Topic: lore gang

Papillon had been staying in a hotel for a few weeks now. She always hated hotels. They were always so uncomfortable. The beds were too thin and coarse. The beds themselves were always either too tough or too soft. The pillows were basically decoration. The television didn’t have anything on it- and there was hardly even a way to cook. This was exactly what led to the current situation of the mare sitting alone on an uncomfortable couch, watching a styrofoam cup of noodles. A small timer was sit...

A dazzling new day broke through Bee's curtains, to find her already lacing up her leather gauntlets for what promised to be a grand adventure. Birds greeted the sun from the trees outside. She tied her leather pouch on and slipped her red cloak over her head - up went the hood, just covering the two sharp horns between her ears, and it was time to get started! Bee moved almost silently down the tavern's stairs. She tossed a few bits in the tip jar on her way to the door, as not even the own...

None would have dared notice the disappearance of the occasional castle staff member, for the fear of meeting a similar fate, and certainly they didn't ask why they'd been promoted to a role that had been filled for years. This meant that the maids, the cooks, even the guards, all kept to themselves. It made for a very lonely castle, and was lonelier still for Blind Faith. She'd once been the general of the queen's personal guard. When she lost her vision to an injury in combat, she was given...

The late summer heat was bearing down, rendering many to seek the shelter of their homes as soon as they could, surrounded by fans, air conditioning, or even pools if they were so lucky. However, being deep in the Everfree did have one good thing going for it. The trees blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving the forest floor cool and calm, albeit a bit damp in some places. Light filtered through the green leaves, allowing small spears of sun to pierce through to the ground. Spirit sucked ...

Spirit’s eyes shot open. A cold sweat broke against her brow. She slowly moved herself up to a sitting position on her small cot, resting a hoof against her face. She didn’t know why she woke up. It must have just been another nightmare. Though usually she remembered them, this one slipped through her memory like sand through a sieve. She inhaled slowly, and exhaled again. It was fine. She was fine. She just needed to try and get back to sleep. A sound. Glass cracking? What… was that? Her body...

Canterlot was quiet in the heat of the day. The sun reflected and refracted off the white stone buildings, causing the cobble streets to be nearly unwalkable surfaces. But Spirit didn’t mind this. She’d felt worse, for sure. She had something much more important to deal with than nurse burned hooves today, after all. And she knew she’d not be on the stone for long. She would pause outside of the gate that she needed, before sucking in a deep breath. Canterlot Hills Cemetery. Soon, her hooves we...

Long ago, before the formation of a unifying government, pony folk lived in small kingdoms scattered across the land. These kingdoms were overseen by those who possessed strong magical artifacts, particularly protective ones. Power of the artifact translated exactly to power for the owner and thusly to control of those with lesser magics. As one could rightly assume this lead not infrequently to tyrannical rulers who isolated those under their command, lest they be swayed to the side of a compet...

It had been a problem for quite some time. Something was in these woods, other than Spirit. Another hunter. But not one that deserved the title. Spirit had found bodies of creatures within the woods. Some monstrous and others… not so much. Dryads, and Timberwolves lay among Blight and Void. And as if killing them wasn’t enough, they always seemed…. Almost mutilated. Light slashes marking out letters and runes. A thousand cuts. The battlefield around them seemed only slightly scuffed, like the Hu...

The siren blares, deafening the sounds of hurrying hoofsteps clacking across a freshly polished tile. Young Cynbel at the ripe age of eleven, was running for his dear life while he wore a tattered black robe. He heard the various shouts, all demanding for the young alchemist's apprehension, but as he bolted past the door, he heard their increased panic. A crossbow bolt flung past him, embedding itself into a steel door that bent into a turn. "Shoot to kill!" one of them cried. Cynbel was soo...