Night Lord in Equestria part 1

>”What the hell is he, boss?”

>”I dunno, but stop pokin’ it with that stick, will ya? Lots of good salvage and stuff all around him, though. Grab whatever it is and this stuff and bring it back to the mine!”

> They almost sound like greenskins, only with a slightly better grasp of Low Gothic. You can hear them, but you can’t move. Your Sus-An membrane must have partially activated with...

>What DID happen? A Lord of Change did whatever psykers do. i.e. something bad.

>”Holy crap, this guy weighs a ton! Help me out, will ya?”

>You keep trying to move but your limbs refuse to respond. You can’t even see.

>Numerous arms lift you up as you run through how you’re going to get out of this. A Sus-An membrane can only be deactivated by outside stimulation. But you’re still completely conscious.

>This is not good.

>Before too long, however, they stop.

>Panting, you hear a voice complain, “Come on boss, this guy weighs a ton! Let’s just toss him down this shaft to the storeroom! Save us from walking all the way!”

>Silence for a moment. “Eh, fine. Chuck ‘em!”

>You proceed to fall for approximately 2 and a half seconds, doing the dead cat bounce on impact.

>You try blinking your eyes and flexing your fingers after the shock of the fall wears off.

>Claws of your father, you can move again! The shock must have turned off the Sus-An membrane somehow.

>You combi-flamer remained locked in your grip and your equipment is miraculously intact, despite the circumstances of your travel.

>You finally take a look at your surroundings. It’s a mine, sparsely lit, just the way you like it. A door directly in front of you. Walls in this storeroom are lined with spears, shovels, armor and more than a few... diamonds? Jewels of massive size, finely cut, are piled in heaps around the room. The amount is staggering.

>Even the most financially bloated Rogue Trader would piss himself in glee at a find like this.

>You don’t need gemstones, though. You need to get out of this mine and find out where you are.

>There’s no way you can climb out of the shaft and your auspex has encountered some unexpected interference.

>”Preysight.”

>Waves of blue and green paint your vison as thermal scanning in your helmet takes effect.

>Splotches of red appear beyond where the door stands. Just two targets on the other side.

>You turn preysight off and knock a few suits of armor off the shelves and leap beside the still closed door.

>”What was that?!”

>Two massive armored dogs lumber into the room holding spears.

>With a metallic shink and a crackle of energy, your lightning claws leap out of their housings.

>The closest dog’s head is filleted in 4 even slices as he turns to face the sound.

>The other tries to impale you with its spear, but your ancient ceramite is unyielding. He yelps as you tear him in half.

>The fight is over in a few heartbeats.

>Strange. Khorne should be demanding praise and offering power beyond your wildest dreams right now. Yet your mind remains uninterrupted. Every other kill since the Long War began, he has been a niggling rash on the far side of your consciousness.

>But no longer.

>Lightning claws retract and you remove your helmet.

>Time to see what these dogs know.

>A dab of blood activates your Omophagea. This miraculous implant lets you to absorb genetic material from your foes and “read” their memories to an extent.

>Flashes of memory. The mine lays out in your mind’s eye. There are not many of these dogs in the mine, barely 40.

>You have a path.

>A path you must walk with stealth.

>Thankfully, you are a son of Conrad Curze. The darkness is your oldest lover.

 

>Your exit goes without a hitch, until you come to a junction where all the other paths meet.

>The memories of the dog show that it also houses holding cells for any forced laborers they have “procured”.

>You manage to get a quick peek into the room. A guard dog is asleep at his post, leaning back in his chair feet propped up on the table.  A small, violently maroon colored horse with cherry blossoms on her rear is lying in a steel cell across from him.

>As long as the horse doesn’t make any noise, you can just sneak by.

>You quietly enter the room. The horse notices you. She gasps and recoils noticeably at you.

>Mustering her courage, she whispers frantically, ”H-hey! Hey you! Can you help me out here? Those Diamond Dogs kidnapped me and are forcing me to work for them in the mines! Grab the keys off the guard and I’ll show you the way out!”

>Talking pastel colored pony xenos. Now you’ve seen everything.

>You quickly bring your index finger up to your mouth.

>She doesn’t say a word. You continue moving toward the exit.

>”H-hey! Help me out here!” She is no longer whispering.

>The guard stirs. He notices you and promptly loses his shit.

>You promptly find a fuck to give and crush his windpipe with your fist.

>As he gargles on the ground, you grab the key ring from his belt.

>You would gladly shoot the pony xenos, but the shot would echo and alert these “Diamond Dogs”. You decide to get a little poetic justice instead.

>You calmly walk up to the cage. You hold out the key ring. She desperately reaches through the bars. It’s just out of the reach of her hooves.

>You promptly drop the keys and continue out the door, her protests calling after you.

>You smile under your helmet.

>You exit the mine a few minutes later, greeting by a brightly shining sun.

>This is no daemon world you were banished to.

>A forest spreads out in front of you, clouds float lazily in the sky. You can hear birds singing and the wind rustle the branches of the trees.

>You remove your helm.

>You Nostroman eyes squint, unused to such brightness.

>It’s strange.

>After nearly ten thousand years of war, here you stand, hearing the sounds of peace.

>No dark whispers scrabble at your consciousness, promising glory untold.

>No gunfire, nor clang of steel, nor roar of daemons.

>You faintly remember an Eldar Maiden World you fought on centuries ago. The same simple beauty of nature left untouched by the ravaging hand of terraforming and endless conflict spreads out before you.

>”Where am I?”

>It does not matter.

>You must find your brothers, if any are to be found.

>You must find a way off this planet.

>You must fight the Emperor and his minions.

>For your murdered father.

>For justice

>Forever

 

 

>An emergency channel flashes in your helm. You blink at the notification, expecting to hear your fellow Night Lords’ voices.

>”So many buttons! I wonder what happens when I push this one!” An insufferably high pitched feminine voice exclaims.

>Before you can respond, the channel closes and an emergency beacon flashes on your heads-up display.

>Off to the east.  Who was that on the vox? It definitely wasn’t one of your battle brothers, and the slaves on your ship know better than to tamper with Astartes equipment.

>Time to teach this certain someone a lesson about Night Lords

>You sprint east, toward the flashing distress beacon. The forest does not slow you down, nor do its denizens. Wolves of wood splinter under bolter fire. Manticores shred under your claws.

>You eventually see a few wispy trails of smoke through the treetops.

>Creeping behind a tree at the edge of a clearing, you spot the source of the smoke. If you had to guess, it was once part of the bridge or armory of your ship.

>Flames look like they have died down, for the most part. Wreckage is strewn around the clearing.

>At one of the consoles sits, of all things, ANOTHER pastel colored pony. This one is pink with poofy pink hair with... balloons on her rear.

>This xenos is going to learn why curiosity killed the crag cougar.

>You aim your combi-flamer at her. Such an easy shot. You can’t miss from this range.

>A moment before you fire, her tail flails about.

>You pull the trigger. Your burst misses.

>No, you didn’t miss. It DODGED bolter fire.

>You continue to fire, but the xenos continues to avoid your fusillade.

>It must be a psycher. Only beings touched by the warp move that fast.

>”Hey, who’s there? That’s not very nice!”

>You step into the clearing, still letting your bolter do the talking.

>”Heehee! Ooh, you’re a scary looking person. Silly filly, nightmare night isn’t for another month!”

>You’re a Night Lord, the epitome of terror, yet this pink pony is LAUGHING AT YOU.

>Not a single bolter shell finds its mark. You’re close enough to use the flamer though.

>”I HAVE COME FOR YOU, XENOS SCUM!”

>Gouts of stinking promethium roar from your combi-flamer, drenching the area in liquid fire.

>You stand back and look at the carnage. Flames burn mightily in front of you while oily black clouds of smoke curl into the sky. Nothing could have survived tha-

>”Fire’s so pretty, isn’t it?”

>The pastel pony stands beside you, UNFAZED