Broceliande was rather quiet when they made their way through the lush vegetation and down a game trail towards the Golden Tree. The enchanted forest seemed oddly bereft of the usual life they’d come to expect, no birds singing in the branches, no hogs prowling the soil for roots, no hares peeking out of their warrens. The morning fog faded away with an eerie quiet to let the golden rays of the rising sun through the gaps in the canopy, each reflecting off the myriad of dewdrops that had accumulated over leaves and cobwebs, shining like little pearls.

The sole exception to that solitude was the presence of the White Stag. The creature didn’t hide, just leading the way in front of the trio with a solemn air about it.

Rockhoof assumed that was out of caution. The logging stunt and being summoned by Cernunnos seemed like a good reason for the fauna to steer clear until judgment was passed. He had asked Starswirl how he expected that to turn out, only for his court mage to come up blank.

Cernunnosreally wasn’t known as one to meddle with civilization, so announcing he wanted to broker a deal with Trecesson Castle was entirely out of left field.

“By the way, I’m rather curious...” Rock paused, making sure the still-drowsy Martin was well settled on his back. “… you keep mentioning clerics and druids, but if Cernunnos is a forest god, then what’s the difference?”

“That would be about where they get their power from, friend.” The ghost mage told. “You see, unlike in Equestria where magic stems from your species’ abilities... with maybe the exception of warlocks and even then they’re incredibly rare, human magic is more flexible.

I already told you about humans generating their own magic whereas ponies process the surrounding magic field. It gets more complicated than just that when the time comes to cast spells. If they don’t become wizards, the magic is released passively and it forms a field, with the belief system I already told you about. The field is similar to Equestria yet… unique in its own right.

Clerics and priests are, by and large, the easiest to explain. Like warlocks, their power comes from their association to an entity, except this time the entity is a divinity. Divinities that are, in essence, guardians of pools of magic coming from humans sharing the same beliefs. That’s why they want followers. The more of them, the bigger the pooled magic. How that comes into effect varies a lot across the board, that’s why the definition is rather loose: entity controls a pool of magic, bestows third-party powers to an individual.

Druids however, their powers come from nature itself. No god or entity involved. At least not a common god... Some circles follow a proto-god concept like Gaia or some such, it can vary… To be fair, they do tend to side with nature gods, but they don’t have obligations towards them. That being said, they’re still constrained by some practices. They need rituals, equipment and a lot of alchemy to achieve their magic, and most of it is dependent on natural cycles like the moon and the seasons.

I may not be completely a druid myself but I do know a few tricks of the trade, as do many wizards. The greatest druid I can remember off the top of my head would be Maugris.”

“I recall you mentioned him when talking to Morgane. Not in a good way.”

“I blame the attitude, not the skills.” Starswirl shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, when they manage their rituals and cycles properly, and have a sacred grove to back it up, druidic rituals can blow regular wizardry out of the water a couple times over. It’s just… a different school of thought.”

“Sounds like human magic is extremely flexible.”

“It’s not so much that it’s flexible as that it’s not consistent around the whole planet. Blame the ‘belief makes truth’ system for that. If you were to visit another continent you’d find practices to vary wildly, and by my own opinion wizards like me are those it affects the most.

Because in our case, our ability to accomplish magic is dictated by how local belief says it’s possible. If you stay in this part of Europe you have the system where we need staves to throw our spells, and though we’re able to do it in other parts of the world as well – we’ve tried-, there are also other completely different schools of magic where it works in a different manner. As I said: human magic hardly is consistent.” Starswirl said. “And believe me, that sole thought is enough of a headache for an academic like me.”

“I’d imagine.” Rockhoof chuckled softly, a heartfelt rumble that echoed through the woods. “So alchemy falls under druidic magic?”

“You’re using natural ingredients and combining them to obtain magical effects, why would it not fall under druidic magic?”

“Fair point.” Roch nodded. “And the guardian from the other day?”

“A common burial practice for dying druids, though I’m pretty sure Cernunnos does the same with some followers if they want to. Druids serve and protect nature in life, and so do they in death by powering guardians. They also get to be part of it when it’s dormant. Butif a grove is ever threatened, then its guardians will rise to its defense.

That cost the life of many an unaware logger back in the day. You and Albert were lucky.”

“I’d say. That thing, it was powerful.”

“Not surprising. Guardians soak up stray power from their grove when inactive.” He pointed out quietly as the light of the Golden Tree pierced through between the trunks just as they started to sense the powerful magic that permeated the area.

Gently, Rock nudged Martin awake and let the fawn hop off his back with a cute yawn. He stretched, not unlike a cat, and he rubbed his stubby antlers against a nearby tree before finally turning to Rock with a smile.

“Are you ready Martin?” He asked him. “Remember, you must behave because Cernunnos is very important and if you don’t he will punish you, okay?”

“Yes papa! I’ll behave! Pinkie promise!” He said eagerly, making a motion with a hoof.

Rockhoof blinked at the kid. Papa. Now that was first. Not that he minded, it was accurate in a way. It just came out of the blue.

“Good, good.” He said, giving him a quick rub between the antlers. “We’re doing this because it’s important, but it’s not just about the castle. Remember he wants to meet you too, so you shouldn’t disappoint him, eh?”

Though… a god summoning a fawn that couldn’t be much older than eight? And here he was blaming Starswirl for wanting to put too much weight on Martin.

With a nod from Rock, the trio finally pushed on and into the clearing, quickly denoting how different it felt that day. The Golden Tree for instance. It had doubled in size since their last visit, now finally turning the six charred trunks around it into proper receptacles for the Elements, along with making a very organic ‘display’ for the seventh white Element just above where it kept Excalibur.

But those changes weren’t why the magic in the clearing felt different.

That was owed to Cernunnos himself.

The deity has his back turned to them, sitting cross-legged in the grass and staring at the tree while surrounded by a herd of deer that stood up and scattered when the ponies entered the clearing, with only a stag pausing to grunt at the White Stag.

Cernunnos wasn’t a small creature by any stretch of imagination. He was easily three times as big as your average minotaur – with the musculature to match-, except that unlike the bovine species his appearance was derived from that of a stag. A thick, shaggy brown pelt covered his entire being with the addition of an intricate white vine pattern on his upper body.

A lush beard of braided curls – each ending in a wooden bead- garnished the underside of his muzzle, because Cernunnos sported the features of a proud buck with a rack that would have brought any hunter to his knees in awe such that it glowed with a crackling green aura.

He didn’t wear much. A cloth belt wrapped around his waist held up a simple loincloth, all tied up by a neat golden triskelion buckle. To go with that was a cloak of ivy leaves covering his back, rustling gently in the morning breeze.

He was Cernunnos, Horned God of the Celts and Protector of the Forest.

Starswirl made them all bow their head as soon as they were inside the clearing, a gesture that seemingly pleased the divinity as they heard a rumble emerge from his otherwise immobile form.

“At long last you are here...” They heard in their heads, more of a succession of emotions that conveyed his meaning than actual words.

“As you commanded milord, for who are we to refuse a being such as you?” Rockhoof started.

“You would be the castellan I asked for.” Cernunnos said, still not moving or tearing his gaze away from the Golden Tree. “There is much we have to discuss for the betterment of Broceliande, and I’m pleased to see you’ve brought me the fawn as requested. That leaves one of you then...” He trailed off.

“I’m his court mage.”Starswirl said.

“And what a court mage you are.” He chuckled, a deep rumble that reverberated through the entire clearing. “The likes of you are not what one would expect of a minor castle like Trecesson, yet here you are. I assume this is tied to this peculiarity of a tree in front of me?”

“That is correct, milord.”Star nodded. “I have decided to remain in this forest to ensure the safety of the tree.”

“A noble cause it would seem.” Cernunnos inclined his head. “There is great evil at large, I can understand why mortals would have the need for such magic… but it is not the reason behind my presence on this day.” He said, finally standing up to his full height and turning around to look down at the two mortals and the ghost. “You have collected lumber from the forest. Harmed the trees, cut them down and caused great damage to nature.”

Slowly, the God stood up and turned to face them, a towering giant whose antlers nearly reached the treetops. His eyes flicked over to Martin and then to the White Stag that had taken position beside the fawn.

“Yet… one of my most faithful servants has chosen among you a pure soul and told me he was worth having in my fray. And this same soul has interceded in your favor saying you wished no harm to these woods. You should consider yourself lucky, for many loggers or even noble hunters have succumbed to my guardians for such transgressions.”

“What is your desire then, milord?” Rockhoof asked politely.

“To broker a deal, as has already been mentioned. Young Martin here told the White Stag it was possible for civilization to coexist with the forest.” Cernunnos bent down to Rockhoof’s level, the hot air his nostrils exhaled enough to ruffle the large stallion’s mane. “Do you perchance share the sentiment?”

“I most certainly do.” He nodded calmly. “Population in the region is but a fraction of what it was in the past. I do not believe that what little remains in the castle is enough to pose a threat to the well-being of the forest, and with proper management both may prosper over the ruins of what humanity once was. We do need wood for our houses and land for our farms, but ponies like me are able to foster growth and efficiently use little terrain to produce a lot.”

Cernunnos rose to his full height and looked up towards the sky.

“An interesting assertion. I would not normally care for mortals, but mortals forgoing us is one of the reasons – among many, need I admit- why my pantheon faded away from memories. I have one proposal for you I believe may be suitable and profitable to us both.

“Broceliande shall remain hallowed grounds, yet I shall allow you and your people the right to fell trees for lumber and farmland, if you are willing to raise a temple where I and the rest of the pantheon shall be revered. From this temple we shall expect offerings, a share of your harvests that will be used to foster the forest’s growth and compensate for what you take from it. You would benefit from my and my fellow divinities’ protection from ill, while the forest would benefit from your harvests.

What say you then, oh Lord Rockhoof of Trecesson?” He concluded.

Rockhoof craned his neck up to look the Horned God in the eye, carefully weighing his words.

“Aye, I reckon it’s something we can do. I’m always behind a deal that profits both parties.” He slowly uttered. “This forest is a beautiful place and I’d like to make it my home for my latter years with my wife. There is but a problem though, milord. When I said there were few of us… I really meant it. We’re stretched thin as is making Trecesson a suitable village and erecting what’s needed, we haven’t been here for long. May I then request that we only raise an altar this year before winter rolls in? I’m not refusing the temple of course, milord, but maybe we could have it erected next summer and inaugurated come winter solstice with a festival to compensate for the delay?”

“That is something I can agree on.” Cernunnos nodded after what felt like an eternity of hesitation for the trio at his hooves. “Be aware though: there is more that will have to be discussed later regarding your status as a colony and what it implies. Some agreements regarding that have already been settled by higher gods than I. You shall be summoned for that matter, but only in due time. As for now...”

The Horned God turned towards a corner of the clearing and raised a four-fingered paw. A swirling mass of magic emerged out of it and dug into the soil where it created a standing stone covered in green glowing Ogham script.
“This stone will stand as a mark of our current agreement so that it may not be forgotten. Now… there is one fawn I wished to meet today. Come forth, Martin of Broceliande.”

Meekly, the little fawn moved away from the trio to come in front of Cernunnos who bent down on one knee to get a closer look. Silently, he examined the fawn for what felt like hours before he finally turned his head towards the White Stag and nodded.

“I see… it’s now clear to me why my servant felt the need to mark you in such a manner.I believe the age has come for me to become more… proactive, in a fashion. Glad as I am to have creatures as the White Stag under my fold, they are ill-suited to deal with the matters of mortals. You however, young fawn… I’d be most happy to have you represent me.”

“Represent?!” Rock exclaimed. “Milord, Martin is but a child!”

“It is precisely what makes him such a good pick.” Cernunnos replied, deciding to ignore the transgression as the outburst of a concerned parent – adoptive or not-. “Far too often in my own time have I witnessed adults being chosen only to tarnish my reputation because they only sought the position out of a lust for power..

I understand your concerns, but I do not require of him that he begins his duties at once. I only will ask of Martin that he become what Broceliande will need as a protector in the future. Of course it comes with certain… transformation and newfound abilities, but young Martin will grow and mature with them over time.”

Rockhoof threw a quick look towards Martin who seemed to be struggling to comprehend what they were talking about. He could relate, at that age he was still just a starry-eyed colt looking up to the Mighty Helm.

“So he wouldn’t be serving you immediately?”

“No, but I expect you and your court mage to raise him and help him get in control of his powers so that he may later protect this forest when he comes of age. I looked at his soul, a great many things await him...”

Martin visibly perked up when he heard that.

“… whether you like it or not his fate will steer him towards great events. His soul shares the mark of many heroes I have met. I needn’t mention it is up to you to raise him so he may be able to face these challenges.”

“So be it...” Rockhoof looked down at the ground and let out a resigned sigh.

Well at least Martin wouldn’t need to serve until he was of age. Didn’t say anything about how extensive his training would have to be though…

“Very well.” Cernunnos smiled down at Martin. “Child, I await many greatthings from you in the future. Until we meet again.”

In a flash of green light, the Horned God’s gigantic frame was gone, leaving nothing behind but a few ivy leaves and a spot of flattened grass. The White Stag took a sniff of the air and departed soon after, wherever it was it spent its days.

The group from Trecesson didn’t stay much longer than that, leaving a few minutes later after Rockhoof took a moment to temper Martin’s sudden bout of enthusiasm when he finally realized what it was that Cernunnos actually meant.

Neither the Horned God nor the ponies stayed long enough to take note of one last little detail. A God’s presence was a powerful factor in ambient magic, and Cernunnos was no exception.

Next to the Golden Tree, a little cloud of white magic coalesced into existence, flickering a couple times as the wisp manifested itself for the first time. Not a minute later, it was gone, recessed back into the tree, resting.

But the milestone was passed.

It wasn’t until late into the morning on the next day that Amandine dispatched their heliborne expedition. It had taken quite a bit of overnight work and research to get all their intel ready for the mission, call Fugro again to ask the submariners where on base the segmented seal should be, print the charts, get the gear ready...

Along with that came additional information their two pilots were adamant was needed such as – obviously- ensuring that meteorological conditions had at least been evaluated prior to sending them off on their expedition.

That part was for the pilots to worry about. The rest of the team consisted of Greet as the supervising Officer, along with Bart and Nastya (formerly known as Ivan, the new name stuck) who occupied themselves with piling up all the gear they needed inside the cabin.

Considering there were only five of them on the mission and that they needed to save weight to pick up their payload, said gear didn’t amount to much beyond tools, the very necessary sling hook to carry the segmented seal, weapons, ammo and some communications equipment. Initially Bart had wanted to fashion a pair of pintle mounts so the helicopter would at least have some door guns, but lacking enough time that idea had to be shelved and replaced with the Vietnam-era method of having machineguns tied up to the ceiling of the cabin with bungee cords.

Not very stable for the gunner, and it prevented them from arming the chopper with .50 cals, but installation was a triviality. Their MAG would have to do. Given that, barring a few notable exceptions, most monsters could be taken down with regular 7.62 fire – albeit in high volume-, that shouldn’t be much of a problem.

“Yeah, you say that and then it turns out there’s a hydra or some shit waiting for us on base.” Nastya pointed out as they walked out on the main deck towards the helicopter.

“Can hydras fly, uh?” Greet countered absentmindedly while perusing a small checklist containing their mission data. “Anything that we can’t kill, we can fly away from safely. Ain’t ideal, but that’s gonna have to do us until we can get mounts for something bigger.”

Which was a bit disingenuous in all honesty. A MAG (or M240 as Americans called them) was a pretty big gun already, back when humans used them. Now that they could see Bart working on setting up both guns, the size difference between a pony and the guns was actually rather cartoonish.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes of filling the tank with kerosene and running the pre-flight checks before the two pilots ordered the passengers in the back to strap up and close the doors.

“Have you three ever flown in a chopper?” The lead pilot, Flynn Hawthorne, asked them over the noise of the engines as they revved up.

For what Greet had come to know of the pegasus, he was of that type of swept-maned, sunglasses-wearing pilots that may have overindulged on Top Gun, which wasn’t helped by the fact he now found himself attached to an actual ship.

That being said, from the way he grinned confidently at them and how his wings’ primaries flicked expertly over the controls, she couldn’t fault his judgment.

“Nah, first time. Fair warning though: none of us got the helo-dunker training in Aberdeen, so don’t drown us.” She yelled over the engines.

“No worries we won’t.” Flynn laughed out loud and gave his co-pilot a playful hoof punch in the shoulder. “This thing practically flies itself with all the electronics, and there’s barely any wind out there. This will be a breeze. Owen, tune in on the UHF and call the bridge.” He told his co-pilot. “I wanna get airborne yesterday.”

Ironic considering that as a pegasus he had yet to learn how to fly. Owen didn’t comment on it, the young gangly hedgefog radioed Alejandro on the bridge and requested permission to take off. Not a minute later, Flynn was throttling up and their white-and-orange helicopter rose above Savannah, making a wide turn above the ruined city before he pointed them south, towards Kings Bay.

The Georgian landscape flew by underneath them. The helicopter showed no problem and left Savannah behind them in a matter of minute as Flynn and Owen pushed the twin engines to cruise speed and settled at an altitude just short of the cloud cover.

At air travel speed, Kings Bay wasn’t far. Some eighty nautical miles to the south of Savannah, their route made them pass over even more of the wetlands that marked the local coastline, with very few constructions left standing in proximity of the shore save for a few old Civil War era forts whose masonry was enough to endure the rough conditions that had come with the storms and floods.

As for the rest… the only notable town they passed on their flight was Brunswick. Being less protected from the shore than Savannah, the smaller town had been devastated by the floods so much so that most of it had basically sank and been swallowed up by the swamp. Out of all that urban landscape, only the larger buildings remained, along with some industrial constructions and a few suburbs in the drier parts further inland and close to the Interstate.

And let’s not get into the fate of the seaside residences that had been built on the strips of lands that functionally sheltered Georgia from the worst of the Atlantic.

Thankfully though, Sandra’s satellite observations indicated that it was about the worst they would see. Brunswick was just badly protected and the hurricane behind the floods had hit the northern parts of the state at its core. The further south you went, the lesser the damage… and Kings Bay was basically on the state border to Florida.

The damage wouldn’t be absent… but hopefully tame enough that it didn’t hinder their expedition.

It was the sound of the helicopter taking off that broke Aleksei out of her slumber. Blearily, she opened her eyes to realize from the light streaming in from her cabin’s porthole that the sun had been up for a while... and that she may have some explaining to do.

Her entire body also felt like she’d just attempted to run a marathon, drunk, and then got beaten up over the attempt by a gang of angry monkeys. In short: she’d felt better after the party way back in Belfast. Shortly after she opened her eyes, her neurons finally sparked together and memories flicked to the forefront of her mind, memories of her new obligations towards Epona.

Now to figure what the deity meant by ‘changes’…

With a grunt, Aleksei rolled over to her belly and pushed herself up on all four limbs. That’s when she took note of the first change.

Hippogriffs are already pretty tall by quadruped standards. Sure they don’t have the bulk of a griffon, much less that of a sphinx (who were actually pretty darn big when you looked into it); but they had this lean, wiry stature that usually made them stand above most other quadrupeds. Even the females, since there wasn’t too big of a size gap between mares and stallions for their species (there was, just not as bad as ponies).

Now though? When she compared herself to the furniture around her it looked like she was about a head taller, and her coveralls felt a lot tighter too. She may not know it herself, but her transformation had brought her near alicorn-height.

The change had also highlighted the fertility part of Epona’s domain, because even though she had gained a fair bit of muscle, her curves were where it was the most noticeable. She had a more swan-like neck, a wider rump, narrower midsection, and judging by the size of her wings’ primaries she had also grown in wingspan. Epona hadn’t touched on her original color scheme of a light green coat with white crest and tail feathers, but she did make them noticeably fluffier and glossier. The fur on her breast in particular was a lot thicker, and now that she noticed it the feathering around her hooves and talons had undergone the same treatment. That, and Epona had switched it from light green to white.

Getting to the bathroom on longer limbs proved a bit harder than expected as she had some difficulties judging how close things were, but reaching the mirror allowed her to note the last big changes. Her eyes were still their usual light green, but now they had gained some kind of mystical glow to them, and finally…

Of course Epona had to put her mark on her. She now bore the goddess’ equine version of the triskelion on her shoulders, one fist-sized symbol of three horses chasing each other around a Celtic curl at the base of each wing, standing out sharply against the rest of her fur coat.

In short: she looked the part as a servant of a fertility divinity. Very… feminine, which was in stark contrast to the lingering feeling of the geas inside her mind that compelled her to resume the quest for her manhood.

The geas wasn’t too bad, thankfully. She could probably put it off for a while until they headed back to Europe. At least it was a guarantee she wouldn’t fall victim to the first rule of gender-bending.

But the physical and mental changes weren’t the only thing to have happened, as she soon noticed after a brief shower. Epona had left her some gifts on her bed in the form of a leather bound spell book and…

A set of robes. Guess with the duty of a cleric she should have expected it. Worse even, her sudden growth spurt meant the robes were the only viable clothing in her wardrobe. They didn’t look bad, just… not what she really wanted as a marine engineer.

The robes… they looked simple but she soon found them to be more intricate than expected upon inspecting the bundle of brown leather and white linen. In addition to just the robes, cloak and a satchel, the clothing also came with some light leather armor that embraced her frame and provided a measure of protection, plus some sandals/gauntlets for her claws and some iron, rune-engraved horseshoes for her hooves.

Did she put it on? Like she had a choice… Did she like it? Nothing she would admit in a public setting, and the way it hugged her frame really left little doubt as to which domain Lady Epona covered.

In short: she was a fucking sexpot. With a magic oath that made her want to be male again.

“Uh… not looking half bad I must say.” She heard Angelo speak up half a second after her ears caught her cabin’s door opening.

Aleksei practically jumped up in the air from sheer surprise, a shrill squawk escaping the hippogriff’s beak. She turned around and threw her direct superior a glare, wings fluffed up from the surprise.

“The fuck Angie?!” She yelled at him.

“Chill, chill.” The large gray minotaur raised his hands in a placating manner. “Only reason I’m bargin’ in is ‘cause you didn’t turn up for your watch.”

“Sorry about that. Making it up to you ASAP.” Aleksei shook her head. “I didn’t expect my visit to Epona to turn out this way. What did I miss?”

“Both much and not much. We salvaged some fuel from the local terminal with the oil recycler to top off the tanks, dispatched an heliborne expedition down south to help the sub’s rescue effort, and now the Captain’s twiddling his thumbs ‘cause he can’t decide whether or not we should intervene against the local bandits.”

“Really?!” She exclaimed. “Why in hell is it even a question? They’re bandits!”

“Oh I dunno...” Angelo rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Between intervening on US soil, our clause about remaining neutral and not risking our lives without reason, I can’t fathom why we would have good reasons not to intervene.”

“Fair point I guess...” She deflated.

“What happened to you by the way? You look like you hit a growth spurt and suddenly found yourself interested in cosplay.” He asked, surprised to find she wasn’t as short as he remembered.

And quite shapely too, but that he didn’t say out loud.

“In short? Got possessed by a goddess into playing midwife for the griffons, was upset about it and decided to meditate to confront Epona about it. And now...” She lifted a wing to show Epona’s symbol. “… I just agreed to being her cleric. That means-”

“You don’t need to tell a geek like me what a cleric is, I know.” He interrupted. “But that explains the changes, though I would have expected more armor than just leather. Maybe it’s something you need to get on your own, I dunno.”

“I’m not quite sure your idea of what a cleric is matches Lady Epona’s.” Aleksei pointed out. “Anyway… if I missed the helicopter and the oil, what’s left then?” She asked him, idly adjusting her satchel.

“We got a meeting with all the crew in the cafeteria in about an hour when Sri gets back from spying on the bandits. I don’t know what you can do in the meantime, but maybe you should fix yourself a new wardrobe. Those robes look nice, but I don’t want you down in the engine room with them on, got it?”

“Komprenet em eus.” She replied.

“What?”

“Oh sorry… I got all these Celtic languages plus Latin in the package.” She tapped a talon against the side of her head. “It’s all mixed up in there, I think that one came out in Breton. But, yeah, get my coveralls fixed, then get down to the cafeteria for the meeting. I’ll be there.”

Angelo eyed her dubiously for a couple second before he deemed it just wasn’t worth worrying about and left her to her own devices.

Now to convince Carlos to come pump some iron with him in the gym.

The situation with the bandits… wasn’t good. That at least was very clear to all sailors present in the cafeteria when Sri came back from her round of reconnaissance to tell them what she’d observed so far. After a quick power nap and a bit of work putting all her intel together in a presentable manner, she’d gone to Alejandro to tell him she was ready to relay the information.

Why the Captain insisted it be told to the whole crew at once (at least those that weren’t on expedition with the helicopter or protecting the two kirins at the truck stop), she couldn’t quite fathom. The Indonesian navy veteran just stood in front of the crowd in the middle of the cafeteria, idly checking the laptop in front of her to make sure her presentation was top-notch while they waited for Dilip.

To make things even weirder, Third Engineer Klavins had turned up clad in some sort of priestly robes and having seemingly undergone a growth spurt. Just when she wanted to have a talk with her about Epona. Great…

“Nervous? That’s unlike you.” Alejandro commented. The blue-feathered Ornithian was standing with his back against the wall, arms crossed.

“Not nervous, frustrated.” She corrected. “Boss, why does the Captain want the presentation like that?” She asked, waving a claw over the assembled crowd.

“You’ll see. Captain Prateek has his reasons, I can tell you that much.”

“So he didn’t tell you either.” She mumbled flatly.

“No he didn’t, but I trust him.” The parrot shrugged.

“Maybe you do, boss, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.” She huffed.

“You? Why would you think that?” Alejandro quirked his head, his feather crest raised in bemusement.

“Pretty sure he isn’t too fond of Muslims...” She started.

“For one: he probably doesn’t care and neither you nor Mohammed are prime examples of Muslim faith anyway.” He countered after a short pause. “For second: even if you think he’s standoffish… which I’ll admit is kinda true for you ratings, that’s just Indian Officers in a nutshell. You wouldn’t be getting too used to working with Spaniards like me now?”

Sri opened her beak to quip back with a witty reply before she blinked and closed her beak. Now that he mentioned it, he was surprisingly informal for a Chief Officer. Whether that was due to him being a Spaniard as he claimed or the fact she’d been working watches at the helm with him for the past few months, she didn’t know.

All things considered she didn’t answer to a lot of Officers beside him. Hell, most of her daily duties outside of watches were given to her by Artyom, him being the bosun and all, and the Russian was probably her closest friend on board.

“You know what, maybe you’re right, I’m getting a bit too used to you, boss.” She blinked.

It was only a few minutes later that Dilip finally strode into the room, clad in his dress blues and with a serious air on the dog’s muzzle. He didn’t say much at first, simply repeating to the crowd what it was Sri had been doing and inviting her to tell them what she’d put together so far before taking a seat in the front row.

She was all too happy to finally comply and not have to awkwardly stand in front of an expectant crowd and began telling them what was going on at the Westin.

One of the first things she started off with was the head count. By her observations – though she may have missed some- there were roughly thirty ex-convicts occupying the hotel. Slightly less than what the prison bus transported, but casualties happened. From the weather, from monsters, from blue-on-blue and...

All of the convicts she’d spotted patrolling the hotel were males– with the odd exception of a D-Dog bitch, bigger than males as they were-, so there was that.

Most just hung around the hotel and the convention center to keep an eye on the two dozen prisoners they kept as servants and to enjoy the spoils of their looting sprees. The convention center next to the hotel was used both as a pet project for their prisoners to grow them food, and as a general ‘recreation’ spot where they screwed around with stuff they had pillaged like their guns and a fleet of luxury cars that had been defaced with spray paint.

The rest of the convicts would leave at dawn to explore the region, returning whenever their trailers were full of loot or they grew bored. It didn’t seem to go much further than that, or at least she hadn’t stayed long enough to make sense of a possible long term plan. She didn’t think they really had one, what with how poorly equipped they were and how badly they treated their rides. Routine was a stretch for them, and mostly revolved around monitoring their prisoners and rotating them from a floor where they kept them at night to the convention center where they all toiled with the exception of the…

Sri wasn’t sure whether to call them servants or concubines. One thing was sure with them: at least four of them would always be found on the top floor, two per wing.

“Why two per wing?” Carlos interrupted.

“Top floor is divided into two penthouses, that’s why.” Sri told the cockatoo. “One per leader. Going by what was said at the truck stop, I’ve decided to name one ‘boss’ and the other ‘councilor’. East wing and west wing respectively. They don’t go out much and just live the life in their spot, but they do come out at times. Councilor...” She switched to a slide of her presentation that showed a distant picture of a dark unicorn. “… the brains. Monitors looting raids, manages the works at the convention center, decides what to do with the loot.”

She switched to the next slide to show a much larger green Earth Pony stallion with a Mohawk, clad in enough gold to make a dragon salivate.

“This is boss. The brawn. He… asserts dominance over the rest of the gang. Saw him shank a bandit in cold blood, and from the brawling I’ve witnessed he’s pretty tough.”

She tapped a key on the laptop and the presentation came its last slide, just a generic blank screen with the words ‘the end’ plastered on it.

“I believe the Captain has a few words for us, then?” She turned towards her superior.

“That I do. Thank you Miss Wibowo.” Dilip nodded before he stood up and turned to face the crowd of assembled sailors. “On the legitimacy of intervening here… I have had a few words over the phone with the Captain of the American submarine they’re rescuing off the coast. With the HPI too.”

Not that he knew which of the two held more legitimacy as an American institution. The HPI was just a UN offshoot after all.

“Both told me this one thing: it is up to us to decide whether or not we want to intervene. And I want to stress that: us.” He insisted. “This is a very dangerous situation, I want you all to know that. It’s more than fighting monsters or making sure the Irishmen don’t start a brawl over Northern Ireland. It’s more than looking scary with a big APC to make sure bandits don’t attack a truck stop like some of your shipmates are doing. If we intervene, people will die.”

Dilip took a short pause to survey the reactions of the crowd.

“I’ve worked with the military. As a reservist. Some of us here are veterans. But remember, we are not the military, even with all the weapons and tanks and body armor. We don’t have half the training needed to claim that, and we don’t have a drop of the discipline to call ourselves that either. I cannot in good conscience order any of you to risk your life over this, to save prisoners of a country not your own, that the bandits may very well decide to execute.” He sighed. “I could go on for a while, but I think you are all clever enough to make your own opinion. You know what we’re up against. Some of you were at Yancy’s burial in Copenhagen. Some of you…” His eyes lingered over the griffons in a corner of the room. “… are lucky enough to have families to worry about.”

Another pregnant pause, he checked his watch. Two in the afternoon.

“Tomorrow at nine there will be a meeting in the ship’s office. Come if you want to rescue the prisoners and get rid of those bandits.”

Author's Notes:

For clarification, the helo-dunker Greet was referring to is a type of training facility for offshore personnel that's normally referred to as HUET (Helicopter Underwater Escape Training). I preferred to use the moniker given to the system by the equivalent the US Marines since they have something pretty similar, felt this might be understood a bit better than alphabet soup.

Don't have that kind of training myself. Far as I know it's compulsory for folks that need to hitch a ride in a chopper over a body of water. In Europe I can cite two facilities for that off the top of my head: one that Greet mentionned in Aberdeen (I think it's owned by Petrofac?) since the place is a big offshore port, another in Schiphol (NL) owned by... pretty sure that one is Opito.

Regardless... it's a make-believe helicopter you climb into and strap up. It's then flipped over and dunked into a swimming pool as a simulated crash. You escape.

Anyway, hope the chapter cheers you up a bit with what's going on in the whole wide world. Catch you next week.