Slaving Away (Group 1) [Closed] [Finished]

Bakewell slammed the door and leaned all her weight against it to try and keep it shut, but despite her best efforts the door was still buckling.

“No!” She screamed through the door. “I saved her life! She would have died! You can still follow her if you want to!”

Reasoning with these ponies was hopeless, and as strong as Bakewell was she couldn’t hold this hundred year old door shut against the force of ponies pushing against her. She had to keep moving. She couldn’t run too far though, because there was no telling what the slaves would do to her friends once they realized who they were. She had to hide somewhere.

Bakewell took off once more, charging through the building as she tried to find any place that would successfully hide her large form until the slaves gave up or moved on.

What had she done? These slaves really did care about the pegasus mare. Bakewell should have calmed down and listened…

{4 per. Running and looking for a hiding place}

Cuppa groaned as everything started seeping back into consciousness, all she could remember of beforehand was a zebra... Who was now splattered on the floor... And being knocked around like a dog's chewtoy. But being out cold had given her a lot of time to calm down and think, despite now having a lot more to think about. Just about everypony else she'd been with in the group was here and she'd just heard Bakewell shouting through the door that was being battered upon.

Honestly, Cuppa was tired, her head hurt and these were the slaves that Silver had been crowded by not too long ago when Cuppa had shot her wing... That was probably a faux pas, she'd have to apologize if she could find the mare. But the most pressing worry was where Bake had gone, and whether these slaves were going to take their anger out on her because she was waking up.

"Ah'm sorry, everypony, but wha' jus' happened? Where's Silver?" The coffee-brown mare would ask as she slowly picked herself back up, wading through a clogged mind to initiate a healing spell to try and make her self feel better.

Hopefully the slaves wouldn't immediately turn on her just because she was there, she didn't want to be nearly killed twice in such a short space of time.

(Magic 50, medicine 70, healing self with heal spell.)

Cuppa let her restorative magic flow through her, healing some of her wounds. (Cuppa recovers 35 health.)

Most of the ponies in the room seemed rather focused on the door at the moment. A couple stood over Komodo’s bloodied corpse with inscrutable faces. A couple of others milled about confusedly; those were the ponies whose attention Cuppa drew when she asked what had happened.

“One of them’s awake,” a light green mare said, trotting towards Cuppa.

A beige unicorn buck followed her over. “That’s the one that shot Silver!” he shouted. A few more ponies gathered around, beginning to form a cordon around her.

“What should we do?” Green responded.

“Kill her!” Beige growled.

“No, no, no,” said a third pony, a skinny blue earth pony buck, joining the other two. “Silver wouldn’t want that.”

“So what’re you suggestin’?” asked Beige.

“Maybe if Silver comes back, she can learn to love her like we do!” Skinny said cheerfully. “We just need to give her the opportunity. Put her in chains.”

“Okay,” Beige grunted, and trotted out the door.

The other two slaves began to prod Cuppa with their forehooves. “You aren’t going anywhere,” Green said.



Bakewell leapt away from the door, hoping it would stand up to the constant pressure from the other side for a few more precious moments as she tried to get away. She barged through the door at the far end, turned, and slammed it shut behind her.

She turned around and saw a griffon looking at her in mild surprise from across the room, partway through applying a bandage to a wound. The griffon raised her talons in a placating gesture. “Don’t need any more trouble. Sounds like you got enough as is.”

There was a sound of splintering wood. The mob had broken through the first door and were presumably heading down the corridor.

The griffon then nodded towards the door to Bakewell’s left – the only other door in this room. “I don’t know what you’re up to now, but I want no part of it.”

(From now on, I’m gonna PM people as they regain consciousness. Just seems simpler that way.)

Cuppa was worried as they tried to decide what to do about her, shrinking back as much as possible as the decision was on killing her for a moment.

Then a skinny blue pony suggested something, chaining her up... Like hell was that happening, she'd done her time in slavery and wasn't going to go back to being in that position, not even for a second.

Shaking her head in refusal and backing up more, Cuppa spoke. "No no no, ah'm not goin' back int' anythin' like tha', ah was a slave far too long an' ah ain't goin' back t' anythin' like that. Yer all lucky Silver was lookin' after ya so well, but ya can't jus' like bein' stuck here an' eventually bein' sold off t' somepony who ain't gon' treat ya nice like y'are here."

Right now, Cuppa was starting to become similar to a spring in the sense that she would end up lashing out if this kept up. "Jus' lemme get muh friends up an' we can sort this out, ya know? Ah dun want any fightin'."

Bakewell froze when she saw the griffon, but though she was probably a slaver she didn’t appear hostile, and she had other things to worry about.

“Your friends went that way.” She said simply, pointing a hoof towards where the gate was, before taking the only door out.

Dash crawled his way through the window, dropping to the floor on the other side. He looked around, checking his surroundings for any sort of threat before beginning to move once again. He kept quiet as he made his way toward Cuppa, taking a deep breath as he approached. He glared over at the slaves facing the reddish unicorn and aimed his Marksmare Carbine at them threateningly, "Get back!" he growled, "Get back or I'll shoot you all!" He moved next to Cuppa and glanced over at the unicorn, "Could you please use a healing spell on me?" Dash whispered to Cuppa, maintaining his aim on the slaves.

Suddenly, Dash appeared, seemingly having gone elsewhere in the time it took for the zebra to be felled by... somepony. Though now he was threatening the slaves to try and keep the pair of them back.

"Calm down Dash. Ah'll heal ya, but calm down, we shouldn't go shootin' anypony else." She warned before lighting her horn up to cast a healing spell on him. She was starting to get tired with the repeated usage of the spell, but she'd keep it going.

(Magic 50, medicine 70, healing Dash with Heal Spell.)

Bakewell passed through the next door and shut it behind her, and the angry sounds of the pursuing ponies became much duller. Apparently, they were taking their time to pursue; maybe they were checking the other doors back in the corridor.

She was in a room that was slightly wider than it was deep, about two and a half pony-lengths wide. A somewhat ornate but very age-worn desk sat near the centre of the room, with two slightly grubby windows behind it. To the left of the desk, the floor had been opened, revealing a set of stairs that trailed off into the dark underneath the building.

On the desk were a few discarded caps, as well as a faded photograph weighed down by a piece of worn jewelry – a charm necklace, by the look of it. In the center lay a thick ledger book.



When Dash waved his gun at the angry slaves, they quickly shuffled backwards and away in alarmed silence, eyeing him warily. As they did so, Cuppa took the opportunity to heal Dash. (Dash regains 35 health.) Beige, who had gone outside earlier, came back with a heavy neck iron in his mouth. He paused in the doorway, regarding the two silently with a sour look on his face.

In the corner of the room, away from most other ponies, a massive figure began to stirr. With a groaning growl the griffon the wasteland knew as Kestrel came to.

His eyes parted slowy, icy gold locking on the various others in the room. Cuppa was up and moving, Dash too. Other ponies mulled about, one looked angry. Dead Zebra on the floor. Kira was down by the looks of things.

"Dammit." Kestrel thought shifting his bulk and holstering his still ready Hellsing. It was now that his body suddenly decided to make him very aware of his current physical condition. Namely, full of bullets and holes, and sporting a few bruised or broken bones.

His back was killing him too. Damn that mare, she'd be paying for that when Kestrel found her.

Rolling onto his feet the massive griffon tried to shake the haze from his eyes and still look as intimidating as usual. He moved slowly, carefully, balance a bit wonky. He was alive, and these ponies didn't look like slavers. No they looked like slaves.

Looking over at the corpse on the floor Kestrel began to piece together the puzzle. Hot damn....they'd done it. Well, the ones here had. Bake and Dash were missing still. Collecting bodies maybe?

"Put th' gun down Dash. Fights over." Kes said, arriving next to Cuppa and looking over the slaves; voice slowly regaining its usual chill. The griffon idly considered moving on, but something kept him there. He'd get the teams evidence later. Yes...later. Later was good.

Cuppa head movement of something big in the corner, something she recognised to be Kestrel when he spoke up and approached both herself and Dash. Her ears folded down against her head as he approached, she should've tried a bit better to keep herself safe, then this situation wouldn't have happened.

"Kes is right." Cuppa said before wrapping her magic around the metal collar and gently tried pulling it from the beige pony's mouth to set it on the ground. "We need t' find Bake. But we also need t' get Flash n' Kira up."

Turning her attention to the slaves, Cuppa was going to try and at least get them to be more amiable. "Listen, please, we ain't causin' any more problems, an' ah know ya'll loved Silver, but now yer free instead, ain't tha' good at least? Ah jus' wanna get muh friends an' leave, preferably wi' all o' ya'll safe an' sound an' heading t' Stableton wi' us."

Floating two health potions out, Cuppa floated one to Dash and one to Kes, giving them a clear instruction as she kept her focus on the slaves. "Give these t' Flash n' Kira, please, they'll get 'em up faster than ah can. Then we gotta find Bake." She finished, still watching the slaves in case they tried something as she spotted her EZ Gun on the floor and floated it back into her saddlebags, withdrawing the shotgun just in case.

(Speech 26, Charisma 6, trying to talk down Skinny, Beige and Green.)

Kestrel was rather tempted to just chug the thing himself, but he didn't. No that would have been rather pointless really. Sure his wounds would have healed, but he would have caused more harm than good. He could still feel the bullets in him after all.

Annoying little things.

Moving slowly the griffon moved towards Kira, popping the lid off the potion and popping it into the griffonesses mouth Kestrel began to pour it down her throat; massaging the flesh of said part with his free hand to coax her to swallow.

When that was done he'd stand and nod to Cuppa. Then it was back to looking around. From where he was he noticed he was close to the body of who could have only been Mad Komodo.

The stallion had certainly seen better days, as his head was currently caved in and beyond most recognition. Bakewell must have done that. She was the only one Kes could think of with the weapons to do so.

His eyes, cloudy and cold, roamed down to the weapon wrapped about the stallions limbs. A fine trophy if ever Kes had seen one. The griffon had a place for such a thing in his arsenal. It wasn't his though; no this trophy belonged to another.

Didn't mean he couldn't deliver it to her though.

Reaching down Kestrel began trying to unravel the chain, his hazy vision making that a bit more difficult than it logically should have been. As long as he wasn't interrupted or threatened however he'd probably manage however. While he was at it he'd loot whatever else the zebra had on him.

"She's right you know. Trust me, whatever kindness you knew here would be gone the instant you were bought or sold." The griffon offered as he worked, trying to help Cuppa in her convincing. To any slave looking at him, it would be obvious that the griffon knew something about what he was saying. The scars told more, if they knew how to listen to their stories.

(Gave Kira the potion, and taking the Zebra's chain, weapon, thingy for later delivery. Also looting anything else he's got on him assuming the Slaves will allow that.)

Dash looked over to Cuppa as she levitated over a health potion. He looked at it for a moment then looked back up to Cuppa, "Bake... The pony that killed Komodo? Was that the one?" he asked. He took the potion under his wing and looked toward the door, "If it is, that pony may need it more." Dash hadn't seen the end of the battle with Komodo so he naturally would want to know more about what the situation was out there. Dash gave a wary look over at Kestrel before getting ready to go out the door. He sidestepped and quickly dashed toward the nearest exit, dodging through any resistance he would encounter, out the door and out of sight before Cuppa could answer.

(Agility 9, Dodge 27, getting out of the building.)

Bakewell knew that the photograph would only do her harm but she looked at it anyway. She would attempt to take the ledger book hoping it could be used as proof, or at least show worried ponies what had happened to their loved ones. If the photograph and necklace proved to be something touching to Komodo she would take them and put them on his body later. There was nowhere to go but down or into the jaws of her pursuers so she went down.

Cuppa was able to take the collar from Beige’s mouth, the pony not resisting very much. When she spoke to the slaves, they didn’t seem to be either pleased or disappointed; instead, they had varying expressions of confusion.

“But... who would bring us food?” Green asked.

“No!” Beige shouted. “Silver wouldn’t abandon us, so we won’t abandon her!”

Kestrel poured the healing potion down Kira’s throat; it would be a few moments before she awoke. He began unwrapping the chain from Komodo’s hooves and other than some angry glances, nopony stopped him. He was also able to strip the zebra of his hoof weapons, and the reinforced combat barding.

As Kestrel spoke his part, each and every word seemed only to make the slaves angrier and angrier.

“You don’t get to talk!” Beige spat. “You upset her, you stupid jerk!” He then spat, literally, in Kestrel’s face.

Dash ducked out of the building, none of the slaves seeming to make much of an effort to impede him. Once he was out of sight, the slaves turned as one to Cuppa and Kestrel, hopeless rage in their eyes. Slowly, a few of them began to advance.



The photograph depicted two ponies, one a zebra stallion, the other a silver pegasus mare; they were both smiling. They looked young, the zebra’s face crinkled in good humour, his eyes sparkling in healthy joy, one foreleg around the pegasus’ shoulders. The pegasus’ smile was softer, more delicate, and a warm, modest happiness shone from her beautiful face. Her face... either the resemblance was uncanny, or this pegasus was Silver Mist.

On the photo’s reverse side was a madly intricate diagram, angrily scrawled with a sharp piece of charcoal, depicting the fruits of an impenetrable thought process. The diagram looked pristine, unsmeared, as if the photo hadn’t been disturbed since.

The necklace was a thin chain of cheap grey metal – possibly iron or tin – covered in scratches and spots of wear. A few tiny charms hung from it – a lizard, a dove, a smiling fish, a peach, a gibbous moon. The quality of the craft was somewhat crude, only made worse by the wear – it probably wouldn’t be worth much.

Bakewell descended the stairs into the darkness below the building, slowing her pace lest she slip where she couldn’t see. She bumped into something hanging from a hook and chain; after a moment of squinting and fumbling, she found it was a lantern. She took it down, lit it, and held it in her mouth, using the orangey light to take in her surroundings. She was in a moderate sized room, perhaps slightly smaller than the office above her. A cauldron sat upon a small stack of unlit timber. Off against a wall was a workbench with a few jars, bottles, bowls and vials atop it.

(Somepony rolled badly on their reaction roll. 0 caps if you can guess who!)

Kestrel narrowed his eyes dangerously at the buck that had spit on him. Lethally sheathed talons reaching up to wipe away the spittle. Why? Why did they never listen to him? Could they not see the scars? Did they not understand what the life of a slave was like outside of this mock-paradise? No. No they didn't. They needed to learn, needed to be taught.

And Kestrel was going to try doing it without slicing open their throats for once.

"I was a slave once. Spent 19 years in Fillydelphia against my will. Let me show you what happens to our kind outside this camp." Kestrel started sitting down and looking at the angry ponies before him. His talons moved again, putting away the weapon in his talons, the zebras own, and then reaching up. He did not reach for a weapon, he didn't reach for a potion, no his talons found purchase on instead something far more useful.

A zipper.

The drone of unzipping metal filled the room as Kestrel began unzipping the nearly skintight armor he wore, his form seeming to grow as compressed feathers and muscle began to become free to bask in the open air.

Every inch the zipper moved revealed more and more flesh, but more importantly more and more Scars; not to mention the fresh wounds he'd gotten from the fight outside. There they were, free for the slaves to see, for them to know just how enduring the griffon before them had to be.

When his neck and chest were more exposed Kestrel began talking, a sad frown on his masked face, and a pained fog in his eyes. His voice never wavered from its usual icy calm...but something did seem different about it. More emotion behind it? The sound of painful memories perhaps?

Pointing to one on his neck, that went all the way around, a jagged circle. The griffon let them watch for a second or two and then the story started. "Slave collar, to keep me under wraps. Filly guards like to keep them tight, digging into the flesh, letting it fester. Can still feel it sometimes." The griffons talons moved to one lower on his neck, one more jagged and angry looking.

"They don't like to feed all the slaves at once in Filly. This is from a fight for food during the first week, nearly lost, but my father got to eat while I lay there on the ground, bleeding that night." The next scar was patchwork, played over with thin line like scars, but under that was a heavy chunky layer of scar tissue. A bullet wound by the looks of it. "First arena fight, second round, Earth Pony got a shotgun, and nearly put me down. They gave me bread when I won, promised to let me go if I kept it up. They lied."

The armor slid off further and Kestrel did quite possibly the most foolish thing he ever had done. He turned around and let the armor slide down. If his chest and neck had been a intricate weaving, the griffons back was a masterwork tapestry.

The most obvious scar did not come from being a slave. It was the five living canyons of scar tissue that dug deep into the steely muscle of the predators back. They started up on the griffons front right limb, and tore across his back, cutting across his wings and disappearing into the depths of Kestrel's armor; the rest hidden for now.

But between the bullet wounds, angry rips, claw wounds, bites, cuts and the massive canyons of the Deathclaw scar, were the linear scars. Large, angry, some still red and healing, they danced across the griffons back.

The marks of a barbed whips bite.

"Sometimes when I didn't obey, they deny me food or water. Other times, they'd beat me. But when I really broke the rules, as an example to the others, they chained me to a pillar and whipped me." The way Kestrel explained this made it seem as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He continued a moment later, gaze wavering a bit as the memories took hold.

"Again, and again, and again until I couldn't stand, couldn't scream, couldn't move. The other slaves would watch, unable to look away. If they did, they joined me on the stand." Kestrel finished, facing out towards the field beyond the room, towards Dash. His eyes seemed smokier as he continued talking.

"This is what happens to our kind. You fight for entertainment, for food, for safety, for shelter...for survival. No one brings you food, you don't get to rest, you don't get to stop. You have no name, no freedom, you're a number, a thing. A tool to be used, then thrown away when you finally break." Kestrel let his words sink in before finally he turned and faced the group again, his large masked head shifting just enough to let a single eye gaze over his shoulder.

"Now do you understand?"

Bakewell sighed as she looked at the photograph. She couldn’t say it wasn’t what she had been expecting, but it hurt anyway. The mare took the two items. She would return the charm necklace to Komodo and bury it with him after the others had used his body as proof. The photograph, however, she would keep. Bakewell would take the photograph home and hide it alongside another similar picture of two young friends in a happier time, one of which had suffered a similar fate to Komodo. Even insane slavers had friends, she supposed.

Bakewell wasn’t really sure what to make of the room, aside from the fact that she was trapped in it should her pursuers follow her and stand in the doorway. Maybe the griffon upstairs would lie for her, but that was pretty unlikely all things considered. Bakewell was almost totally at a loss for what to do, though not completely so. Zestari had some of these tools, if the earth pony remembered correctly. Alchemy stuff. Bakewell gave the room a quick look over and took anything she thought her Zebra roommate would be interested in; Komodo couldn’t use it any more.

Then she had to find a way out of here so she could get back to the others and help them. Being unconscious in a room full of angry slaves was a horrible spot to be in. Bakewell shuddered to think of what they could be doing to whoever had injured Silver Mist’s wing.

Kira groaned loudly as the health potion took effect on her and she slowly woke up. Everything just felt so slow as she opened her eyes, she just looked around seeing the angry slaves moving forward at a snails pace seeing every single angry line in their expression as she started to sit up really slowly. The Dash that she had inhaled was still running though her system as it never had the chance to really burn out after getting knocked out so quickly after taking the drug.

"What is going on?" She said being irritated on how slow her beak felt like it as she spoke. "Why are all these ponies looking so angry at you?" In reality she was speaking with great speed blabbering fast making it hard to understand what she was saying. "Where is the zebra? Where is Bake and the rest?"

Cuppa frowned in annoyance at Dash as he quickly made an exit. "Ah said t' get Flash up, not run off after Bake, dangit!" She called after him before her attention turned to the slaves, about to make a response.

But Kestrel took the lead here and showed them the scars adorned all over his body, like a giant story book telling of all the pain and suffering he'd dealt with over the years in Filly. Now Cuppa could admit she'd had it rough, being used as a rape-toy in a camp nowhere near as bad as Filly itself, but she knew some of Kestrel's pain, if not varying aspects of it.

Waiting for him to finish his display, Cuppa saw that Kira was waking up, talking very fast as if she was hyperactive or something was keeping her reactions and mental functions faster than they should be. "He's right, no matter what, ya always try an' keep yerself alive, whether ya have t' kill somepony or lose somepony, ya need to get through it to keep on livin'. Jus' let us go all nice an' easy, then everypony can get back to how they were. Ya'll can run caravans if tha's what yer doin' before this. Ya can find work elsewhere otherwise."

The slaves seemed almost... unfazed when Kes began going over his myriad injuries. They didn’t even seem alarmed or disgusted. If anything, they just seemed annoyed, like they were just waiting for him to stop talking. “I don’t care about your battle scars,” Beige began, before Kestrel had finished talking about his slave collar. “Stop badmouthing Silver, you filth.”

“We can’t let them get away with this!” a pony at the back of the group shouted.

“Yes,” said Green, “don’t let them get away!”

He turned to a few of the other slaves, most of which seemed to have given up chasing after Bakewell. “You’re right. Block the exits.”

There was a bustle of motion and excited babble as the mob of slaves moved to the doorways. When the noise stopped, there were four or five ponies in front of each door, the rest still gathered in their now somewhat thinned circle.

“This is why we need to make you slaves,” Beige continued. “So that you can see.” He leant his head down and picked up the collar again. He nodded to Kestrel. “You first.” Slowly, he walked towards the griffon, stepping past and ignoring Kira. A couple of the other slaves fell in by his sides as he approached.

Green, who was standing near Cuppa, looked at the unicorn with an expression of slight realisation. “I... I used to run a caravan. We had a major delivery for Stableton.” His head shuddered for a moment. “Nope. My life under Silver’s care has been happier and more comfortable than it ever was before.” He saw the pity in Cuppa’s eyes, and his gaze sank to the floor. “I know she’s coming back, and I’ll wait for her. I don’t care how long it takes.”



It took Bakewell a few moments to fill her saddlebags with anything that she thought Zestari might find interesting, and as she rummaged in the last cupboard, there was a prickling on the back of her neck. She turned, and saw a silhouette of a pony standing at the top of the stairs. Galactic Dash looked down at her, his face heavily shadowed by the flickering orange light of her lantern.

“Bake, you’re okay!”

Kestrel frowned and quickly pulled his armor again, leaving it unzipped, as the annoyingly stubborn slaves began to advanced. Had nothing he said gotten through? Just what the fuck had that silver mare done to these ponies? It wasn't natural just how loyal they were. In fact...a good bit of this camp didn't add up really once one thought about it. Of course Kestrel wasn't thinking about it right now, no his ears were trained on one specific little, foolish, statement that the damned pony in charge had said.

"This is why we need to make you slaves.” The words echoed off the hollowed halls of Kestrel's mind like the cries of the damned. Memories, painful, horrible, repressed, began to flood the griffons mind. His pupils shrunk, his jaw clenched, and the most unsettling growl to ever come from his form began to build in his chest.

He couldn't be a slave, not now, not ever again. His father was counting on him, he could not fail him. He couldn't, just...just couldn't. No, not couldn't. He WOULDN'T, and if these damned idiotic ponies even DARED to try and so much as BREATHE on him right now he would rip their throats out with his bare talons.

"You First"

Kestrels talons clenched and he stood, growl now loud enough for all in the room to hear as his body jerked up to its full, massive height. The griffons eyes locked on the ponies before him, a silent threat of death in them. The griffons feathers naturally rose, making him swell in size a bit as slowly, the griffon began backing up.

When he spoke next, his voice was not cold and calm. It was frigid and seething, a guarantee, no a PROMISE, to anyone smart enough to listen as he began backing up towards the door; never once taking his eyes off the ponies in front of him.

"Not again. Never again."

(Defending)

Cuppa was almost relieved when Green started to mention how he used to run a caravan. But she was left disappointed as he suddenly threw that thought away, whatever their incredible devotion to Silver was caused by, that mare was no normal slaver.

Whatever she'd done, Cuppa was going to fix this if she considered herself to be a decent pony. Though, she was already formulating what could've caused this... Maybe an enchantment on the collars? But they'd need a specialised or naturally very powerful unicorn to enchant anything with a spell that effectively brainwashes a pony.

Stepping to the fore and putting herself between Kestrel and the slaves, Cuppa wore a focused expression. "...Fine. Kestrel, Kira, watch me in case summint happens when ah put it on. Ah've a feelin' th' collars might be enchanted. If ah start actin' weird, knock me out, please." Cuppa quietly both requested and ordered them, because if she was thinking right, she didn't want to be forced to turn against her friends.

Grabbing the collar from Beige's mouth again and floating it to herself, shuddering somewhat in fear as she blocked out memories that weren't helping right now, Cuppa clamped the collar around her own neck and waited for whatever may or may not happen.

Bakewell nearly had a heart attack when she saw a pony in the doorway. This was it, they had found her! She had nowhere to run. They were going to kick her and beat her and set her on fire and stab her and- wait, that wasn’t a slave…

“Uh, Hi, black wings! I’m mostly fine I guess.” She said, as her smile turned into a light frown. “No thanks to you. Where the hay did you go? I’m lucky I managed to talk Silver down, because there’s no way I could have taken her on by myself.” She said, approaching.

“I didn’t realize you knew my name, though. I didn’t tell it to you, but I guess you should go ahead and tell me yours. You know, so that I don’t have to make up names for you like “Black Pegasus” and “Black Wings." Have you checked up on the others? I didn't get to, what with being chased by an angry mob of slaves and all. We still need to find that bomb collar disarm thingy, too.”

Kiras Dash infused mind was slowly slowing down as a lot of things happened at once as even she in her hyper state had a hard time understanding what was really happening. But when Cuppa explained her theory she finally started to understand what the situation was, zebras was know of enchantments and Silver has said she needed Mad Komodo that might mean that he did do some kind of enchantment on the collars. Not bad for a drugged up half dead gryphoness.

Kira nodded to Cuppa as she put on the collar ready to knock her out and fight of the slaves or just subdue the slave and do the best she could to remove the collars, or maybe just run in case things went very bad.

Surprisingly, the slaves still seemed somehow unconcerned by Kestrel’s aggression and intimidation.

“She’s such a kind, loving pony,” said a lemony unicorn mare. “She’ll care for you like she’s cared for us. You just have to give her a chance.”

They kept slowly approaching the griffon as he backed away, until Cuppa got in the way, effectively drawing the attention of the slaves.

Beige almost jumped when Cuppa’s magic snatched the collar from him. Cuppa waited for the pair of griffons to be vaguely ready, should something go awry. She placed the iron collar around her neck, and as it clicked shut…

Nothing happened. Cuppa felt no more love for Silver Mist than she did a moment ago, and she was no more capable of explaining the way the slaves were acting.

“See?” Beige said with a roll of his eyes. “No evil magic.”


Dash looked sheepishly to one side as he attempted to recall what had happened with the window. “I got attacked when I was moving around to flank Komodo. I don’t know what happened.”

When Bakewell asked him about his name, he grinned broadly. “You don’t even know my name? Oh, Bake, what kind of friend are you?” he said with an oddly cheerful tone. He grinned giddily. “It’s Dash, by the way. Like the drug. Hasty, impetuous, needlessly destructive, and oh so very fleeting.”

“The others are fine; they’re cleaning up. Maybe they’ve even killed the slaves by now!” He let out a sharp guffaw. “Wouldn’t that just be a kick in the tail? We wouldn’t need to disarm any collars or anything!”

A manic chuckle oozed from his grin as it slowly grew into a broad, wicked smile – and just like that, he was silent, his face stern as stone. “There’s something I think I missed, though,” he said, voice like polished steel. “You wanna tell me what happened with Komodo?”

"We’re friends?” Bakewell asked, brow raised. “I mean. I guess we could be, if you want. But we’ve barely even talked to each other. I only even know you exist because of the whole deputy thing.” She admitted. Wow, Dash was pretty hard on himself. The mare had never really seen him act this way, but she had also never really talked to him or paid close attention to him, so what did she know?

Her thoughts instantly smashed through the barricade and flew off the rails when Dash mentioned the others. “They’re what? Why? Dash, that’s not funny at all! Why would we need to kill the slaves? Haven’t enough ponies died? They’re just angry. Cee’s good with words. Why isn’t she talking them down? Dash, move out of the doorway. I have to stop them, even if the slaves try to pound me into the dust while I do so.” Bakewell had worked too hard saving slavers to lose the slaves. That was just silly. Who came into slaver camps, evacuated the slavers, and then killed all of the slaves? Granted, there was one slave they were supposed to kill, but still…

She was trying to look beyond Dash when the chuckle made the earth pony freeze. Teal eyes slowly traveled back to Dash’s as he let out an uncharacteristic chuckle. His words were almost tangibly sharp in the air. Bakewell wasn’t sure what was wrong, just that it was something.

“He died.” Bake said carefully as she began backing away. “I’m not proud of it, but I had to kill him. Please, Dash. Move aside.”