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

“Nine years of work burnt to the ground because of you, Bakewell. If I still had Komodo, I could just use him to start over somewhere else, outside the reach of your stupid insignificant town. I spent nine long, painful, exhausting years turning him from a zebra who loved a pegasus into the cold-blooded monster you killed today. I refuse to go through that again just because some self-righteous idiots wanted to play cowpony."

“Do you see, moron? You’ve ruined me in more ways than you could possibly realize. You’ve destroyed my home. You’ve killed my workers. Worst of all, you’ve deprived me the ability to get food. So in return, I do the same to you.”

Bakewell shifted her gaze from the ground, where it had fallen once she had begun speaking, up to those present.

“That’s what Dash told me before trying to starve me to death.” Bakewell said wearily from where she continued to rest on her side. “Or rather, Silver in Dash’s body. I assumed she possessed her victims and was some sort of ghost or demon because of how she eats ponies. I guess shape-shifting makes just as much sense in the end, if you saw her pretending to be me. It doesn’t really matter. She’s gone now. We should work on figuring out how we’re going to protect ourselves and those we care about when she comes back seeking revenge. I’m sure you all have at least one person you don’t want to see turned into a quick alternative to Cram. Hopefully that includes each other, though…” The mare paused, her gaze averting towards her own rough beige hooves stretched in front of her. “…I guess I understand if it doesn’t.” She sighed. Expecting something from Dash about how she couldn’t be trusted, if he was even close enough to hear her. She couldn’t really see him.


(36 AP towards being lazy)

Dash let out a puff of air through his nostrils and stood up as Kestrel and Cuppa, at least, began the task of digging after Silver, who they said may have somehow transformed into a Diamond dog or other such diggy creature. He replaced his Sniper Rifle onto his back and sat up on his haunches and brought a hoof up to his mouth, pondering. He then listened to what Bakewell was saying. Now that they had all seen Silver for themselves, Dash had a bit more inclination to believe her once again. After all, considering the abilities Silver had shown herself to have, there being more than one was unlikely for a two-bit slaver group.

He then jolted at the implication of something Bake said, "Wait... You mean that bitch might have been FEEDING on me!!?" For a moment, although Dash praised himself on not being petty or vain in really any way, he really, really felt like taking a shower for some reason. He really wanted to kill Silver now, but something about her being able to change into a Diamond Dog and tunneling effectively didn't seem right. He looked over at the Radhogs for a moment, eyeing them suspiciously. Perhaps she was hiding amongst them, or as one of them.

(Perception 6, watching the Radhogs for anything suspicous)
(42 AP into being a Pegasus)

Suspicions proved correct. In the centre of the depression, the dirt was soft and fairly easy to dig – an indication that it had been recently disturbed. The edges of the collapsed tunnel were still hardened from years of baking under the misery of the wasteland; for a body as large as Kestrel’s to dig after would be a monumental task.

A few feet of digging didn’t seem to give them any sudden access to an open tunnel. It seemed that the tunnel had been filled in behind whatever had fled down its length.

Kira and Bakewell, who had sat back nearer to the ridge, noticed the slaves making their way towards the group. It was hard to determine what mood the slaves were currently possessed of, but they seemed to move at a perplexed amble, rather than an enraged charge.

Dash watched as the radhogs ran yet farther away. They seemed to be behaving in a fairly normal, radhogian manner. At some point, when they were little more than tiny blips to the naked eye, they stopped to sniff at the ground and grunt amiably at one another.

“You don’t look very eaten to me, so I doubt it.” Bakewell said, forcing herself to stand up as she noticed the slaves. “She probably didn’t have enough time or just wasn’t hungry. Maybe you were going to be a victory snack after she took care of us all. Maybe she was planning to sit on top of the cellar door and eat you all as noisily as possible while talking about how you deliciously you all tasted in super fine detail as part of my torture. I wouldn't put it past her”

The mare sluggishly moved, swapping location so that she group would be between her and the incoming slaves, before sitting down.

“The slaves are coming this way. Last time they saw me they tried to lynch me for hurting Silver. Don’t let them do that, please. I don't think I can outrun them again right now. Oh, and I think Mr. Photogenic is in there somewhere, Cee. I as- interrogated one of the slavers into telling me so.”

Kestrel, despite his resolve, felt the familair ache and burn of muscle fatigue quickly starting to catch up to him. His kind was not made for digging, and despite his best efforts it was going to take hours to dig through this tunnel.

He could always just take a few of Kira's explosives of course, and blast his way into the place. But if Kestrel had to guess the sun-baked walls of this little tunnel wouldn't react to a 40mm High Explosive charge very well at all. With a growl and a push, so as to set himself back up with the others, Kestrel began the process of coming to terms with what had happened.

Silver the Slaver, had gotten away.

Oh that irked him, made the blood beneath his scarred flesh bubble and boil, but he'd accept it for now. He'd lost quarry before like this,but he had a certain way of...finding those that he calls quarry. It took time, but the Wastes seemed happy to give the Hunter what he sought.

It could be weeks, months, even years from now...but Kestrel would find her. Find her, and steal the life out of her body with the sound of snapping bone and rending sinew. He just had to be patient.

Pulling himself up and out of the hole he dug gave the griffon a reminder that he was not in any shape to be doing much else for now. A quick order to his muscles to stop complaining and Kes was able to get back with the others easily enough, though the fatigue was starting to really take its toll.

He could see the slaves approaching, and instantly his guard went up. At the mention of 'Mr.Photogenic' the griffon had to raise a brow...not that anyone could see it beneath his mask. Just who the hell was Bakewell talking about?

Only time would tell.

(All AP dedicated to dodging if need be, other than that, just on guard.)

Cuppa furrowed her brow as Bakewell explained what Silver had said to her, putting thought into if she'd ever heard anything about that kind of thing. "Why would she starve ya fer killin' a pony tha' loved 'er, an' then say yer deprivin' 'er th' ability t' get food... Anypony can manage t' get food if they try hard enough."

Then Cuppa's expression dropped as the mental ball on all these thoughts did, compacting it all into one final result. "Tha' bitch was a changelin'. Ah remember readin' a tiny bit 'bout 'em. They feed offa love an' can change their appearance... That's all ah know, but it's more than nuthin'. If she's smart, she's gon leave us lot well alone t' preserve 'er life." Cuppa finished with a peeved growl before the matter of the slaves and "Mr.Photogenic" came to being.

Really, today was just mentally tiring. And now this was happening. "Okay..." Was all Cuppa said as she saw Bake put the rest of the group between herself and the slaves. "Ah'm gonna try an' talk to 'em then, we're meant t' be savin' 'em after all." She stated bluntly before slowly stepping forwards to be the nearest to the slaves, attempting a posture with as little aggression as possible whilst trying to spot the buck from the photo.

"Beg yer pardon, everypony. But are ya'll feelin' okay? Ya seem a lil' dazed." She said with concern to the cluster of now ex-slaves, noting that they no longer had collars on, that was a good thing.

(Speech 26, Charisma 6 (If these are at all needed) - Attempting to calmly greet and show concern over the slaves.
Perception 7 - Keeping an eye out for the buck from the photo.)

Having given up on digging, and with the slaves now approaching almost in a daze, the group was able to shift their focus.

One of the slaves at the front, a young adult mare with a cream coat and sapphire mane, answered Cuppa first. “Uh, I’m not sure, actually.” The mare looked around, as if seeing the wasteland for the first time in months. “I think I was coming up here to do something, but I can’t remember what it was. I’m Blueberry Ripple, um...” She looked about with increased confusion. “Where are we?” She looked at the compound back down the hill. “Is that our camp?”

Other slaves were reaching the rise, now, all with similar degrees of baffled confusion.

“I’m supposed to be running a caravan!” a large buck triumphantly recalled. “What the hay am I doing here?”

Among the confused rabble of slaves, Cuppa spotted the stallion from the photo Bake had shown her earlier: a blue earth pony stallion with a dark purple mane and tail, and a hint of irritation in his eyes.

Kira just sat down hard on the dusty ground as she looked more confused then she had ever during this very confusing and painful day. Why, oh why was she not a smarter gryphon she she could understand what the hell was going on with the slaves, with sliver and with what Cuppa said.

Still it seamed that her idea to get the saves hunting after Silver and not leave them in the camp had been a good idea after all even if it did not look like that at first, and that was something that made her happy to kind of have been able to figure out something even if it was not planned.

Cuppa's gaze washed over all of them as Raspberry Ripple started talking, simply listening for the time being as she located "Mr.Photogenic" and thought over what the other slave had said. "Ah'm Cuppa Beans." She simply introduced herself as a courtesy extended towards Raspberry Ripple after being told her name.

"Ah'm none certain 'bout the details o' what happened t' ya. But ah know that ya'll were caught as slaves by some slavers who owned that camp ya'll came from there. An' that we all got sent t' deal wi' the slavers and come get ya'll. Granted ya'll were a bit dazed b'fore, so none o' ya'll seemed to be actin' normally to the whole yer a slave revelation b'fore." She started, she'd never figure out what exactly had put these ponies in that adoring, trance-like state. At least she'd be able to recognise it.

"How 'bout we all get back t' that camp, gather up whatevers left o' yer stuff from the caravans and get back t' Stableton? Ah think everypony could do wi' summint t' take their minds offa all o' this. Ah'll buy everypony a drink if ya'll like? Until we get back t' Stableton though, we're gonna need ya'll t' stick close so we can keep ya'll safe.. That okay by all o' ya'll?" She slowly eased into a more cheerful tone, giving a meek smile to finish it all off.

(Speech 26, Charisma 6 - Convincing caravanners to nice and easily go with the group.)

Kestrel stared at the ponies before as if they'd all just grown extra limbs. They'd gone from placid, to angry, to stupid...and now they were acting confused?

Attempting to wrap his tired brain around it Kestrel could not explain their behavior. Had they been under some kind of spell? Potion? Temporary lapse in reason induced by the torturous reality of being a slave? In the end there was only one explanation that the griffon could come up with.

Fucking. Ponies.

(Guards still up, all ap to dodge if need be.)

A light green mare guffawed as Cuppa told them they were slaves. “I think we’d remember something like that.” A couple of others chimed in their agreement. “I’m guessing that’s a trading post or something.” She nodded with her head at the camp. “Not sure what we’re doing up here, though.”

The slaves seemed to settle into soft chatter, confusion seeming to reign supreme while they tried to work out what happened amongst themselves.

This discussion went on for a few minutes, but no real ground was gained, and they were still rather strongly disbelieving of the whole ‘slave’ thing.

“Where’s all the guards?”

“I’m feeling pretty good for a slave – well rested, full belly, and not a single bruise.”

“If I was a slave, I think I would’ve noticed some, I dunno, slavery.”

They did agree with Cuppa to make their way back to the camp. It did seem to be the best idea to them, and really, they didn’t have much else to do.

Kestrel continued to stare, dumbfounded and speechless at the scene before him. What in the name of the Void was going on here? Not ten minutes ago these slaves were going to be quite happy to try and pound the griffon and his team into little more than dust and pulp, and now they were wondering what the hell was going on.

It's like a veil had been lifted off their eyes. Again trying to connect the lines Kestrel set his brain to work, after the beginnings of a headache he began to see a pattern.

Silver was around when they were 'stupid', now that she was gone, they were 'better'. Had she been casting some sort of spell? Well, no, she couldn't. She was a pegasi after all. Shaking his head Kestrel decided to just let it be, and not go tossing out this recent blessing.

It was now, upon making that decision, that he heard one of the slaves ask a rather peculiar question. “Where’s all the guards?” Memories of the recent slaughter filled the big black birds head at that, memories of blood, steel, lightning, and sinew. The memory gave Kes reason enough to speak before following after the others, assuming they'd left. As always his tone was cold and indifferent, and, as always, he only said the bare minimum of what was needed.

"The Slavers are dead."

Dash watched as the newly arrived slaves spoke about how they couldn't remember about what had happened to them. Something about the situation seemed off to Dash. Here they were looking for Silver, and then suddenly, the slaves go off after them, and started striking up conversation with them whilst they were trying to locate her. It seemed rather convenient, "All but one." Dash added to Kestrel's statement before drawing his Carbine once again before speading his wings and leaping into the air.

Dash flew upwards a ways before leveling out at around 4 dozen meters. This was not the most stealthy approach, but all he had to do was spot her and yell for the chase to once again resume and for all of them to exact justice and well-deserved revenge.

(41 AP)
(4 AP, drawing Marksmare Carbine)
(15 AP, Sneak 75, Agility 9, going airborne)
(Perception 6, scanning the surrounding area from his position)
(22 AP, dodging if need be)

When the slaves didn’t immediately go into a mad “Death to the earth pony” rage, Bakewell slowly regained enough courage to stay alongside the team, rather than cowering behind them.

“The lead slaver was a zebra.” Bakewell offered, talking to Kestrel and Cuppa more-so than to the slaves. “He had an alchemy station thing, maybe that’s why they don’t remember anything? Maybe Komodo drugged them to make sure they stayed complacent?” The beige mare really wanted to bring up the entire ‘Silver eats ponies’ deal, but knew that there was absolutely no way the ex-slaves would believe her.

Bakewell shifted her gaze back towards where the Radhogs had disappeared as Kestrel spoke, even though she couldn’t hope to see far in that direction. By not looking towards the griffon for a few seconds she managed to hide the sinking feeling in her chest brought on by thinking about the escaped slavers. Had the ponies she set free been the same as Silver? Would they come back for her? She had been really, really merciful to them. Would they be the same to her? Slavers were evil. Bakewell had been told this even before personal experiences, and when they attacked Stableton her reasoning had been cemented. They were incapable of being nice.

But they had looked so scared and helpless. Bakewell had seen little foals with eyes less horrified than those slavers had seemed to possess when they looked at her. She was supposed to have mowed them down under her hooves. That had been the job. Everybody expected her to do it without complaint. If word got out that she had let over half the camp go, everyone would be upset with her, some more than others. And while Bakewell didn’t doubt that she could put up a fight (After all; she had just saved everybody’s life, even if it was her fault that they had been in danger in the first place.) she didn’t want to fight. Her mind couldn’t help but remember Komodo, replacing his form with Cuppa’s, or Flash’s, or even Kestrel’s. Her stomach flipped as she stared through imaginary eyes. Glaring down into their wide familiar eyes as gravity pulled her weaponized hooves down onto their skull until nothing but goo remained.

“The slavers are definitely dead, except for the leader’s mare. She’s the only one that escaped.” The words tasted foul as Bakewell spoke them. But she managed to keep the fact off of her face. She was probably aided in this by accidentally putting most of her weight down on the limb with the bullet lodged in it. The limb screamed against being put through abuse similar to what it had just suffered, especially now that she didn't even have adrenalin left to run off of.

“There’s probably still slave collars in the camp if they need proof that this isn’t a trading station, right?” The cook suggested eventually, after she recovered from the shock and loss of stability.


(All AP into having a longer post than Dash. Why not.)

Cuppa frowned a little as the slaves seemed to disbelieve her saying they were slaves. She started walking and glanced over at Bake as she suggested the collars still being there.
It was a decent idea, and would undoubtedly help... But what if Silver had double backed to try and get the slaves back?

...If she had, it was one mistake she shouldn't have made. Everypony here wanted her dead for one reason or another.

Pausing for a second and then slowing her pace to get to Bake, Cuppa lightly nudged her. "How 'bout ah take a look at yer wound now? In case summint's waitin' fer us t' come back to the compound."

Catching Bakewell's statement Kestrel nodded solemnly. That could explain it, alchemy was an arcane art Kestrel knew very little about. Zebra's weren't exactly common in the wasteland, and fewer still were the ones willing to teach their crafts.

Alongside this train of thought, the memory of a certain piece of loot popped up. A piece of loot that Kestrel had tucked away earlier, until things settled down and he could give it to its rightful owner.

"Speaking of Komodo..." Kestrel started, reaching into his bag and pulling out the strange, exotic little weapon that the Zebra had carried and tossing it at Bakewell's feet. "...good kill, rookie."

Kira sighed in relief over that the former slaves seemed not to be aggressive any longer but she still could not understand anything what was going right now. From what she could guess it was a case of sudden mass amnesia, even if it was something that she had never heard of and just came up with on the spot but it did sound intelligent in her mind.

"I removed your slave collars my self." Kira said to the light green mare but was also directed at the rest of the slaves. "I dont think I was imaging all that. But yeah if you really need proof just head back to the camp."

From his elevated position, Dash was unable to see anything other than a few slow slaves still spread out in the direction of the camp. There was no evidence of a silver pegasus; she had somehow given the group the slip, it seemed.

As the group made its way back towards the camp, the slaves seemed in abnormally high spirits, scoffing – or occasionally staring in slack-jawed disbelief – as the group tried to convince them that they had indeed been slaves. When Kira pointed out the slave collars, a few seemed to grow a little more confused, but denial reigned regardless.

“Slave collars, huh?” said a turquoise unicorn mare, picking one up to examine offhandedly. “Guess it was a slaver joint after all.”

A mare rolled her eyes. “Just because there’s slave collars there, doesn’t mean we were wearing them.”

The dead slaver guard bodies did seem harder to explain away. A red stallion regarded them uncomfortably, and then returned to the ramshackle discussion at hoof. “Maybe they were just regular guards, protecting the camp.”

“Pfft. What about the collars?” the turquoise mare responded. “This is definitely a slaver camp. But I don’t remember being a slave, and it looks like the slavers are taken care of anyway, so what does it matter?”

“Mmhmm,” agreed Beige.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.”


(Bake tried to make her post longer than Dash’s (13+0 = 13 vs. 47+0 = 47) but logic was unfortunately against her.)

“No, no need Cuppa. It’s fi-“ Bakewell started, before stopping herself.

“No, actually. It’s not.” The mare sat down. “I’m sure everyone else has much worse wounds, but it definitely hurts. A lot. I think the fact that I’ve been running and attacking almost nonstop with it probably didn’t help it.” She admitted.


“Thanks.” Bake mumbled when Kes gave her Komodo’s weapon. Sure, she had killed the zebra. But what about those she hadn’t killed?


She didn’t really care about whether the slaves thought that they had been slaves. It didn’t really matter; They were safe, that’s all that really mattered to her.

"Believe what you want. Your alive, your free to go." Kestrel grunted at the others looking around at the carnage; mind mulling over what to do next.

His body was on occasion kept trying to scream at him, only for his mind to shout back 'shut up and wait'. He'd get fixed up soon enough, Bake was on the slab for now.

"How much evidence we need to collect?" Kestrel suddenly asked, looking over towards the rest of his team.

Cuppa carefully leaned in and looked at Bakewell's wounded shoulder, then removed a clean rag and dabbed some medicinal alcohol on it. "Ah'm gonna remove the bullet an' then bandage yer shoulder, Bake, ah think ah'm overdoin' it wi' muh healin' spell. So ah gots t' save it fer bigger wounds." She commented as she raised a hoof and nudged her horn, it had been aching from the repeated usage of healing spells and magical bolts, so smaller injuries could be safely healed with magical bandages and such.

"Though, Mr.Photogenic is there, an' he seems a touch irritated. Wanna try an' find out if he's got anythin' t' say 'bout 'is situation?" She both explained and asked, patiently cleaning up Bakewell's wound before removing the bullet with her magic, trying to cause as little discomfort as possible.

Then Cuppa answered Kes' question. "Ah think maybe showin' 'im their ears, or a hoof or summint might work. Th' best evidence we've got is the other ponies. Even if they dun believe they were slaves, ah'm sure he'll recognise 'em as ponies who's caravans never arrived. Ya know how traders are, mostly jus' lookin' fer a profit an' nuthin' else."

(Medicine 70, patching up Bake's shoulder.)

Dash growled in frustration, his search had been fruitless. Time was ticking by, as well, the more time everypony below tarried, the more the chances Silver would escape and perhaps ruin somepony else's life. Dash knew just how lucky he had been in that situation with Kestrel. The Gryphon's level of determination toward getting to the bottom of things was something that Dash both admired but feared. Dash rubbed the spot on his face where Kestrel had punched him. He had no idea how he looked as a result, but he knew that the gryphon could deliver far worse.

Dash began to fly in one direction, then in another. Then he stopped. His frustration and fear impeding his decision-making. He wanted this slaver to pay. He wanted to prove definitively that he was of a higher caliber than any slaver out there, and here was this Silver pony, playing him like an arcade game.

Kes grunted an affirmative and looked around, taking a mental tally on all the bodies he could. Hooves or heads would have been best, but ears would no doubt be easier.

He wouldn't have to put up with the headache of dealing with the others squeamishness either, or at least not enough to make it actually irritable.

Rolling out his shoulder, Kestrel could still feel the bullets embedded in his flesh, and his muscles gave a quick protest. Another mental 'shut up and deal with it' and Kestrel was off to do his grim duty.

He kept it simple for the most part. Using his talons to quickly, and cleanly, cut off the right ear of each and every slaver he could find. His journey took him all over the camp, and the ears piled up soon enough. All that was left now was the office building.

Moving inside Kestrel came to a slow. Before him, head all but gone, was Komodo. Getting an ear from him was a bit more difficult. He had to pinch the skin to give it tension, before finally cutting it off in a slow sliver of blood.

Walking over towards the other two in the room, Kestrel started up the process again...yet, when he came to the body of the one he'd electrocuted, he stopped. Staring at what he'd done.

He'd seen wounds like that before. Many had died at his talons in the same way. But this time...this time seemed different. The gore and burns from the electricity seemed more sinister, the terror and agony etched permanently into the ponies face seemed almost haunting to him.

Growling Kestrel shook the image from his head and set to work, cutting off the ponies ear and adding it to his grim collection. This was no time for such things, it never was. The slaver had died painfully, screaming in agony. Kestrel had ignored his code, and made him suffer. That's what slavers got...that's what they deserved.

Right?

As he slid the ear of this final slaver into his bag alongside the rest, Kestrel, for the first time in a long while, began to contemplate that question. All the moving around had opened up a few of the griffons wounds again, and only now did he notice.

Sitting down, Kestrel attempted to relieve the pressure on his wounds for a moment as he let his mind wander. Unconsciously he had turned to look at his talons, which, much like the rest of him, was caked in blood and drying viscera.

Sitting there thinking the Griffon could honestly say he was tired. Tired of this camp, tired of its stench and stupidity, tired of the memories it forced back into his head. Tired of the pain it made him feel, of the thoughts it forced on him.

Tired of not being back in Stableton, checking on his father.

His father...how was he doing now. Had he woken up from his sleep and gotten sick again? Was he feeling a bit stronger? Did that new drug that doctor from Friendship City give Kes actually help? Was he going to have to go and find another doctor? How many caps was he going to need if he did that now? So many questions and to few answers.

Realizing he'd been sitting there for a few minutes now, Kestrel pushed aside the thoughts, and hauled himself up onto his feet. Slowly starting to make his way back towards the group. Unlike before, when he'd just rushed in, guns blazing, he took his time in getting there.

Bakewell winced and squirmed slightly despite herself as Cuppa treated the wound. She was happy enough that the unicorn had decided to treat her at all, and didn’t complain about the lack of magic. The mare didn’t really think that she had much room to complain at this point. She gave a nod when her medic asked about talking to the buck from the photograph. Bakewell had spent so much of today talking to things she was supposed to be killing; what was one more thing? She didn’t speak again until after Cuppa was done.

Kestrel had gone to get evidence. Something that would take time and wasn’t something she particularly wanted to see anyway.

“We probably should, I suppose.” Bakewell sighed. “We may as well do it while Kestrel is getting the evidence.”

Dash continued to fly about, only succeeding in making himself tired. Silver still refused to appear from hiding, if indeed that’s what she was doing.

Kestrel eventually collected what he reckoned would be enough ears to hopefully convince the ponies back in Stableton that they’d finished the job.

Meanwhile, Cuppa and Bakewell sought out the pony from the photograph. They found the blue stallion quickly, muttering quietly to himself as he stuffed seemingly random objects into a warn saddlebag he’d scrounged up from Celestia knew where. He looked up from his task and furrowed his brow. “What do you two want? I’m busy; I don’t have time to chat.”


(Bake gets a bunch of health back from the heal)