Sigh
I'm really not enjoying this religion debate that keeps repeating on this thread...
I'm really not enjoying this religion debate that keeps repeating on this thread...
Who Needs Harmony?: An MLP Empire Quest
- Thread starter Questor
- Start date
- Location
- MN
I just kinda point and laugh at this point as it's basically become a joke.
Yeah I don't think slightly favouring one religion over the others is going to cause major issues
But slightly is the key word there, if we leave one or more of them in the dust to push another one way ahead then, whether it was intentional or not, people will likely see that as a sign of our disapproval or as a form of suppression
Fair point
Something that should be kept in mind is the bonuses we get from the various religions growing and becoming more prevalent which from what we've seen can vary from pretty damn useful, like the Crystal Heart getting stronger and more widespread runic literacy, to the not as but still pretty useful, like increased relations with the Yaks
I'm not sure what bonuses we'll get from Pantheism and the Cult but I'm very curious to find out, also I wouldn't write off Neighponese Spiritualism just yet, their use of actual magic might mean it gives a bonus there and by it's nature it doesn't really conflict with the other religions so it could be doubly useful
- Location
- I think somewhere. I might be nowhere though
It will never be the official Gryponian religion. That is literally one of the things we voted against in choosing our current route. I know you are one of the ones that wants to focus completely on the Crystal religion, but it's not happening nor should it happen. If it ever does, I sincerely hope Questor punishes us the players horribly for defying our own policy of religious plurality.
No Pittauro, focusing on one religion while only giving the absolute bare minimum for other religions comparatively is not acceptable. That's LITERALLY a betrayal of what we voted as our religious policy earlier. Massively favoring one religion over the others goes against the principles established at the Council of Feathercaea by only paying bare lip service to it. If you wanted that, you should have made sure "State Control" to establish a state religion won out instead.
@jonasquinn This is the kind of attitude towards the Crystal Heart I was referencing earlier that I said annoys me. I wasn't saying that we are currently at a horrible imbalance (though we are certainly going that way) but rather that there has been a fair amount of active voices whom continue to advocate giving religions like one action and then just dumping the rest all in the Crystal Heart, whether it be for the shinies, a genuine preference to the religion, or other. Either way, I'd rather wish people stop being hypocritical about it. It'd be far less annoying if they stopped pretending like going against the spirit of our chosen religious structure in favor of a de facto state religion (which said Crystal supporters have said they want to make the religion) isn't an act against said plurality.
For example, if I told someone I wouldn't hurt them and then threw them off a cliff with the explanation that it'd be gravity and the impact that would hurt them, that's still against the point. I hate when people act deceitful using technicalities like that. It's only ever used in SV quests when people want to curry favor and votes in otherwise controversial decisions by skitting around admitting what's actually going on.
Can you guys
Just.
STOP.
Just.
STOP.
- Location
- I think somewhere. I might be nowhere though
Very well. Apologies if the ongoing argument/discussion has caused you or others any discomfort. I shall try to maintain my quiet for the moment.
Maybe I'll finally write up that omake I wrote half of and then forgot about.
- Location
- Germany
With arguments like that, I wonder if voting for "Religious Freedom" would have been better - but that was nixed as to not geive Discord cults any clout.
And now, here we are: buttign heads about weighing the different faiths against each other...
And now, here we are: buttign heads about weighing the different faiths against each other...
- Location
- Italy
favouring one religion is VERY different from suppressing the other ones.
There's MULTIPLE misunderstandings here
First of all, we NEVER committed to treating all religions the same. THIS is what won:
[ ] State Influence: While you don't really like the idea of the government having direct control over religious institutions, it's clear that there needs to be some kind of authority to prevent sectarian conflict between the different faiths that exist within your Empire. As such, while you shan't have full control over the various religious institutions, you will exert some influence and control whenever it becomes necessary to do so, using your authority as Emperor.
So, we decided the church(es) would NOT be under our direct control, and that we'd play mediator/judge in case of religious conflicts.
That's it
This does NOT mean we can't have favourites. It means we do not control the religious hierarchy directly. We're not paying the priests, they do NOT answer to us unless there's some special problem we're required to solve, religious figures do NOT work for the state.
We could, quite literally, vote every turn for the same religion, and that would not invalidate our previous choices.
Second, we're always allowed to change our mind. If we weren't allowed to focus on a religion, then that simply wouldn't be an option, maybe with that religion's action chain disappearing until the time we "catch up" with the other ones).
Third: I don't want us to monofocus on Crystal Heart. I want it to be the one we dedicate the most attention to, but not the ONLY one. There's a difference.
Fourth: I didn't say Crystal Heart is Gryphus official religion. I said it's basically the official one for the Protectorate.
This comparison is so unfair it's not even funny. We NEVER voted on a commitment to spread our focus between the various religions. We simply decided, mostly unofficially, to spread our focus.
If we wanted to, there's NOTHING stopping us from changing our mind and focusing on one religion above all, and that would NOT be a betrayal of anything.
We committed to NOT have official direct control over any religion, AND on mediating and judging in case of religious conflicts. That's it.
Sorry, but I had to clarify this.
- Location
- Germany
- Location
- Italy
We assigned ourselves as impartial JUDGES in case of conflicts. That does not mean we can't have preferences outside of that.
That does not stop us from spending our money on whichever cult we prefer, for whatever reason.
If it did, we would not have the option to vote multiple times for the same religion in the first place! (Or at least we'd be warned about it)
Maybe we'll favour the crystal heart because runes and crystal ponies.
Maybe we'll favour Neighpon shrines because international diplomacy.
Maybe we will actively avoid funding lady of the lake because its leader is a foreign leader, they might as well fund them on their own if they want.
All we binded ourselves to, with that vote, was that the state would not have direct control of religion, and that's it.
CAN!
YOU!
STOP?!
I'm this close to unwatching this thread and returning in a months time to see if there's been in an update or not, just to dodge you'll constant barrages about faith. Especially when people decided to bring RL religions into it.
YOU!
STOP?!
I'm this close to unwatching this thread and returning in a months time to see if there's been in an update or not, just to dodge you'll constant barrages about faith. Especially when people decided to bring RL religions into it.
Staff Notice: Do not threaten to report other users
Don't make us get the mod attention
- Location
- Italy
well, quest updates get their own special alert with "Questor has posted Xk words", so you don't even need to unwatch the thread. Just don't open the thread until Questor doesn't answer.
I have zero interest in arguing real life religions, but clarifying what we voted for in the past/what we committed to IS relevant.
Also it's not like we have anything else to talk about until we get an update.
- Location
- SF Bay Area
Meanwhile in the Negaverse:
Firebringer2077: Isn't great how we never have had a disagreement about religion in Equestria?
Firebringer2077: Isn't great how we never have had a disagreement about religion in Equestria?
- Location
- Salem Oregon US
Luna should be the leader, Celestia is trash.
- Location
- Italy
they're both heretic, everyone with a brain KNOWS that Discord is the one true god!
The Maretonian Campaign, Part 3
- Location
- Maryland
The debate between your officers and the commanders of the Maretonian contingents is surprisingly brief and to the point. You suppose it isn't too surprising: despite your differences, you all have a common enemy, and the situation before you, while unusual, has a simple and straightforward solution. You outnumber and outgun your enemy by a wide margin, and judging by the reports from your scouts the average quality of your troops is likely superior to theirs. Leveraging these advantages is the obvious course of action, one that none in the leadership council can argue with.
There is some bickering between the Abolitionists and Royal Guard as to the placement of their troops, but those conflicts are quickly resolved, the relatively smaller number of fighters in comparison to your army ensuring that the two groups do not come into conflict, their units placed a considerable distance away from each other to ensure no "accidents" occur in the midst of battle. The two factions have, miraculously, never come to blows throughout the course of their homeland's civil war, but you don't intend to tempt fate and invite disaster if you can avoid it.
And so, as your army beds down for the night in anticipation of the march into the Valley come the morning, orders are quietly passed down the chain of command as high-ranking officers inform their subordinates of the battleplan and their roles in it. You and Gabriella spend a sleepless night in each other's arms, steeling yourselves for the battle to come. Neither of you anticipates a loss, but both of you know that, regardless of how well or how poorly things go for you and yours, soldiers are going to die.
Your dreams are filled with fire, blood, and the cruel laughter of dead kings.
—————————————————————————————
By the time the Sun rises the next morning, the fighters of the United Army are already waking from their cots. Tents are struck and packed away as logistics troops oversee the distribution of morning rations, barrels of alcohol that had been carefully guarded along the march South finally cracked open to provide each fighter with a measure of liquid courage. Sergeants and junior officers inspect their subordinates to ensure that their weapons and armor are battle ready as arbalists and artillery crews take tallies of their ammunition. Some of the priests and preachers amongst the army lead their fellow faithful in prayer while others beseech their ancestors for guidance.
Soon, the army is on the march yet again, embarking upon the short journey into the Hoof River Valley where the Storm encampment and it's defending force awaits. The tents and supply train are left with the remnants of the camp, to be brought up later once the battle is over, the logistics detail and the knights of the Crystal Guardians securing the all-important resources that your army will need to continue it's march into House Storm territory. There is an air of tension about the force, a nervous energy as tens of thousands of warriors steel themselves for the fight to come. No songs are sung, the army marching in near silence, only the occasional cry of an officer or a hushed conversation between squadmates disturbing the quiet din of shifting armor and pounding feet.
It isn't long before your destination comes into sight, the brightly colored tents of the enemy camp appearing on the horizon, a blocky mass of armed and armored ponies assembled in a semblance of some manner of formation before it at the center of the valley. Even if your scouts had not forewarned you of the nature of the opposing force, the patchwork appearance of the enemy line and the massive disparity and difference in equipment and troop quality would tell you that this is a highly irregular collection of varied units. Earth Ponies appear to make up the flanks of the ground-bound contingent, what unicorns they possess at the center. And...yes, as you draw closer you can make out the bestial shapes of the armored Manticores that you had heard about, at least a score of them distributed all along the frontline.
You can also make out what appears to be some crude wooden obstacles scattered about the approach to the enemy line. No doubt meant to break up a charge and rob an advancing enemy of their momentum. An effective tactic...if one was facing a mostly ground-bound force. They may give your allies some trouble, but their effect upon your force as a whole should be negligible.
In the sky, the few hundred Pegasi that form the unusually small airborne contingent of the Storm Force stand vigil upon platforms of condensed water vapor, hovering above and just slightly behind the rest of the army. As you watch, you see a small handful of them, no more than six or seven, take off from the clouds and fly South, away from the battlefield. Likely a courier force, to inform Pegicles of your army's arrival.
As the long column of your army enters the valley and begins to shake out into individual regiments, a line of battle quickly taking shape, your enemy makes no move to advance or strike while your troops organize themselves, seemingly content to wait for you to come to them. You are not certain what to make of this. Traditional House Storm battle tactics call for fast-paced assaults and maneuver warfare, not this static defense.
Regardless, it isn't long before your army is itself arrayed in formation, melee fighters at the front with your artillery, arbalists, and spell-casters hidden behind a wall of shields and polearms, squadrons of Royal Guards and Abolitionist battalions placed at regular intervals along the frontline. Your Knights, your best trained and most well-equipped fighters, stand in reserve, ready to be committed to wherever they are most needed, their plate armor gleaming in the light of the mid-morning sun.
You and your command council stand upon a short hill behind the line, the still forms of the Blackwatch flanking surrounding you in a silent vigil. Gabriella, Pranceus, Delver, the Grandmasters, and the three Canterburian Mages observe the field below alongside you, all of the other officers that had crowded into a single tent not so long ago now standing at the front with their own units. A handful of couriers stand ready nearby, prepared to relay whatever orders or messages that horns, drums, flags and flares cannot effectively convey.
The tension is thick as soldiers perform last minute checks of their kit, artillery crews unlimbering and loading their weapons. The Storm troops are only just inside the effective range of your guns, a range improved by the now universal replacement of black powder with the cleaner and more potent guncotton. Something that the Abolitionists have not possessed or been able to use with their own Cannons before now. Something that House Storm has never seen or fought before, causing them to underestimate the reach of your artillery.
It is the only element of surprise you have over your enemy at this point, and you intend to make it count.
A silence falls over the valley, the wind whistling between the mountain peaks and the bubbling of the shallow stream that runs the length of the battlefield the only noise. It feels as if every being upon the field is holding their breath.
Then, down on the frontline, somewhere amongst the tens of thousands of armored bodies pressed closely together, a single Griffon starts to sing.
(The Song of War: 99)
Even in the quiet, you can just barely make out the single voice that pierces the silence at the very edge of your hearing, so far away that you can't make out any words, just the steady tone and unwavering timbre of a young hen.
The lone voice does not remain so. Steadily, first one by one, then squadron by squadron and regiment by regiment, others raise their own voices, a chorus of tens of thousands joining together in perfect harmony, and the words uttered from countless throats finally reach your ears.
~Thousands stand as one
We shall turn the tide
We are marching on, standing side by side~
This is not like any of the songs sung by your army before. There is no humor, no sense of triumph or bravado, not even the defiance or righteous fury that you would expect the soldiers of the Empire and the Anti-Storm alliance to show in the face of their enemies. You can only describe it as pure, the voices of the great armor-clad chorus laden with raw, naked emotion and a quiet, steadfast resolve.
~And we'll carry on
Until the final battle's won
Far away, away in lands beyond~
You have never heard this song before. Not in the time before Discord, not in the early days of the Empire's unification, not in the depths of the Winter War or on the long march South.
~If I die in battle, find their blood upon my steel~
You don't think anyone has ever heard this song before. And yet, every soldier seems to know the words and rhythm by heart, not a single voice out of tune or stumbling in confusion. It sounds for all the world as if this completely spontaneous performance has been rehearsed, as if every Griffon, Dog and Pony in your army has sung this song a million times, until the words and the tune have become embedded into their minds and their hearts and their very souls.
~If I die in battle, tell the world I stood and did not kneel~
Axes and swords pound against shields in perfect time, a steady, metronomic banging that rings out over the valley and seems to shake the earth.
~If I die in battle, my soul will be free and gone~
It occurs to you that, despite the multinational nature of your force, everyone is still singing the exact same song in exactly the same way. There are no clashing languages, no Maretonian minority being drowned out by a wall of Griffonese. Every Griffon, Dog and Pony is singing in the same language.
But for the life of you, you can't tell what language it is.
~I won't die in battle
My name will forever live on~
As if by some unspoken signal, the soldiers of the Empire suddenly soften their voices as those of the Abolitionists grow louder, the former slaves belting out lyrics that seem almost tailor-made for them.
~They did not await us and the new world we will make
We are their nightmare deep within
They still underestimate us, our will and strength alive
For our freedom and our new life to begin~
Every soldier in your army is staring unblinkingly at the Storm troops gathered across the field. Even from this distance, you can see that many of them appear visibly unnerved.
Now it is the Abolitionists turn to soften their voices, the stoic tones of the Royal Guard picking up the slack, their lack of numbers doing nothing to lower the volume of their song.
~They will never break us down
They will not rule our lives
We are a bastion standing high~
At the very edge of your hearing, you swear that you can hear the strumming of an instrument, a series of electrifying notes unlike anything that has ever graced your ears.
For a fraction of an instant you swear you can feel the reverberation of the music in the depths of your soul.
Now every soldier sings as loud as any other, the soft, emotional tone abandoned in favor of one of strength and steel and raw spite. What began as a song of unity is now a song of defiance. A bold declaration of unflinching courage shouted from fifty thousand throats at the servants of a mad conqueror.
~If we die in battle, find their blood upon our steel!~
You don't know when your voice joined the armored chorus, anymore than you know when Gabriella, Pranceus, Delver, or any of the Grandmasters added theirs.
You only know that the fact that you began to sing without thinking does nothing to stop you from doing so.
~If we die in battle, tell the world we stood and did not kneel!~
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Merlin. He isn't singing. He's gaping, staring wide-eyed in awe at something only his magically attuned senses can perceive.
~If we die in battle, our souls will be free and gone!~
You swear you see a few of the Manticores take a step back. Some of their equine allies have already taken several.
~We won't die in battle!
Our names will forever live on!~
And as the song comes to what you instinctively know to be it's end, every single cannon in your army opens fire at once.
(Tchaikovsky's Revenge: 95+20 (Imperial Heart Song)= 115)
Contrary to what one might expect, the perfect cannon shot is not one that hits the target head-on. Not when the target in question is a mass of ground-bound infantry at any rate. In cases such as that, the ideal shot is one that lands right in front of the enemy formation, so that the cannonball bounces and flies, at chest height, straight through the tightly packed bodies, maximizing casualties.
Your gunners are evidently in good form today, as almost every one of their shots manages to achieve this, dozens of iron cannonballs pulverizing armor and flesh as they smash into and, in most cases, all the way through the House Storm defensive line. Some projectiles smash into the spiked wooden obstacles in front of the defenders, sending splinters the size of a pony's foreleg flying through the air to impale those standing too close. The airborne contingent are not spared either, a handful of projectiles punching holes through the cloud cover and striking several Pegasi who had thought themselves safely out of range.
A suit of gilded armor, it's owner missing their head, plummets to earth.
As the smoke and dust of the record-breaking stonk dissipates, you gain a clear view of the battlefield, and the results of the opening bombardment. Hundreds of Ponies lie dead, swathes of blood and gore and the shattered remnants of armor and weapons indicating where your gunnery crews hit their targets, a series of gaping wounds carved out of the enemy line.
As the mass of mercenaries and conscripts reels, stunned by the sudden brutality and the realization that they are in fact within range of your guns, the next stage of the battle plan comes into play, thousands of Griffons lifting off alongside the Pegasi amongst the Abolitionists and Royal Guard and flying straight towards the airborne command post placed above the Storm line.
To their credit, the opposing Pegasi react quickly to the sudden aerial assault, blocks of winged fighters forming a spear-and-shield wall as others push small clouds into overwatch positions just above and behind them. Despite being outnumbered more than ten to one and having lost their commander, it seems that they intend to stand and fight regardless.
The armored Pegasi in the skies above are not like the Earth Ponies and Unicorns on the ground. They are not a ragtag band of mercenaries or a mob of barely trained conscripts. These are Pegicles' regulars, hardened veterans of a years-long civil war, and their martial skill and effectiveness as a fighting force swiftly becomes apparent as your troops approach them, bolts of lightning erupting from the clouds they stand upon.
(Thunderbolt and Lightning, Very Very Frightening: 21)
The lances of electricity rip through your advancing airborne squadrons, bolts cutting through Griffon and Pony alike, arcing from one armored form to the next. Dozens of scorched and smoking bodies plummet from the sky with every salvo, the defender's high rate of fire and unerring accuracy culling a significant percentage of the attacking force as it crosses the stretch of empty sky, the lack of any available or unattended clouds precluding the possibility of any return fire, the energetic projectiles outranging your crossbows.
But after crossing the kill zone and closing the distance, your soldiers fall upon the comparatively tiny phalanx, uncaring of the losses they took to get there, slamming into the flying shield wall with a tremendous crash audible even from your position.
(Clash in the Sky: 52+10(Imperial Heartsong)+20(Massive Numerical Superiority)= 82)
The Storm veterans put up a valiant defense, but with the disparity in numbers there is only one way the fight can end. The disadvantages of trying to defend an airborne position quickly become apparent, a tide of Griffons enveloping the Storm line, attacking not just in the flanks and the rear, but also from above and below. Lacking the ability to defend from every angle in a three-dimensional battle space, the defenders are swiftly cut down, many not even getting a chance to score a kill before an Imperial Blade hacks off one of their wings or buries itself in their gut.
As their numbers dwindle, some try to flee, or throw down their arms and attempt to surrender, but most are struck down before they can even consider doing so.
After a few frantic minutes of chaotic, airborne melee, and after watching hundreds of bodies and severed limbs fall to the ground below, your forces emerge victorious, with every opposing Pegasus either dead, fleeing or captured.
Your army now has full and uncontested control of the skies.
(Death from Above: 89+10 (Complete Air Superiority)+10 (Supporting Artillery)= 109)
With their task of seizing control of the air now complete, your troops begin striking their opponents on the ground. Arrows pierce through armor as fire cocktails shatter and ignite, setting dozens of ponies ablaze. Abolitionists toss throwing spears and empty sacks full of caltrops and sharpened carpenter's nails, the shards of metal either stabbing into exposed flesh with the aid of gravity or gouging into the hooves of the panicked sellswords who try to dodge the steel rain coming down on them.
The cadres of Unicorns upon the ground try to return fire with blasts of magic, their airborne attackers out of bow range, but all those who try are swiftly incinerated by precise bolts of lightning, the Royal Guard now taking their vengeance and employing their enemy's tactics against them.
At the same time, your artillery opens up with another salvo, adding to the carnage as iron balls and and ballistae bolts pulverize and impale scores of soldiers-for-hire.
In less than two minutes, hundreds of Ponies are dead or dying, and every one of the armored Manticores has either been slain or sent into a berserk panic, instinctively lashing out at anypony unfortunate enough to be standing too close to them.
(House Storm Morale Check....)
The Stallions and Mares you face are not Pegicles' best. Those among them who are not mercenaries only in it for the money are conscripts with little training and substandard equipment, or "volunteers" who had joined up solely for the promise of food and a chance to be on the winning side of the civil war, or to defend their homeland from "Imperialist invaders".
Though you do not know it yet, many of these fighters had been told that they were merely the vanguard of a larger Storm Force, that Pegicles and the rest of his army would soon be arriving to reinforce them, and that they only had to hold out until then. They had also been told that anypony who tried to desert or flee would be cut down by the veteran regulars amongst them, the soldiers loyal to Pegicles intended to act as barrier troops.
But now those barrier troops are dead, along with their commander and many of their comrades. They have found themselves pitted against an army more than ten times the size of their own, and their purpose as cannon fodder has become clearer than ever before as they are pelted with killing projectiles from afar, any ability to strike back against their opponents from range long since lost.
Now the dwindling number of living fighters are forced to make a choice: charge across open ground under a rain of steel to engage in melee with a force that is objectively superior to theirs in every way and almost certainly die...or flee and perhaps escape with their lives.
(17-10(Devastating Bombardment)-10(Enemy Air Superiority)-15(Commander Dead)= Buck This!)
With the abstract possibility of execution for desertion supplanted by the utter certainty of death in combat, the survivors of your withering bombardment reach the obvious conclusion, and break.
The once orderly formations, already thrown into chaos by cannon, caltrops and flames, shatter, every pony running in any direction that isn't towards your forces. Some make for the relative safety of the camp, perhaps hoping to salvage some manner of loot or supplies or to simply find cover, while others sprint for the exit of the valley or towards the wooded slopes of the mountains. With so many of their number dead, and their chain of command gutted, the chances of the army reforming into any sort of legitimate threat are slim to none.
You stare out over a valley now filled with corpses, almost all of which belong to your enemy, and think...
"Is that it?"
You glance to Gabriella, your wife voicing your thoughts as you watch some of your soldiers take potshots from the air at the fleeing mercenaries. Pranceus gives her a look, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.
"Were you hoping for a bloodier engagement? I'm sure you could order your troops to fall upon their own blades if you'd prefer."
Your Empress gives the Guard Commander a glare.
"Of course not, but..."
She gestures to the field, the site of perhaps the most one-sided engagement you've ever borne witness to.
"That felt too easy. I feel like I'm waiting for the other blade to drop."
You find yourself silently agreeing. You'd expected a victory, perhaps even a relatively easy one, but this could hardly even be considered a battle. More than half the soldiers in your army didn't even get the chance to draw their swords!
Delver pipes up, shaking his head.
"Is it really so difficult to accept though? Pegicles threw his most expendable troops at us to slow us down, were we really expecting them to give us much trouble?"
Gabriella opens her beak to retort...only for Hardbeak to interrupt.
"My Liege?"
You look towards the black-armored form of your most capable warrior, blinking in surprise. The Grandmaster sounds...concerned.
"The ground is shaking."
You stare, diverting your attention to the soil beneath you and...yes, there is a distinct vibration running through the earth. A loud cracking noise draws your attention towards the western mountain bordering the valley. You swear you see the entire mountain shudder, a tremor wracking the ground as birds suddenly take flight in a panic. Cries of alarm and confusion erupt from amongst the ranks of the army, the knights of the Blackwatch stepping closer to you in anticipation of a threat to their Emperor.
Delver swears.
"An earthquake? Rockfall?"
Puissant Arbre says something in Canterburian.
"Non, pire."
You don't get the chance to ask for a translation as, suddenly and with a tremendous crash, the slope of the mountain facing you seems to explode outwards, dust and boulders sent flying and obscuring your vision. A stunned silence falls over your army as, through the haze, a massive form lumbers.
A bestial roar that you can feel in your bones splits the air, a gargantuan beast of legend striding forwards with a look of bloodlust upon its face.
The cry goes up all along the line, your army reorienting to face this new threat.
"Ursa Major!"
Plan? Plan!?
[ ] Write-In, Quickly!
For a laugh, I decided to roll a dice regarding your army's attempt at musical intimidation.
I'm still not sure if that was a good decision or not. The dice love the Empire, I swear.
Despite the implied urgency, there will be a 12-hour moratorium to allow for discussion before voting begins proper.
Also, if anyone is curious about the Imperial Heartsong, it is based on this:
Van Canto - If I Die in Battle
Imperial Army of Gryphus
24,840 Warriors
12,500 Polearms
12,500 Arbalists
3000 Diamond Dogs
28 Mobile Ballistae
59 Cannons
20 Flame Projectors
Canterburian Mages
Archmage Merlin Ambrosius
Sky Mage Rafale
Earth Mage Puissant Arbre
Imperial Knightly Orders
The Black Watch
22 Black Knights (Black Steel Armor and Weapons)
The Knights Lion
Grandmaster Konrad Hardbeak, (Orichalcum Katana, Runic Armor)
33 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
250 Imperial Knights
300 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Talon
Grandmaster Colombroni Pigeonio (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
23 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
300 Imperial Knights
250 Squires
500 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Panther
Grandmaster Adrian Dawnquill (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
28 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
250 Imperial Knights
300 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
Abolitionist Forces
4,410 Freedom Fighters
2,500 Polearms
2,000 Arbalists
9 Cannons
8 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Maretonian Royal Guard
1050 Pegasi Thunderers
400 Earth Pony Ground-Pounders
50 Unicorn Spell Soldiers
18 Maretonian Battle-Mages
There is some bickering between the Abolitionists and Royal Guard as to the placement of their troops, but those conflicts are quickly resolved, the relatively smaller number of fighters in comparison to your army ensuring that the two groups do not come into conflict, their units placed a considerable distance away from each other to ensure no "accidents" occur in the midst of battle. The two factions have, miraculously, never come to blows throughout the course of their homeland's civil war, but you don't intend to tempt fate and invite disaster if you can avoid it.
And so, as your army beds down for the night in anticipation of the march into the Valley come the morning, orders are quietly passed down the chain of command as high-ranking officers inform their subordinates of the battleplan and their roles in it. You and Gabriella spend a sleepless night in each other's arms, steeling yourselves for the battle to come. Neither of you anticipates a loss, but both of you know that, regardless of how well or how poorly things go for you and yours, soldiers are going to die.
Your dreams are filled with fire, blood, and the cruel laughter of dead kings.
—————————————————————————————
By the time the Sun rises the next morning, the fighters of the United Army are already waking from their cots. Tents are struck and packed away as logistics troops oversee the distribution of morning rations, barrels of alcohol that had been carefully guarded along the march South finally cracked open to provide each fighter with a measure of liquid courage. Sergeants and junior officers inspect their subordinates to ensure that their weapons and armor are battle ready as arbalists and artillery crews take tallies of their ammunition. Some of the priests and preachers amongst the army lead their fellow faithful in prayer while others beseech their ancestors for guidance.
Soon, the army is on the march yet again, embarking upon the short journey into the Hoof River Valley where the Storm encampment and it's defending force awaits. The tents and supply train are left with the remnants of the camp, to be brought up later once the battle is over, the logistics detail and the knights of the Crystal Guardians securing the all-important resources that your army will need to continue it's march into House Storm territory. There is an air of tension about the force, a nervous energy as tens of thousands of warriors steel themselves for the fight to come. No songs are sung, the army marching in near silence, only the occasional cry of an officer or a hushed conversation between squadmates disturbing the quiet din of shifting armor and pounding feet.
It isn't long before your destination comes into sight, the brightly colored tents of the enemy camp appearing on the horizon, a blocky mass of armed and armored ponies assembled in a semblance of some manner of formation before it at the center of the valley. Even if your scouts had not forewarned you of the nature of the opposing force, the patchwork appearance of the enemy line and the massive disparity and difference in equipment and troop quality would tell you that this is a highly irregular collection of varied units. Earth Ponies appear to make up the flanks of the ground-bound contingent, what unicorns they possess at the center. And...yes, as you draw closer you can make out the bestial shapes of the armored Manticores that you had heard about, at least a score of them distributed all along the frontline.
You can also make out what appears to be some crude wooden obstacles scattered about the approach to the enemy line. No doubt meant to break up a charge and rob an advancing enemy of their momentum. An effective tactic...if one was facing a mostly ground-bound force. They may give your allies some trouble, but their effect upon your force as a whole should be negligible.
In the sky, the few hundred Pegasi that form the unusually small airborne contingent of the Storm Force stand vigil upon platforms of condensed water vapor, hovering above and just slightly behind the rest of the army. As you watch, you see a small handful of them, no more than six or seven, take off from the clouds and fly South, away from the battlefield. Likely a courier force, to inform Pegicles of your army's arrival.
As the long column of your army enters the valley and begins to shake out into individual regiments, a line of battle quickly taking shape, your enemy makes no move to advance or strike while your troops organize themselves, seemingly content to wait for you to come to them. You are not certain what to make of this. Traditional House Storm battle tactics call for fast-paced assaults and maneuver warfare, not this static defense.
Regardless, it isn't long before your army is itself arrayed in formation, melee fighters at the front with your artillery, arbalists, and spell-casters hidden behind a wall of shields and polearms, squadrons of Royal Guards and Abolitionist battalions placed at regular intervals along the frontline. Your Knights, your best trained and most well-equipped fighters, stand in reserve, ready to be committed to wherever they are most needed, their plate armor gleaming in the light of the mid-morning sun.
You and your command council stand upon a short hill behind the line, the still forms of the Blackwatch flanking surrounding you in a silent vigil. Gabriella, Pranceus, Delver, the Grandmasters, and the three Canterburian Mages observe the field below alongside you, all of the other officers that had crowded into a single tent not so long ago now standing at the front with their own units. A handful of couriers stand ready nearby, prepared to relay whatever orders or messages that horns, drums, flags and flares cannot effectively convey.
The tension is thick as soldiers perform last minute checks of their kit, artillery crews unlimbering and loading their weapons. The Storm troops are only just inside the effective range of your guns, a range improved by the now universal replacement of black powder with the cleaner and more potent guncotton. Something that the Abolitionists have not possessed or been able to use with their own Cannons before now. Something that House Storm has never seen or fought before, causing them to underestimate the reach of your artillery.
It is the only element of surprise you have over your enemy at this point, and you intend to make it count.
A silence falls over the valley, the wind whistling between the mountain peaks and the bubbling of the shallow stream that runs the length of the battlefield the only noise. It feels as if every being upon the field is holding their breath.
Then, down on the frontline, somewhere amongst the tens of thousands of armored bodies pressed closely together, a single Griffon starts to sing.
(The Song of War: 99)
Even in the quiet, you can just barely make out the single voice that pierces the silence at the very edge of your hearing, so far away that you can't make out any words, just the steady tone and unwavering timbre of a young hen.
The lone voice does not remain so. Steadily, first one by one, then squadron by squadron and regiment by regiment, others raise their own voices, a chorus of tens of thousands joining together in perfect harmony, and the words uttered from countless throats finally reach your ears.
~Thousands stand as one
We shall turn the tide
We are marching on, standing side by side~
This is not like any of the songs sung by your army before. There is no humor, no sense of triumph or bravado, not even the defiance or righteous fury that you would expect the soldiers of the Empire and the Anti-Storm alliance to show in the face of their enemies. You can only describe it as pure, the voices of the great armor-clad chorus laden with raw, naked emotion and a quiet, steadfast resolve.
~And we'll carry on
Until the final battle's won
Far away, away in lands beyond~
You have never heard this song before. Not in the time before Discord, not in the early days of the Empire's unification, not in the depths of the Winter War or on the long march South.
~If I die in battle, find their blood upon my steel~
You don't think anyone has ever heard this song before. And yet, every soldier seems to know the words and rhythm by heart, not a single voice out of tune or stumbling in confusion. It sounds for all the world as if this completely spontaneous performance has been rehearsed, as if every Griffon, Dog and Pony in your army has sung this song a million times, until the words and the tune have become embedded into their minds and their hearts and their very souls.
~If I die in battle, tell the world I stood and did not kneel~
Axes and swords pound against shields in perfect time, a steady, metronomic banging that rings out over the valley and seems to shake the earth.
~If I die in battle, my soul will be free and gone~
It occurs to you that, despite the multinational nature of your force, everyone is still singing the exact same song in exactly the same way. There are no clashing languages, no Maretonian minority being drowned out by a wall of Griffonese. Every Griffon, Dog and Pony is singing in the same language.
But for the life of you, you can't tell what language it is.
~I won't die in battle
My name will forever live on~
As if by some unspoken signal, the soldiers of the Empire suddenly soften their voices as those of the Abolitionists grow louder, the former slaves belting out lyrics that seem almost tailor-made for them.
~They did not await us and the new world we will make
We are their nightmare deep within
They still underestimate us, our will and strength alive
For our freedom and our new life to begin~
Every soldier in your army is staring unblinkingly at the Storm troops gathered across the field. Even from this distance, you can see that many of them appear visibly unnerved.
Now it is the Abolitionists turn to soften their voices, the stoic tones of the Royal Guard picking up the slack, their lack of numbers doing nothing to lower the volume of their song.
~They will never break us down
They will not rule our lives
We are a bastion standing high~
At the very edge of your hearing, you swear that you can hear the strumming of an instrument, a series of electrifying notes unlike anything that has ever graced your ears.
For a fraction of an instant you swear you can feel the reverberation of the music in the depths of your soul.
Now every soldier sings as loud as any other, the soft, emotional tone abandoned in favor of one of strength and steel and raw spite. What began as a song of unity is now a song of defiance. A bold declaration of unflinching courage shouted from fifty thousand throats at the servants of a mad conqueror.
~If we die in battle, find their blood upon our steel!~
You don't know when your voice joined the armored chorus, anymore than you know when Gabriella, Pranceus, Delver, or any of the Grandmasters added theirs.
You only know that the fact that you began to sing without thinking does nothing to stop you from doing so.
~If we die in battle, tell the world we stood and did not kneel!~
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Merlin. He isn't singing. He's gaping, staring wide-eyed in awe at something only his magically attuned senses can perceive.
~If we die in battle, our souls will be free and gone!~
You swear you see a few of the Manticores take a step back. Some of their equine allies have already taken several.
~We won't die in battle!
Our names will forever live on!~
And as the song comes to what you instinctively know to be it's end, every single cannon in your army opens fire at once.
(Tchaikovsky's Revenge: 95+20 (Imperial Heart Song)= 115)
Contrary to what one might expect, the perfect cannon shot is not one that hits the target head-on. Not when the target in question is a mass of ground-bound infantry at any rate. In cases such as that, the ideal shot is one that lands right in front of the enemy formation, so that the cannonball bounces and flies, at chest height, straight through the tightly packed bodies, maximizing casualties.
Your gunners are evidently in good form today, as almost every one of their shots manages to achieve this, dozens of iron cannonballs pulverizing armor and flesh as they smash into and, in most cases, all the way through the House Storm defensive line. Some projectiles smash into the spiked wooden obstacles in front of the defenders, sending splinters the size of a pony's foreleg flying through the air to impale those standing too close. The airborne contingent are not spared either, a handful of projectiles punching holes through the cloud cover and striking several Pegasi who had thought themselves safely out of range.
A suit of gilded armor, it's owner missing their head, plummets to earth.
As the smoke and dust of the record-breaking stonk dissipates, you gain a clear view of the battlefield, and the results of the opening bombardment. Hundreds of Ponies lie dead, swathes of blood and gore and the shattered remnants of armor and weapons indicating where your gunnery crews hit their targets, a series of gaping wounds carved out of the enemy line.
As the mass of mercenaries and conscripts reels, stunned by the sudden brutality and the realization that they are in fact within range of your guns, the next stage of the battle plan comes into play, thousands of Griffons lifting off alongside the Pegasi amongst the Abolitionists and Royal Guard and flying straight towards the airborne command post placed above the Storm line.
To their credit, the opposing Pegasi react quickly to the sudden aerial assault, blocks of winged fighters forming a spear-and-shield wall as others push small clouds into overwatch positions just above and behind them. Despite being outnumbered more than ten to one and having lost their commander, it seems that they intend to stand and fight regardless.
The armored Pegasi in the skies above are not like the Earth Ponies and Unicorns on the ground. They are not a ragtag band of mercenaries or a mob of barely trained conscripts. These are Pegicles' regulars, hardened veterans of a years-long civil war, and their martial skill and effectiveness as a fighting force swiftly becomes apparent as your troops approach them, bolts of lightning erupting from the clouds they stand upon.
(Thunderbolt and Lightning, Very Very Frightening: 21)
The lances of electricity rip through your advancing airborne squadrons, bolts cutting through Griffon and Pony alike, arcing from one armored form to the next. Dozens of scorched and smoking bodies plummet from the sky with every salvo, the defender's high rate of fire and unerring accuracy culling a significant percentage of the attacking force as it crosses the stretch of empty sky, the lack of any available or unattended clouds precluding the possibility of any return fire, the energetic projectiles outranging your crossbows.
But after crossing the kill zone and closing the distance, your soldiers fall upon the comparatively tiny phalanx, uncaring of the losses they took to get there, slamming into the flying shield wall with a tremendous crash audible even from your position.
(Clash in the Sky: 52+10(Imperial Heartsong)+20(Massive Numerical Superiority)= 82)
The Storm veterans put up a valiant defense, but with the disparity in numbers there is only one way the fight can end. The disadvantages of trying to defend an airborne position quickly become apparent, a tide of Griffons enveloping the Storm line, attacking not just in the flanks and the rear, but also from above and below. Lacking the ability to defend from every angle in a three-dimensional battle space, the defenders are swiftly cut down, many not even getting a chance to score a kill before an Imperial Blade hacks off one of their wings or buries itself in their gut.
As their numbers dwindle, some try to flee, or throw down their arms and attempt to surrender, but most are struck down before they can even consider doing so.
After a few frantic minutes of chaotic, airborne melee, and after watching hundreds of bodies and severed limbs fall to the ground below, your forces emerge victorious, with every opposing Pegasus either dead, fleeing or captured.
Your army now has full and uncontested control of the skies.
(Death from Above: 89+10 (Complete Air Superiority)+10 (Supporting Artillery)= 109)
With their task of seizing control of the air now complete, your troops begin striking their opponents on the ground. Arrows pierce through armor as fire cocktails shatter and ignite, setting dozens of ponies ablaze. Abolitionists toss throwing spears and empty sacks full of caltrops and sharpened carpenter's nails, the shards of metal either stabbing into exposed flesh with the aid of gravity or gouging into the hooves of the panicked sellswords who try to dodge the steel rain coming down on them.
The cadres of Unicorns upon the ground try to return fire with blasts of magic, their airborne attackers out of bow range, but all those who try are swiftly incinerated by precise bolts of lightning, the Royal Guard now taking their vengeance and employing their enemy's tactics against them.
At the same time, your artillery opens up with another salvo, adding to the carnage as iron balls and and ballistae bolts pulverize and impale scores of soldiers-for-hire.
In less than two minutes, hundreds of Ponies are dead or dying, and every one of the armored Manticores has either been slain or sent into a berserk panic, instinctively lashing out at anypony unfortunate enough to be standing too close to them.
(House Storm Morale Check....)
The Stallions and Mares you face are not Pegicles' best. Those among them who are not mercenaries only in it for the money are conscripts with little training and substandard equipment, or "volunteers" who had joined up solely for the promise of food and a chance to be on the winning side of the civil war, or to defend their homeland from "Imperialist invaders".
Though you do not know it yet, many of these fighters had been told that they were merely the vanguard of a larger Storm Force, that Pegicles and the rest of his army would soon be arriving to reinforce them, and that they only had to hold out until then. They had also been told that anypony who tried to desert or flee would be cut down by the veteran regulars amongst them, the soldiers loyal to Pegicles intended to act as barrier troops.
But now those barrier troops are dead, along with their commander and many of their comrades. They have found themselves pitted against an army more than ten times the size of their own, and their purpose as cannon fodder has become clearer than ever before as they are pelted with killing projectiles from afar, any ability to strike back against their opponents from range long since lost.
Now the dwindling number of living fighters are forced to make a choice: charge across open ground under a rain of steel to engage in melee with a force that is objectively superior to theirs in every way and almost certainly die...or flee and perhaps escape with their lives.
(17-10(Devastating Bombardment)-10(Enemy Air Superiority)-15(Commander Dead)= Buck This!)
With the abstract possibility of execution for desertion supplanted by the utter certainty of death in combat, the survivors of your withering bombardment reach the obvious conclusion, and break.
The once orderly formations, already thrown into chaos by cannon, caltrops and flames, shatter, every pony running in any direction that isn't towards your forces. Some make for the relative safety of the camp, perhaps hoping to salvage some manner of loot or supplies or to simply find cover, while others sprint for the exit of the valley or towards the wooded slopes of the mountains. With so many of their number dead, and their chain of command gutted, the chances of the army reforming into any sort of legitimate threat are slim to none.
You stare out over a valley now filled with corpses, almost all of which belong to your enemy, and think...
"Is that it?"
You glance to Gabriella, your wife voicing your thoughts as you watch some of your soldiers take potshots from the air at the fleeing mercenaries. Pranceus gives her a look, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.
"Were you hoping for a bloodier engagement? I'm sure you could order your troops to fall upon their own blades if you'd prefer."
Your Empress gives the Guard Commander a glare.
"Of course not, but..."
She gestures to the field, the site of perhaps the most one-sided engagement you've ever borne witness to.
"That felt too easy. I feel like I'm waiting for the other blade to drop."
You find yourself silently agreeing. You'd expected a victory, perhaps even a relatively easy one, but this could hardly even be considered a battle. More than half the soldiers in your army didn't even get the chance to draw their swords!
Delver pipes up, shaking his head.
"Is it really so difficult to accept though? Pegicles threw his most expendable troops at us to slow us down, were we really expecting them to give us much trouble?"
Gabriella opens her beak to retort...only for Hardbeak to interrupt.
"My Liege?"
You look towards the black-armored form of your most capable warrior, blinking in surprise. The Grandmaster sounds...concerned.
"The ground is shaking."
You stare, diverting your attention to the soil beneath you and...yes, there is a distinct vibration running through the earth. A loud cracking noise draws your attention towards the western mountain bordering the valley. You swear you see the entire mountain shudder, a tremor wracking the ground as birds suddenly take flight in a panic. Cries of alarm and confusion erupt from amongst the ranks of the army, the knights of the Blackwatch stepping closer to you in anticipation of a threat to their Emperor.
Delver swears.
"An earthquake? Rockfall?"
Puissant Arbre says something in Canterburian.
"Non, pire."
You don't get the chance to ask for a translation as, suddenly and with a tremendous crash, the slope of the mountain facing you seems to explode outwards, dust and boulders sent flying and obscuring your vision. A stunned silence falls over your army as, through the haze, a massive form lumbers.
A bestial roar that you can feel in your bones splits the air, a gargantuan beast of legend striding forwards with a look of bloodlust upon its face.
The cry goes up all along the line, your army reorienting to face this new threat.
"Ursa Major!"
Plan? Plan!?
[ ] Write-In, Quickly!
For a laugh, I decided to roll a dice regarding your army's attempt at musical intimidation.
I'm still not sure if that was a good decision or not. The dice love the Empire, I swear.
Despite the implied urgency, there will be a 12-hour moratorium to allow for discussion before voting begins proper.
Also, if anyone is curious about the Imperial Heartsong, it is based on this:
Van Canto - If I Die in Battle
Imperial Army of Gryphus
24,840 Warriors
12,500 Polearms
12,500 Arbalists
3000 Diamond Dogs
28 Mobile Ballistae
59 Cannons
20 Flame Projectors
Canterburian Mages
Archmage Merlin Ambrosius
Sky Mage Rafale
Earth Mage Puissant Arbre
Imperial Knightly Orders
The Black Watch
22 Black Knights (Black Steel Armor and Weapons)
The Knights Lion
Grandmaster Konrad Hardbeak, (Orichalcum Katana, Runic Armor)
33 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
250 Imperial Knights
300 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Talon
Grandmaster Colombroni Pigeonio (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
23 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
300 Imperial Knights
250 Squires
500 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Panther
Grandmaster Adrian Dawnquill (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
28 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
250 Imperial Knights
300 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
Abolitionist Forces
4,410 Freedom Fighters
2,500 Polearms
2,000 Arbalists
9 Cannons
8 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Maretonian Royal Guard
1050 Pegasi Thunderers
400 Earth Pony Ground-Pounders
50 Unicorn Spell Soldiers
18 Maretonian Battle-Mages
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Regarding Equestrian Heartsong
- Location
- Maryland
In the magical land of Equestria, it is not an uncommon occurrence for ponies to randomly break out into song and perform what one would assume to be carefully choreographed and well rehearsed musical numbers. The fact that these outbursts are not only completely spontaneous but also entirely unpredictable is something that baffles outsiders. The Equestrians themselves have made little headway in their own attempts to understand this phenomenon which they call Heartsong, only able to conclude that it is a product of the harmonic magic which blankets and infuses their lands.
Ponies that have found themselves a part of these sudden musical performances have described a feeling of gentle compulsion urging them to participate, or of being "swept up in the energy of the moment." They report their bodies moving almost on their own, the tune and lyrics of the song popping into their head as if suddenly planted there. These performances are not completely involuntary however. An individual can choose to "opt out" of a Heartsong if they wish to, simply observing from the outside or carrying on their way if they have something better to do than serve as an impromptu background dancer. Most ponies do not do this however, content or even eager to join in on the act. Part of this may be a result of social pressure or so-called herd mentality, but there is more to their compliance than simple fear of judgement.
Heartsongs are seen as a positive thing. Families, friends, and communities that find themselves experiencing or participating in one are regarded as both magically and socially healthy, and individuals emerging from a Heartsong almost universally report feeling more empathetic and "in-tune" with their fellow performers for hours or even days afterwards, alongside a general feeling of contentment or euphoria. In addition, tasks undertaken while in the midst of a Heartsong are almost universally completed faster than logic would dictate to be possible. While in the midst of a Heartsong, tailors have stitched together dresses from scratch in a matter of minutes, work crews have performed tasks that would normally take hours or days, Ponies have found themselves engaging in acts of dexterity and athleticism that they struggle to replicate under normal conditions, and products created by Ponies in the midst of a musical performance are almost invariably of a high or exceptional quality. As a result of these benefits, many Equestrians have attempted to force the occurrence of Heartsongs, but all of these attempts have met with failure. It is commonly accepted that Heartsongs cannot be artificially induced, and can only occur naturally.
Heartsongs are often limited in scale and duration, typically with only a few dozen participants engaging in an act that lasts a few minutes, though there are exceptions to this rule. And while the vast majority of Heartsongs occur within Equestria, records of outbreaks of "mass hysteria" or "religious mania" in Maretonia and Canterbury suggest that it is not a phenomenon exclusive to the lands ruled over by the Celestial Sisters.
It is commonly accepted by Equestrian Mages that Ponies are the only race capable of experiencing Heartsong. (Citation Needed)
Ponies that have found themselves a part of these sudden musical performances have described a feeling of gentle compulsion urging them to participate, or of being "swept up in the energy of the moment." They report their bodies moving almost on their own, the tune and lyrics of the song popping into their head as if suddenly planted there. These performances are not completely involuntary however. An individual can choose to "opt out" of a Heartsong if they wish to, simply observing from the outside or carrying on their way if they have something better to do than serve as an impromptu background dancer. Most ponies do not do this however, content or even eager to join in on the act. Part of this may be a result of social pressure or so-called herd mentality, but there is more to their compliance than simple fear of judgement.
Heartsongs are seen as a positive thing. Families, friends, and communities that find themselves experiencing or participating in one are regarded as both magically and socially healthy, and individuals emerging from a Heartsong almost universally report feeling more empathetic and "in-tune" with their fellow performers for hours or even days afterwards, alongside a general feeling of contentment or euphoria. In addition, tasks undertaken while in the midst of a Heartsong are almost universally completed faster than logic would dictate to be possible. While in the midst of a Heartsong, tailors have stitched together dresses from scratch in a matter of minutes, work crews have performed tasks that would normally take hours or days, Ponies have found themselves engaging in acts of dexterity and athleticism that they struggle to replicate under normal conditions, and products created by Ponies in the midst of a musical performance are almost invariably of a high or exceptional quality. As a result of these benefits, many Equestrians have attempted to force the occurrence of Heartsongs, but all of these attempts have met with failure. It is commonly accepted that Heartsongs cannot be artificially induced, and can only occur naturally.
Heartsongs are often limited in scale and duration, typically with only a few dozen participants engaging in an act that lasts a few minutes, though there are exceptions to this rule. And while the vast majority of Heartsongs occur within Equestria, records of outbreaks of "mass hysteria" or "religious mania" in Maretonia and Canterbury suggest that it is not a phenomenon exclusive to the lands ruled over by the Celestial Sisters.
It is commonly accepted by Equestrian Mages that Ponies are the only race capable of experiencing Heartsong. (Citation Needed)
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"Hardbeak, do The Thing."
- Location
- Maryland
Sorry it took me so long to get to this. Love Nega-Quests, and this was very well done. +15 to a roll going forward.
No.
Yeah, figured. Was worth a shot thoughSorry it took me so long to get to this. Love Nega-Quests, and this was very well done. +15 to a roll going forward.
No.
...WHAT IN THE FLYING FUCK IS THAT?!?
Hardbeak, quick! GO AND KILL IT!
(I'm not really joking here, if anyone can kill this things, it's Hardbeak.)
Hardbeak, quick! GO AND KILL IT!
(I'm not really joking here, if anyone can kill this things, it's Hardbeak.)
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
The man is covered in magic negating armor and wearing a magic killing sword. He has killed a Dragon, a king, and an undead sorcerer multiple times.
The bear is made of magic.
We shall have a new throw rug for the throne room before you can say "Hardbeak is bullshit and we love him for it."