Quinch

I like the song, but I'll have to admit, possibly because of the slow pace or all the background notes, I'm finding it difficult to hear the MLP theme in it. It works pretty well as a piece on its own, though.

Ohmygersh, she looks adorable! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!

@@Polyblank, if it's too hard, don't sweat it - just give priority to someone else.

Hmmm. Not a pony, but if we're going for horror style, would you be open to drawing an angry Drakontipa?

Ah, outside my area then. Sorry.

What country/area are we talking here?

[the OOC went thattaway ->] It wasn't exactly the most graceful landing he ever had. But then again, grace was never his strong point. Quinch hit the ground head-first, something that would have snapped his neck in an instant if it weren't for what he was wearing. Instead, the collar went rigid, followed a fraction of an instant by the rest of the suit, and his entire body smashed its weight onto his shoulders as he bounced, literally, like a doll across the dirt. He got to his feet almost immediately, ignoring the protests of his much-abused body. The protests of his brain, on the other hand, got his attention quickly. He was outside. That was a problem. Moments ago he was underground, surrounded by Oranbegan sorcerers. He was towing a load of reprobates on a lead from Azuria about the Seventh Circlet of Hel {in the hands of the Circle of Thorns, but of course}; he couldn't recruit any support, but having half a dozen fire-slinging, gun-toting, wind-bagging idiots and their associated superpowers usually did the job when he could keep their collective attention spans away from anything shiny. This, he thought, is what I did wrong. He'd stepped into the cavernous hall, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, still the best way of getting most villains' attention, and prepared himself for the inevitable barrage of fire that usually distracted the wizards from the deranged kindergarten behind him. But this time, it never came. There was a... blip. Let's call it a blip, the sensations behind magic usually needed adjectives that he never bothered to learn, and then there was this. And also grass. Green, vividly so, none of that junk you'd see around Paragon City that he suspected was probably half-plastic somehow. Teleportation, probably, by his guess he was miles, at the very least, from Paragon. At worst, well, he could hopefully at least speak the language, provided it was English. The mission was a wash, then. Probably was from the start, at this rate he figured Azuria sent him into a trap. Again. He briefly considered giving her a piece of his mind when he got back to city hall, but she'd probably lose that too. He refocused on his surroundings. He heard songbirds through the speakers in his helmet. Definitely out of Paragon city limits, and the lack of rock anthills and ambulatory crystal formations charging him meant he wasn't in Hamidon territory either. There was a treeline about half a click ahead, and smoke - zoom in - definitely smoke past that. His eyes followed invisible lines ahead of him, tracing a pattern of what was basically an eyeball unlock pattern. The HUD on the inside of his visor sprang to life - lifesigns, radar, the usuals. "Adolf," he said, "Run environmental analysis. Activate perimeter alerts." He started walking toward the trees. Smoke meant people, usually. People meant food, shelter and answers to questions like "where am I?", "is there a bar in town?" and "How much for a ticket to Rhode Island?" "And play me some music, please."

If you don't like it, you have a month to roll back to Windows 8.

Ooh, that would be lovely! Could I trouble you for a picture of Sweet Comfort? She's - alas - my only pony OC. It's all cool if you have other art to do, though, I just figured I'd throw her out.

Could I trouble you for your take on Sweet Comfort?