Pathfinder and the City of the Griffons (Phil the Time Wizard and SteelEagle)

[RarityDash]

Gilda watched from practically the same hidden spot just in front of the museum, Gavin nearby. As crucial as it was that the pony show up, the typically pessimistic griffon wasn't really expecting it. Predicting Pathfinder was a difficult task as it was kind of difficult to tell how far in advance she actually thought things through. For all Gilda knew the pony picked her targets at random. She felt better about this place than most.

Gavin insulted her viciously on occasion, but there was something up with his behavior in general. He kind of did go out of his way for her. He gave her a lot of second chances. Taking her in in the first place hardly seemed like typical protocol for his type. Furthermore, he was surprisingly quiet when she made her cynical barbs at his expense, a surprise given elsewhere he displayed a temper. This made the griffon pause. She wasn't sure if she wasn't just grasping at straws just yet, but it was at least a card in her deck to consider; something to play through to make him lighten up on any punishment she still faced.

Gilda gave a sigh as she sat there staring out at nothing. She had long since given up hope, when nearby she heard a metallic sound. This caused her to refocus herself, which was good. Next thing she knew, a certain familiar pegasus was flying right up toward the museum. Gilda's eyes just lit up like she was down in Las Pegasus, testing her luck and had just hit a jackpot.

"Well, I'll be..." Gavin started. "For once, you've actually done it."

"Yeah..." Gilda whispered. "How should we do this?"

"I have AAF guards stationed in hiding all around the museum, and the regular museum guards are in on our plans as well. We'll let her in, let her move around a little, get comfortable. Then, just as she's about ready to leave, we'll cut off her retreat," Gavin started with a nod.

"Doesn't it make more sense just to grab her now?" the female griffon questioned with a shrug.

"You're testimony and the facts make it clear she's after one specific thing. We want to know exactly what that is. If it's something that happens to be in this museum, we could move it to safeguarding," Gavin explained with a nod.

Gilda smirked. She had played dumb in not telling Gavin the specific piece the pony sought. Her situation was improved the longer she remained useful to him. If she was forward with him, he'd just pull the right strings, find out where the helmet actually is and move it somewhere the pony couldn't hope to get it. The bad part of this was that she didn't know where it was herself, but that was well worth the time it bought her. Of course even that would run out if she didn't produce results. She figured she'd remain as tight-beaked as possible and only reveal the information if it was what it took to save her skin.

"Or she could take it and get away from us again," Gilda said with a curt laugh.

"You doubt our success?" the other griffon questioned, somewhat coldly.

"I'm just being pragmatic," Gilda said, sighing quietly.

"Not a bad thing to be," Gavin said with a slight but nonetheless kind of awkward smirk. "But I assure you my griffons will not fail us again. We will surround that mettlesome pony and bring her to justice, and you and I will be right there at the front!"

"All right, you're the boss," Gilda responded.

"Good. Then let's move a little closer and wait," the male griffon started with a huff. Gilda just nodded and followed him as he slunk even closer to the museum.

[SteelEagle]

After a dozen journeys into Griffon buildings, Pathfinder had started to build up a certain tolerance for how annoying they could be. Having to fly to the right floor every time or else you flew into some poor griffon's house was beyond annoying, and it really messed with her normal strategies. Pony structures were built horizontally and it allowed her a great advantage when she took to the skies. Now? Now she had nothing to her advantage except her wit that was without equal and her gadgets which...could probably be equaled easily. The point was that she flew very cautiously up to the musuem, which was three quarters of the way up the structure, as silent as it could be.

She landed and gazed inside, her ears flared wide in an attempt to catch whatever sounds must now be flowing through the museum now that she was not distracted by the sounds of the city echoing in. It wasn't magic but just the natural flow of the building that made the outside noise trickle down to nothing as you drove in, even though it was all open air. Well, this was one place where unicorn magic was not required in the slightest and while Pathfinder loved her unicorn friends, she was more than happy to see some ingenuity replace magic. She hovered inside, ears still flared- and heard nothing.

It was more than unusual. It was spooky and off-putting. Usually these halls were packed with guards, at least a few, wandering about in their lonely and boring shifts. This time, however, she heard nothing. Not even breathing. Her eyes pinned against her head as her mind started to shoot of well-versed warning signals that attempted to with haste and vigor alert every part of her. They were received but she pressed onwards, deeper and deeper into the museum. She eventually found the way up and did so, landing on the private and secured floor.

Still no noise. This was unusual. She was starting to believe that something more was at play here, but the demands of the adventure did not allow her to entertain such notions as concerns beyond the value of her objective. Such a thought was ridiculous, especially as the prize drew near. The private vault was closed up tight like all the others before, and while she was in short supply of tools available for the job now, Pathfinder had enough tool, desire, and the inclination to see it open.

But as she leaned down to open her saddlebag and find the right tool, a thought struck her- well, more than a thought. Light, sound, and metal did, and as she almost fell to the ground unconscious before stumbling up and taking off facing her new attackers, she remembered why she and adventure had fallen in love at first sight.

Sometimes, I wish I had taken a second look.

[RarityDash]

Some time passed in complete silence as Gilda and Gavin watched the museum door. Eventually, Gavin gave a nod and the door was opened. Pathfinder was quick. She'd of had enough time to get into the vault by now, so long as none of the guards inside had jumped the gun. Hearing some commotion in the distance, Gilda wondered if just that hadn't happened. Gavin seemed to notice as well. He took to wing and flew ahead at top speed. Gilda followed after him, as quick as she could.

The two came upon the pony surrounded by museum guards. Gavin seemed upset with them, but Gilda couldn't really blame them for doing their job and protecting the vault. He nevertheless flew up right in front of the pony and glared at her menacingly.

"By order of the Aquelian Armed Forces, you are under arrest for theft and multiple counts of breaking and entering! We ask that you surrender quietly. Struggle and you just might forfeit your life," Gavin shouted toward the pony, pulling a sword on her.

Gilda just flew down next to him, wearing a cool smile. "Hey Pathfinder, long time no see," she said not really sure what to say. In the past week her feelings about this pony had just been numbed and confused. She no longer knew what to feel, so her expression stayed mostly even. "How you been?" she asked, snidely as Gavin and the others encroached upon her.

[SteelEagle]

Adventurers had to hone a certain kind of sixth sense regarding danger. When well-refined, the impact was tremendous, almost beyond words. That micro-second of quick action had kept her alive on more than a few occasions, avoiding arrows, traps, spears, claws and jaws. The basic power behind this sixth sense was sleep, beautiful sleep. That had been denied her for the past few days and that sense had been dulled like a knife tossed into a raging river, which explained why she had so foolishly laughed at her flashing warning signs and when the attack had come, she had only been able to stagger away from the guards due to their own incompetence. Had they been Equestrians, she was sure that this adventure would have taken a serious detour.

The guards surrounded her, blocking all avenues of escape. In her escape, Pathfinder had the sense to use her tail to pull her saddlebag right up against the vault door, landing in front of it. She may not have been able to outfight or outfly them due to positioning and sheer size- oh yeah, and numbers, they had that too- but she knew that somewhere in her saddlebag was just the item to save her. It wasn't luck, she told herself, but her seventh sense- crazy preparation for events that one couldn't have known about beforehand. Between that and her sixth sense she knew that she would be fine, even if her sixth sense had momentarily failed her earlier.

Just as she started to take stock of the rather formidable odds, another card was put into play. A larger griffon whose features seemed sharper, edgier, and with an aura of fierce pride and discipline landed in front of her. He soon barked with all of the guttural, cursed screeching natural to his kind, and his threats were pointed and dire. Captain Gavin of the Aquillian Armed Forces? Rather than seeing her be intimidated, this revelation set her heart aflutter. So they had the military after her? What was she doing that attracted such heavy attention so quickly? Maybe after the First Feather's incident, but a trap like this needed a bit more preparation and knowledge than such a monolithic organization could have managed so quickly. Gilda's form was sighted, and that explained how they were able to prepare so fast. She knew Pathfinder better than anygriffon else. But even with her help, why was the military involved? She was just going around looking for artifacts in museums and galleries and such. What was their interest in all this?

Gilda made herself known in all of her snide and prideful glory. The griffon seemed no worse for the ware, which soothed Pathfinder's troubled soul. Now that she knew that Gilly wasn't being tortured or eaten or being otherwise put to the sword for the troubles she had caused, her mind was at ease. Pathfinder nodded and smiled at Gilly.

"Hey there Gililicious. How're they treating you? Good to see they haven't cut your talons off or something like that. I was worried for bit. I'm a bit tired. How are you?" She said, allowing her words to linger as she considered the griffon force in front of her and the vicious Gavin even closer. Pathfinder was unbowed: Her wings shot out in defiance, though it was only to cover the fact that her tail was rummaging through her saddlebag for one specific item which among all others may solve all of her problems: Vault, Gilda, Gavin, guards. She would need time.

"As for you, Gavin of Griffons, I refuse to surrender myself unless you agree to my one term. If you do not, I will be FORCED to commit violence against you and your comrades and that is something I do not wish to do. At best, only I die. At worst, you die, I die, Gilda dies, these guards die, this building collapses and innocents die. I'd rather not go to the Stars with that on my conscience and I assume the same of you. My one term is information, Captain. I want to know where the Helm of Commander Hurricane is. Tell me this and I will come peacefully," She said in an exaggeratedly confident voice that echoed across the museum, standing proud and defiant with her chest puffed out and head high, her wings arched over her. Even then she was much smaller than Gavin but the intended effect was achieved.

Her tail found the tool. Gently, she unhinged the cap. It would take about fifteen seconds, maybe more. When it was ready to go, that vault door was gone- and she would get the distraction she needed. All she needed was the time. She took a deep, secure breath and closed her wings, sitting on her haunch but with her chest still puffed. She had to keep up the charade.

"Your choice, Captain,"

[RarityDash]

"Hey there Gililicious. How're they treating you? Good to see they haven't cut your talons off or something like that. I was worried for bit. I'm a bit tired. How are you?"

Gilda laughed. Pathfinder was playing this pretty cool. She was a little surprised. She smirked and nodded to the pony before giving a reply. "Ah, I've been good. Thanks for asking," she said, grinning. "I'll be even better when you're caught and I'm allowed to go free though."

"As for you, Gavin of Griffons, I refuse to surrender myself unless you agree to my one term. If you do not, I will be FORCED to commit violence against you and your comrades and that is something I do not wish to do. At best, only I die. At worst, you die, I die, Gilda dies, these guards die, this building collapses and innocents die. I'd rather not go to the Stars with that on my conscience and I assume the same of you. My one term is information, Captain. I want to know where the Helm of Commander Hurricane is. Tell me this and I will come peacefully."

Gavin stared the pony doung and gave a forced laugh. "Ha! Oh, my! You're awfully confident for such a tiny pony! You think you could kill us all? What a joke! I'll call your bluff pony. I'd love to see you try and kill me!" Gavin shouted, pointing his sword toward her. "You're not going to intimidate me!"

Gilda could see Pathfinder was trying to get the vault open. Gavin was playing to her trap. This was in fact a bluff. She just wanted him to yap at her for a while like this while she got into the vault to see what was inside. Gilda considered saying something for a moment, but decided not to. No reason to end the excitement early. She wanted to see how this might play out.

"But you have given me some useful information. So it's the Helmet of Commander Hurricane you seek," Gavin continued. "Excellent. Now that we know, you will never find it."

Gilda frowned. This bit was to her disadvantage. Now that Gavin knew what Pathfinder was after, her usefulness would be minimized. On second thought, maybe they needed to end this here and now before Gavin had time for second thoughts.

"She's breaking into the vault!" Gilda shouted, leaping forward. "Get her now before she has time to try anything!"

Gavin gasped and flew at the pony with his sword. "You think you're cunning little pony? This ends now!"

[SteelEagle]

Gilda's words were as cool and collected as her words had any reason to be given the situation. So her freedom was tied to her success in helping them track down and nail Pathfinder? That made sense, considering that they were keeping on Pathfinder like a pegasus on a cloud. It was also bittersweet to know that perhaps if it wasn't for her being in such a scenario, maybe she would still like Pathfinder. But then again she was talking to the pegasus which was a sure sign that there was still something there to kindle amongst the embers of the fire that stood between the two more than any armed griffon could. Being an adventure was all about picking up on the signs and she was happy to pick signs of any possible success up.

And Gavin sure gave her a sign that she was extremely pleased to find. He knew of the helmet so quickly, not even questioning its existence in the face of such persistent doubt. That could only mean he had seen it or knew of it, so assured was he of its existence. Rather than put her off, this enticed her and solidiied her minutely wavering will, steeling her against whatever hardships lay ahead for no matter the hardship she would endure in pursuit of it, the Helm was worth it and so much more. Pathfinder made sure to give no outward sign of her newfound joy but allowed it to simmer like the greatest of stews.

It was in this glorious stupor that Gilda played her villain card and used whatever worm she had sunk into Pathfinder's brain in the one night they spent together to know and understand her plan, blasting it out to those assembled and sending Gavin into a fury. The large griffon set upon Pathfinder with a giant thrust of his sword, Pathfinder ducking under his vicious stab as she hugged the floor. His sword had so much force behind it that instead of clanging off of the heavy stone vault door that it instead pierced the outer layer and was stuck inside of it, sending cracks all along the door. Gavin still held onto the sword and tried to pull it out, Pathfinder aiding him in this effort by swiftly turning in place and adding her bucking power. He was sent flying with the impact, but so was his sword and the two tumbled in the sky briefly together. Pathfinder quickly turned back around, this time rubbing her tail over the small hole in the wall. In its place was the magical container she had used to sap the field at the mansion, crackling with energy. The cap had kept it safe; without it, it was preparing to burst. This would have usually been loud and forceful but nothing too amazing. However, it would have nowhere to go in that nice hole in the wall and the result would be an explosion. The vault would be gone and the resultant distraction would be enough she'd need to investigate the vault, or at least maker her way in.

Three seconds.

"Stand back, fools!" Pathfinder roared at the approaching griffons. Gavin had righted himself in mid-air and now held his sword, face flush with fury.

Two seconds.

"You'll regret that!" Gavin bellowed as he charged her.

One second.

Pathfinder gave a look at Gilda before immediately and with no reservations hugging the floor. Not a single moment had passed before the explosion happened.

[RarityDash]

Gilda backed up instinctively at the first sign of the explosive device. It had only been a week since the last time she had been violently thrown around by something exploding in her face, she wasn't prepared to make it a reoccurring incident. The crafty griffon fell back, not prepared to injure herself. Knowing for a fact that this pony was too insane to be bluffing here. The only question was how big the ensuing boom would be.

Gavin was not to deterred. He was too furious, too rife with indignation to think straight. The male griffon continued his perilous lunge, right into the blast, unafraid of the consequences. Pathfinder's explosion went off right as he was to reach her. it was not a massive explosion, more of a sudden, contained shockwave. Pathfinder avoided it entirely just be ducking to the ground. Only the vault and the sword wielding griffon felt the blast. Gavin was thrown back several feet and collapsed to the floor.

Gilda smirked, seeing an opportunity. As the vault gave in and crumbled, she ran toward him, feigning concern. "Hey! You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'll live, don't worry..." Gavin started as he struggled to pick himself up off the ground. "Just get her! And hurry!"

"You sure? Wouldn't want to risk something serious..." Gilda said, feeling like an idiot just for saying such things, but willing to say anything to get on the good side of the griffon in control of her fate.

"Stop talking and go after her! We can't lose her again today!" Gavin barked, but Gilda could see a slight smile. So easy.

"Got it!" Gilda started. She then turned back toward the vault and rushed inside. "Alright, Pathfinder. Sorry to say this ends here!"

[SteelEagle]

Even muffled by the stone walls and its design making every effort to resist such force, the explosion was more than sufficient to complete the task assigned to it. The vault doors buckled in the middle of its length due to the sheer concussive force being released. As Pathfinder ducked, the explosion tore at the air above her for the briefest of moments before vanishing. Pathfinder hazarded a look above and saw that the violent griffon had been tossed away from her rather harmlessly- oh yeah, and the vault doors were falling. Pathfinder shot forward a few feet to avoid being crushed underneath the huge weight of the vault doors, which when they fell created a small cloud of dust from the debris. Pathfinder did not waste valuable moments as she rushed into the vault, her wings beating to the sound of her heart as she practically buzzed in.

The vault was a great disappointment, and she could tell so from the first moments of her frenzied look in. The items stored inside were of endless value to anypony other than her, art and documents of such great value to various griffon civilizations that they were known to schoolchicks the nation over. Priceless and of such heavy consequence that to hold onto them was surely some sort of honor in griffon society. None of that mattered to the forlorn filly who ruefully kicked at the wall, sending an ancient parchment to the ground disrespectfully. It was just another failed excursion and that alone didn't bring her down much. That was part of adventuring, of course! However, to use her device and not have it end with success meant that her adventure wasn't following the script and if one thing gave her comfort, it was the safe confines of a script.

She quickly looked around just as Gilda took her orders from Gavin to heart and charged in- Pathfinder having spotted a ledge above the entrance, thin enough for a pony to hide behind, an oversight in design perhaps not taken into account by the griffin designers. The mare pressed her body into cover as she heard Gilda enter- the games were just getting started!

[RarityDash]

Gilda grinned as she walked into the vault. "Okay, pony. There's nowhere to hide. It's time to exchange your freedom for my own," she said, smirking as she looked around.

She didn't see Pathfinder anywhere. Instead, she just saw stuff. lots of amazing, beautiful, incredibly expensive looking stuff. The gears in Gilda's head started to turn. How should she play this? Pathfinder was nowhere to be found; chances are she had opted to skip the vault entirely, and had escaped in the confusion from the explosion. Gavin knew she was after the helm now. This one little fact minimized Gilda's usefulness to him considerably. After all, if Pathfinder was after only one thing and that thing could now be moved to security, the whole situation was simplified by so very much. Pathfinder became less of a threat. Less resources would be put on capturing her, and in all likelihood Gilda wouldn't have much to do.

Eyeing a golden crown of some variety, Gilda nodded. "Pathfinder" needed to start stealing other things, things besides the helmet. "Pathfinder" had already stolen that necklace back in the first museum as far as Gavin was concerned. Grinning, Gilda stuffed the crown in her bag and nodded. If "Pathfinder" started stealing other valuables on her path to the helmet she sought, she remained a liability, Gavin still got his resources for the search and Gilda retained her usefulness, even if the pony wasn't caught. It was perfect.

Her confidence back up, Gilda turned around, ready to lead the vault and report to Gavin that they had been duped and the pony wasn't in the vault. She was going to win out, find her freedom and make a killing from when she sold this stuff. She had never been more sure of that. It was just a matter of time.

[SteelEagle]

From her vantage point, Pathfinder's view could at times be obscured. That was of no aid in an adventure but it did add to a bit of the flavoring she thought; what lied just out of reach, sight, or comprehension was often the most exciting question one could find an answer for. Here, the situation was changed a little by the fact that the answers were known- it was only what question did Pathfinder asked that determined the answer. And as she ventured a peek around her cover, there were a few questions she could have tossed out there.

Why was Gilda stealing something as petty as some ancient, likely priceless Golden Crown? For this question there were several possible answers and each one was filled with delicious adventury goodness. The first possibility was that she was as cunning as Pathfinder had initially believed and that this entire sequence of events had been orchestrated by her to allow her to loot museums in Pathfinder's wake while getting off scot free. If this was true, then pathfinder's conscience was soothed by the image of her best griffin friend forever not betraying her due to disliking her, but for treasure! That was a wholly more acceptable possibility than teh other, which was that Gilda was flying by the seat of her flank and was an opportunist and nothing more. That didn't give Gillalicious the credit she deserved, nor was it a very exciting thought. No, Pathfinder was happy to attribute to Gilda a level of planning and awareness deserved by a seasoned adventurer.

Why did she seem so unaware of Pathfinder's presence? That was one thing that she couldn't entirely understand. It was almost as if Pathfinder was ancillary in her world, not the main target but rather a pawn. Yes! She was being willy and Pathfinder being there or not was almost unimportant. She just needed Pathfinder to get out, to break into some other areas so she could get some more valuables. She wasn't going to look for Pathfinder, of course! Pathfinder was safe from Gilda. Now she just had to make herself safe from the others, who were likely not into the whole adventuring business.

Luckily, she had a few smoke pellets left. There were plenty of Griffons and once they hit, she needed to be ready to get out. It was a small space and once they saw the pellets fall from above, she would be found. She needed lots of smoke very swiftly. With this in mind, Pathfinder used her tail to reach into her bag and grabbed the rest of her pellets. She leapt out of cover, hovering above the vault near the ceiling, and tossed the pellets to the ground. They impacted with a ting and before she could move, the pellets exploded and the smoke started to billow out across the vault and outside of it as well. Pathfinder shot into the smoke- let the fun begin!

[RarityDash]

Gilda gasped at the sudden noise and smoke nearby. Pathfinder had been in there all along, she had just found a good hiding spot. Cunning little pony. Gilda cursed. Not that she particularly cared about catching Pathfinder very much. Between the pony and Gavin and his goons, she still probably had a warmer feeling for the former. No, this wasn't about Pathfinder, it was just about Gilda. As she had told Pathfinder a number of times that night, the griffon's loyalties were only to herself. Pathfinder getting away wasn't necessarily a bad thing at this point. It might actually play in Gilda's favor.

Still, Gilda at least needed to make like she was taking this seriously. Without even thinking to the otherwise, Gilda darted off after the pony, through the smoke she left behind.

"Every one on alert! Find and capture that pony!" she shouted as she flew past Gavin, making sure he was still conscious enough to see.

Pathfinder might have gotten the drop on them, and in that moment, Gilda didn't see her anywhere, but there were so many griffons in and around the museum that she doubted she'd get away from this entirely unscathed.

"Now where did you go?" Gilda started as she darted out of an open window. If the pony was going to escape, she was going to have to leave the museum eventually. She peered down from high above, waiting until she saw the pony she was looking for leave the building.

[SteelEagle]

The art of flying through a densely packed field of confused and slightly enraged griffons was not necessarily one of Pathfinder's most well-worn pursuits. She hadn't needed to attend that course in her previous tenure at the University of Adventuring at Real Life, Equestria. She figured that avoiding many large flighted creatures was the same principle as avoiding many smaller flighted creatures, sacrificing marathon speed for bursts and using those bursts after superior awareness allowed for small holes to appear. The issue now was that those holes were smaller, fleeting, and filled with claws or swords.

None of that dissuaded her from trying, though. It just represented a juicier target for growth in the art of adventuring, and so she attacked the problem with the energy and enthusiasm that was her custom. She ducked out of view of one griffon as it turned to see smoke part from the pony's location and in between two others she would shoot through. A few times this worked out splendidly, the movements of pony and griffin alike causing the smoke to continue to tornado through the small space. Then things started to unravel slowly. A claw would be oustretched and jut out randomly, scraping across Pathfinder's back by willful accident. She would shoot through a hole only to have the way blocked by a holstered sword, banging against it at full speed. A combination of scratched, bumps, slams, punches, kicks and other physical contact broke Pathfinder's pathfinding as she shot out of the smoke, towards the air passage heading down the building. She tumbled into the stone side and was knocked silly for a few seconds, falling down the air passage while her brain rebooted multiple times.

It came back just in the nick of time, her awareness returning just as she was tumbling down the shaft into one final guard near the bottom. A single spear was in his claws, which was pointed straight at the falling pegasus. Pathfinder's wings shoot out to slow her down as she seemingly pulled her midsection up, finally coming to a stop with his spear pressing against her but not penetrating. The two shared a brief moment of disbelief before the griffon clutched her left hind leg with one of his clawed arms. Pathfinder responded by kicking him square in the face with her free leg, his spear shooting up at her wildly and forcing her to move left, then right, then left and right again to avoid them. Finally and with one last crack, her hoof connected with his head and he fell down the shaft knocked down.

Her hard-won respite was short-lived, a single breath drawn before she looked up and saw several guards had recovered from the action above and were charging down the shaft. Quickly, Pathfinder assessed the situation and found herself in desperate straits. They were likely to have cut off the lower parts of the building with more guards and moving vertically was out of the question. The only solution was to get out of the building and to do so immediately. Multiple windows to the outside were stationed along every floor, but most were currently shut or in the process of being shut by some system she was unaware of. As luck would have it, however, one was still entirely open- and she was staring straight at it!

In a flash, Pathfinder sped through the window before it was shuttered too, glass cascading around her as she in a daze caused by a thousand small cuts tumbled through the air and into a lamp pole, allowing the little birdies of legend to flitter around her dazed head as she drifted away from the pole-

-And directly into Gavin's massive claws. He had escaped from the building at the very start of the shaft before Pathfinder had even realized what her only course was. Now, she felt his fury as he grabbed her by the throat, one of his lower talons squeezing her around the neck with every fiber of his enraged and embarrassed might. He thrashed her about and said so many words to her, none of which she could decipher as the oxygen was quite literally squeezed out of her. She flailed about for a few seconds to little avail, his strength overwhelming and her body too weakened. His other free talon dug into her right wing, clutching at a pack of nerves. She would have screamed or wept but such sounds or actions died in her throat as nothing could get past the blockade of griffon claw and sheer muscle. His thrashing continued for a few more moments and Pathfinder's world started to darken. The edges of her body started to lose feeling and the environs of consciousness started to fade between that which was reality and dream. Awareness broken piece by piece, she was moments away from being knocked out- or worse.

However, a pony has more than four limbs worth using and the tail was perhaps their greatest weapon. Prehensile and tactile, it could serve any number of functions. For Pathfinder, while she had been trying to free herself fruitlessly in a pathetic fight against Gavin's overwhelming strength, her tail had rooted around her saddlebag for anything of use. Just as she started to lose the ability to feel it, her tail had come upon a single stun bolt. Pathfinder willed herself to hit Gavin with it, the tail vanishing from her awareness of not her willingness. The darkness continued to spread until only a single and shallow point of light remained.

Suddenly, she was freefalling and the pressure on her neck and wing let up. Oxygen rolled into her in frantic and manic waves. Light crept back into her world and that was soon followed by the feeling of her tail wrapped around a stun bolt that had discharged just over five percent of its charge into Gavin's rear. The rather determined griffon had allowed the pony to freefall for a few seconds as he recovered, but now looked upon Pathfinder with renewed hatred. Sword unsheathed, he blasted through the air towards the free-falling pony on a mission to see her not in prison, but in a grave. This once again put him at an emotional disadvantage as Pathfinder allowed him to close the gap. When they were but a few feet apart, Pathfinder struck.

Her tail whiplashed upwards at Gavin, who could barely see the attack let alone respond to it. The bolt struck him in the nexus between his left wing and side before discharging into him. He stopped in mid-air as electricity shot around both him and the air around him for a full two seconds. By the end, his feathers were charred and Gavin was out like a light, which was interesting considering-

-Pathfinder didn't have the time to finish the thought as she smacked into the street at full fall speed, her head saved by her saddlebag and nothing else. A moment later, Gavin fell next to her with a crack. Once again, her world started to grow dark and she felt her vision fail. This time it came back naturally, though feeling the rest of her took some concerted effort. For a while, all she could do was stare straight up and she could swear she saw Gilda's form above the street. Maybe it was a mirage or maybe she was being held back by something else- friendship, greed, sick enjoyment, who knew? All Pathfinder could do was stare up at the image she could swear was drawing closer and smile, wink, nod- she had no idea what she did or what she was doing.

The only thing keeping her conscious was sheer will, her overpowering desire to see the job done and belief in her own invincibility creating a cordon of luck and perseverance worth more than an entire city of iron and stone. That will was tested as she tried to move and felt every last centimeter of her form shiver from pain, the number of broken parts and strained strings too numerous to list and likely disheartening to hear. Her wings did not respond to her commands and as she rolled over, so too did her back legs. She found herself pulling her form closer to the manehole nearby with a single hoof, then opening it with the same hoof before sliding in like a slug. She was halfway through before she became stuck, frustration clear as she meekly moved all of her legs until her motion continued. It gained speed until she fell through, landing straight in the horrifying sludge that was the sewer.

It took longer than she might like to have admitted, but she struggled against the slow moving stream and pulled herself free and over the side before collapsing. Deep, unrestrained breaths followed by gasps and her spitting up sewage for several minutes. Finally, she pulled herself all the way up and promptly leaned to the left and collapsed in that direction until she leaned up against the wall. Using that as both guide and comfort, she weakly and slowly started walking away. The next few minutes were passed in pain, sometimes mind-searing, as the utterly obliterated mare struggled to keep on. Her legs throbbed and crackled with agony, her wings pierced like a thousand daggers, her lungs, neck, every inch of her had been beaten or battered into a pulp. The only thing still looking magnificent, probably because if fit a bedraggled mare so well, was her hat which somehow still hung snugly on mane.

That was the lone comforting thought that was with her as she heard from some distance away the opening of the manehole and several loud voices. She whimpered; she was too hurt to outrun them, outfly them, outfight them. The only option left was to outthink them, so Pathfinder took the wisest and most intelligent option available option to her: She summoned her burning lungs to hold its breath and dove into the sewer proper.

[RarityDash]

Gilda, still high in the sky, waited and watched the ground below. She could hear clamor still coming from the building, but something in her knew that Gavin's guards would fail. Pathfinder was too sly for them. The griffon had a lot of faith in her former ally and her brand of made genius, and that faith told her the pony would emerge somewhere below her. Sure enough, that's exactly what happened as a distinctly pony shaped figure shot out from one of the lower windows.

The griffon prepared to make her descent, but pulled back up when she caught sight of something that surprised her. Gavin had evidently regained his bearings and flown to meet the pony. Gilda smirked and fell back, opting to watch the ensuing fight from a safe distance. Gilda would have placed her money squarely on Gavin. Sure, Pathfinder was probably more cunning even when accounting for her silliness, but Gavin had a major advantage in terms of raw strength. Initially, Gilda figured it would be a quick bout, and that's why she held off.

The ensuing brawl was nothing short of brutal. Gilda began to feel sorry for Pathfinder as she watched the beating. For a moment, she considered intervening somehow. Maybe she could cause a distraction and help Pathfinder get away? Failing that, maybe she could convince Gavin to hold off and make sure she's alive when they take her in? It felt kinda like the right thing to do. She didn't want Pathfinder's life on her conscience, and it was really looking like Gavin had it in for the pony.

Gilda began to descend quickly, feeling pangs of concern for her one time friend. That's when the fight took a sudden, unexpected turn. Pathfinder used her tail, perhaps the appendage of hers in the best working order in her current state, to connect one of her powerful stun bolts. Captain Stormwing fell over, out cold, Pathfinder, still alert if gasping for good breaths. Still concerned, Gilda continued her descent, but before she had reached the ground, the pony had wormed her way successfully into the sewers. The griffon took the time to check Gavin, just to make sure he was breathing still.

She sighed audibly when she found he was. If he was dead, just flying away would have been a sounder option. He wasn't going to open his eyes for a while after a shock like that though.

"Captain Stromwing!" one of Gavin's goons shouted, as he approached. Gilda looked toward him.

"He'll live. It's nothing to worry about," she said, giving a shrug. "Guess the blow to his ego might not fade so easy when he wakes up though."

"What happened to the thief?" the soldier asked, surprising Gilda, who had figured they were done here.

"She escaped," the griffon said, shrugging.

"Escaped? Escaped where?" the other griffon questioned, shooting her a nasty look. Gilda remembered then that of these goons, Gavin was the one who actually trusted her most. Here she was standing over Gavin's unconscious body with the responsible party nowhere in sight. To a guy like this, it kinda looked like Gilda might have been involved in the mess.

"Into the sewers," Gilda said reluctantly, silently apologizing to Pathfinder. As always, Gilda had to come first. "Go get some more griffons. I'll start the chase after her. I've spent time down there, I know it better than most."

The griffon growled, clearly not liking to hear what sounded like orders from the female, but nodded. "Very well. But if we lose her, I'll see to it this reaches past even the Captain!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it," Gilda said as she stepped toward the sewer. Without another word, she then jumped through the manhole and flew down to solid ground.

She looked around a bit, unsure which way the pony might have gone. She thought a moment what she might do in Pathfinder's spot. Too beat and brusied to fly straight or walk straight for that matter, several griffons chasing you into a dark sewer. Running was silly. In that condition, what you did is hide.Gilda smirked and turned toward the sewer water. She was pretty sure she had heard some kind of splash when the pony dropped down. There wasn't a chance in Tartarus she was going to jump into that sludge after the pony if she didn't have to, but it made sense that that's where Pathfinder was.

"Hey, pony! I know you're down there!" she shouted. "Come out and play." She laughed and then added. "I'll even give you a head start!"

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder was not as well acquainted with sewage as she was with more unusual aspects of nature. Haunted forests with possibly sentient trees that tried to eat you? Pathfinder had that down pat. Rivers inside of mountains that flowed with trace elements of mane-eating bacteria? Pathfinder hated it but she knew how to deal. Manticores, giant spiders, even angry griffons, Pathfinder could deal with all of that almost off-hoofedly. But sewage in a sewer was wholly unfamiliar territory for her and it was beyond smelly, rough-traveling and it sure as Tartarus didn't allow her to breath. She tried to hold her breath for as long as possible but her burning lungs couldn't keep it in for long periods.

This had very slowly started to suck the already drained energy from the mare, whose battered body was being held together through sheer force of will and little else. And while her force of will was quite powerful and worthy of her and her adventures, tested and melded by trials and tribulations, it could only carry her so far. Not even she could resist physiological requirements for long despite some magical stones claims to the contrary. After a full minute being carried away by the sewer, Pathfinder was forced to pop back up.

She burst out of the water, if it could be called such, and right into the bottom of a sewer grate that she was passing by. It was just another dent on her forehead, but the fact she could breath was wonderfully worth it. She bobbed up and down for a moment before she grew more aware of the fact that she was in fact blocking the grate, the water straining against her to go forward. More importantly, her clipped and throbbing ears were just as strained as she heard Gilda's somewhat mocking tone as she sought Pathfinder. Where Gilda was, the guards would be close by. Pathfinder shook her head and gave a weak laugh, coughing up sewage as she did so.

She looked around or, more specifically, down. The grate had fallen slowly into place over a pipe, which went across a gate into the next part of the sewer. Her mind did what calculations it could and combed her wavy memory for remnants of knowledge about the sewers she had gleaned from the maps. The answer was obvious and it was relatively easy, but the fact that her body was in such a poor state made the decision harder. She had to pull the grate up long enough to get into the pipe which would take her into the next part of the sewer just across the gate. The griffons were too big to follow and the gate too heavy to take down. If she had been in good health, this would have allowed her to make her escape for the day. In her current condition however she would have maybe twenty minutes before they found a working way to get to the other side. Still, it was her only choice.

Pathfinder was dizzy from exertion alone let alone her vast array of injuries, but the excitement afforded by having a concrete plan gave her just enough energy to get it over with. She took a deep breath and dove back in towards the gate. It was heavy iron and was older than most of the sewer around it, the gears that lowered it as rusty as could be imagined. Still, she didn't need it open for long. Pathfinder reached the bottom and planted her quaking hooves on the sewer bottom, then hit the grate shoulder first unwillingly. She managed to keep her breath and used her front hooves to try and get right underneath. After a dozen seconds, she managed to get it under and then started to pull it up. The gears resisted mightily but against her determination, few things could stand. It took another dozen seconds but eventually the sewer grate was high enough for her to pass. If only she had the lower body strength to move.

The exertion had become too much and just as the grate was raised, her lower half gave away and she collapsed. Pathfinder had to focus on keeping her breath held, but the pain and shooting nature of it had finally moved in concert with her previous weariness and dizziness and she felt herself slipping. Not just mentally but physically the current pulled her slowly through the pipe. Dragged across the bottom, she got into the pipe just as the grate fell behind. Then fuzzy black-

-Panic! Pathfinder shook herself awake as she felt the rush of sewage in her lungs. She had momentarily fallen unconscious and opened her mouth and her reward was the sweet taste of griffon sewage. Pathfinder panicked and flailed weakly against the pipe. For a brief second she considered the possibility that this was how she was to end, but then she came out of the other end and found herself in a swifter and all together more acceptable stream. She flailed to the top of the sewer stream and took the deepest and most beautiful breath of her life. She pulled herself to the side and finally over, her lower half still unresponsive. She just laid on the brick and mortar walkway, veering between falling asleep and sharp pains in all areas of her body. Finally she pulled herself up, still breathing insanely heavily, and finally turned to see what was on the other side of the gate.

Griffons. Many, many griffons, including Gilda. The entire ensemble was still trying to find a direct way across the gate, which was a pointless endeavor. As long as they spent time on the gate, they wouldn't be actually finding her. Perhaps it was an ember of her adventurer's ego or sheer enthusiasm at still being alive, but Pathfinder flashed a genuine smile as she looked at Gilda. It took her a full ten seconds to do so, but she stood up on all fours and limped her way towards Gilda, twice falling to her knees as her muscles had turned into jelly. Still, she drew close to the gate-

-A spear shot out from the gate and ended less than an inch from her head, being used by the griffon that she had bested earlier when she had tried to make his escape, his forehead showcasing the bumps from his experience. A second thrust got within a quarter inch, and there he could get no closer. That didn't stop him from trying, and as Pathfinder stood defiantly in front of Gilda, the spear kept on breaching the holes in the gate and stopping within a hair of Pathfinder.

Pathfinder's smile was still genuine.

"Ha...y...Gilda...." Pathfinder's voice was rocky, coarse, unhealthy. Between Gavin and the sewage, she was shocked she could even still talk.

"I...th...ink....I'll....take that...he...ad...start..." Pathfinder stuck her tongue out before having to spend the next five seconds pulling it back, "And te...ll...g..ga...gavin...that I've fought foals...tougher..." She said with an attempted laugh, which sent pain throughout her body. She winced and returned with a more genuine laugh, followed by spitting up of sewage. Her head was still down when the spear shot through again, and Pathfinder swiftly took advantage of his more lackadaisical attacks, took the spear in her mouth, and pulled it. The guard was caught off guard and slammed into the gate, getting knocked out in the process and leaving Pathfinder with the spear. The other guards started squawking and cursing and came to the gate opposite Pathfinder, using their own spears now to try and get to the pony. Pathfinder backed up slowly, limping at one time or another with all of her limbs and the spear in her mouth. After a few more seconds, she turned around and started to limp away- right before turning to stare at Gilda and firing off a wink, a twinkle in her eye still, before she let out a grunt of pain and slowly but surely stumbled and limped deeper into the sewer.

[RarityDash]

Gilda watched as best she could, trying not to wince. Inevitably that proved to futile struggle. What she was watching, it was just too sad, too pathetic. To see the proud pony sloshing through the filth as she tried to find some means of escape, only to be met by guards' spears at every turn, it was honestly hard to watch. It was the kind of thing Gilda wouldn't wish on even her very worst enemies. She just felt bad for the pony. When Pathfinder finally emerged from the sewage and came face to face with her through the gate, she was a little glad.

"Ha...y...Gilda.... I...th...ink....I'll....take that...he...ad...start... And te...ll...g..ga...gavin...that I've fought foals...tougher..."

Gilda found a small smile. That was the spirit. Even in the face of this horror, Pathfinder remained Pathfinder. She even went so far as to mock Gavin and risk the spear tips that kept lunging at her. That was the kind of thing the griffon admired. She wanted to help her. She wanted her sad fate to not be inevitable... but in her state, there was really only one way she could see this going. Gilda backed up and struggled not to retch as the pony spit up some sewage right in front of her; even with the gate there, that was hard to ignore. She gave her a subtle nod, before allowing her to move ahead.

Surprisingly, the pegasus still had a little fight in her. As her closest guard once more thrust his spear through the gate towards the pony, she swiped it and pulled him into contact with the gate, drawing back weakly as the other guards stopped whatever stupid attempt at breaking the gate they had been attempted and thrust their own spears towards her. Pathfinder then staggered away, attempting her escape. Gilda's admiration for Pathfinder's sheer guts was matched only by her sorrow at seeing such a sad state come to pass and a mounting sense of horror at the fact that the pony's fate was only delayed, not changed. Gilda sighed. She'd stay true on her head start offer, but she could only do so much before it looked like she wasn't trying. After all, as much as she liked this pony, she liked being able to live a lot more. A lot more.

"Everyone, get over here. We need to catch her," she said to the guards, who in their enraged haze were more receptive to her words that previously would have drawn a degree of suspicion. Nothing like a momentary flight of revenge to stiffen the heart. Gilda went over the maps she had seen with Pathfinder as quickly as she could. True, she may not have been the smartest or be in possession of the greatest memory but she could surprise herself a few times and this was one such time. She remembered this area as it was one of the Big Five targets that Pathfinder had marked on her map, and while it was a collapsed part of the sewer it was one which consequently had dozens of maintenance halls haphazardly dug into the elder structures.

The griffin sighed and smiled, relieved at wrapping this sad little affair up. She nodded to her conscripted soldiers and started off. In all she had given the pony a minute or so lead, which, in her condition, really wasn't much. She was still in their view when the chase began. Gilda never lost sight of her as she hobbled past the pipes. She kept her speed down, but it was empty courtesy, as the distance between them quickly grew thin.

Still Pathfinder made strides again, showing the depths of her perseverance. The other griffons would make lunges at her, and she'd smack them expertly with the spear she had and knock them squarely into a river of sewage. Gilda could only assume it was some kind of reflex thing. She was on her last leg, and anything less could mean her death, so she was going to show only her best. The griffon had to admit seeing some of it did amuse her, but she was getting quite tired of the whole affair.

They zigzagged through the sewer, narrowly missing the pony at every turn. It went on for a while, until suddenly something appeared in their path. Gilda recognized it as the pony's campsite, moved from its prior location. Just as they were coming upon it, two more griffons rushed in from the other end of the sewer. Gilda shook her head.

"This is it, pony," she said in a low voice. "There's no escape."

As much faith as she had in Pathfinder's skills, she feared she was right. The pony was surrounded. Even a pony like Pathfinder couldn't get out of something like this, could she?

[SteelEagle]

It wasn't much of an exciting chase for Pathfinder, if she was being interrogated and felt the urge to speak the truth. It was mostly blamed on the fact that her head feeling like it had been put in a vise and squeezed until the only thing that remained was empty space, which was one of the more common insults she heard growing up and even not so long ago. Still, she wasn't so used to the idea that it was to be taken in a far more literal rather than purely figurative sense, or at least that's how her head felt as she pounded down the sewer junctions. Everything hurt, but that didn't mean her pursuers were willing to allow her to escape easily. She would have to work at this escape harder than she had worked at a few others in her adventure enriched life. It was as much fun in her crazed mind as it was work.

She beat the sewer paths alternatively with the sound of her cracking hooves and wings which at times refused to respond. Either way she was woefully unprepared to deal with the speed of her pursuers on several occasions, as despite her head start on a few occasions she found herself swept up in their pursuit. Had she been less concussed or experienced, fear would have driven her to the ground. But as much as she was woefully unprepared for their speed, they were unprepared for her cunning and obtuse thought patterns. They would catch up to her and for a moment in time it seemed her light would be snuffed out in the sewers beneath a city of griffons, yet she would pull something off, do something, to escape. A small leap into a very small pipe that they could not follow, a trot into the pitch black of a forgotten sewer section followed by the breaking of spears and chaos that let her escape. She was beyond exhausted, beyond beat-up, motivated and powered by the sheer thrill of adventure and the will to get through. For most, these wonderful traits would find few worthwhile uses and were consequently weak. Like any muscle they needed to be exercised or else they would wither away into nothing. Pathfinder flexed her will and thrill on an almost second by second basis; of sheer adamantium was it made up of and long after most other ponies would have justly collapsed and accepted fate, Pathfinder was still moving.

But that didn't mean she moved fast or well. Despite her trickery, she never gained much ground on her foes. They were always on her heels, her minutes of separation becoming half a minute and then seconds in almost as much time it took to initiate the trick which gave her that time. Soon, the guards started to adapt and her tricks were less and less effective. As she drew closer and closer to her camp, the dawning realization that soon her very experience would be nullified due to her physical inability to carry them through well would doom her more assuredly that the thrust of any spear. She still had one trump card to play that day and willingly tossed it into the game on the off-chance that she could win this poker game before she was out of it for good. Her knowledge of the whole system was strong, but her strongest area was always around where she had made camp. They drew closer, her tricks and body weaker but her knowledge increasing with every passing second. A swift turn into a dead end followed by a small pipe back around, which would lead to a dead end followed by a collapsed wall into an adjacent hallway that ended in broken pipes, followed by a series of collapsed sections that reminded Pathfinder of that silly wargame her coltfriends used to play. She turned them around and on top of one another, leading them on only to suddenly vanish and appear somewhere else. Had she been in good health, this would be the tactic that would see her escape for good. Now, all it could do was buy her time that increased by fractions with every strained effort.

But even this had its limits and she knew that as more guards came into the area, her successes would stop to stack and the chase would come to a swift and violent conclusion should she fool around for too long. She had a full minute of free time as she flew haphazardly into her camp site, the well-made tent and supplies sticking out in the cramped room. Few things could be taken and priorities were made, with the mental footnote that Gilda was a Daring Do fan as well and would very likely take much of this with her. One book was all she'd take, and the choice was careful: Palace of Bones was probably the darkest and grimmest of the series. It also was one of the lower quality works but the worst Daring Do novel was still a diamond in her eyes. She placed the signed limited 1st edition hardback print in her tattered saddlebag and then sought out her collection of letters from Snowfall as well as the collected media associated with them- drawings, secret diary entries, and her own replies- and tossed them in there too. She could hear the beating of wings close by and picked an apple by the mouth before galloping and jumping next to a small rock pile. She quickly swatted them away and slowly slid inside, keeping her top half upwards so as she slide slowly down the pipe with her legs controlling the descent, her top half tried to pile the rocks in an orderly and unsuspicious fashion. She stopped this as the first of the guards came in, and Pathfinder silently, slowly, cautiously pulled herself away and allowed herself to descend without worrying about events in the room.

Gilda's voice rang out and Pathfinder smiled- well, tried to smile. The apple stopped that. The apple in her mouth also stopped her from screaming, sobbing, moaning, groaning, or crying as her shattered body controlled its descent down the pipe. A few minutes later- or maybe an hour, time stood still for her it seemed- she fell out of the bottom of the pipe and plopped sideways in a truly ancient, brick and marble part of the sewer. She was a full two levels below the griffons, the sound of the mighty stream of sewage barely being contained by the walls on either side of her. Cracks allowed some to seep through and the channels on both side of her showed evidence of generations of sewage that had formed unearthly abominations of scenery and landscapes that seemingly lived with such intent as to destroy the structures around it. How long had it been since a griffon had come here? Years? Decades? Longer? It was possible and there were probably many ponies that would have found all of this.

She had been chased by griffons all night, no food and little water for a week and the injuries she had would have made a greedy doctor salivate. It had been worth it no doubt, but the best reward Pathfinder could find for herself was in utter darkness. The apple rolled away from her mouth, two huge bite-marks allowing the juices to seep into the ancient and egregiously dirty floor as Pathfinder's vision faded.

There, she fell blissfully unconscious.

[RarityDash]

Gilda wasn't sure what to feel as Pathfinder disappeared into a pipe they would be unable to follow her down. Seeing the crafty pony pull off her escape, even in her regrettable state was kind of satisfying and yet at the same time, she wasn't looking forward to the future. What would Gavin do with her when she returned, having failed? Was this going to be the end of this little game for her? She could only imagine how it would go. To make things worse, she had these guys to deal with now. She sighed as she looked toward the other six griffons and shook her head.

"How does this even happen? How could seven proud griffons fail to catch a single stinking pony!" one of the larger griffons shouted, fierce with anger.

"What's even down there?" asked a smaller griffon with discerning eyes. "I didn't know our sewers went so deep."

"It's death what's down there," a rather aloof griffon soldier started. "A pit of vile, diseased filth. Getting down is one thing, but there's no easy exit, not in the pitch dark, and especially not in the shape that sorry thief was in. Face it, we didn't catch her, but this is through. Now let's get out of this wretched place and leave her to rot and decompose with the rest of the refuse down there."

"You're probably right," the small griffon said, nodding. "A fitting end for one of them, I say."

"What should we do with all this stuff?" asked the large griffon, looking toward the campsite.

"Burn it, throw it all into the sewer. Who cares, it's just a bunch of pony garbage," the aloof griffon said, giving a snide laugh.

Gilda's eyes found amidst the various scattered articles the copy of Daring Do and the Griffon's Goblet she had been reading what seemed like such a long time ago now. Her expression evened and she shook her head, feeling a sudden heaviness along with a recognition that she had yet to read the ending of the book.

"It should be confiscated. It's an important part of this case. Your Captain will want it recovered safely," she said in a somewhat muted voice.

"What case? The stupid pony is dead, don't you get that?" the third griffon started, accusingly.

"I wouldn't count her out just yet. If there is a way out of whatever is down there, she'll probably find it," Gilda said, starting to pick up various books and belongings. Pathfinder couldn't be dead. Gilda was entirely convinced it was impossible.

"She does have a point," the first, large griffon spoke. "It's important to be prepared for any possibility. The Captain wouldn't have it any other way."

"Yeah, I agree," another one of the griffons started.

"Fine. Have it your way," the aloof griffon said, shaking his head. All the griffons proceeded to gather up the campsite before returning to the surface.

-----------------------------

The next day, a smile crossed Gilda's face as she puts down the Griffon's Goblet from within the same military tower as before. She tried not to show much emotion, but the rousing, triumphant ending put a noticeable grin on her face. She glanced toward Gavin, wondering if he was watching her. Like always, he was.

"I still don't see the purpose of reading this pony's books," the captain said, shaking his head. "Is it not a waste of time?"

"Everything about who she is and what she does comes from these things. Couldn't hurt to crack them open," Gilda said at once with a lie. It was easier to say that then that she just liked the stories.

"My soldiers could be right you know. This may already be over," the male griffon started. "Quite frankly, i hope it is. Our military is tied to the three leading families, but there's anything but transparency involved in dealing with any of them. Actually finding out who has the Helm of Commander Hurricane and securing it is something I'd rather not have to do if I can avoid it."

"But we gotta be prepared it it isn't over, right? I mean, just in case?" Gilda spoke, giving a weak nod.

"Of course," he said. "I suppose time will tell."

Gilda sighed audibly and looked downward, not saying anything.

"You know, you showed some impressive determination and good judgement this past incident," the captain said. "You should consider enlisting."

"Not sure that's for me," Gilda said, shrugging. "I'd have to come out of this without a criminal record, for one thing."

"I can pull the right strings," Gavin said. "You've been a great help so far. Stick this through, and you may just find yourself rewarded rather than punished."

Gilda had to smirk at this. Well, this part of her plan was working. Looking down at the image of Daring Do on the cover of the book in front of her, somehow it felt a little emptier than she would have imagined. She just gave a feeble nod to the captain, not entirely sure how to react.

[SteelEagle]

Waking up was often an unpleasant experience for an adventurer as rarely did it seem that consciousness came clean. It was more often than not the result of some great deal of foolish behavior and the punishment generally ending with her out cold. This was a worthy sacrifice considering her adventuring lifestyle but still, waking up sucked hard. And this day was to be no exception to the rule wholly made up by an idiotic adventurer.

It had been some ten hours since she collapsed in the abandoned sewer when her mind slowly came to focus on the urgent tasks needed to wake up. Piece by piece, awareness came to her as her body flooded with sensory input. Her wings felt stiff and throbbed in almost every way imaginable and otherwise, her left wing spasming thrice as old orders bounced in. Her legs felt as if all muscle mass and fat had left and around her bones were organized loose and quaking bundles of jelly. Her ribs knifed through her frail body in slightly askew patterns, brittle to a degree that even the intake of breath seemed to scrape over them. Every joint seemed to have been popped or turned, a full chase under physical duress finally showing its undesirable fruits. Her head was splitting and if she didn't know better, she could swear that she felt pieces of her skull floating around. Wasn't adventuring grand?

Hearing came back and little could be made out above the crashing waves of the sewer around her. Smell came back and the result was the same. Tongue on the floor, taste came back and the result was ruefully the same. Her sight came back and things were not the same.

Her apple had drifted away from her but was no longer alone. Some arachnid lifeform, glowing green and generally looking as if malice and hate flowed through it more so than...whatever flowed through a mutated spider-thing. It had two long fangs and the eyes were full of character. Poor character. Evil character.

It saw Pathfinder groggily come to be and pulled its fangs out of the apple, which had been drained of anything useful leaving only the skin and seeds. It then hissed. The spider thing hissed. That was enough to send Pathfinder screeching as she shot panicked into the air, the mutant spider jumping up and narrowly missing her with oustretched limbs. Pathfinder shook her head and started to float away, the spider losing interest and going back to her apple for some unholy reason. She decided to get away from that crazy scene, chuckling nervously as she flew slowly and unevenly down a random passage many hundreds of yards under the city which towered about the surface.

Her mind was jumbled but as it returned, a strange sensation came over her. It was excitement and joy, but not her usual feelings that very commonly attached themselves to her myriad of adventure memories. This was different, more nervous and frayed as the nerves in her body conveyed a hundred warnings at once. As the memories of the night's events rolled on in her mind, little was found initially to be proud of. A trap sprung had nearly ended her life and left her battered, bruised, and without her vast collection of private Daring Do fanfiction. Nothing good had resulted from this experience and while the adventure was always worth the price paid, she began to privately doubt whether she had the credit to continue buying time.

Just as quickly as such dark thoughts crept in, they were violently smashed back out by the overriding delusion and lunacy that were Pathfinder's unwavering self-belief and determination in her fate. Above all things she was a mare convinced of her invincibility and the eventuality of victory and success. Despite the night's events, these things were not yet shaken- and indeed, so crucial were they to her being that it was almost impossible to imagine her function without them. Setbacks were required in this mindset to frame the narrative of her success; hardship to enhance the greatness of of victory; danger to temper the spoils of the coming riches and assure all of her invincibility. She was an adventure and life was a game she was willing to play at all times and play for keeps.

Injuries, setbacks, and defeats were little more than new chapters in her story. Nopony or nothing in the land could stop her once she had chosen her target; success was inevitable and therefore her story had to be about the trials and tribulations getting there. She was going to leave the city of the Griffon with the Helm one way or another and the only question now was how to best make the journey worthwhile. For she was an adventure and above all things, adventure would sustain her.

She stiffened and summoned her more normal reserves of joy and soon a slick smile crested her cracking face, followed by a grimace from pain. The dance between the two expressions, allied in order with laughter and yelps, continued for some time as the starving mare flew down the sewer. She flew and flew. And flew. She flew again some more and took a nap before she flew again. And again. And again.

It took nearly two days of travel, but Pathfinder shot out of a rusty pipe and was plopped onto the floor of the main sewer once more. She lay there for some time before pulling herself up and woozily walking down the corridor. Where she was or what she was possibly thinking were questions meant to be answered at no time, as she felt her body failing slowly due to dehydration and starvation, amongst a host of internal injuries. She walked into walls and fluttered into ceilings without a care as she made her way to a causeway, saw a manehole, and shot out into the night in the city.

What luck as she found herself in the poor part of town, meaning that many street vendors had their carts laid out at the bottom of the city at night. Pathfinder happened upon a collection and looked upon one in particular with interest. It was in a foreign language but the smell was unmistakable. It was a cooking cart, meant to be a mobile producer of deliciousness on demand. That meant it would have food suited for a pony and water and that was all she needed. She kicked it once, twice, and finally with her third woozy kick, it broke open. Water started to pour out and Pathfinder took to it like a foal, mouth over the hole like a pacifier, sucking away at the stream. After she had nearly choked herself on the fluid, water, bubbling out of her mouth and washing over her face, she reached in and took an empty jug and allowed the water to flow into it. Mission completed with the water, she took a hoof-full of salad meant for cooking and shoved it in her mouth before stuffing her saddlebag full of it.

Content with this, she escaped to the sewer and once she was truly isolated from any possible discovery, feasted like a true Empress before falling asleep on the sewer floor, an overjoyed and relieved expression on her face. The young mare would need her rest.

The adventure was just beginning.

[RarityDash]

The next three days passed quietly. Gilda stayed pretty well secluded to the military tower, and mostly confined to the room Gavin was allowing her. The pile of Pathfinder's possessions sat there stacked in the corner. Gavin had allowed her to keep the stuff at the simple suggestion that it would help her better understand the enemy. Gavin had given her a line about how actually reading pony books was beneath him and his men, so if she wanted to do the research, he wasn't going to stop her. This was kind of silly for any number of reasons, Gilda could point out, but she didn't care to highlight any of them. It was futile.

She could read Gavin Stormwing pretty clearly now. He was a strict, imposing, straight-laced military griffon, they type no one would be stupid enough to mess with. He was probably pretty used to being given exactly what he wanted when he wanted. Unless there was a Goldplume or something right next to him, you just didn't tell someone like him no. For him, a griffon like Gilda wasn't something he encountered regularly. Aloof, unimpressed, often ready to offer a jab when most in her position--she was something exciting for him. To put it simply, Captain Stormwing's type was the "bad girl", and he was totally into her.

Which of course made for a tricky situation. Gavin held in his talons clenched firmly around the key to Gilda's cage. Her life as a free griffon depended almost entirely on his judgement, and Gilda didn't want to blow it all over some lousy matters of the heart. The trick was of course, that Gilda didn't quite reciprocate. There wasn't a lot in Gavin that really caught her eye. He was an oversized dullard with a lukewarm personality in love with his own power. Nothing about the whole packaged popped for her. You needed to be cool, quick and maybe a little dashing to get Gilda's attention.

Gilda still wasn't entirely sure how she should play the whole Gavin thing. Leading him on, could maybe be to her advantage, but she'd hate it and he might start to back away if things got too "easy" for him. She had to play it safe; maybe make him feel like he's making progress every so often, hope he bites into it. Being too standoffish might cause him to get frustrated and hang her out to dry. She had to use an approach that would actually work, and at that moment, she wasn't entirely sure how she was doing.

A lot of it hinged on Pathfinder. It had been days now, silent days. There was a possibility that the pony really was dead. That thought entered her mind every time she picked up a Daring Do book and stared at the mare on the front cover. It was a haunting feeling, one that chilled her to the bone. She didn't want Pathfinder to be dead; she didn't want to carry that over her as long as she lived. The thought of it made sleep hard for her at night. Not that there was much sleep to be done in the first place. Night time had become prime reading hours.

Three days, and the griffon had already worked her way through two Daring Do novels and an assortment of comics from Pathfinder's collection. After Griffon's Goblet, she had moved to Daring Do and the Gale Wing Pirates, as it also featured griffons. It had proven a pretty fun, entertaining read, if not quite as big a revelation as the first two stories. The tale of Captain Aurora Fairwind, griffon Pirate Queen, and the battle of wits between her and her crew and Daring Do as they looked for a buried ancient treasure had kind of felt familiar in a way. She couldn't help but identify with a young orphaned colt who early in the story befriends Daring Do after trying to steal from her and then goes on to follow his dream to become a pirate and join the crew, where his loyalties are torn between serving his captain and repaying the debt of kindness shown to him by Daring Do. That's probably why it wasn't quite as great with her; it just hit too close to home. Though she idd have to say that the fictional captain was a far more interesting captain than the one she found herself serving.

Following that book, she had sunk her beak into one titled, Daring Do and the Crimson Tower. Shortly after, she wondered why, considering towers were one thing she had had more than enough of. It was nevertheless a pretty exciting fantasy story that had Daring Do pitted against a mad and powerful unicorn wizard with a grudge against her, who captures her and shoves her into a tower of his own construction, filled with puzzles, monsters and traps engineered to punish, torture and eventually kill Daring Do. The whole book consisted of Daring Do showing off her ingenuity and more importantly her perseverance as she climbed past whatever the wizard threw at her inter-spliced with pieces of the wizard's past, explaining why he is so mad with revenge.

A simple if somewhat harsh read, but one that left Gilda with a deeper appreciation of Daring Do, and in turn Pathfinder. The more she read, the more the line between them started to fade and the more confident she was that Pathfinder wasn't dead. She would emerge again. She would challenge them, and by Tartarus, Gilda wouldn't be surprised if she flew away with the helm in her hooves. That would certainly make a good Daring Do story at the very least.

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder spent the next few days gathering up the rather meager reserves of energy in an attempt to summon the will to rise to the challenge of completing a full thought. While her excitement carried her on, her body did not magically repair itself and no matter her wicked smile's lies her body underneath was beaten to a pulp. Sleep came rough as her vision faded, food and water scarce and beautiful when found. Without those, her body could not heal even to its meager ability, nor could she even keep her weight. Days, a week, two, three- she had no idea of the passing of time as her fevered mind raced to piece together what was happening. It generally failed and fell back to her adventuring experiences and tropes, which continued to provide her with senseless mirth as time droned on. The time soon approached that this no longer satisfied her and further action was required.

One day, or night as she peered into Luna's sky with half-lucid eyes, she crawled out of a familiar sewer pipe. Her injuries were severe and her environment dirty and nasty, sickness and harm compounding on one another. Her breath was raspy and her throat slick with some fiercely disgusting fluid, both wings flapping by themselves ocassionaly. Her left back leg was curled up and unresponsive as she limped forward, bones popping in the night. Her eyes lost color and clarity and her body feeling. However serious all of this was, her insanity that passed for fervor and joy called Pathfinder told her it would only increase the excitement of her eventual victory. A victory, mind her, that was further from reach than ever as she lazily flew up the exact same path she had used to break into her first museum out of pure muscle memory.

Some ten minutes later, things were very slightly different as she had spent ten minutes very weakly bucking the newly reinforced door in the facility with no guards. Their failure had likely led to unemployment, not that she would have had any realization of it. Eventually, her weak hoof-taps drew attention from other tenants and she was chased out. Minutes later, she was in the sewer. Minutes later, Pathfinder's memory drew her back to her first camp site.

Minutes later, she realized this, sat down on her flank and looked down at the floor.

A few hours later, she still hadn't moved.

[RarityDash]

When the news broke, Gilda couldn't help but be reminded of that first Daring Do book that Pathfinder had read to her in the sewer and the ending with the heroine set to repeat the actions that started her journey. It was baffling really. Why would the pony return there. Perhaps her mind had become temporarily afflicted like Daring Do's in Daring Do and the Nightmare of the Cursed Woods, or perhaps the noxious sewer had eaten away her sanity and left her in the throes of madness in the same fashion as the villain of Daring Do and the Underground Labyrinth. Either way, it was unexpected and Gilda didn't know how exactly to react.

At the very least there was a sense of relief. Gilda was happy her one time friend was still alive. It allowed her to cast off that desperate heaviness that had been lingering over her head and focus on what was ahead. When Gavin had told her many days ago, when it had been fresh news, it had been a real effort not to show much emotion, to stay calm and collected like she didn't care. Part of her really wanted to see the pony again, but that didn't seem like it was going to be possible. Not yet anyway.

Since the pony had resurfaced, Gavin hadn't been paying as much attention to her. He was constantly busy trying to work out something in regards to the helmet. The pony showing back up and disrupting order had not looked good for him. It was starting to attract real media attention, and not the good kind. The idea of a single pony making fools of the proud griffon military was making for quite the media circus. If this went long much longer, he faced trouble with his superiors. As tough as he played himself to be, Gilda could tell it was getting to him too. He wasn't going to hold back any longer. He was going to go for the finishing blow. The next encounter with Pathfinder would be the last. Knowing this, Gilda sat up instinctively as he entered her room one day, looking more taciturn than ever.

"It's been secured," was all he said.

Gilda's eyes went wide. "You mean the helmet?" she asked, shocked that the thing they sought might actually be nearby.

"What else might I mean? Of course it's the helmet," he started coarsely, clearly on edge. Gilda smiled.

"Where was it? Who had it?" she asked, wondering what the answer to the long held mystery of the location was.

"It wasn't even in the city," Gavin responded, closing his eyes. "The helm of Commander Hurricane was in Rockwington. The owner was a Garrick Ironfeathers, a retired lieutenant of ours who went on to be one of Rockwington's most celebrated makers of arms and armor. In his long life, he had amassed a collection that would put many in the three families to shame, and the helm was the crown jewel of his collection."

"And yet you got your talons on it somehow?" Gilda started, surprised.

"It took appealing to his sense of pride as ex-mil and a rather costly trade," Gavin started, nodding. "You remember the sword of Alistair SIlverbeak, which you slammed through a window that night you got caught? Ironfeathers wanted that, as well as a spear belonging to the storied general Gladwin Galespike, which had been a centerpiece hanging in this very tower for practically a century now. Getting permission from the top brass to make such a trade had been difficult, even if they were rather interested in the helm itself." The griffon grumbled and then sighed. "They need this to stop. It's making us look like fools."

Gilda smirked and gave a small nod. "So, what's the plan then?"

"Isn't it obvious? We acquired the helmet for a reason. We're using it to draw her out. Two nights from now, the helmet will be held at the private military museum of Brenda Razorclaw, located on the far west side of town," Gavin responded in a low voice.

Gilda nodded. "Yeah, but how is she going to know it's there?" she asked.

"You're going to tell her," was all that Gavin said.

"Me? Wha-? What are you getting at?" Gilda was taken aback to here this.

"You're her former comrade. You can appeal to her where no one else here can. Find her, and convince her your on her side. Make her think that taking the helmet will be easy. Major Razorclaw's museum will become her final cage," Gavin said, certainty in his voice. "If you can do this for us, I believe you will have repaid your crimes..."

Gilda's eyes went wide. This was the plan? She could hardly believe it. Here she was, being asked to lead her former friend to what was likely her end. It was a haunting, terrible thing to ask of her, but if she did it, it would mean her freedom. Could she do it? Could she make her betrayal of Pathfinder complete? Did she even have a choice.

"Okay..." Gilda said, her voice having a slight quiver to it. "I'll do it."

"Good," Gavin started, smiling slightly. "I expect great success."

----

Gilda had agreed to the captain's game, but finding Pathfinder wasn't easy, especially since she had a deadline on it. She had to make a correct guess about where the pony would strike that night, and as much fun as reading so many Daring Do books had been, Gilda still wasn't very sure they had enlightened her all that much into Pathfinder's target selection method. Luckily, Gilda could get pretty crafty at times and had a pretty solid solution. She went down her potential list of targets and left copies of the same note in plain sight in the vault of all of them. This would ensure it. Unless Pathfinder chose a target that night that was completely off the list, she would find the note, a note which read thusly:

Pony,

I want to meet with you in private. They have it and I know where it will be. I can't say much here in case they find this, but I want to help you. Meet me after the sun sets in the same woods on the outside of town where we first parted ways and we'll discuss this.

Gilly

Gilda could only hope the pony found the note. She supposed all she could do was wait and see.

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder's time was never ill spent, as far as she was concerned. Every moment brought adventure or failing that the promise of her next bite to eat in the sewers. No, her time was not ill spent. Even as she started to realize that she had hit the same targets in row again, she didn't think it ill-spent. Her mind may have been gone in some ways, undiagnosed problems and medical issues clouding the normal thought process, but her personality still shone through. And that personality looked at life as an adventure and adventure as something wonderful, and wonderful things were always worth the time. And despite her injuries she had the time to spend and was willing to expend...

...She lost that train of thought as she walked into a wall near the manehole leading up. Her awareness had been anything but useful for te past week and she could only wonder at all the facts and interesting tidbits of information she had missed. As that came back, so did her single day of sorrow. That was time not well spent, leaving her eventually sobbing back at her original camp site. The events leading up to it, the reason for her crying, how long it had lasted and why she had woken up covered in spiders were matters she could not remember. Same as why she was standing there under this specific manehole. She couldn't remember and that scared her.

She had only one response to fear and that was excitement, for fear was the natural response to adventure and adventure was something wonderful. Pathfinder went up the manehole and through to the outside of building. Perhaps it was muscle memory or a former reading of a map that drew her to some new target. She only knew an adventure was coming and that she was somewhere in the capital. Perhaps she had more than base physical injuries to be concerned about. What she couldn't preface with perhaps was how abandoned the building felt as she made her way up in and found the entire place completely naked. As she examined what she believed used to be some sort of store room, she allowed herself to flutter to the ground. Her body was still deliciously sore but aside from a back leg that was tucked back and in, she felt good. Maybe because she didn't feel most of it, but such was life. Her eyes scanned the empty void that surrounded and ate at the space around her unnervingly until something of note was found- to be particular, she found a note.

Reading it, her eyes grew wide(despite being of significantly different sizes at the start) and her hoof flew to her mouth. They had the Helm? It was honestly here? Not some sort of silly belief of hers that propelled her forward for the sake of adventure? She was going to meet somep- somegriffin- who knew more? Oh yeah, and Gilda was okay, that was a nice addition. Pathfinder slowly lowered the note, her eyes glistening with excitement and frozen in a wide smile. Oh, she was gonna be there, come Luna or Celestia.

Pathfinder found herself just standing in the woods, the immediate past a haze a few days later as she crested a familiar ridge near a mansion. It was quiet and the grass was soft, the air nice, the sound of silence deafening as she slowly looked around. It was a nice night, just as she would have imagined the night in Canterlot was like that night. Night night night, sweet Luna her head still hurt. She whimpered as she slowly and with great creaking fury laid down, waiting for Gilda to show herself. As much as her short term memory seemed to be non-existent, she still had memories of her time with Gilda. And how much awesome love for Daring Do she had blissfully bred into Gilda. And of course the betrayal blah blah blah. None of that mattered because Gilda was after the helm and if she was going to talk to Pathfinder, that meant she was still loyal to her.

It was going to be wonderful. And safe.

[RarityDash]

Gilda reached the forest early, feeling a little heavy and unsure. By the time the sun started to actually set, this uncertainty had grown into a fiercely blowing whirlwind of anxiety. How would Pathfinder react to this reunion? Would she be cautious? Would she see right through her? Would she possibly act like none of this had happened? There were many possibilities and there were many questions. Gilda had no clue what to expect. More importantly, she had no clue what she would ultimately decide.

Then it happened. Something could be heard moving nearby, coming to, with a thud of sorts, fall into the grass on the other side of some tree cover. Gilda could only assume this was her. She was earlier than she had expected. She didn't want to do this. She didn't know how to do it. Still, she had to. She had to face her. It was time. There was no running from this, not now. Gulping down her fears, she moved past the trees into the clearing where the pony lie. Sure enough, it was her.

Pathfinder, simply put, did not look well. She appeared bruised and battered well past a point when most ponies would simply snap in half. One of her legs looked badly mangled and in need of urgent care. A liberal layer of grime and filth coated her from head to hoof, and the smell wafting from her could best be described as entirely repugnant. The strong image of the pony she had first met, the image of the brave Daring Do she had been reading about for many days now, it didn't quite match up with this pony, so beaten down, town and left looking so weary and miserable. The very sight of her was enough to make all the confidence Gilda had built up for this moment evaporate in an instant. As the pony's wild eyes struggled to find and focus upon her, it became even worse.

"Uh..." Gilda started, completely stunned, not sure what to say for several seconds. "Hey... pon-- Pathfinder," she said. "Long time, no see."

The griffon averted her eyes noticeably forced a smile and then looked clear upwards at the moon before looking at the pony. "I er... you look... I..."

This was so hard and with each passing moment, it was getting harder. She didn't know what to say, not when this pony looked like this... not when she was expected to betray her so completely.

"What I mean to say is..." she started, her eyes trying to find some inspiration from a particularly tall patch of grass, but finding nothing. "I'm... uh.. glad you got my message. I was worried you might not show..."

She was just stalling now. She gave a sigh and then forced herself to look at the pony again. "So, about this thing... I-I..." Her eyes met with the mad eyes in the pony's head and she suddenly couldn't force it out. "I have your stuff you know. I couldn't bring it tonight, but it is safe. I read a good number of those books." She shook her head. What was she doing? Why was she talking about this? She didn't know but she couldn't stop herself. "And, well... if Daring Do can best curses and treacherous labyrinths and trap filled towers and cunning pirates... than I think... you'll get past all of this somehow too."

After that, the pony went silent for a moment, waiting to see how the pony might react.

[SteelEagle]

Gilda moved into Pathfinder's field of view, but not as one griffin. Had Pathfinder truly been seeing one as two and two as four for the past week? The implications were frightening, or they would have been had her mind been able to process such joyless propositions. It was good to see her, even multiples of her. She seemed to be in one piece and lacked an explosive collar around her neck that told her she was a slave of some sort, so that was one nasty rumor she could easily discard. She looked like she wasn't being starved, a fear put to rest. She wasn't pecking at Pathfinder's eyes, one possibility she could lay to rest. All in all, this was off to a wonderful start.

Gilda started speaking, or half-speaking and stuttering as it were, and moving around the field in an unusual manner. She was obviously shy, her speech clearly off by some yards from her message as she beat around whatever bush she was trying to not beat directly. When she finally reached Pathfinder and how she was going to pull through, there were a few moments of confused memory bank searching for what she could be referring to. It was nice that she wasn't flinging insults at Pathfinder; another potential problem averted and proven to be nothing more than a filly fear. Wow, Pathfinder hadn't even said a word and this was already starting to become a wonderfully successful time out with her best griffin pal slash traitor slash triple agent ever.

Pathfinder smiled, the fierceness of it driving her mouth wide as her voice finally creaked to life.

"GIII-" It came out croaking, even weaker than it had in the sewer the last time they had met. She sent her right hoof to her chest and pounded a few times until sewage came leaking out of her mouth.

"Gilly! So nice to...see you! I thought you w-were gonn-gonna be all gaut and not well f-f-f-" She hucked again, "fed. But lookatcha! All two of ya!" She shook her head to rectify that problem. "All one of ya! Why it looks like you've been ingraining yourself deep with those military types. But dontcha be gettin' fat on me, Gilly. If we're going to adventure, you gotta stay in shape!" Pathfinder attempted to get up and strike a pose, but manages to only flap her left wing aimlessly for a second.

That didn't seem right, so she took her time to get up. It took longer as her joints crackled and popped and her bones sang a dusky tune, but she was soon up on three legs and facing Gilda her same smile tacked on. She slowly took her hat off and dusted it, a clump of sewage treated hair going with it.

"Make it through w-what? This? Aww, thanks for th-th-th," She hucked up more sewage and massaged her throat, "the concern, but I'll be fine. Just fine! I've had two apples and a beet for the past week and some sewer water and my bones will heal someday. Dont-dontcha worry none about me, Gilly filly! But what we do need to-to work on is that Helm. Where is it? Who has it? When are we going to get it?" She asked excitedly as her eyes finally found focus on Gilda, who she had been hobbling towards and was now less than a hoof away. Pathfinder pulled back a little, shaking her head to get that itch out. Too bad it was in her head.

"How's my stuff? I hope none of those mean griffins are ev-e," She started before quickly turning away and throwing up a few times, the sudden activity bringing out everything that had rested in her and considering her ribcage was in view, that wasn't much. After a minute, she turned back around, smiling.

"So you've read...Gale Wing Pirates and...Crim...Crimson Tower? Good ones! My favorite part in Gale was..." Expressionless face for a moment as her eyes started to grow dull, the mind seemingly rebooting from some critical and terrifying mishap in retrieving book knowledge. Then she shook her head, smiled, and seemed to return to normal.

"So which ones did you read?!"

[RarityDash]

"Gil-Gilly! So nice to...see you! I thought you w-were gonn-gonna be all gaut and not well f-f-f-fed. But lookatcha! All two of ya! All one of ya! Why it looks like you've been ingraining yourself deep with those military types. But dontcha be gettin' fat on me, Gilly. If we're going to adventure, you gotta stay in shape!"

Pathfinder's response was alarming. It was sad. To be taken from that unstoppable ball of excitement Gilda had first met and be reduced to this... it was sad. The fact that she showed concern for her as well... even after all she had done, all she was yet to do... It was... It was... Gilda didn't know what it was, but it made her chest hurt.

"Make it through w-what? This? Aww, thanks for th-th-th-the concern, but I'll be fine. Just fine! I've had two apples and a beet for the past week and some sewer water and my bones will heal someday. Dont-dontcha worry none about me, Gilly filly! But what we do need to-to work on is that Helm. Where is it? Who has it? When are we going to get it?"

The pain at watching this miserable scene just continued to go from bad to worse. This pony just did not look well. She looked gaunt and pathetic, and had to stop every so often to expel what little was still inside her underweight frame. She was supposed to betray the pony when she looked like this? She found herself unable to speak. She considered flying clean away again. Surely that was better than sending this pony into a den of figurative (and half literal) lions? She couldn't even do that though. She was stunned.

"How's my stuff? I hope none of those mean griffins are ev-e. So you've read...Gale Wing Pirates and...Crim...Crimson Tower? Good ones! My favorite part in Gale was... So which ones did you read?!"

Gilda could just barely take this. The pony looked so weak and miserable, and the more she spoke, the worse it became. She didn't want to see this. Nothing was worth this. It was just sad. Daring Do was at least something though, something that she could talk about without having to do the foul deed she was sent there for. She looked down.

"I read a lot of them. I finished Griffon's Goblet and I read Gale Wing Pirates, Crimson Tower, Underground Labyrinth, Nightmare of the Cursed Woods and Island of Mysteries," Gilda replied somewhat tentatively. For her, this was a pretty impressive feat. Gilda wasn't a reader. That was for dweebs and eggheads. Daring Do was cool though, and she had a hard time putting the books down when she started them. Besides, she didn't have anything better to do in Gavin's tower... and they helped keep her mind off of certain things. "Good stuff, I'd say... Daring Do... she's definitely pretty cool."

Gilda had a lot of passion for what she had read, and the chance to talk about it was hard to pass up... and yet it seemed impossible for her to get started. Everything was just starting to eat at her, and somehow talking like this was just making what she planned to do even worse. She needed to get this over with. Prolonging it only would make her feel that much more pathetic.

"But that's not why you're here," she said with a low sigh. "You want to know about the helmet right?" she asked, waiting for the pony to speak, not because she needed the comfirmation, but just because it made this all slightly easier.