly," Dio said coolly. "You heard the lady; she's not injured."

This was proving to be a bit of a conundrum for Diomedes. On the one hoof, he was more than willing to shoot down a stuck-up, self-righteous, self-important pony. However, the last time he'd done that, the subject of his ire had ended up with a broken nose and a black eye. Dio had no intention of ever beating up Tempest; it just wasn't proper.

On the other hoof, the little green filly had an oddly charming naiveté about her; he saw it in the way she demanded to be addressed formally and her sputtering reaction to his mere mention of the Everfree Forest. She was one of those; overwhelmingly book smart but socially challenged. It made him almost want to forgive her right then and there…

'You heard me right the first time,' the red Pegasus said, easing off a bit. 'Since Twilight Sparkle and company chased the dragon out of his lair, the mountain has been safe. Trust me; I fly the path regularly during my training flights on my days off.'

He was quick to add, 'If it makes you feel any better, we can increase our cruising altitude, staying away from the canopy. There should be some good thermals around the deep forest glades and some altocumulus clouds to perch on closer to the mountain.'

'And Knightly? You're welcome to come, too. What's it gonna be, Miss Tempest?'