Penblade

High noon. The socially accepted time for breaks, mexican standoffs, and lunch. Alas, it seemed Gallows wouldn't be doing any of those things. Lunch would have to wait because they were setting off for the mountain, completely negating the chance of a break, and the nonexistance of any sort of gunpowder whatsoever made mexican standoffs a complete impossibility no matter what time of day it was. In retrospect this last point was probably a blessing for the gravedigger's health. That did not, however, mean that Gallow's was unscathed following the few hours of waiting to begin the group's ascent. He approached the group in question from the direction of the cemetery with four new things about him, three of which on his face. On his face now rested a black eye, a split upper lip, and a broad smile of triumph and satisfaction, while jutting from his saddlebags, alongside the handle of his shovel and the handle of an as of yet unseen tool, rested a dark oak staff about four feet long with three runes etched in a ring around the top of it. Behind him Odd One was nursing a bruised rib and shouting after him angrily. No words could be discerned though. He sat on his haunches beside Silvertongue and grinned at the party, gingerly licking blood off his lower lip, "Afternoon gents. How's everypony... doing....... uh......... Silvan............ I-Is that, who I'm afraid it is?" Gallows was quick to notice Soul Slasher had joined their posse, but slow to process the impossible fact, taking a good fifteen seconds to finish his sentence. Remembering the events of last night the gravedigger's smile died a slow, agonizing death as he cautiously inched back and over to hide behind Silvertongue.

Chapeau smiled to himself as the large double doors of the royal palace slid ominously shut behind the tan coated mare. From his vantage point on the second floor of a high end grocer's across the plaza, directly opposite the gates, he was able to see everything that went on outside the main gates of the palace, and the mare's entry had been quite intriguing, and may have just given him the idea he needed. He quietly slithered backward through the crawlspace hidden in a closet, closing the tiny window disguised as a knothole in the wood when seen from outside as he went. It was a very awkward place to get in and out of, but the secrecy and concealment of it was worth the hastle. When he finally extricated himself from the miniscule enclosure he closed the camoflauged trap door in the back of the closet and opened the regular door. Outside it was a small room with one door and one window. Rugs lay all over the floor, while couches and small tables dotted the floorspace with no real rhyme or reason. A pair of stallions sat on either side of one table in the corner playing a some pub game Chapeau could never remember the name of, while a mare just beginning to show signs of her more advanced age lounged on a sofa. They all turned to look expectantly as Chapeau straightened his suit and trademark hat. He met each of their eyes in turn before speaking, then simply said, "No guard activity. Nothing to report. You're on watch now Glide." The mare, a pegasus like himself, grunted and rolled off the couch, grunting again as a few joints popped. She passed Chapeau on her way to the lookout nook while he walked toward a table bearing his saddlebags on it. The door to the closet opened and shut as he rested the chic yet sparsely occupied bags on his back. He had a plan now, but it required one last sweep of the palace interior defenses to perfect. He listened quietly to the conversation the other two thieves were having as he stretched his various limbs, waking them up after five hours in the nook. "I've said it before and I'll say it again Carb. This city ain't what it used to be." The big, rust colored stallion on the right of the table said, shaking his head sadly. "I take it you heard about the beatings then?" A younger unicorn stallion with a yellow coat replied in a naturally quiet voice, staring at the game. "It's not right, I tell's ya! A mare should be able to walk home in confidence in this city, not fearing for her life!" "Maybe fearing for her bits," The unicorn added with a smile, "But you're right. It's getting out of hoof." "Curse those religious freaks! Snatching ponies in the night and leaving them half alive without even the decency to steal from 'em; it's like somethin' out of a ghost story," The big earth pony grumbled. "So you think they really are a cult?" The unicorn asked curiously, "Or did you really mean it about the, uh, g-ghosts?" The big pony snorted powerfully, sounding like bad plumbing acting up, "I don't know what's what in this city anymore. All I know is it ain't right!" "And we're all sure your irritation has nothing to do with the increased guard patrols, Mr. Brick House," Chapeau mentioned poignantly, walking toward the door. "Well that goes without saying," The big stallion said as if it was the most obvious thing. "Hmm, I suppose so." Chapeau paused at the door and glanced back at the small unicorn, "Are you planning on staying late, Mr. Carbon Copy?" The unicorn raised his eyes from the pub game and looked at Chapeau with a slight expression of perplexity, "I believe so. Why?" "I may need your help writing a particular sort of letter my friend," The pegasus said cryptically. Carbon Copy grinned in understanding, "I'll be here until three in the morning Stunning. Might this have anything to do with your, quote-unquote, master plan, by any chance?" The master thief just smiled, tipped his hat at the pair, and walked out the door.

Gallows gave the older stallion what he hoped at least something like a salute, "Aye-aye, grandad." Oh, he was going to have fun with this. Having nothing to say to Dusk at the moment, he got up from the table, wondering absently where his damned cider had gotten off to. Oh well, just another vague mystery that would probably never be solved to be connected with the strange waitress. He left the inn a few steps after Silvan and Silver, but instead of heading for a shop, headed off toward the cemetery with a smug, expectant grin on his face.

Gallows was still attempting to work out what exactly was wrong with the waitress, putting all his focus on the task, so he just sat back and let Silvertongue talk with the hatted stallion. If his name was any indication the old fellow would be much better at it than him anyway. As the conversation continued Silvan returned and Gallows relented on his earlier personal comment. Things hadn't go terribly wrong without Silvan there to keep Silvertongue from violence. At the very least things didn't seem to have escalated in any way. "...I see that Grandfather must be picking up another worker. I'll leave you two to that, then..." Grandfather? What was the kid talking about? ...Oh... The gravedigger smiled; that was kinda clever. It also meant he could probably get away with calling Silver 'grandpa'. Oh what cruel joy! The majority of the gravedigger's attention was still on the waitress, until of course, Dusk began to rant and rage against the Blood. Knowing that the ex-prince himself was literally sitting right next to him he had to fight not to giggle at the hole Dusk was digging himself into. He covered his mouth with a hoof, pretending to wipe something off his face while snickering quietly. He glanced to the side and saw the look in Silvan's eyes. He cleared his throat lightly and put his hoof down, no longer having to fight to keep his face straight. This must be really cutting the kid deep. But he was accustomed to talk like this it seemed, if the evenhoofed way he handled it was any indication.

This is a gag character, not meant to be taken seriously; unless Val finds him funny enough to be worthy of some cameos, but even then, not much seriousness. Name: The Inexplicable Banjoneer Sex: Male Age: Young Adult Species: Griffin *Nationality: Unknown **Organization: Unexplained Instrument Players United ***Social Class: Minstrel Eye Color: Never seen with his eyes open, though legend has it they’re blue. Coat Color: Tan and white Mane/Tail: White/lion-ish Physique: Average Cutie Mark: N/A Origin/Residence: Unknown Occupation: Banjo player/Freelance narrator Motivation: Because he can. If you could teleport inexplicably wouldn’t YOU play the banjo all over the place? Of course you would. Likes: Banjoes, plot devices, chapter transitions, fish n’ chips, and puppies. Dislikes: Cellos (Sweet Celestia! He hates them with the burning passion of a man whose parents were slain by a cello!), monologues, preexisting musical accompaniment, pickle slices, and mustard.\ Personality: Virtually nonexistent. He only opens his mouth to sing and is never in one place for longer than a minute or two. No one knows where he is the rest of the time. It’s possible he might not even really exist during those periods. Family: Slain by marauding cellos. Background Story: His tale is fractious and unknowable to the minds of mortal ponies. He was born in the pocket dimension of Bjorgen-Bjorgen two hundred years from now, and two hundred six years before then his parents were killed by a vicious band of cellos. The next (or maybe previous) thing anyone heard of him, he had joined the occult order of the Unexplained Instrument Players United. He now follows adventurers throughout time and space, documenting their odysseys through banjo accompanied song. Do not attempt to understand him, for he is beyond the grasp of ponykind.

Gallows grinned as Sweet Taffy came over to the table and took his order. Her smile was wide and innocent. Her eyes twinkled in the dim light of morning. Her mane and coat were perfectly groomed. He couldn't see her plot with her facing him but he was sure it was amazing as well. She fairly glowed with feminine beauty and youth. She was perfect. And that thought dug at Gallows' mind like a rusty saw. He'd prepared hundreds of bodies to be buried in the cemetery and even the most magnificent specimens had possessed a blemish, some mark of darkness to bring them a step below perfection. It's what seperated mortal ponies from gods. There was only one way perfection could be attained without being born into it; artificially. It was an unnerving idea, and it hardly made any sense, so he tried to ignore it. The view as she walked away helped distract him. He turned back to the table and found to his dismay that Silvan had slipped off while he was gawking, leaving him alone with... Silvertongue. The little brat! He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, shaking loose more dirt from his mane, "So, climbing the Howling Mountain today, are we? Don't think I've ever climbed a mountain before. Have you? I'm sure a stallion of your... experience, has seen a few sights." He was going to kill Silvan.

Name: Chapeau Stunning, though his various pseudonyms include Chester Vest, Silver Lining, Rapidfire, Double Down, and Pipes. Sex: Male Age: Stallion Species: Pegasus *Nationality: Equestrian **Organization: None ***Social Class: Merchant Eye Color: Violet Coat Color: Grey Mane/tail: Black. He keeps both well groomed and neat, as well as occasionally waxing them. Physique: Lanky Cutie Mark/Destiny Mark: A simplistic hat with a crossed pair of keys on it, one red, the other white. His mark appeared on the day he stole a gold earring from a jewelry shop on a dare, accidentally leaving his hat behind in his haste to make a clean escape. Leaving a hat at the scene of the crime would later become his trademark calling card. The mark represents his simple sense of fashion and special talent for getting around locks and other obstacles, though he didn’t realize that was its meaning until he was a teenager. He rarely lets his mark be seen though; rather, he hides it with grey dye, then uses multicolored dyes and a mirror to give himself a new cutie mark. Origin/Residence: Born in Canterlot and never found a good enough reason to leave. Occupation: A tailor, reporter, gambler, banker, and entertainer, but most certainly NOT a master thief. Certainly not, how could you even think that you silly person. Personality: Growing up in Canterlot taught Chapeau manners and respect. He holds no ill will toward anyone he steals from, he just sees it as their bad luck for being so wealthy. He is a perfect gentlecolt and an actor, able to play any part required of him to get near his latest goal. He is dedicated to his work, almost bordering on obsessed. All in all, quite a friendly fellow, though a tad queer. Family: Only his parents; Stunning Vest and White Silk. Background Story: Born into a well-to-do family in the outer suburbs of Canterlot, Chapeau grew up in the regular fashion of most colts and fillies. He went to school daily, ate his vegetable, played with the other kids, spent time with his family, and got into trouble from time to time (See Cutie Mark section). Something never felt right to him though. His family was, as previously mentioned, moderately wealthy. He never lacked bits to get what he wanted, but they were never his bits. Even in his later years as a teenager when Chapeau started working in his father’s vest shop, he still felt like he was only being paid for being there. There was no actual work for him, nothing that would constitute earning a reward. Stocking shelves, stitching, fetching thread, keeping the shop’s ledger; any foal could do those things. He felt like there was something bigger he could be doing, something grander and more worth his skill and time. It came to him one day as he was headed home from buying bolts of cloth at the market. He was passing through a heavy throng of ponies watching the sunset on one of Canterlot’s many grand balconies when he decided to stop and count the bolts in his saddlebags, coming to find that one of them was missing. It was a great inconvenience, especially since his father needed all the bolts to finish his latest order on time. He looked around and thought about what he could do. The stores were all closing and the order was due tomorrow, then he spotted an old stallion near the back of the crowd with a bolt of cloth peeking out of his saddlebags. He paused for a second, then shrugged and trotted up behind him. Without breaking stride he flicked out a wing and slid the bolt delicately from the stallion’s bag to his. Chapeau didn’t feel even a hint of guilt, though he did feel quite surprised when the old stallion appeared straight in front of him five blocks down the street. Chapeau stopped dead and the two stared at each other, then the stallion shook his head and said, “You can’t just go pick-pocketing bolts of cloth like that kid. They’re too heavy; the mark’ll notice the change in weight. Gotta go for smaller stuff, like jewels or wallets. Nice trick with the wing though.” And with that strange encounter, Chapeau Stunning met Shady Deals. To his Parents and the public Chapeau grew up like a regular stallion, leaving home when he was old enough and ready and setting up his own vest shop in central Canterlot, just a few blocks from the royal palace. In the shadows however, Chapeau began his double life. Under Shady Deal’s tutelage he learned the tricks and nuances of thievery. He was introduced to the small and tight-knit community of thieves and fences dotting the city. As he got older and his life in the shadows took over more and more of his time, he began to drift away from random stealing and pick-pocketing. The feeling that he still wasn’t meeting his potential stayed with him, so following the teaching of a pegasus mare named Star Glide he began to take on bigger, more complex robberies. He would plan his heists for months, setting up himself as a guard, or a banker, or any number of false identities, before striking fast and clean, disappearing hours, sometimes days, before anyone noticed something had been stolen. Today Chapeau Stunning still lives in central Canterlot, in the shadow of the royal palace. His vest shop, despite being for all intents and purposes a façade, brings in a fair amount of bits for him to love off of. In the dead of night however, Chapeau stalks the banks and mansions of Canterlot, leaving only empty vaults and a single trilby hat behind. The need for something greater still haunts him though...

Gallows yawned cavernously as he slowly walked down the stairs, just having woken up after only a half-night of rest. He was going to be paying dearly for his midnight excursion if he didn't find something hot to drink soon. Luckily enough, he happened to be in an inn. He blinked away some of the bleariness in his eyes and looked around, spotting Silvan sitting at a table with Silvertongue. There was also a pony in a wide brimmed hat, the innkeeper, and a very pleasing looking waitress up and about. He indulged himself for a moment, staring at the waitress, then blinked once more and walked over to Silvan's table. He sat down next to Silvertongue and scratched an itch on his scalp, causing stray gravedirt to cascade out of his mane. "Morning kid. Morning old man. So what's the plan today? Fifty mile trek through the wilderness? Visit some more warm, welcoming townships? Actually, hold that thought." He turned around and whistled sharply to grab the waitress's attention, "Hey! Got any hot cider, hot missy?" (OOC: Oh yeah. All hail Gallows' refined sense of etiquette. Feel free to cringe.)

Neither Gallows nor Odd One dared to breathe a word during the entire encounter, though Gallows came close to making legible words a few times. Rather, he made strangled yelps and grunts. First when the pegasus had torn his scythe right through the prince, and Silvan hadn't lost a drop of blood, and second when Silvan had shouted he wasn't a noble any longer and unraveled his iconic braid, royal beads falling to the ground like so much trash. After that... after that things became even more strange from the gravedigger's point of view. The two pegasi who had moments ago been trying to disembowl each other began talking with the quiet civility of respected colleagues. The talking, like the fighting, lasted only a few minutes, but from the looks on their faces it was every bit as intense. What were they talking about? Had the battle become verbal rather than physical? And what about those freakish swords they'd been wielding, where had they gone? It was all so confusing Gallows lost track of how many unanswered questions he'd come up with by the time Silvan turned and walked back to the inn. The clearing was still for a time then, with the other pegasus just sitting on his back and watching the night sky. After a few minutes even he left, leaving the night as still and empty as the graves Gallows had been digging almost a half hour ago by now. He stared at nothing for quite a long time, still standing in the grave with his muzzle resting on the grass at ground level. He tried in vain to work out why Silvan and the other pegasus, he supposed he'd been an assassin, hadn't finished each other off. In fact it looked like they'd made an agreement. Had Silvan paid him off? But if he wasn't a prince anymore what would he pay with? Gallows shook his head slowly and groaned, rubbing his skull. The empire was even more confounding and illogical than he remembered. A soft thunk brought Gallows out of his thoughts. He looked around but saw nothing, then realized he didn't see Odd One's head sticking out of the grave anymore. He pulled himself up and creapt over to peek over the edge of Odd One's fourth, unfinished grave. The small stallion had passed out and fallen on his back in the bottom of the rectangular hole. Gallows snickered openly while wondering what had shocked him so. Then he realized that while HE had grown up with military life and nobles all around, even if he didn't like it, this poor stallion had probably grown up in a cozy peace under the mighty mountain above them. Seeing a battle of magic, and the former prince of the empire must have been too much for the old coot to handle. "Rest in peace ya old goat," Gallows whispered with a grin, turning to go. Seeing all that coupled with the earlier contest had left him tired beyond words, and he was looking forward to his hard, lumpy inn bed. He reached down into his fourth unfinished grave and grabbed his shovel, then paused as the last gear of the night turned in his brain. Odd One would probably be konked out until at least mid morning the next day, and Gallows only had two feet left to dig before this grave was finished. That was... thirty six square feet of dirt, not too much considering how much he'd dug already. In a more lucid state he might have simple said, buck the contest, and gone to bed, but as tired as he was he could only hold an idea for so long, and the familiar motions of digging were so easy for him to fall into. He stopped for another half hour to hollow out the last of his final grave, then dragged himself out and almost crawled across the street to his room's window, climbing inside with an exhausted, stupid smile on his dirt smeared face.

I'm pretty much in the same boat as everyone else it seems. Dead Space and Silent Hill weren't all that scary for me, probably because I am immune to jump scares. I'm as mellow as a 60's hippy most of the time, so jump scares just jolt me up to "normal" on the alertness scale. Alan Wake... I loved Alan Wake mostly for the story, and the senior citizen rock legends Thor and Odin FTW! My horror games of choice would have to be The White Chamber, and The Chzo Mythos games (Love that hat Trilby) probably because I just love indie games.

Gallows hummed as he walked through the fog, feeling the squish of the grave dirt under his hooves. This place was already doing him good as he began to shiver a bit from the unnatural chill graveyards always seemed to attract. Ahh, he'd missed the chill of the dead. A shape moved up ahead, seeming to walk out of a grave. "Who goes there...? Is that you, Ivory? Maroon?" Gallows tilted his head to the side and squinted as he emerged from the fog to see a small black stallion crouching in front of a grave, watching him and smoking a pipe. He stopped and the two gravediggers eyed each other curiously. Gallows had his shovel resting over one shoulder and was about a head taller than Odd One, while the black stallion appeared to have a few years on the traveling gravedigger. There was a minute's pause, then Gallows smirked and pressed a hoof to his chest. "Actually, I'm more of a navy blue. And what about you? You must be the local digger, or are you just a resident up for a walk? Can't say mine are that active, lazy bone-bags," The cemetery watchpony chuckled and Odd One grinned back at him, though he still watched the larger stallion like a hawk. "Nah, I'mma digger. Dead don't much care for exercise I suppose. Still wonderin' who you are though. Visitin' digger lookin' for work? Or maybe a friendly graverobber, lookin' for trinkets? Either way this is my cemetery and I'll not be lettin' ye tear it up without my say-so." Gallows nodded in understanding, "Don't you worry yourself oldtimer. I'm no thief tonight; just a stallion missing his place of work." He swung his shovel off his shoulder and planted it on the ground, "Was kinda hoping I could dig a grave or two. Maybe carve a tombstone?" It was out in the open now. The descision was Odd's. The small stallion thought for a moment then shrugged, "I don't see why not. Y'can dig a grave on the far side, near the inn proper," He pointed with a hoof toward just before the small clear space in front of the inn, "But if it's not finished by morning I'm fillin' it in again with you in it! Ha!" Gallows barked a laugh s the stallion puffed on his pipe and turned to go, "All night to dig one grave? Ha! I can dig them faster than that with a broken leg." Odd One turned his head and raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?" Gallows grinned wolfishly and nodded, "I believe it is so, pipsqueak." The gauntlet was thrown! Odd One turned and waked up to poke Gallows in the chest. He was pretty strong for a little guy! "A rune carved walkin' staff says I can dig more graves'n you before mornin' Blue." Gallows smiled and extended a hoof, spitting on it, "You're on gramps." Now this was the way to live! Surrounded by the dead! Odd One returned the gesture and they shook hooves with a squelch. He grinned crookedly up at Gallows, "May the best old coot win." (Later that night) Gallows was sweating hard now. Thoughts of a quick dig then bed had been replaced by the thrill of the contest. And Odd One had not been boasting. The little old stallion was chewing through dirt like a mole, but Gallows wasn't too shabby himself. Both had gotten through three graves now and were up to their necks in their fourth. Gallows was in the zone, throwing dirt and bugs and roots out of the hole with the single minded efficiency of a machine. So much so in fact he didn't notice Odd One trying to get his attention until he was bopped on the head with theold stallion's shovel. He looked up and craned his neck to see out of this grave, frowning over at Odd One. The black gravedigger was holding his shovel in one hoof, extended toward Gallows, while at the same time staring at the clearing before the inn. "What da' Hell?" He breathed. Gallows followed his gaze and realized they were watching... SILVAN!? What in Coltara was the kid doing out here? And with a dangerous looking pegasus no less! The two of them seemed to be talking, which wasn't so bad, but then the pegasus reared up and- were those swords!? Where had those come from!? And sweet Magus, why did Silvan have swords too!? Odd One was right, what the Hell was going on!? Gallows stood stock still, up to his neck in a grave and staring hard as the deadly scene unfolded. He knew enough that if he tried to intervine he'd be gutted before he could speak. What he didn't understand was why that thought ground at his nerves so much. So, unable to do anything more and feeling a deep anger and terror at the thought, Gallows sat in his grave and watched as the fight unfolded.

Gallows muttered his thanks as Silvan left the room, frowning in deep thought for a long time as he lay in bed. At least, it was deep thought for him. Vast amounts of focus were put into dispeling the drunken fog on his brain so he could think straight. Since when do I need a kid's help to get up stairs? Am I getting old? Old... oh crud, what did I just say to Silvertongue? He's gonna hate me for that. Wait, no, Silvan. I was thinking about him. What was it he said about cleaning me up? Was I being patronized by a child? Sweet Astral Magus, I must look pathetic right now. When did this happen to me? Hmmm... The sleepy stallion shook his head to try to clear it but found the techinique ineffective. He could feel himself falling asleep but something nagged at him, something he didn't like. He looked around and spotted a washbasin full of cool water beside a mirror on the other side of the room. Perfect! A drink would fix his head! Struggling (i.e. falling) out of bed, Gallows crawled across the floor to the basin. He lifted himself up on his hooves a bit to drink, leaning over the bowl, but then his hooves slipped without warning and his face fell straight into the water, tipping over the bowl and soaking himself in not cool, but cold water. Gallows shot up to his hooves with a gasp, spraying water all over the room from his coat. His brain snapped to attention for a split second and that bad feeling finally came into focus. "Aw crap! I'm going soft!" He yelled. He glowered at the floor and started to pace, "I'm going soft with all this plush living. I need some dirt on my hooves again. Some mud in my mane, yeah. That's the ticket. But how? Where?" He rubbed a hoof on his chin and looked out the room's grimy window. He furrowed his brow and wiped away some of the dirt, then grinned and reered on his back hooves, clapping his forehooves together in joy. Outside and across the street was just what he needed; a filthy, atrocious old graveyard! He quickly rearranged the blankets and pillows on his bed to make it look like there was somepony sleeping there, then rummaged in his saddlebags and brought out his trusty shovel. With some effort he got the window to open, "Yes! Fantastic! This'll do. Ah yes, this'll do perfectly! I'll just dig one little grave, maybe chat with the local keeper, then I'll be right as dirt!" Then he said the one thing any educated stallion would know never to say as he climbed out the window and trotted happily toward the cemetery, "What could possibly go wrong?"

Gallows wasn't so far gone that he missed the older stallion's obvious animosity towards him, but he WAS too far gone to keep his mouth shut. "Oh. Too old to be a proper guard so they have ya watching kids, eh? Well, good for you mate. Still doing good work even at your age... what's your age again? Nevermind." And then the stallion made the mistake of trying to get up. He miscalculated his actions and ended up slumping onto the ground. He blinked in surprise, then yawned cavernously, "I think... I'll go see how our rooms look," He said around another yawn, getting to his hooves and walking in a swerving line toward some stairs on one side of the room.

The gravekeeper nodded slowly, taking a smaller slug of his ale, "Hmmm, I see. Makes me wonder what it is I've signed up to do, not for the first time I'll have you know." The whole situation was still vague and unclear in Gallows' mind, but he'd become relatively certain Silvan wasn't out to cause him in particular harm, so he was fine. As the time passed and first one then two, three, and four tankards were emptied Gallows started to notice the room getting just a bit fuzzy. His head seemed to be getting fuzzy too. Normally he only ever had one tankard of ale because that was all he could afford, but now he was dining with royalty hoofing the bill. He turned to Silvertongue and hiccuped quietly, eyes blinking out of sinc, "So, big guy. How did the little guy drag you into this?"

Gallows glanced around mistrustfully at the townsponies that they passed on their way to the inn, recieving mistrustful glances in return. He hadn't left Coltan's Rest since his family had been relocated there, and he wasn't much enjoying his first excursion into the big, bad world. There weren't as many militatry figures huffing and puffing about, but there was still scraping and groveling wherever he went, probably due to the fact he was traveling with the prince. A lot of the groveling was done by him to his grave dissatisfaction, being as it was expected of him to show respect for the prince, even if neither he nor the prince cared. Then again, being randomly groveled at every now and then just for being assosciated with royalty was fairly pleasing, so there was a slight upside. He kept his head down and his continued to scowl at anypony nearby until they reached the inn. It was a place that looked like it would have been quite elite back in the day, much like the rest of the town. It had smooth stone walls, covered in moss and cracks. It had an ornate wooden sign with paint peeling off hanging from a rusty chain above a splendid doorway, lacking the door. When they entered Gallows could feel the mood of the room; like someone was holding a knife to the back of his neck. And in this room, they just might be. He curled his lips back and scowled at everyone, daring them to come over and mess with him. It was an empty gesture, seeing as if anything kept them away it would probably be the Nightingales, not his moody frown. Disheartened even more by this thought, his frown stayed on his face as he sat on his haunches before the bar. "What can I do ye for...? Lookin' for a couple of rooms for ye, yer son, and...yer friend 'ere?" "Ha ha," Gallows laughed sarcastically under his breath at the awkward, split second pause. "...ye...ye aren't one of the Blood, are ye? If so, I apologize for me rudeness, yer lordship..." Gallows smirked at the innkeep's discomfort. "No, no. No need to apologize, good innkeeper. I hope that covers for two rooms and dinner, yes?" "...M-more than enough. Please, make yerselves at home 'ere at the Gray Dragon." "If that's more than enough I'll be just delighted to take the change off your hooves," Gallows spoke up as the innkeep brought out the ale and cider. After all, why waste gold on a fat, happy stallion when you could waste it on a thin, creepy stallion? :3 He grabbed a tankard of ale and took a long draught of it, making a loud slurping sound before he put it down and turned to Silvan, "So, what's here at this ugly rock worth lookin' for kid?" He smiled privately at the dirty look the innkeep gave him for the insult on the town.

And so it was, the wheels of fate began to turn as old ways were put aside and dark things stirred in the heart of the world... or something like that.

"...eat..." "...hungry..." "Urrrgh..." Gallows groaned and stuck his tongue out, face tinging green again, "I'd rather starve, thanks," He glanced at the guards warily, "my lord."

The trees swayed in the breeze. The wind smelled like flowers. The sun was strong and warm. The world was beautiful this morning. And Gallows felt like (The worst swear word you have ever, EVER heard). His stomach was in a knot. His lungs were on fire. His legs were jelly, all four of them. His head... Oh sweet Astral Magus, his head! Sometimes, no, everytime he used that darn bracelet he hated it more and more the next morning. But strangely, he was happy today. Well, not happy, but as close as he'd gotten in a while. He'd spoken with his... his relatives the night before, and now he knew what he needed to do. For the first time in, it felt like decades, he had a goal, or at least a direction. It was really hard to think after using that (More swears) bracelet. Like some piece of slime from the pit, he dragged himself out of the cemetery and slowly, agonizingly, climbed the hill. Was it always this steep!? Stupid hill. He made it to the top and collapsed in front of what he hoped was the prince's traveling party, legs splayed in four different directions. His face turned green but he held down his breakfast for decency's sake. He groaned pitiously, [colour=#0000FF]"I... Hate... Everything..."[/colour] He swallowed back breakfast again, [colour=#0000FF]"How far... is it... to the capital?"[/colour]

Gallows sat at the foot of the grave, glaring after the prince as he walked away. He felt angry, not at the prince, but just angry in general. He spent his life trying to escape the Empire's hooves, then it comes and tries to drag him away... no, that wasn't fair. The empire dragged people off against their will; stuffed them in strange cities to oversee a cursed lump of rock, but the prince had been nothing but polite, even friendly. And he'd given him a choice. Reluctantly, and with a lot of venom, but he'd given him that all the same. But he still embodied everything about the empire... "I am going to change some things..." He hung his head and sighed mightily. "Sweet Magus, what am I going to do?" He stared at the ground, then noticed the prince had left the bracelet. Another sign of good faith? A faint wind picked up and the mist shifted. Looking into the distance Gallows saw a familiar pair of graves as he scooped up the bracelet. He recognized them instantly from the flowers he'd put on them. He shook his head, instinctively refusing to go over there, before realizing he truely didn't know what to do. He was lost, completely. If he ever needed guidance, now would be a good time for it. He bit his lip in hard thought, then his heartrate quickened and he started to sweat slightly as he weighed the bracelet in his hoof and stared at the graves. "This is such a bad idea," He choked out, then slowly walked forward to the graves, slipping on the bracelet as he went. (OOC: You can skip to the next morning if you want)

"No thank you...I would rather not converse with the Arch Warden of Solaris City...I doubt she would be happy speaking to a descendant of Ashmane Drake, after what he had done to her and her fellow Wardens...what I wouldn't give to see them all once more..." Gallows glanced curiously at the prince, "That's... interesting that you know that, I must say, especially since the grave says nothing about her being a Warden. And, uh, I think I misheard that last part." "...I thank you, Master Gale. Now, I have one more request. I would like you to come with me...for you are the only one who knows how to use this, and also I have no doubts you would like to keep an eye on it. I don't need the relic here, but actually elsewhere." Gallows' eyebrows shot up in surprise, then lowered in a frown, "Come with you? As in, leave the graveyard?" He shuffled his hooves uncomfortably, "I.. I don't know if that's a good idea. Who'll take care of the graves? And then what happens when I'm of no more use, hmm? Tower of Midnight perhaps? Or do I just, disappear, conveniently?"

"Yes...it does seem to be a form of Ro'Maga. A very strange one at that...but my only question is, where did you find it? Did you find anything else with it?" Gallows rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Thinking about it privately was one thing, but openly discussing grave robbery, with a prince no less, was something else entirely, "Well, after putting that thing on for the first time right after I found it, and subsequently getting seriously chewed out by a very angry spirit, I didn't really feel like rummaging around in White Fern's coffin anymore." He pointed at the bracelet, "Then again, if you don't mind a bit of nausea... okay, a lot of nausea, you could ask her yourself."

"I sincerely hope not," Gallows said gruffly, "I don't care how crazy you all think I am out there in the city, but even I, at my most despnate, wouldn't touch one of those... things!" He turned his head and spat in disgust, wincing as he realized he'd spat into White Fern's grave, "Aw crud. Sorry Fern! Really sorry!" He turned back and cleared his throat, "Now then, no. I've used this thing, oh, a dozen times about since I found it and I've had no horrific nightmares, evil spirits, or other madness descend upon me. Granted, this thing is very much not pleasant to use, but I am fairly certain it is not a Shadar Anku, or, however it's pronounced. I'm under the impression that this is one of those Ro-thingies, because I'm usually too sick to see straight for a week after using it, which, if I understand right, would be getting off easy. Who knows though!" He shrugged for emphasis, "Maybe it's some of both, or I really have gone mad... Actually, I would have expected someone of such prestige and knowledge as yourself to know more than me about these things. You royals are supposed to know everything and walk on water." He waved a hoof sarcastically.

Gallows walked amidst the graves in a casual trot, occassionally nodding to this or that grave that was, for all intents and purposes, identical to the rest. The grave digger seemed to easily differentiate between them, probably because he'd put each one where it was. Soon the graves became intermingled with trees; narrow, gnarled ones with thing branches and few leaves if any. The trees got slowly denser and more lively as they approached the back edge of the cemetery, where it faded off into the woods. The trees were creating a bony, jagged canopy overhead with their brances, now thick with a fair amount of grey leaves, when Gallows stopped. He sat below a tree larger and healther than any other in sight. In front of them, leaning against the trunk of the tree, was a tombstone so old and covered in ivy that it was nearly invisible amidst the other foliage. More interesting perhaps was that the grave was open. Six feet down a single plank had been pried off the coffin's lid and the bones inside looked rearanged and damaged. "This is White Fern. I come here every now and again to renew my apology for disturbing her. It's not one of the things I'm proud of doing, disturbing her I mean, but I was stupid and despnate back then. I wanted nothing more than to talk to my... my relatives again, and I was willing to do anything." As he talked, Gallows reached around the tombstone into a small alcove between the stone and tree. When he pulled his hoof back he had a small object wrapped in a bandana resting in it. He laid it on the ground in front of the prince and unwrapped it, "I was even willing to mess with one of these," Inside the wrapping was a small bracelet; jet black with a skull, an eye, and an ear carved into it, each one blood red.

Gallows frowned and looked around him. A month ago this whole section of the cemetery had been a field. Now it was packed with rows of graves, each one marked by a clean, smooth tombstone and a fresh mound of dirt. He'd been wondering what was happening beyond the borders of his tiny kingdom of demise that would cause his business to boom so depressingly, but every time the thought came up he would crush it. The land of the living wasn't his concern anymore. But still, no matter how he tried to convince himself not to care his irritating conscience kept nagging him. After a few seconds of silence Gallows sighed in resignation, "No. I can't talk to the dead. Not in the way you want." He kept his head hung low for a bit, then looked up and smirked, "Not on my own I can't. Follow me, my lord. I have decided, I want to show you something." Gallows stood and nodded goodbye to Silver Pan's grave, "Sorry friend. I'll be back later to settle you in properly. For the love of God don't go anywhere." With that he started down the row of graves, headed deeper into the heart of the cemetery.

The smirk vanished from Gallows face. He tilted his head to the side and lifted his chin, looking at the prince with one eye suspisciously, "As long as we're talking plain my lord, my answer to that question depends entirely on what you intend to be doing with my talent, should the rumors be true. I can think of at least three dozen atrocities that could be commited with such a power, right now; seven of them caused by talking with folks buried within five minutes walk of here."